“And I’ll be there too,” Virginia Reed spoke up, startling all of them.
“What?” both her father and her mother said at the same time. Virginia had changed too in these months since they had left Springfield, Peter thought. She had been a young girl—pleasant, cheerful, but also spoiled and pampered. She was still pleasant and cheerful, but the trail didn’t pamper anyone, not even a thirteen-year-old.
“I will saddle Glaucus and ride out early in the morning. I will have your rifle and that brace of pistols, Papa, and enough food to help you reach Uncle George.”
“No, Virginia,” her father said. He was trying to be firm, but her courage had touched him deeply and he was close to tears. “I won’t risk your getting hurt.”
“No one will suspect
me,
Papa. And poor Glaucus. She is just skin and bones. She won’t be any use to us.”
“Virginia, I—”
Milt Elliott stepped forward. “I’ll go out with her, Mr. Reed. We’ll be careful.”
Reed was still clearly hesitant.
Virginia Reed glanced at Peter and then very soberly said, “I’m not asking, Papa.”
Chapter Notes
Later the eyewitness accounts of the fight between James Reed and his friend John Snyder would differ significantly. Some would say that Reed struck first with his knife and that Snyder then used his whip to defend himself. Others claimed that Mrs. Reed was never struck, that Snyder was too much a gentleman to hit a woman. But even those hostile to Reed would admit that Snyder in his rage had struck Margret Reed and that’s when Reed went after Snyder with his knife. There is no way to know exactly what did happen. The account presented in the novel follows what many researchers believe to be the most likely chain of events. (See
Chronicles,
pp. 168–69;
OBH,
pp. 63–65.)
Unquestionably, a major factor lay not in either Snyder or Reed but in the weeks of exhausting, spirit-breaking frustration that pushed otherwise normal men to near madness. In those conditions, men went to lengths where they otherwise would never have gone. The irony is that this confrontation occurred between two men who were friends, even though there were deep feelings among other members of the group. When Reed spoke of the experiences of the Donner Party even many years later, he never referred to the killing, suggesting that he was haunted by what had happened for the rest of his life.
Later that same day the company debated what to do with James Reed. Lewis Keseberg demanded that Reed be hanged from a wagon tongue. Others testified to his innocence. We don’t know who acted as mediator in the subsequent “trial.” Franklin Graves and Patrick Breen seemed to be the natural leaders of the larger group, but since Snyder was a Graves teamster, Franklin Graves probably would not have been chosen to settle the matter.
The compromise sentence of banishment, suggested by William Eddy, was really the only practical solution. Emotions were simply too deep for the group to exonerate Reed or to wait until they reached some outpost of civilization. (See
OBH,
pp. 65–66;
Chronicles,
p. 169;
UE,
pp. 36–37, 275–77.)
In the end, as Reed left camp the next morning, someone met him and gave him his weapons, probably his horse, and some food. Some say it was Milt Elliott and William Eddy, but Virginia later wrote that she did it in company with Elliott. (See
UE,
p. 277.)
An episode that would occur 150 years later shows how deeply the feelings over this incident ran. At a 1996 Donner Party sesquicentennial commemoration (held in connection with an annual event called California Trail Days), a descendant of Franklin Ward Graves, who had hired Snyder as a teamster, would confront a descendant of James F. Reed and say that Reed was a coward who killed a good man for only the slightest of reasons. As writer Frank Mullen Jr. notes, so deep were the feelings which resulted from this brief flash of anger that “after fifteen decades, the anger will still burn.” (See
Chronicles,
p. 168.)
Chapter 29
The Orville Allen rescue company, with which Joshua and Nathan Steed were traveling, passed wagons going west all along the trail across Iowa. As they reached the eastern part of the territory, some of those wagons began to be those belonging to the first of the refugees from the Battle of Nauvoo. But they were few and had enough supplies to get them to the next settlement, so the seven wagons went on, headed for the main camp at Montrose. It was late in the afternoon of October seventh when they pulled up at the top of the crest of a long, gentle rise. Allen signaled for the others to stop. They did so, pulling out of their single file line to park abreast of each other.
Nathan had seen this sight before, but it was still a stunning panorama. The sweeping bend of the Mississippi River was clearly visible. On the far side of the great river, cradled in the elbow made by the bend, Nauvoo lay bathed in the late afternoon sunlight. Over all, the temple shone like a white beacon. Closer, directly below them on this side of the river, they could see the buildings of Montrose. Just to the north of the town they could also see the signs of the poor camp. There were wagon tops, tents, and a few cattle grazing in a field.
