menu_book Chapter 15

CHAPTER XV. THE HAND-CART IMMIGRANTS CROSSING THE PLAINS. I promised to write and tell you all about our journey across the plains, but I little expected to have such a terrible tale to tell. You have heard so much of the journey to Salt Lake Valley that you know pretty well how

we must have traveled to Iowa City, where it was necessary that we would wait until the whole company was quite ready for the long journey which lay before us. Our life up to a certain point was much the same, and we met with the same difficulties as all other immigrants who had gone before us. But there the comparison ends.

Privation and toil and weariness, and not infrequently sickness and death, wore out of the companies that went before us, but they never suffered as we did. It is utterly impossible for me to tell you all that we went through. And when I finish this letter and lay down my pen, and even when you read the fearful story of my own experience during that journey, you will still have but the faintest idea

of the horrors and sufferings which we endured. At Iowa City we found nothing prepared for us. When we left Liverpool we were told that hand carts, provisions, and all that we needed should be provided before we arrived. If this had been done we should have had just fairly time enough to travel over the plains

and reach Salt Lake before the terrible cold of winter set in. As it was, everything went wrong. The elders who had been sent out before us to buy tents and carts and all that we wanted had either been unfortunate or very careless, for as I said when we arrived in Iowa City not the slightest preparation had been made.

You know how strong my faith was when we left New York and how Brother Shrewsbury and myself were ready to sacrifice everything. I can assure you that we were fully tested, and I do think that but for our strong faith not a single soul of all that company would have survived that journey. Three companies had, after a long delay, been sent out before we reached Iowa City.

As it was then early in the season, they completed their journey before the cold of the winter set in. I afterwards heard that Brigham Young and the elders, when they saw those companies arrive safely in Salt Lake City, spoke of the scheme as a successful experiment. We had been taught that the scheme came directly from heaven and was neither speculation nor

experiment, and when I heard that, after all, the prophet himself spoke of it as a matter of doubtful issue, I asked myself, who then can we believe? We waited three weeks in Iowa camp while they were making the hand carts. They were very lightly made and I think not at all suitable for such a long and worrisome journey, and being so hastily put together and most of the wood unseasoned, they were

utterly unfit for the rough work for which they were constructed. Twenty of these carts, one to every five, were allowed to every hundred persons, who were also allowed five good-sized tents and one Chicago wagon with three yoke of oxen to transport the baggage and provisions. We were only allowed seventeen pounds of bedding and clothing each, which with cooking utensils

and so forth, made up about one hundred pounds to each cart, and that was quite as much as the cart, itself only sixty pounds in weight, could carry. You can see, Sister Stenhouse, how difficult it must have been out of every hundred persons, men, women, and children, to find twenty who were strong enough to pull even such frail things as those hand carts were.

The married men and the young men and boys did the best they could, but they could do no more, and some of the carts were drawn by young girls alone. The girls and women, who had no husbands, used to occupy a tent by themselves at night, but in the other tents, whole families without respect to age or sex, together with the young men who assisted them during the day, used to find shelter.

This you will see at once was exceedingly inconvenient, but we had no choice, and we had been so long associated and had suffered so much together that we did not feel it as much as we otherwise must have done. What weary days we spent! Hour after hour went by, mile after mile we walked, and never, never seemed to be a step

the further on our way. Sometimes I recalled to mind a hymn which we used to sing at Sunday school when I was a child, an evening hymn in which we returned thanks that we were a day's march nearer home. But day after day went by, wearily, hopelessly, and when each night came on, and tired and

foot-sore, we lay down to rest, we seemed no nearer to our home in Zion. Do not think, Sister Stenhouse, that we gave way to despondency, what we felt God alone But our poor weary hearts were full of confiding faith in Him, and we placed undoubting confidence in the promises and prophecies which we had received through His chosen servants. The young folks were light-hearted and gay, and with all the enthusiasm of youth they

pressed on, thinking not of the way, but only of the end, and their example was most encouraging. My husband was one of the bravest and truest of all that band. He drew the cart which we shared with another elder and his wife and their grown-up daughter. They were old people, I mean the elder and his wife, and the daughter was an old maid, unpleasant, thin and sour, and too feeble to do anything.

