The Work and the Glory (641 page)

Though the location was pretty firm, the Brethren grasped at every opportunity to learn more about where they were going. They obtained copies of John C. Frémont’s maps made from his survey of 1845. There were trappers and mountain men coming downriver from the west continually. These were welcomed and questioned carefully. Several offered to guide the Mormons, but the Church did not have the hundreds of dollars they demanded for their services.

Gradually a plan began to develop. They would leave as early in the spring as possible, taking one company of nothing but able-bodied men who could race across the plains without being delayed by women and children. They would plant crops and hopefully get enough of a harvest in to see those that followed through the first winter. This was the vanguard company that Brigham had been contemplating for some time. In addition to the teamsters, hunters, and scouts that any wagon train needed, they would take carpenters, glaziers, blacksmiths, fence builders, architects, farmers, millwrights, wheelwrights, coopers, tanners, and those skilled in a dozen other occupations who would be critical to the establishment of a large settlement. They would follow Frémont’s route up the Platte and North Platte Rivers to Fort Laramie—about six hundred miles to the west—and then make the jump across to the Sweetwater River, following it another hundred miles to South Pass. Then the Green River and the Bear and the Weber would become their directors. This was not a route of convenience but a route that never strayed far from water. It didn’t matter if it meant a longer way around. When they weren’t following the rivers, they would be jumping from creek to creek or spring to spring.

After hundreds of hours of investigation, inquiry, and discussion, Brigham began to firm things up. On January fourteenth, 1847, he received what came to be known, from its opening line, as “The Word and Will of the Lord,” the first formal written revelation given since the Prophet Joseph had died. That day, Brigham wrote the revelation down and shared it with the Twelve. The following day, they decided to take it before the councils of the Church for ratification. Three days later it had been accepted as scripture and viewed as binding upon the Church members.

“The Word and Will of the Lord concerning the Camp of Israel in their journeyings to the West.” Thus began the revelation. What followed were specific instructions about organizing the trains into companies of hundreds, fifties, and tens—instructions so detailed that they included counsel on dealing with widows and orphans, guidance regarding what kind of men were needed on a “pioneer” company, and the names of company captains. It even gave such intimate counsel as what to do about borrowing from one’s neighbor or how to respond when one found something that had been lost in the companies. But for all of their specificity, those instructions were put into the broader context of spiritual covenants. “Let . . . those who journey with them, be organized into companies,” the revelation went on, “with a covenant and promise to keep all the commandments and statutes of the Lord our God.” A few lines later, that thought was reemphasized. “And this shall be our covenant—that we will walk in all the ordinances of the Lord.”

The revelation was the impetus needed to fully launch the plan for moving west in the spring. As March came, Brigham Young funneled more and more effort and resources into the task of preparation. As had happened in Nauvoo in the fall and winter of 1845, Winter Quarters became one vast workshop. Wagon shops rang to the sound of the saw and the hammer. Wheelwrights undertook the skilled labor of constructing hundreds upon hundreds of wheels. Tents were repaired. New canvas was purchased and tents and wagon covers made. Food was prepared, tools collected, equipment gathered, clothes packed, men for the advance company selected.

In “The Word and Will of the Lord,” God had called upon his people to gather to the West. Now the Missouri River valley was filled with the sound of twelve thousand people determined to honor their covenants and comply with the Lord’s wishes that they do just that.

Chapter Notes

The Mormon Battalion caught their first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean on Tuesday, 27 January 1847. Some say it was midday; others describe the sun as just setting. Two days later they arrived at San Diego and completed their march from Council Bluffs, which had begun on 21 July 1846. (See
MB,
pp. 117–18;
CHMB,
pp. 252–53;
SW,
pp. 414–15.)

The details of life in and around Winter Quarters during the winter of 1846–47 come from several important sources (see Richard E. Bennett,
Mormons at the Missouri, 1846–1852: “And Should We Die . . .”
[Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1987], pp. 68–198;
SW,
pp. 259–422;
MHBY,
pp. 435–507).  

