It is interesting that Stephen Taylor, one of the four members of the express party, was another of the Minute Men. A year after this experience he would marry Harriet Seeley Young, one of Brigham Young’s daughters. So of the four express riders, one was Brigham Young’s son, one was his future son-in-law (though it is not known if he was courting Harriet at this point or not), one was Heber C. Kimball’s son, and one was not a member of the Church.
The first rescue party crossed South Pass sometime in the afternoon of 18 October. They were making excellent time. They had covered in twelve days what took a normal wagon train about three weeks to traverse. There were storms around them, but none that directly affected them. The decision to leave wagons and supplies waiting in reserve was made on the nineteenth of October as the storm began to close in. Reddick Allred wrote: “19th—Capt. Grant left me in charge of the supplies of flour, beef cattle, four wagons, the weak animals and eleven men for guard. I killed the beef animals and let the meat lay in quarters where it froze and kept well as it was very cold and storming almost every day. We were reinforced by 3 wagons and 6 men loaded with flour” (in Carter, comp., Treasures of Pioneer History 5:345).
Chapter 23
Ice Springs to Sixth Crossing
I
Sunday, 19 October 1856
Eric walked as swiftly as his dwindling energy would allow, turning his head away from the wind and the snow, which was coming in hard enough now to sting his flesh. He saw that his coat was wet. There was sleet mixed in the snow. He shook his head. As if the wind weren’t bad enough.
As he came to his cart, he saw Jens and Elsie Nielson sitting on the leeward side of the cart, wrapped in a blanket, their backs to the wind, trying to shelter young Jens and Bodil Mortensen as much as possible. Even before he reached them, he could see that Bodil’s teeth were chattering. In less than half an hour there was already an inch or two of snow, and it was coming steadily now. The wind was already starting to make small drifts around the little group.
Jens looked up. “Is it time to go?”
“Elder Willie says another five minutes. He knows we need the rest, but with the storm he thinks we’d better start moving again. We’ve still got eight or ten miles to go.” He looked around. “Where’s Olaf?”
A figure stepped out from a group who were standing close together a few yards away. “I’m over here.” He too was wrapped in a blanket in addition to his coat and gloves and scarf.
“All right.” Eric motioned for him to come over. As he did so, Eric dropped into a crouch beside the Nielsons. “Jens?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think you and Olaf can manage the cart for the rest of the way today?”
One eyebrow came up. Olaf gave a quick intake of breath. “Maggie?” Olaf asked.
“No, actually she’s doing quite well, except for that terrible cough. But Brother James is not good at all.”
“Ah, yes,” Jens said. “I saw him this morning. He did not look good.”
“He’s too weak to pull and there’s no room in the wagons. We’re going to have to put him into one of their carts. Sarah and Emma and Sister James aren’t strong enough to pull both carts alone.”
“Yes, you go,” Jens said without hesitation. “We will be all right, won’t we, Olaf?”
“Yes.”
That was a wild exaggeration and they all knew it. “All right” didn’t seem to fit anything right now. This morning the last of the flour had been distributed, and even with the reduced rations, they didn’t get their full portion at that. The storm was very quickly turning into a full-scale blizzard, and they were at least two days away from South Pass, where supposedly the relief wagons would be waiting for them. “All right” seemed like a profanity under the circumstances.
Eric didn’t move. He was looking at this couple who had become his and Olaf’s foster parents. Elsie Nielson was a tiny wisp of a woman, being just a shade under five feet tall and weighing no more than a hundred pounds. No, he corrected himself. Elsie had once been a hundred pounds when they had first met her on the steamer at Copenhagen. Now she had probably dropped below ninety pounds. Fortunately, Jens towered over her. At six feet two inches, he carried more than double her weight and was powerfully built. His size and strength had been a blessing to them on this journey. More than once Eric had thanked the Lord that Jens and Elsie had decided to give their money to the brethren back in Iowa City and come with the handcarts rather than with the independent wagon companies. But now Eric could see that even Jens was approaching the edge of his limits. And no wonder. He knew for sure that Jens was taking what little rations he was getting for himself and sharing those with Jens, Jr., and Bodil. He was probably living on six to eight ounces of flour per day now. A man could only do that for so long, no matter how strong he was, before the body began to give out.
“Are you sure?” Eric asked anxiously.
“We are sure,” Jens said firmly. “Go. Brother James is a proud man. It will take some urging to make him ride.”
Brother James was not the only proud man in this company. One of them sat directly before Eric right at that instant. He saw a spot on Jens’s cheek, just below his right eye. It was no bigger than the tip of a match, but it looked white and slightly crystalline, as though a snowflake had frozen there. For the first time Eric noticed that Jens did not have a scarf on. Then he saw why. It was wrapped around Bodil’s neck.
“Jens?”
“What?”
Eric touched his own cheek. “You’d better warm up that cheek. You’re showing the first signs of frostbite.”
Jens’s hand came up as Elsie gasped. He put it over his cheek and held it there. “I will, Eric. Thank you.”
Eric nodded and stood up. “If you need help, just call. I’ll be watching back here.”
