The Lions of the Lord: A Tale of the Old West

  CHAPTER XIII.

  _Joel Rae Is Treated for Pride of Soul_

  Brigham sent for him the next day and did him the honour to entrust tohim an important mission. He was to go back to the Missouri River andbring on one of the hand-cart parties that were to leave there thatsummer. The three years of famine had left the Saints in the valleypoor, so that the immigration fund was depleted. The oncoming Saints,therefore, who were not able to pay their own way, were this summer,instead of riding in ox-carts, to walk across the plains and mountains,and push their belongings before them in hand-carts. It had becomeBrigham's pet scheme, and the Lord had revealed to him that it wouldwork out auspiciously. Joel prepared to obey, though it was not withoutaversion that he went again to the edge of the Gentile country.

  He was full of bitterness while he was obliged to tarry on the banks ofthe Missouri. The hatred of those who had persecuted him and his people,bred into him from boyhood, flashed up in his heart with more fire thanever. Even when a late comer from Nauvoo told him that Prudence Corsonhad married Captain Girnway of the Carthage Grays, two years after theexodus from Nauvoo, his first feeling was one of blazing anger againstthe mobocrats rather than regret for his lost love.

  "They moved down to Jackson County, Missouri, too," concluded hisinformant, thus adding to the flame. They had gone to set up their homein the very Zion that the Gentiles with so much bloodshed had wrestedfrom the Saints.

  Even when the first anger cooled and he could face the thing calmly inall its deeper aspects, he was still very bitter. While he had stanchlykept himself for her, cherishing with a single heart all the oldmemories of her dearness, she had been a wife these seven years,--thewife, moreover, of a mob-leader whose minions had put them out of theirhome, and then wantonly tossed his father like a dead branch into thewaters. She had loved this uniformed murderer--his little Prue--perhapsborne him children, while he, Joel Rae, had been all too scrupulouslytrue to her memory, fighting against even the pleased look at a woman;fighting--only the One above could know with what desperatevalour--against the warm-hearted girl with the gray eyes and the redlips, who laughed in her knowledge that she drew him--fighting her awayfor a sentimental figment, until she had married another.

  Now when he might have let himself turn to her, his heart freed of theimage of that yellow-haired girl so long cherished, this other was thewife of Elder Pixley--the fifth wife--and an unloving wife as he knew.

  She had sought him before the marriage, and there had been some whollyfrank and simple talk between them. It had ended by his advising her tomarry Elder Pixley so that she might be saved into the Kingdom, and byher replying, with the old reckless laugh, a little dry and strained,and with the wonderful gray eyes full upon him,--"Oh, I'll marry him!Small difference to me what man of them I marry at all,--now!"

  And while he, by a mighty effort, had held down his arms and let herturn away, the woman for whose memory he did it was the wife of anenemy, caring nothing for his fidelity, sure to feel not more thanamused pity for him should she ever know of it. Surely, it had been abrave struggle--for nothing.

  But again the saving thought came that he was being tried for a purpose,for some great work. And now it seemed that the time of it must be near.As to what it was there could be little question: it must be to free hispeople forever from Gentile aggression or interference. Everythingpointed to that. He was to be entrusted with great powers, and be made aLion of the Lord to lead them to their rightful glory.

  He was eager to be back to the mountains where he could fitly receivethis new power, and becomingly make it known that he had been chosen ofHeaven to free them forever from the harassing Gentile. He feltinstinctively that a climax was close at hand--some dread moment ofturning that would try the faith of the Saints once for all--try his ownfaith as well, and at last bring his great Witness before him, if hissoul should survive the perilous ordeal. For he had never ceased to waitfor this heavenly Witness--something he needed--he knew not what--somegreat want of his soul unsatisfied despite all the teachings of thetemple priesthood. The hunger gnawed in his heart,--a hunger that onlyhis Witness could feed.

  When the hand-cart party came in across the prairies of Iowa he made allhaste to be off with it to the valley of the Lake. Several such partieshad left the Missouri earlier in the season. His own was to be the last.There were six hundred of them, young and old, men, women, and children.Their carts moved on two light wheels with two projecting shafts ofhickory joined by a cross-piece. He was indignant to learn that theGentiles along the route of their march across Iowa had tried to beguilethese people from their faith. And even while they were in camp on theMissouri there were still ungodly ones to warn them that they wereincurring grave dangers by starting across the plains so late in theseason.

  With rare fervour he rallied the company from these attacks, pointed outthe divine source of the hand-cart plan, prophesied blessings andabundance upon them for their faith in starting, and dwelt warninglyupon the sin they would be guilty of should they disobey their leaderand refuse to start.

