The Undaunted

by Gerald N. Lund

  Ben laughed. “It be gittin’ yur blood pumpin’ a little, that be fur sure.”

  Silas turned and looked back up at the sheer wall blocking the top of the crevasse. “So just how much more powder are you going to need?” he asked Ben.

  The Welshman closed one eye, then grinned wickedly. “We can make do with one trainload. Two would be better.”

  The two leaders laughed aloud. “I’m glad you dream big, Ben,” Platte said. “Let’s go back up on top and have some lunch while we talk about what needs to happen next.”

  “Here’s the plan as we see it,” Silas began after taking a swig from his canteen to wash down the last of his bread and cheese. “Platte and I will ride on back to Fifty Mile today. Both of our outfits are making their way forward now, but we need to get them settled. I want the Lymans to come up here to the Hole as soon as possible so Platte can take charge. My family will camp back at Fifty Mile for now.”

  “Your family?” David said. “What about you?”

  In answer, he turned to Ben. “Once they’re settled, I’ll come back up here for one last look. Ben, if you and Hy and John could give me your best estimate of how much powder it’s going to take, then—”

  Ben looked wounded. “Ya mean yur naw gonna git us a trainload?”

  “I’ll be delighted with a wagon full. Once I get your estimate, I am going to return to Parowan and begin—”

  “Parowan!” David exclaimed. “How are you going to get over Escalante Mountain? There must be four or five feet of snow up top by now.”

  “I’m taking my boys with me. We’ll go on horseback. We’re going to have to beat down a path up over the pass.”

  When the others just nodded, sobered by exactly what that would mean, he went on. “I’m going to seek contributions from the settlements. After all, they’re going to benefit greatly from our mission. But I’m guessing that won’t be nearly enough, so I’m also going to ask for an appropriation from the Legislature.”

  “Gud on ya, mate,” Hyrum said.

  John spoke up now. “We also be needin’ more tools—drills, hammers, bits, chisels.”

  “And that’s all going to take money.” Silas gave them a sly grin. “So I am also going to write President Taylor and see if the Church might not contribute some funds as well.” Then, sobering, he got to his feet. “We’ll be back in a few days, brethren. Get me a list of what you need, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “One other thing,” David said. “As you can see, there is hardly any feed for the teams up here. But we need to keep them fairly close in case we need to move the wagons. There is a place called Jackass Flat. Platte knows it well because we went down that way when we crossed over to explore the east side. We think we can take a bunch of stock down there if we can take a few men off the road project for a couple of days and fix the path somewhat.”

  Ben nodded. “And we be needin’ a path frum the Flat doon ta the river as well. We found a place we can make work, but it be going ta take some fixin’ too. We can’t be lowerin’ and raisin’ those boys working on the east side road by ropes every time they come and go.”

  Silas was nodding. “Take what manpower you need. That’s pretty critical too.”

  “Anything else?” Platte asked.

  When they shook their heads, Silas nodded and said, “Then we’d better be getting back.”

  They shook hands and started for their horses. As they did so, other members of the camp, who had been politely hanging back while their leaders conversed, moved in to shake their hands and ask for news from the camp behind them. At that, Silas suddenly snapped his fingers. “Oh, David, by the way.” He fished in his jacket pocket and took out an envelope. “The McKennas and the Nielsons reached Fifty Mile Camp day before yesterday. They had a wheel problem that needed fixing. They’ll come on as soon as it’s done.”

  “Are they doing okay?”

  “Good, near as we could tell,” Platte answered, as Silas nodded. “The Nielsons will wait for them before coming on.”

  “That be good,” David’s father said.

  “Anyway,” Silas said, handing him the envelope. “Sister Molly asked me to give you this.”

  As Silas and Platte rode off, David eagerly tore into the letter and began reading.

  My Dearest David,

  We arrived in camp last night. This morning we learned Brother Smith and Brother Lyman are riding to your camp today. Brother Smith agreed to take this note to you.

  If all goes well, our family and Bishop Nielson’s family should be to you by tomorrow night. We are all anxious to see you and John again, and hope that this letter finds you both well.