“We will be fine,” Jens said again. “Go. We shall see you in camp tonight.”
With one last backward glance, Eric turned and moved up the line of carts again, lifting one arm to shield his face from the wind that felt like it was stripping the flesh off his cheeks.
•••
They had not started moving again when up ahead somewhere Eric thought he heard someone shout. He looked around. Sarah James looked up as well. She and Eric were standing in the shafts of the first of the Jameses’ two carts, waiting for the signal to move. Sister James, Emma, and Reuben were handling the second cart, which carried Brother James. “What was that?” Sarah asked.
Eric was peering forward. The snow was blowing in billowing gusts and obscuring the view ahead. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
And then Sarah suddenly gasped. “Look, Eric!”
He looked off to the right a little, where she was pointing. For one brief moment the wind lessened and they could see. Ahead of them the trail where they would be going curved slightly to the right. Coming towards them about a quarter of a mile away, its white top almost lost against the snow, was a single wagon, pulled by four horses.
As suddenly as it cleared, the snow swirled in again.
“Was that a wagon?” Eric said in a hoarse croak. His mind was racing. Their own supply wagons were behind the column. And none had passed them since they had left Ice Springs. Then he realized two things at the same instant. The wagon was coming towards them, not going in the same direction. The second thing was even more stunning. As it hit him, he exclaimed aloud, “Those were horses, Sarah. We don’t have horses pulling our wagons. It’s from the Valley. It’s got to be from the Valley.”
•••
Elder Willie made the four brethren in the express party wagon wait until the last handcart and last supply wagon had come up and all the people had crowded in around them. That was no small task, because the people were crying and laughing, calling out to the four men in their warm coats and heavy gloves and thick scarves. It was like someone had poured water on a dying plant. New life had surged through the company, and even some of those in the sick wagons or who were riding in the
carts had gotten up and hobbled over to see this most wondrous of sights.
When Maggie saw the look in the eyes of the four men as the company pressed in around them, she realized just how shocking their bedraggled appearance must really be.
“All right, brethren,” Elder Willie finally said. “We are most anxious to hear what you have to say.”
Two of the four men—Cyrus Wheelock and Joseph A. Young—were recognized by the group because they had been with the Franklin D. Richards party when they passed them back in September. The other two were strangers. It was Cyrus Wheelock, clearly the oldest of the four, who stepped forward.
“Brothers and sisters, I can’t tell you how relieved we are to have finally found you.”
Eric couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward, smiling a little. “I think it is safe to say that the feeling is shared by us.”
There was actual laughter among the group, a sound they hadn’t heard for a time. Maggie moved closer to Eric and took his hand.
“I can only imagine,” Brother Wheelock said soberly. He turned to his brethren. “I think most of you remember Brother Young, Brother Joseph A. Young. He and I had a chance to spend a couple of evenings with you a while back. These other brethren are Brother Abel Garr”—one of the two remaining men lifted a hand—“and Brother Stephen Taylor.” The second one waved as well. None of the four brethren was smiling, another indication of what the sight of the company was doing to them.
“We are an express party sent out by Captain George D. Grant—whom all of you know—to try to locate your whereabouts. What you need to know is that Captain Grant is in command of a train of about twenty-five wagons, all of which are loaded to the bows with food, bedding, warm clothing, and other things that you need.”
He had to stop as cries of joy rang out. “The Lord be praised!” one woman exclaimed. “Hallelujah!” cried another. “God has remembered us,” a man said, weeping even as he spoke.
“That’s right,” Brother Wheelock said forcefully, “God has not forgotten you. Nor have the Saints in the Valley. These twenty-five wagons are only the first of many that are being prepared to come to your rescue.”
Maggie felt herself sag against Eric’s arm. The pain in her chest was like a fire now, the bitter cold tearing at her throat like a wood rasp. But now they were found. Now there was food on its way towards them. Wagonloads of food. Her cheeks were so cold, when the tears spilled over and started to trickle down her cheeks they felt like scalding water.
“President Richards has reported to President Young your plight, and President Young has called on the Saints to step forward and bring you home.”
“How far in back of you are the other wagons?” Captain Willie asked loudly. “We distributed the last of our flour this morning.”
“We don’t know for sure,” Joseph Young said. “A day or two at most, and coming hard. We’ve only been twelve days out of Salt Lake.”
“Wonderful! This is an answer to our prayers.”
“Do you know where Captain Martin’s company is?” Brother Wheelock asked. “Is there any word of them?”
Brother Willie shook his head slowly. “None, not since Brother Richards passed us. At that point they were about eight days behind us.”
That clearly shocked all four of the brethren, but they tried not to show it.
“All right,” Brother Wheelock said, straightening now. “We are going to leave you and press on. We must find them as well. When you meet Brother Grant, tell him that we shall go to Devil’s Gate as he requested, but no farther. If we haven’t found Captain Martin’s group we will wait for him there.”
Elder Willie nodded. They were only five days’ march from Devil’s Gate. There was no way that they would find Martin’s group by then. But he said nothing.