There were reasons why I was excused from taking any share in hard work, but I felt as zealous as the rest and day after day walked beside my husband, thinking that if nothing more, my companionship might cheer him. The old folks walked behind and so did the children, but sometimes when the little ones were very, very weary indeed, the parents would place them on top of the bedding in

the hand cart and give them a lift. But some of the elderly people who were unused to walking far, and whom it was impossible to carry, suffered a great deal, and sometimes mothers with children at their breasts would trudge on mile after mile in all the heat and dust without a murmur or complaint until they almost dropped down with fatigue.

What some of those poor creatures suffered, no words could tell. The sun shone down upon us with intense heat as we traveled through Iowa, and the people from the farmhouses and villages came out to see us and wondered at our rashness in undertaking such a journey. They were very kind to us and came and visited us in our camps and offered some of the men

work and good wages if they would wait there instead of going on to Zion. A few of the people accepted these offers, but the elders, as you may suppose, watched company and every man, and in the evening when meetings for prayer and preaching were held we were earnestly exhorted to obedience, and the sin of acting upon our own judgments was set forth in the very plainest terms.

The kindness of the Iowa people, however, encouraged us and they freely gave to those who most needed whatever they could to help us on our way. And we needed help and sympathy. Of course, with only one wagon to carry all the provisions for a hundred persons, besides five tents, our supply food was very limited.

At that period of the journey, the grown-up people were allowed ten ounces of flour a day and a little, and but a very little, coffee, sugar, rice, and bacon. This was a very scanty allowance for people who all day long had to draw the hand carts or to trudge mile after mile in all that burning heat and dust. But we never complained.

Some of the men ate all their rations at breakfast and went without anything more until the next morning unless they were able to beg a little of some friendly farmer by the way. The little children received just half as much as the others. With a very small amount of management, this inconvenience might certainly have been avoided, for provisions of all sorts were very cheap in the districts through which we passed.

Some of the more thoughtful saints I know felt very bitterly the injustice of this, for as you are aware, we had paid all our expenses in full, even to the uttermost farthing, and we had been promised in return a safe and sufficient outfit with plenty of provisions and in fact all that was necessary. Had we been left to ourselves, we should of course have provided for every contingency,

but we came in obedience to counsel under the direction of the church, and after we had paid for everything, the church even took care of our money so that we could therefore not procure necessaries by the way, as otherwise we might have done. Thus, warily and suffering not a little privation, we traveled all through Iowa until we came to the Missouri River and encamped at Florence, a place about six miles north of Omaha, and

there we remained about a week preparing for our journey across the plains. It was the middle of August when we arrived at Florence and we had been delayed so much on the way that it appeared to many of the more experienced that it would now be the height of imprudence for us to cross the plains at that season. With old people, delicate women, and little children, and without carriages of any sort,

except the frail hand-carts that carried our bedding, it would be a weary long time before we could reach Salt Lake. Every step must be trudged on foot and it was quite impossible that we could walk many miles a day while there was before us a journey of over a thousand. Some of the elders proposed that we should settle where we were, or somewhere nearby,

until the following spring and then go to Zion. But others who were more confident urged that we should proceed at once. The elders called a great meeting to settle the matter at which we were all present. I should tell you that when we first started our whole company was placed under the guidance of Elder James G. Willie as captain, and we were again subdivided into five parties of

about one hundred each, and over every hundred was placed an elder or sub-captain. The first hundred was headed by Elder Atwood, the second by Levi Savage, the third by William Woodward, the fourth by John Chislett, and the fifth by Elder Amundsen. About two hundred of the people were Scotch and Scandinavians, nearly all the rest were English.