  We did well coming from Forty Mile to Fifty Mile camp, though it took longer than we expected. Going through one of the many washes, a mule pulling Carl’s wagon shied at something (perhaps a rattlesnake—shudder!). That jerked the wagon to one side, and the back wheel hit a large rock. This cracked the tire. (Isn’t that what they call the iron band around the outside of the wheel?) We were able to limp into camp, but have had to wait for Wilson Daily, our resident blacksmith, to get it fixed again. The extra rest has been good for us, and especially for the teams.

  By the way, you were right about Abby, Father, and Carl. They have become competent and confident teamsters. I am learning how to drive too (don’t look so surprised!) but so far just when the road is level and smooth. Daddy also lets Billy Joe drive from time to time.

  Even with an occasional wagon coming down from Escalante with supplies, our food is becoming much more limited in variety. Much of the flour and molasses is gone and we eat mostly ground wheat and corn. The only way to grind the grain is in a coffee mill someone in the company brought with them. This is not only tedious, but very tiring. Though this limited diet is quite boring, it seems to keep us healthy. As George Hobbs observed the other day, “Chopped wheat would shame a dose of Epsom salts in terms of its purging propensities.”1 Modesty forbids me to comment on that further. (I blush even as I write it.)

  Well, I must close. The brethren are preparing to leave. You and your father are always in our prayers. We rejoice knowing that we shall soon be reunited.

  All my love,

  Molly

  As David finished and folded the letter, he saw that his father was watching him. “’Ow be things wit the fam’ly?”

  “Good,” David said, holding out the letter to him. “Here.”

  He put up his hands. “Ah was naw askin’ ta read it. Ah was joost wond’rin’.”

  “No reason you can’t read it,” he said, thrusting it at him. His father took it, opened it, and read it slowly. He chuckled once, then laughed aloud. David assumed that was in response to George Hobbs’s comment. Finally, smiling, he folded it up again. “She be a gud girl, David.”

  “I know.” He reached for the letter, but his father was looking away now and didn’t see his hand. After a moment, David looked at him more closely. “What are you thinking, Dad?”

  He turned slowly. “Ah be thinkin’ it be a gud thing what ya did back in Cedar City.”

  One eyebrow raised. “How’s that?”

  He gave him a long look. “If’n this dunna work oot, it’ll be a lot easier naw ta ’ave too much commitment b’tween ya.”

  David was taken aback. Where had that come from? And then he remembered Mary Davis’s final words. Don’t be bringing her back with a ring, David. Not even the promise of a ring. “Whatever in the world prompted that comment, Dad?”

  His father quoted softly. “‘My dearest David.’ An’ ‘Awl my love.’”

  “Aw,” David said, blushing slightly, “that’s just Molly.”

  “Ah know that, which only makes me point.”

  “Which is?”

  He shook his head and started to turn away.

  “Come on, Dad,” David said, half teasing, half peeved. “You’ve got something on your mind. Just say it.”

  He shook his head. “Ah joost be glad yur bein’ wise in this.”

>   “Why?” he persisted.

  “It dunna matter. Naw question but what Molly be a real charmer. And she be a gud girl. But oot here, things be diff’rent, Son. Maybe doon the road ya be seein’ things a little diff’rently.” Before an astonished David could say anything more, John stood up and turned his back. “That be awl Ah be ’avin’ ta say on the matter.”

  Note

  ^1. The comment about cracked wheat being a purgative is an actual quote of George Hobbs (see Carpenter, Jens Nielson, 46).

  ^u.A rod was a measurement used in surveying and was 16.5 feet. Thus eight feet per rod would make just under a 50 percent grade. Modern truckers are warned to use low gear on grades of 6 or 7 percent.

