The Work and the Glory (314 page)

And that brings me to some other news which will be of special interest to Peter. On September 7th, about two hundred British Saints will be gathered in Liverpool and will board the ship
North America,
which will set sail the next day. Derek has been making all the arrangements, but Brigham has asked that I go to Liverpool to help with the final departure. I will leave in a few days. But here is what you must tell Peter. Among that group will be two people from Preston. I speak of Sister Abigail Pottsworth and her daughter, Jenny. Derek and Peter knew the Pottsworths well before they came to America. You will like them very much, I’m sure. Mrs. Pottsworth reminds me of your mother in many ways. However, you may wish to warn Kathryn about Jenny. I know that even though she is still too young to begin courting, Kathryn has always held fond feelings for Peter and hopes as she gets older that some mutual feelings might develop on his part as well. Jenny is only a year older than Kathryn but is very mature for her age. She and Peter were very close friends before Peter left, and I get a feeling that Jenny may have some hopes of her own when it comes to Peter.

One last thing, then I shall close. Brother George A. is with us here in London, which is a great pleasure to me. He is the youngest of the Twelve—he celebrated his twenty-third birthday in June—and has a wonderful sense of humor. He and I have become fast friends. I give you one example of his personality which should also be of comfort to you, since I, like him, am also a bachelor missionary.

Whilst (you’ll notice from my use of that word that I am picking up some habits of speech from the British) on his way to his field of labor last April, he stopped in Manchester and took lodging at Alice Hardman’s boardinghouse. He had no idea at that time that the Saints there, especially the young single ladies, took literally the admonition of Paul to “greet one another with a holy kiss.” He had just seated himself on a sofa when several young ladies came in, obviously very excited to see the only Apostle who was not married. One of them, “decidedly a little beauty,” as George A. describes her, boldly stepped forward and said, “Brother Smith, we want a kiss from you as Paul commands.” George A. says that as she spoke thus, the eyes of the other young women “flashed like stars on a clear night.”

Feeling very foolish, but determined to stand his ground, George A. firmly told them that kissing young women was no part of his mission to England. Vastly disappointed, they left, and George, with a twinkle in his eye, says they went out and ruined his reputation as a ladies’ man in that area. The older brethren commended him for his wise course of action and have further commanded all the missionaries hereafter to follow the same course.

You will be pleased to know that I have never been caught in such a situation and will not be. I have room in my heart for only one “decidedly little beauty” whose eyes “flash like the stars on a clear night,” and that is my Jennifer Jo. The journey to Liverpool will be a difficult one, for as we put those Saints on the ship and send them winging across the sea to join you, I will find it very difficult not to stow away with them. I shall not, of course, but it will be a sore temptation.

I will try to write another letter before their departure and send it with the Pottsworths. Till then, I am

Your devoted,

Matthew Steed

“Hey,” Jiggers said, biting deep into an apple, “don’t it feel good to be back where you can understand the language again and get something decent to eat?”

Will had his face buried in half a cantaloupe. He pulled back, wiping at the dripping juice with the back of his sleeve, then looked at the bosun of the
Bostonia.
They weren’t back in America yet, but Jiggers was right. Being back in England was a welcome relief after a dozen ports of call where as many languages were spoken. But he only pulled a face at his shipmate. “I’d agree with the thought of something decent to eat. The language I’m not so sure of.”

The woman who had sold them the fruit was watching the two sailors closely. She was an old crone and had been testy from the moment they had approached her stall. Now she shook her finger at them. “Ah, gawahn! Ya got a lot a cheek, you Americans. Yer not so easy to listen to yerselfs.”

“Cheek?” Will whispered out of the corner of his mouth, trying not to smile.

“Yeah,” Jiggers replied. “It means . . .” His face screwed up, trying to find an adequate word.

“It means impudent,” she cawed. “Rude. Insolent. Now, be aff wit ya.”

Will was chuckling as they moved away. It was good to be back even this far. It had been over a year since they left Liverpool and turned south for the long run around Cape Horn and on to China. And most important, after a few days here for replenishing stock and maybe filling up the last of the cargo bins, they’d be off for America. Another month or two and he’d be back in Savannah, seeing his mother.