All were assembled at the meeting. You know, Sister Stenhouse, how meetings were held at home. Well, it was just the same there. We of course had nothing really to say. We had only to obey counsel and sanction the decision of the leading elders.

I used to feel annoyed rather at that sort of thing in London, as you may remember, but now when life and death depended upon the wisdom of our decision, with all my faith I felt worse than annoyed, wicked as I had no doubt it was for me to feel so. My husband never uttered a word, but I know he felt much as I did, and in that he was not alone among the elders.

We had neither vote nor influence. In all our company there were only three or four men who had been out to Salt Lake before, and of course they could not be overlooked, so they gave their opinion at the meeting. They must have fully known the dangers and difficulties of the way, and what hardships must overtake a company so scantily provided for as was ours, if we continued our journey.

But for all that they not only spoke slightingly of the danger which threatened us, but prophesied in the name of the Lord that we should pass through triumphantly and suffer neither loss nor harm. One man alone, Levi Savage, dared to tell the truth. People well-mounted or even with good ox-teams could safely and easily make the journey,

he said. But for a band of people like ourselves, with aged folks and women and little children, to attempt it so late was little short of madness. He strongly urged that we should take up our quarters there for the winter when, he said, As soon as spring came on, we could safely and successfully perform the remainder of

our journey. The other elders thought that he was weak in the faith and plainly told him so. And one of them even said he'd eat all the snow that fell between Florence and Salt Lake City. The people, of course, believed without question what they were told to believe, for they had

their minds that the leaders were inspired, and therefore they dared not doubt them. And the prudent counsel of Brother Savage was rejected accordingly. I was not near enough to hear his words, but I was afterward told what he said. What I have said I know is the truth. But as you are counseled to go forward, I will go with you.

I will work and rest and suffer with you, and if God wills it so, I will also die with you. Never was a man more faithful to his word than was Brother Savage. And often after that, when sickness and weariness and cold and hunger and death overtook us, as he had foreseen, he never for one moment forgot the promise which he had so solemnly

made. In the middle of August, being past, we left Florence behind us and began our weary journey across the plains, in much the same fashion as we had already traveled through Iowa. We had, however, taken in fresh provisions to last us until we reached Utah. And as the oxen could not draw so much extra weight, one sack weighing about a hundred

pounds was placed on each of the hand carts in addition to the other baggage. This was a severe task upon the endurance of the people, but most of them bore it without a murmur. On the other hand, we fared a little better in the matter of provisions, for we were allowed a pound of flour a day each and also, occasionally, a little fresh beef.

And besides that, each hundred had three or four milk cows. As we continued our journey and the provisions were consumed, the burdens on the carts, of course, grew lighter. But this was only the beginning of our pilgrimage, the end we could not foresee. Every evening when we pitched our tents, we endeavored by songs and jests and interesting

stories to beguile the tediousness of the way. The days were not quite so warm now, and the nights were more chilly, but altogether it was much more pleasant traveling than it was in the earlier part of the journey. And no one seemed to remember the almost prophetic remonstrance of Brother Savage. Still, we traveled very slowly, for the carts were always breaking down.

The wheels came off and we had nothing to grease them with. The boxes of the wheels were made of unseasoned wood and the heavy pressure upon them, and the dust that got into them soon wore them out. Some of the people cut off the tops of their boots and wrapped them round the axles, and others cut up their tin plates and kettles for the same purpose.

And for grease they used soap and even their pitiful allowance of bacon. But as the days passed and the flour began to be used up, these accidents became less frequent. Upon an average, they said, we traveled about fifteen miles a day, which I think was very good.

Some of the days we even made a little over twenty miles, but they were balanced out by the shortcomings. We tried to feel happy and hopeful and even the aged and infirm tried to make light of their toil and privations, for we did not yet see that heavy cloud which was looming across our way.