  They responded bravely, and by the middle of August all was ready forthe march. He divided them into hundreds, allotting to each hundred fivetents, twenty hand-carts, and one wagon, drawn by three yokes of oxen,to carry the tents and provisions. Families with more young men thanwere needed to push their own carts helped families not so wellprovided; but many carts had to be pushed by young girls and women.

  He put the company on rations at the time of starting; ten ounces offlour to each adult, four ounces to children, with bacon, sugar, coffee,and rice served occasionally; for he had been unable to obtain a fullsupply of provisions. Even in the first days of the march some of themen would eat their day's allowance for breakfast, depending on thegenerosity of settlers by the way, so long as there were any, for whatfood they had until another morning. They were sternly rebuked by theirleader for thus, without shame, eating the bread of ungodliness.

  Their first trouble after leaving the Missouri was with the carts; theirconstruction in all its details had been dictated from on high, but thedust of the parched prairie sifted into the wooden hubs, and ground theaxles so that they broke. This caused delay for repairs, and as therewas no axle grease, many of them, hungry as they were, used their scantyallowance of bacon to grease the wheels.

  Yet in spite of these hardships they were cheerful, and in the earlydays of the march they sang with spirit, to the tune of "A Little MoreCider," the hymn of the hand-cart written by one of their number:

  "Hurrah for the Camp of Israel! Hurrah for the hand-cart scheme! Hurrah, hurrah! 'tis better far Than the wagon and ox-team.

  "Oh, our faith goes with the hand-carts, And they have our hearts' best love; 'Tis a novel mode of travelling Designed by the Gods above.

  "And Brigham's their executive, He told us their design; And the Saints are proudly marching on Along the hand-cart line.

  "Who cares to go with the wagons? Not we who are free and strong. Our faith and arms with a right good will Shall push our carts along."

  At Wood River the plains seethed with buffalo, a frightened herd ofwhich one night caused a stampede of their cattle. After that the frailcarts had to relieve the wagons of a part of their loads, in order thatthe remaining animals could draw them, each cart taking on a hundredmore pounds.

  Thus, overworked and insufficiently fed, they pushed valiantly on underburning suns, climbing the hills and wading the streams with theirburdens, the vigorous in the van. For a mile behind the train straggledthe lame and the sick. Here would be an aged sire in Israel walkingpainfully, supported by a son or daughter; there a mother carrying achild at her breast, with others holding by her skirts; a few went oncrutches.

  As they toiled painfully forward in this wise, they were heartened by avisit from a number of Elders who overtook them in returning to thevalley. These good men counselled them to be faithful, prayerful, andobedient to their leader in all things, prophesying that they shouldreach Zion in s
afety,--that though it might storm on their right and ontheir left, the Lord would open their way before them. They cried"Amen!" to this, and, at the request of the Elders, killed one of theirfew remaining cattle for them, cheering them as they drove on in themorning in their carriages.

  They took up the march with new courage; but then in a few days came anew danger to threaten them,--the cold. A rule made by Brigham hadlimited each cart's outfit of clothing and bedding to seventeen pounds.This had now become insufficient. As they advanced up the Sweetwater,the mountains on either side took on snow. Frequent wading of thestreams chilled them. Morning would find them numb, haggard, spiritless,unfitted for the march of the day.

  A week of this cold weather, lack of food, and overwork produced theireffect. The old and the weak became too feeble to walk; then they beganto die, peacefully, smoothly, as a lamp ceases to burn when the oil isgone. At first the deaths occurred irregularly; then they were frequent;soon it was rarely that they left a camp-ground without burying one ormore of their number.

  Nor was death long confined to the old and the infirm. Young men, strongat the start, worn out now by the rigours of the march, began to drop. Afather would pull his cart all day, perhaps with his children in it, anddie at night when camp was reached. Each day lessened their number.

  But they died full of faith, murmuring little, and having for theirchief regret, apparently, that they must be left on the plains ormountains, instead of resting in the consecrated ground of Zion--this,and that they must die without looking upon the face of their prophet,seer, and revelator.

  Their leader cheered them as best he could. He was at first puzzled atthe severity of their hardships in the face of past prophecies. Butlight at last came to him. He stopped one day to comfort a wan, weak manwho had halted in dejection by the road.

  "You have had trouble?" he asked him, and the man had answered, wearily:

  "No, not what you could call trouble. When we left Florence my mothercould walk eighteen or twenty miles a day. She did it for weeks. Butthen she wore out, and I had to haul her in my cart; but it was only forthree days. She gave up and died before we started out, the morning ofthe fourth day. We buried her by the roadside without a coffin--that washard, to put her old, gray head right down into the ground with noprotection. It made us mourn, for she had always been such a goodfriend. Then we went on a few days, and my sister gave out. I carriedher in the cart a few days, but she died too. Then my youngest child,Ephraim, died. Then I fell sick myself, and my wife has pushed the cartwith me in it for two days. She looked so tired to-day that I got out torest her. But we don't call it trouble, only for the cold--my wife has achill every time she has to wade one of those icy streams. She's notvery used to rough life."