  Chapter 55

  Sunday, December 14, 1879

  Three days later, both Silas Smith and Platte Lyman returned to the camp at the Hole in the Rock. Platte Lyman had his extended family with him; Silas Smith was alone. By that time, Ben Perkins’s construction team had made a trail down to Jackass Flat, though they were still working on the lower trail, and Platte and his sons drove numerous horses down to the bench and turned them loose to graze.1

  When Platte returned that afternoon, Silas called a meeting and organized the Hole in the Rock camp. He would remain as captain of the entire company, even though he would be gone for a time. Platte Lyman, as assistant captain, would take charge, with Jens Nielson serving with him. Generally, they kept the same captains of tens as before, but added three more—Bishop George Sevy, of Escalante, who had just arrived with several wagons from that settlement, and Henry Holyoak and Samuel Bryson, two more recent arrivals. Ben Perkins was also made foreman for the construction of a road down through the Hole. Some of the Lyman boys were put in charge of the stock, and most of the other men were assigned to road construction.

  After the meeting, Silas and Platte sequestered themselves with the Perkins brothers and John Draper and received a list of tools and equipment they would need. First on the list was the request for at least one ton of blasting powder. Promising to do what he could—though not bursting with optimism—Silas Smith shook hands all around and bid them farewell. His plan was to return to Fifty Mile Camp that night, then leave with some of his sons the following morning. With luck, they would be able to cross Escalante Mountain and return to Parowan, where he would begin his efforts to raise money and purchase equipment.

  As he climbed into the saddle, he looked down at Platte Lyman and gave him a somber look. “May the Lord be with you, my friend,” he said somberly. “There is much to do, and all rests on your success. I shall try to be back here in about three weeks.”2

  “And the Lord be with you,” Platte answered with equal solemnity.

  Tuesday, December 16, 1879

  Billy Joe McKenna, while playing with some other boys at Fifty Mile Springs, got caught out in a wet, cold sleet storm, and had come down with a bad fever. So the McKennas decided to stay at Fifty Mile Camp, even though Jens Nielson and his family came on. It was Tuesday before the McKennas finally arrived at the Hole. Though David had planned to help his father with their continuing survey of the Hole, he stayed in camp to help the McKennas get settled instead. All expectations now were that they would be here at least a month while road construction on the Hole and on the east side continued.

  Platte Lyman spent most of that day climbing up and down the great gash in the cliff face of the Colorado River Gorge with Ben and Hyrum Perkins and John Draper. After numerous calculations and much discussion—often stopping to do additional measurements—they returned to camp and called for a meeting of the camp leaders.

  As David and Patrick McKenna left for the meeting, David couldn’t help but notice Molly’s face. Her eyes were averted, but her hand was resting on Abby’s arm, and as he passed, David saw that her fingers were digging into the flesh. And he was pretty sure he knew why. Their “short” separation had turned into twelve days, and once again circumstances conspired to keep them apart. Now, there was a rumor going around the camp that yet another scouting party would be sent out. Unlike other rumors, David fully expected this one was true.

  As he passed her, she looked up and gave him a warm smile, though it was somewhat forced. “Don’t be late for supper,” she murmured. “We’re having filet of cracked wheat.”

  Chuckling, David said, “In the mother tongue, we don’t say ‘fil-AY,’ we say ‘FILL-it.’ Wouldn’t miss it.”

  There were about ten men in Platte Lyman’s tent when they arrived. Platte and Bishop Nielson were talking with David’s father as they entered. The two leaders greeted them, then David’s father joined David and Patrick and they found a place to sit. The mood inside the tent was somber, but more from curiosity than discouragement. Something was up.

  When the Perkins brothers slipped in a minute or so later, Platte immediately stepped forward, signaling for silence. “Brethren, thank you for coming. We shall take only a few minutes of your time, but what we have to discuss is of great importance.”

  He fell silent, his chin dropping a little. Finally, he gave a quick shake of his head, as if he were tired of searching for the right thing to say. “As you all know so well, we have now been on the road for over two months. That is two weeks longer than we expected to spend on the entire trip and we are still not to our final destination.”

  There was a deep, weary sigh. “Our hope was to arrive in San Juan early enough to plant crops before the summer heat sets in. And that we must do.” He looked from face to face. “If we do not, we shall not survive as a colony.”