Jiggers suddenly reached out and grabbed Will’s arm. “Look, there’s Mr. O’Malley.”

Will looked up and spotted the first mate immediately. He was waving at them to come to him. “What gives?” Will growled. “We’ve just barely started our shore leave.”

Jiggers just shook his head and they moved across the marketplace to where the officer was waiting.

“There’s been a slight change of plans,” O’Malley announced without preamble. “The captain wants all crew members to meet at the shipping office.” Seeing their disappointment, he laid a hand on Will’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t take long. Then you’ll be free again.”

The
Bostonia
carried a crew of twenty-eight. Five or six had scattered more quickly than Will and Jiggers, and so O’Malley had not been able to find them. But even with some missing, it was still too crowded in the office of the American shipping lines for all of them, so Captain Sperryman simply moved them outside and into an alleyway where it was somewhat quiet.

He waited until they were gathered in tightly around him, then began. “Men, I think Mr. O’Malley has already told you there’s been a change of plans.”

He had, but he hadn’t said what, so a low rumble broke out among the group as they responded to the captain’s words.

“I’ve been given a new ship, and a new cargo.”

Now the murmur turned into cries of surprise and dismay.

“That’s right,” Sperryman said more loudly. “A new ship. It’s the
North America.
It’s just come across from New York and they’ve asked me to bring it back. I’ll be giving the
Bostonia
to another captain. The
North America
is a larger and faster ship than ours, and I’ve been given permission to keep most of you as crew.”

He let that sink in for a moment, then raised his hand. They quieted quickly. “The one good thing is, we’ll be boarding the ship on the seventh, three days hence, then striking sail on the eighth. That’s a week sooner than the
Bostonia
leaves. I don’t know about you, but after eighteen months at sea, every day we save getting home is a blessing twice over.”

“Amen!” someone grunted. “Glory be!” shouted another.

Will poked Jiggers. “I’d say every day saved is a blessing
ten
times over. I’m ready!”

Jiggers nodded, then turned back to the captain. “Question, Cap’n.”

“Yes, Jiggers?”

“What’s the cargo?”

The captain smiled. “Mormons.”

Will stiffened as if he had been struck from behind by a loose spar.

“Mormons?” Jiggers drawled, looking puzzled. “What’s that?”

“Not ‘What’s that?’ ” Sperryman laughed. “ ‘What’s them?’ It’s some kind of a religious group. We’ll have two hundred passengers—all of them Mormons—and we’ll be carrying them across to America. The whole lot of them are leaving England for good.”

“But what’s a Mormon?” someone else called out.

Sperryman shook his head. “Don’t ask me. Ask Steed. He knows what Mormons are all about, don’t you, Steed?”

But Will wasn’t there. Sperryman turned in surprise. Half running, half stumbling, Will was just reaching the end of the alley. He plunged into the street, not looking back.

“I don’t understand this, Steed. These are English Mormons. They’ve never been to America. They didn’t have anything to do with the death of your father.”

Will stood at attention and stared at the bulkhead over the head of the captain. “Sir,” he said again, “I would like to request permission to stay on as crew for the
Bostonia.
”

The captain sighed in frustration. “Even though it means staying here a week longer? Maybe more?”

“Sir, I would like to request permission to—”

Sperryman slammed his fist down against the desk in his cabin. The inkwell jumped half an inch. So did Will. “Confound it, man! I want to know why.”

“Sir, I have deep feelings about this religion and the people who are foolish enough to join it. I want nothing to do with them.”

“And you feel so strongly about it that you are willing to leave this crew?”

“Yes, sir, I do. I’m sorry, sir.”

Tipping back in his chair, Sperryman shook his head. “Well, let me tell you something, mister. The captain who’s taking over our ship is fairly new. The company’s worried about me taking all the experienced crewmen away from him, and so—”

“A good reason for me to stay on with him, sir,” Will cut in.

“And so,” Sperryman said again, his eyes hardening in warning, “I have agreed to send O’Malley as first mate with the new captain.”

“You have?” That would be a disappointment for Will if he ended up not getting permission to stay on the
Bostonia
as well. Will liked O’Malley very much.