  As he listened to the man's tale, the truth came to him in a greatlight. Famine not sufficing, the Lord was sending this furtheraffliction upon them. He was going to goad them into asserting andmaintaining their independence of his enemies, the Gentiles. Theinspiration of this thought nerved him anew. Though they all died, tothe last child, he would live to carry back to Zion the message that nowburned within him. They had temporised with the Gentile and had grownlax among themselves. They must be aroused to repentance, and God wouldsave him to do the work.

  So, when the snow came at last, the final touch of hardship, drivingfuriously about the unprotected women and children, putting wild fearinto the heart of every man, he remained calm and sure and defiant. Thenext morning the snow lay heavily about them, and they had to digthrough it to bury five of their number in one grave. The morningbefore, they had issued their last ration of flour. Now he dividedamong the company a little hard bread they had kept, and waited in thesnow, for they could travel no further without food.

  One of their number was sent ahead to bring aid. After a day in whichthey ate nothing, supplies reached them from the valley; but now theywere so weakened that food could not fortify them against the extremecold that had set in. They wrapped themselves in their few poor quilts,and struggled bravely on into a white, stinging fog of snow. Eachmorning there were more and more of them to bury. And even the burialwas a mockery, for wolves were digging at the graves almost before thelast debilitated straggler had left the camping-place. The heavy snowscontinued, but movement was necessary. Into the white jaws of thebeautiful, merciless demon they went.

  Among the papers of a man he helped to bury, Joel Rae found a journalthat the dead man had kept until within a few days of his death. By thelight of his last candle he read it until late into the night.

  * * * * *

  "The weather grew colder each day; and many got their feet so badlyfrozen that they could not walk and had to be lifted from place toplace. Some got their fingers frozen; others their ears; and one womanlost her sight by the frost. These severities of the weather alsoincreased our number of deaths, so that we buried several each day.

  "The day we crossed the Rocky Ridge it was snowing a little--the windhard from the northwest, and blowing so keenly that it almost pierced usthrough. We had to wrap ourselves closely in blankets, quilts, orwhatever else we could get, to keep from freezing. Elder Rae this dayappointed me to bring up the rear. My duty was to stay behind everythingand see that nobody was left along the road. I had to bury a man who haddied in my hundred, and I finished doing so after the company hadstarted. In about half an hour I set out on foot alone to do my duty asrear-guard to the camp. The ascent of the ridge commenced soon afterleaving camp, and I had not gone far up it before I overtook the cartsthat the folks could not pull through the snow, here about knee-deep. Ihelped them along, and we soon overtook another. By all hands getting toone cart we could travel; so we moved one of the carts a few rods, andthen went back and brought up the others. After moving in this way forawhile, we overtook other carts at different points of the hill, untilwe had six carts, not one of which could be moved by the parties owningit. I put our collective strength to three carts at a time, took them ashort distance, and then brought up the other three. Thus by travellingover the hill three times--twice forward and once back--I succeededafter hours of toil in bringing my little company to the summit. Thecarts were then trotted on gaily down-hill, the intense cold stirring usto action.

  "One or two parties who were with these carts gave up entirely, and butfor the fact that we overtook one of our ox-teams that had been detainedon the road, they must have perished on the Rocky Ridge. One old mannamed James, a farmer from Gloucestershire, who had a large family, andwho had worked very hard all the way, I found sitting by the roadsideunable to pull his cart any farther. I could not get him into the wagon,as it was already overcrowded. He had a shotgun, which he had broughtfrom England, and which had been a great blessing to him and his family,for he was a good shot, and often had a mess of sage-hens or rabbits forhis family. I took the gun from his cart, put a bundle on the end of it,placed it on his shoulder, and started him out with his little boy,twelve years old. His wife and two daughters, older than the boy, tookthe cart along finely after reaching the summit.

  "We travelled along with the ox-team and overtook others, all so ladenwith the sick and helpless that they moved very slowly. The oxen hadalmost given out. Some of our folks with carts went ahead of the team,for where the roads were good they could out-travel oxen; but weconstantly overtook stragglers, some with carts, some without, who hadbeen unable to keep pace with the body of the company. We struggledalong in this weary way until after dark, and by this time our rearnumbered three wagons, eight hand-carts, and nearly forty persons.