Brother Wheelock was suddenly all business now. “Captain Willie, we wish desperately that we had some food to leave with you, but we are traveling light so we can make excellent time. We are going to leave you now and go on to find Brother Martin’s company. Press on as swiftly as you are able. You have been found and help is on its way.”
Ten minutes before, if someone had suggested that the whole company rise up and give a cheer, Maggie would have laughed in the person’s face. It would have been an utter impossibility. But as the four men climbed back into the wagon and with a final wave sent the team trotting forward, a great cheer rose up from the ragtag line of emigrants. No one moved until the wagon gradually disappeared into the swirling mists of snow and could no longer be seen.
“All right, brothers and sisters,” Elder Willie said, his voice jubilant. “This is the news we have been waiting for. But we are not saved yet. We’ve still got ten miles to go before we reach the Sixth Crossing, our camping place for the night. But—” He smiled broadly, the first time he had done so in several days. “But knowing that the wagons are coming is a cause for great rejoicing. As we resume our march, do not forget to offer your thanks to a merciful and loving God for answering our prayers.”
•••
By five o’clock that afternoon, the rescue company had reached a state of near exhaustion. What had started out as a snowstorm that morning had swiftly escalated into a full-scale high plains blizzard. It was snowing heavily, but due to the shrieking wind, there was no way to tell how much had actually fallen thus far. In some places along the tops of hills or ridges, the trail was down to bare ground. In low spots or where the sagebrush provided a windbreak, the drifts were up to the bellies of the horses. In semi-sheltered areas, the depth was eight to ten inches, probably about the best indicator of how much snow there actually was.
David Granger had ridden a lot of miles in winter weather, especially taking the mails up and down the Mormon Corridor between Utah and California. He was no stranger to cold, but this was like nothing he had ever experienced before. His body was numb, his face—even beneath the woolen scarf—like a raw wound, his fingers so stiff he could barely hold on to the reins.
He and Heber P. Kimball had tied their horses to the back of the wagon and both of them rode on the wagon seat. It wasn’t much but the canvas cover did provide some shelter from the battering gusts that shook the wagons like toys.
“Look!” Heber suddenly commanded.
David lifted his eyes, squinting into the flying clouds of snow. One by one the wagons ahead of them were making a sharp right turn. Then they saw Major Robert Burton coming towards them on his horse. He slowed at each wagon, yelling something and pointing.
“We’re turning off,” David said. He was too tired and cold to feel relief.
In a moment Brother Burton reached them. “Captain Grant says we can’t fight this any longer,” he shouted.
“Where are we going?” David shouted back.
“This is either Rock Creek or Willow Creek. We’ll follow it down to the Sweetwater, see if we can find some willows that will give us some shelter from this hellish wind.”
“Yes, sir,” Heber P. called. “Glad to hear that, Major.”
Burton lifted a hand and rode on. Two minutes later it was their turn, and David pulled sharply on the reins, turning the four mules to the right. For all he was glad for a respite from the storm, he couldn’t stop thinking about the handcart companies somewhere out ahead of them. Surely this storm had engulfed them too. And what would they do if their rescuers could not push on?
He leaned forward, concentrating on driving the teams. He couldn’t dwell on that. Not when the answer was too terrible to think about and not when there wasn’t one thing he could do to change it.
II
Monday, 20 October 1856
Eric Pederson stepped out of his tent and stopped to look around in wonder. He had once seen a pen-and-ink drawing of an Eskimo village in the far northern reaches of Canada. The people were dressed in their furs and stood in front of small round houses made from blocks of ice called igloos. That was what came to his mind now. It was as if he had stumbled into one of those Eskimo villages. The win
d had died down considerably now, though there was still a stiff breeze out of the north. It was well below freezing, and his breath came out in explosions of mists which whipped away almost instantly. The snow was eight to ten inches deep and it was still snowing steadily. The roofs of the round tents were completely covered. That and their white sides gave them the appearance of enormous igloos in the early morning light.
They were camped on the east side of the Sweetwater River, which here at the Sixth Crossing ran basically north and south. Some of the tents were out in the open; some were in small clearings in the willows. Having arrived after dark, they had found whatever place was large enough to accommodate their tents and put them up. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the soft murmur of the river, which was about five or six rods from where he stood. A soft bellow sounded and he turned to see their pitiful little herd of oxen and cattle. They were a short distance away, pawing at the snow to find any kind of forage.
Eric looked down at the ground and saw that he was not the first one up and out this morning. Judging from the tracks in the snow, at least two people had come by his tent in the last few minutes. Then, as he looked around, he saw three men over near where Elder Willie had camped last night. A column of smoke was rising from where they were getting the first fire started.
Good, he thought. He was already feeling the cold through the holes in the bottoms of his boots and felt a wave of depression. Last night he had sat up long after Olaf and the Nielsons and the rest of their “tent family” had gone to sleep, rubbing his feet to get them warm, fearing greatly that they might have been frostbitten after six hours of trudging through the blizzard. The boots were still wet, and the dry stockings he had put on this morning would likely not stay that way very long.