One brief entry in Brigham Young’s manuscript history gives a glimpse of what some of the women endured during that winter. Under date of 7 January 1847, it is noted: “Cynthia, wife of Geo. P. Dykes, was delivered of a daughter. She was formerly James Durfee’s wife;
this is her tenth daughter and twentieth child.
” (
MHBY,
p. 500; emphasis added.) This is the same George Dykes who was adjutant to the Mormon Battalion, so her husband was not with Cynthia at the time of this birth.

Chapter 35

By mid-February, the snow in the lower elevations of the western side of the Sierra was starting to melt, and the American River was a raging torrent in many places. So for the last two days, the team of workmen John Sutter had sent upriver nearly fifty miles from his fort had to leave the logs waiting on the banks of the creeks. They would wait for the water to subside a little before taking them into the river and floating them down to the site for a sawmill that they had chosen. It didn’t make a lot of difference whether they sat here or down at the site. The important thing was to let them start drying so that when it came time to cut them into planking they would not shrink and curl.

Yesterday they had cut enough to provide about two days’ worth of work, and today they were trimming off the limbs and sawing the pine trunks into eight-, twelve-, or sixteen-foot lengths. It was not as hard as bringing down the trees, but it was still hard enough work that it left the men pouring sweat.

About halfway through the cut on a particularly thick log, Will and Peter, who were working the saw together, stopped to rest. Will removed his hat and wiped at his face with a rag. He watched Peter move to the creek and go down on his belly to drink deeply. “Think we can finish in another week?”

Peter rolled over onto his back. “I hope so.”

Will was ready to get back to his family. In the six weeks since they had first come up here they had made only one brief trip back down to the fort for supplies. All of them were anxious to finish the job and return downriver. He sighed, stood up, and walked to the saw. “Let’s get to it, Peter, or we’ll be here another month.”

Twenty minutes later, while both of them were seated on the log sharpening the saw with files, someone called out from above them. “Rider coming in.” Both Peter and Will turned to look. Coming from the north, or downstream, a single rider leading a packhorse was coming steadily toward them. He had his animals at a walk, obviously headed for their camp.

Will laid the file and saw down. “More supplies, I suppose. Let’s go see what the news is from the fort.”

There was mail—Will had two letters from Alice—and supplies enough to keep them going for another week. To no one’s surprise, Sutter wanted a detailed report on their progress. When the foreman was done giving it to the messenger, the messenger turned to Peter. “Mr. Ingalls?”

“Yes?”

“Mr. Sutter wants me to convey some news to you.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not good. About a month ago, seven people stumbled out of the mountains and were found by Indians not far above Johnson’s Ranch.”

It wasn’t just Peter who was surprised by that. “Out of the mountains?” one of them said. “In the winter?”

“People from where?” Peter asked, still not sure what this had to do with him.

“They were from a wagon company called the Donner Party.”

Peter nearly staggered backwards. “The Donners?”

“Yes. There’s a whole bunch of them stranded up near Truckee Lake, just the other side of the Truckee Pass. It’s about five miles—”

Peter waved his hand impatiently. “I know where that is; I came that way last fall. What happened?”

“They are in a starving condition,” the man went on, quite somber now. “They sent a group ahead on snowshoes to let people know there’s a whole party stranded up there.” He looked away. “Seventeen started out with that little group on snowshoes. Two turned back. Only seven of the remaining fifteen survived and made it to Johnson’s Ranch. They said they were in pretty bad shape.”

Peter was deeply shocked. “Do you know any of their names?”

“Not for sure. A man wrote a letter to Mr. Sutter from Johnson’s Ranch asking for help. His name was Edie or Eddy or something like that.”

“William Eddy?” Peter looked at Will, his face ashen. “He’s the one who saved Mr. Reed from being hanged.” Then he turned back to the rider. “But they couldn’t be starving. They had fifty head of cattle or more. We tried to get to them last fall and couldn’t make it through.”

“Evidently the Indians got their cattle coming along Mary’s River and the Truckee.” His eyes dropped and he looked away. “The reports are that those who snowshoed out were eating each other.”