  “An’ if vee stay here too lonk,” Bishop Nielson broke in quietly, “vee shall haf eaten all our seed corn and veet and vee shall have none to plant.”

  “Yes,” Platte said gravely, “that is part of our reality too. We have known for some time that this obstacle we call the Hole in the Rock would be a great challenge, but not until today, when we have spent hours climbing up and down it, have I finally come to appreciate the magnitude of our task. These brethren, whose judgment I implicitly trust, say that it is going to take us at least one month to complete a road down to the river.”

  There wasn’t a lot of shock at that. That figure had been tossed around earlier.

  “Knowing the harsh realities we are facing, we cannot delay further. I have this day sent word to Fifty Mile Camp and asked them to send us additional workers to work on the Hole, even as they continue construction of a road on the other side. As many of you know, Brother Charles Hall is bringing lumber down for the construction of a ferry. This is good. When the first wagons do finally reach the bottom, they can cross the river without delay.”

  His dark eyes were piercing in their intensity now. “Which brings me to our purpose today. Once our wagons reach the tops of the bluffs on the east side of the river, we must know where we are going. As you know, we have had two additional groups recently arrive at our camp here. Bishop George Sevy, originally from Panguitch but more recently from Escalante, has brought several wagons from his settlement. And we have the Redd family from New Harmony. Both of these brethren have come to me and asked if they can leave their families here and push forward on horseback to see if they can find a way through to Montezuma Creek. Though they do not know the way, they have agreed that if George Hobbs, who went there with the first exploring party, will lead them, they will undertake the journey.

  “Bishop Nielson and I believe that their desire and our need coincide and can work to the advantage of all. Therefore, we are asking Brother Sevy to lead another exploring expedition across the river.” He raised his voice to override the noise that now filled the tent. “We are also asking Brothers George Hobbs, Lemuel Redd, Sr., and George Morrell to accompany him.” There was a fleeting smile. “If three Georges can’t accomplish it, I don’t know who can. Sorry, Lemuel, but you’ll just have to be the odd man out.”

  There was a soft chuckle, but that quickly died away as he continued. “Now, I want to make one thing perfectly clear. We are not asking these brethren
to help us decide whether to go forward or not. That decision was made back at Forty Mile Camp and we are committed to it. No, brethren, their assignment will be to find the way through to the San Juan. No more, no less. I think you all remember how Bishop Nielson put it in our meeting the other day. How did you say it, Brother Jens?”

  “Vee must go troo, even if vee cannot,” the bishop said softly.

  Platte’s voice dropped to almost a hush. “That must be our determination. These four brethren must find a way across the vast wastelands that lie between us and Montezuma Creek. This they must do, not only for our benefit, but for the benefit of those two families who are waiting there, desperately hoping that we have not forgotten them.”3

  George Hobbs leaned forward. “Thank you, Brother Lyman. As you know, brethren, I am most anxious to see if my sister is all right, so I accept this call with full purpose of heart.”

  “President Platte?”

  The leader turned. David had his hand up. “Yes, Brother Draper?”

  “I would like to request permission to accompany these brethren. As you know, I too, like George Hobbs, have been to the San Juan country and know that area. And although they are not my family, when I left Jim and Mary Davis and their children, I made a solemn promise that I would return as quickly as possible. I should like to keep that promise.”

  He considered that for a moment, then turned. “Brother McKenna?”

  Patrick’s response was immediate. “We’ll be fine without him. We’re not going anywhere.”

  He turned to Ben Perkins. “You need every man possible to work on the Hole. What do you say to losing one of them?”

  A slow grin stole across the Welshman’s face. “Davy boy ’ere, ’e be a cowboy, naw a coal miner,” he drawled. “Prob’ly be a blessin’ ta git ’im outta the way.”

  David smiled his thanks as the men around him chuckled.

  “Brother Draper?” Platte asked, looking at David’s father.

  His father looked at David for a moment, then turned to Lyman. “Ah be reet prood if David were allowed ta go. Ah think ya awreddy know, ’e be a gud man fur the job.”