“Yes. That means I’ll be making Jiggers first mate on the
North America.
”

“Oh, good.” And then the implications of that hit Will.

“That’s right,” Sperryman said, almost smiling now. “I’ll be needing a bosun. And you’re it.”

Will started, gaping at the man. Sperryman had promised him he’d do that someday, but Will hadn’t dreamed it would come this quickly.

“That’s right, mister. I know people are going to think I’m crazy.” He looked at the ceiling. “A sixteen-year-old as bosun.” He looked back at Will. “But I have no choice. Permission to stay with the
Bostonia
is denied. Dismissed.”

Dazed, thrilled, bitterly disappointed, Will turned away. As he reached the door, Sperryman spoke again. “Will?”

He turned back. “Yes, sir?”

“These Mormons have booked passage all the way to New Orleans, then they’ll go upriver to wherever the Mormons are. That means we’ll be stopping at Savannah. You won’t have to find your own way down there from New York.”

“I can find my own way, sir,” he said stubbornly.

“Will,” Sperryman said, shaking his head, “your mother is waiting for you, son. She’s been waiting nearly two years now. Don’t make me throw you in that storage locker again to get you back to her.”

Will let his breath come out in a long, slow exhalation. “No, sir,” he finally said. He spun around and reached for the door, but again he stopped, this time not turning around. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“With your permission, sir, I know the crew is not allowed to mingle with the passengers except for the officers.”

“That is correct.”

“Am I considered an officer?”

“You are, yes.” He smiled. “Younger than most, but yes.”

“I’ll not be taking that privilege, sir, if it’s all right with you.”

Sperryman grunted, his face expressionless. “That’s your affair, Steed.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Abigail Pottsworth began to cry as she threw her arms around Derek’s neck and kissed him on the cheek. “Good-bye, Derek. We shall count the minutes until we can see you again.”

“Good-bye, Sister Pottsworth. Remember now, the moment you step off that boat at Nauvoo, you give Peter a great big hug from me.”

“I will. I will.”

Matthew turned to Jenny and started to stick out his hand. He stopped, dumbfounded. Jenny Pottsworth was crying too. Jenny Pottsworth, who was so sure of herself, so controlled. Not sure how to deal with that, he fumbled awkwardly for his handkerchief, then thrust it toward her. She took it with an angry little jerk. “I’m sorry,” she snapped. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I never cry.”

Matthew smiled. “It’s all right, Jenny. You’re leaving your home. You’re leaving your country, probably for the last time. It’s all right to cry.”

She wiped her eyes, then shoved the handkerchief back at him. “I never cry,” she said again, sniffing away the last of her emotions. Now she stuck out her hand.

Matthew took it and shook it firmly. “Have a safe voyage.”

She didn’t let go. The tears were swimming along the bottom of her eyes again. “I know what Brother Brigham says about the practice of kissing the missionaries, but I think one farewell kiss on the cheek would be all right, don’t you?”

The answer came, but not from Matthew. Brigham Young and Willard Richards were just passing behind them, walking with John and Jane Benbow. Brigham paused, smiling. “The answer is yes, Sister Pottsworth,
if
the kiss is only on the cheek and of considerable brevity.”

“Thank you, Brother Brigham,” she murmured. She went up on her toes and brushed Matthew’s cheek with her lips. “Good-bye, Matthew.”

“Good-bye, Jenny,” Matthew said awkwardly. This had really caught him off guard. He was five years her senior. He raised a hand, blushing somewhat. “Godspeed.”

“Better get aboard,” Brigham called out, looking down the line of people moving slowly toward the gangplank. “They want all passengers aboard so they can assign them berths.”

Derek gave Jenny a quick hug. “Good-bye, Jenny. Promise that you’ll give our love to all the family.”

She picked up her case. “We will,” she cried, getting into line behind her mother and moving off. “We will.”

Brigham came back down toward them, then stopped. “Derek?”

“Yes, Brother Brigham?”

“Willard and I have decided we shall stay on board the ship tonight with our members and then ride out with the steamer tomorrow. We shall be back when the steamer returns.”