  "With the wagons were Millen Atwood, Levi Savage, and William Woodward,captains of hundreds, faithful men who had worked all the way. Wefinally came to a stream of water which was frozen over. We could notsee where the company had crossed. If at the point where we struck thecreek, then it had frozen over since they passed it. We started one teamacross, but the oxen broke through the ice, and would not go over. Noamount of shouting and whipping could induce them to stir an inch. Wewere afraid
to try the other teams, for even could they cross, we couldnot leave the one in the creek and go on.

  "There was no wood in the vicinity, so we could make no fire, and wewere uncertain what to do. We did not know the distance to the camp, butsupposed it to be three or four miles. After consulting about it, weresolved that some one should go on foot to the camp to inform thecaptain of our situation. I was selected to perform the duty, and I setout with all speed. In crossing the creek I slipped through the ice andgot my feet wet, my boots being nearly worn out. I had not gone far whenI saw some one sitting by the roadside. I stopped to see who it was, anddiscovered the old man, James, and his little boy. The poor old man wasquite worn out.

  "I got him to his feet and had him lean on me, and he walked a littledistance, but not very far. I partly dragged, partly carried, him ashort distance farther, but he was quite helpless, and my strengthfailed me. Being obliged to leave him to go forward on my own errand, Iput down a quilt I had wrapped around me, rolled him in it, and told thelittle boy to walk up and down by his father, and on no account to sitdown, or he would be frozen to death. He asked me very bravely why Godor Brigham Young had not sent us some food or blankets.

  "I again set out for the camp, running all the way and frequentlyfalling down, for there were many obstructions and holes in the road. Myboots were frozen stiff, so that I had not the free use of my feet, andit was only by rapid motion that I kept them from being badly frozen. Asit was, both feet have been nipped.

  "After some time, I came in sight of the camp-fires, which encouragedme. As I neared the camp, I frequently overtook stragglers on foot, allpressing forward slowly. I stopped to speak to each one, cautioning themall against resting, as they would surely freeze to death. Finally,about eleven P.M., I reached the camp almost exhausted. I had exertedmyself very much during the day, and had not eaten anything sincebreakfast. I reported to Elder Rae the situation of the folks behind. Heimmediately got up some horses, and the boys from the valley startedback about midnight to help the ox-teams in. The night was very severe,and many of the animals were frozen. It was five A.M. before the lastteam reached the camp.

  "I told my companions about the old man James and his little boy. Theyfound the little fellow keeping faithful watch over his father, who laysleeping in my quilt just as I left him. They lifted him into a wagon,still alive, but in a sort of stupor, and he died just as they got himup by the fire. His last words were an inquiry as to the safety of hisshotgun.

  "There were so many dead and dying that it was decided to lay by for theday. In the forenoon I was appointed to go around the camp and collectthe dead. I took with me two young men to assist me in the sad task, andwe collected together, of all ages and both sexes, thirteen corpses, allstiffly frozen. We had a large square hole dug, in which we buried thesethirteen people, three or four abreast and three deep. When they did notfit in, we put one or two crosswise at the head or feet of the others.We covered them with willows and then with the earth. When we buriedthese thirteen people, some of their relatives refused to attend theservices. They manifested an utter indifference about it. The numbnessand cold in their physical natures seemed to have reached the soul, andto have crushed out natural feeling and affection. Had I not myselfwitnessed it, I could not have believed that suffering could producesuch terrible results. But so it was. Two others died during the day,and we buried them in the same big grave, making fifteen in all. Even soit has been better for them than to stay where their souls would havebeen among the rejected at the day of resurrection.

  "But for Elder Rae, our leader, we should all have perished by now. Heis at times severe and stern with those who falter, but only for theirgood. He is all along the line, helping the women, who well-nigh worshiphim, and urging on the men. He cheers us by prophesying that we shallsoon prevail over all conditions and all our enemies. I think he mustnever sleep and never eat. At all hours of the night he is awake. As toeating, a girl in our hundred, Fidelia, daughter of Jabez Merrismith,who has been much attracted by him and stays near him when she can,called him aside the other day, so she has told me, and gave him abiscuit--_soaked, perfectly soaked, with bacon grease_. She had saved itfor many days. He took it and thanked her, but later she saw him givingit to the wife of Henry Glines, who is hauling Henry and the two babiesin the cart. She taxed him with not eating it himself; but he told herthat she had given him more than bread, which was the power to _give_bread. The _giving_ happiness, he told her, is always a little more thanthe _taking_ happiness, even when we are starving. He says the one kindof happiness always keeps a little ahead of the other."

  * * * * *

  December 1st, the remnant of the caravan reached the city of the Saints.Of six hundred setting out from the Missouri River, over one quarter haddied by the way.

  And to Joel Rae had now come another mission,--one that would not lethim wait, for the spirit was moving him strangely and strongly,--amission of reformation.