I frequently talked with the old and weakly among the people, to whom both my husband and myself were able to offer little kindnesses, and they all spoke cheerfully of our prospects. Such faith had they in the promises of the elders. Just before we reached Wood River, vast herds of buffaloes appeared in our vicinity, and one evening all our cattle stampeded, and the men had to go in search of them.

About thirty were lost, and after hunting after them for three days, we gave them up. We had only one yoke of oxen now for each wagon, and as the wagons were loaded each with three thousand pounds of flour, the teams could not move them, so they yoked up the beef cattle and cows and heifers, but they were unmanageable, and at last we were obliged again to place a sack of flour upon each handcart.

This sorely tried us all. Some of the people even complained, but the greater part of us bore up bravely believing that it was the will of the Lord. We still had faith that all would yet be well. This was, however, a hard blow.

Our milk cows were useless to us, our beef rations were stopped, and the burdens which we drew were doubled. Everyone did his best, or her best, but many of us began to be disheartened, and could hardly get along. One evening there was quite a commotion in the camp.

We had pitched our tents for the night on the banks of the Platte River, I think, when suddenly quite a grand turnout of carriages and light wagons came up from the east and joined us. Each carriage was drawn by four horses and the outfits were in first-class style. Nothing could be too good for apostles and other distinguished servants of the Lord.

I was anxious to know who they were, but was not long in finding out. There was the Apostle Franklin Richards, and elders Webb and Felt, and Joseph A. Young, the son of the Prophet, and elders Dunbar and Kimball and Grant, all returning missionaries. They stayed with us all night and in the morning called a great meeting, and the Apostle Richards delivered a speech which troubled me not a little and made me very sorrowful.

He had heard of what Brother Savage had said, and then and there before us all he rebuked him. He then exhorted us to remember the hope set before us, and told us to pray and work on, and especially to be obedient to counsel, and he finished by solemnly prophesying in the name of the God of Israel that the Almighty would make a way for us to Zion, and that

the snow might fall, and the storm rage on the right hand and on the left, not a hair of our heads should perish. Some of the people wept with joy as they heard these words. My own heart was full. To me this was the voice of inspiration, the voice of God.

How could I doubt again? Sister Stenhouse, before a month was over I saw with my own eyes that prophecy, those promises falsified to the very letter, and yet at the time they came to me and to all else as the word of the Lord from heaven. Tell me if men can thus deceive themselves, for I do not doubt for a moment that the Apostle

believed his own prophecy, and if we could be so sadly deluded as to believe that what was said was divine, what surety have we for our religion at all? I strive against these sinful doubts, but they will sometimes creep into my heart unbidden. The Apostle and the elders with him told Captain Willie that they wanted some fresh meat, and the elders killed and gave them of our very best.

That could be denied to the servants of the Lord. We were then more than four hundred in number, aged men and feeble women, with babes and poor little children too young to walk, many of them infirm and sick, all of them foot-sore and weary. We were far away from home, travelling slowly, hundreds and hundreds of miles, worn out and

without sufficient provisions for the way or the remotest chance of obtaining any. And yet, O God, I shame to tell it, these servants of heaven, our leaders, our guides, our example, these chosen vessels who came to us riding comfortably and at ease in their well-appointed carriages, took of our poverty, took the very best we had. As they left the camp I looked up into my husband's face and our eyes met.

We said not a word, but in our hearts there was the same thought. Sister Stenhouse, there must have been that self-same thought in the mind of many another poor soul who watched those elders depart after they had lectured us on faith and patience and obedience. They crossed the river pleasantly enough and pointed out the best boarding place, and then

they watched us wade through, the water there being nearly a mile in width and in some places two and even three feet in depth. And though many of the heavy laden carts were drawn by women and girls, they never so much as offered to lend us the aid of their handsome teams. One sister told me that they watched the poor people crossing through glasses as if it were

an entertainment, but I did not see that and can hardly believe it was true. All that they did, however, was to promise that when we reached Laramie we should find provisions and bedding and other necessaries ready for us, and that they would send help from Salt Lake Valley to meet us. End of chapter 15