It didn’t register. “You mean eating each other’s supplies?” Will asked, a little bewildered.

“No, sir. The report is that they started eating their own dead in order to survive.”

All of the men were staring at the messenger in total shock. “You mean . . . cannibalism?” the foreman asked in a hoarse whisper.

The man nodded grimly. “It was the only way the seven who survived made it out. But the letter Mr. Sutter got said even conditions in the high camps were more desperate than anyone could imagine.” He looked back at Peter. “Mr. Sutter has sent word downriver to Mr. Reed. He’s supposedly back in Yerba Buena after serving in the war against Mexico. One small rescue party has already started toward the pass. Mr. Sutter expects that once Reed hears the news, he will mount another.”

“He will,” Peter said, still trying to comprehend what he was hearing. “Nothing will stop him now.”

“Mr. Sutter thought you would like to know,” the messenger said.

Peter turned away, his knees suddenly weak. What about Margret Reed? Virginia? Tommy? Patty? He passed a hand before his eyes, then turned to Will. “You were there,” he said in anguish. “We only turned back because we were sure they had so many cattle.”

Will nodded, not knowing what to say.

“I’m going,” Peter suddenly said. “I’m going with them.”

The man was nodding. “Mr. Sutter said he figured both you and Mr. Steed would likely want to help. You have his permission to ride back with me tomorrow, if you’re of a mind to.”

Peter looked at Will, who immediately nodded. “We’ll go, Peter. Of course we’ll go.”

Peter sat by the window in the cabin that belonged to Will and Alice, staring out at the rain. Behind him, Alice worked quietly on a piece of deerskin, softening it to the point where she could make herself a dress. Thankfully, she understood his mood, and left him alone.

Thanks to the rain and the terrible roads, it had taken Peter and Will two days to come back down the river to Sutter’s Fort. To Peter’s great disappointment, by then James Reed had already come and gone on. Not that Peter had expected that James Reed should wait for him. As Sutter put it, once Reed got word of the terrible situation his family was facing in the mountains, “the fire was on him.” In Yerba Buena he had raised thirteen hundred dollars for supplies and a substantial number of men and started up the Sacramento River. With the rains, he was not making good time either, and it had taken them several days to come the eighty miles up the Sacramento River to the fort. They stopped at Sutter’s place only long enough to get the supplies which had been shipped up by boat and to get a few more horses, and then he moved on to Johnson’s Ranch. But if Will and Sutter could find some horses, Peter was sure that he and Will had a good chance of catching them. They would not be slowed by pack animals—if they could get started today.

If.
That was the big word. The problem was that Sutter had already outfitted the first rescue party, which had gone on ahead of Reed. Then he had helped to outfit Reed’s group. There was no longer available even one horse that was good enough to undertake a trip to the high country. So Will and John Sutter went out among the Indians to see if they could find two more good horses that could be spared. Peter stayed behind to get things ready.

And he also fretted. Today was the twenty-second day of February. Reed had left the fort on the nineteenth. Every hour they delayed meant they were falling that much farther behind—and another hour of suffering for the party.

All seven of the surviving snowshoe party were recovering at Johnson’s Ranch, and the news that was coming out from them had shaken Peter deeply. There were no fifty head of cattle. The Indians had run them off or killed them. The few remaining head died in the snow, and the emigrants had not been experienced enough to mark with long poles the places where they fell. It was hard to fault them for that. These people were from Illinois, where three feet of snow was almost unthinkable. At the lake, it was at least twenty feet deep on the level.

He shuddered, his mind unable to even contemplate that such a thing could be real. Thank heavens William Eddy and others had been wise enough to know that no one was coming back for them. No one in California knew that they had come on to the mountains. If they hadn’t made the snowshoes and come out . . .

He shook his head. He had now read the letter William Eddy wrote from Johnson’s Ranch to Sutter’s Fort. What he said was impossible to fathom. The little group had left the camp in mid-December, but it was not until January seventeenth, a staggering thirty-three days later, that they stumbled out of the mountains. And by then ten of the seventeen had turned back or died. Strangely, all of the five women who had started out made it.