Joshua instinctively leaned forward, searching Nauvoo for any signs of the battle that had raged there a few weeks before. There was nothing. It shouldn’t have surprised him. They were three or four miles from the city at this point, much too far to see any details. But from the terrible reports they had heard along the road, Joshua had expected to see something that was immediately noticeable.
“What do you think?” Nathan said. “Can we make it across the river tonight?”
Joshua turned and glanced back at the sun, then nodded. “If we hurry.”
Orville Allen turned. “Brethren, you’ve heard the reports. There is great danger for any of our people going to the city. The mob is stopping anyone coming across the river, and if they’re Mormon, they’re treating them very badly.”
Joshua looked at Nathan, then at their foreman. “We’ve got to find out about our sister, Orville.”
“I understand, but maybe she’s in the poor camp here in Montrose.”
Nathan shook his head. “You don’t know our brother-in-law. He’s not a member and he was bound and determined not to leave the city.”
“Yes, I know. But we need you, brethren. We need these wagons.”
“Oh, we won’t take the wagons across. We’ll just slip over and see what we can learn.”
“We’ll see,” the foreman finally said. “Let’s go down and see what we have waiting for us down there first. Maybe there’ll be word of your sister.” He snapped the reins and his team started forward. The other wagons pulled in behind him and started down the hill.
“Maybe,” Joshua agreed, speaking to no one. Then to Nathan he muttered, “But if there isn’t, we’re going across.”
What they found at Montrose was shocking beyond anything they had expected. This was more than just tragedy. This was tragedy and poverty and misery and suffering all rolled up and bound tightly together. There was barely even a welcome, as though rising up and waving in welcome were more than the people had energy to do. They sat in their tents or in their brush lean-tos, or in many cases on blankets laid out on the wet and muddy ground, and stared out at the newcomers.
Maybe they didn’t know these wagons had come from the west, Nathan thought, as he tried not to stare at the gaunt and haunted faces. Maybe they thought they were just additional stragglers coming in who would be more mouths to feed and more people to shelter. Whatever it was, they weren’t creating nearly the stir that he had expected their arrival would trigger. A few people got up and began to follow them along curiously, but most just stared at them as the wagons rumbled by.
It was as if they had driven into a charnel house or a cemetery where the dead had not yet been buried. Men sat on stools or on the ground, heads down, staring vacantly at nothing. Those who did look up had blank eyes and lifeless faces. Mothers stood with half-naked waifs clinging to filthy, torn skirts. Children held out hands to pitifully small fires. Even though it had been a beautiful, sunny day, now the sun was almost down and the air already had a nip to it. They were still a few days away from frost, Nathan guessed, but not many.
Every kind of shelter imaginable passed before them—one wagon looked like it had eight or ten people crammed inside it. There were a few tents, but many had long tears in them or sagged dangerously. Everywhere in between there were lean-to shelters made of woven willows lashed to stick frameworks and open on one side to the weather. Some had taken blankets and tied them to four stakes driven into the ground, providing a shelter barely high enough for a person to crawl under in order to sleep. These were usually open on all four sides.
Most appalling were the dozens of places where a few bundles, maybe a battered valise, and some loose clothing sat beside blankets spread on the ground. These had nothing but open sky—whether clear or stormy—as their roof.
And everywhere the smell assaulted the nostrils. It was a terrible combination of smoky fires, musty bedding, moldy food, rotting leather, sickness and disease. And death. Nathan had to look away as he saw a group of forms laid out in a row beneath blankets. One was small and covered with a baby blanket. A few feet away, a woman sat in one of the lean-tos, nursing a baby that had nothing but a thin cotton shift on. It would pull free from its mother’s breast at intervals to wail piteously.
As they came into the main part of camp, it opened into a large circle. Allen raised one hand and motioned for the wagons to circle. As they started to do so, Joshua brought his wagon up alongside Nathan’s. “I can’t believe this,” he said softly.
“Worse than I ever imagined,” Nathan answered, his voice almost a whisper.
“We don’t have enough food to feed this many.”
“Not nearly enough.”
“I had no idea,” Joshua murmured to himself. “No idea it would be this bad.”
By the time they pulled their wagons in a circle and dismounted, the first of the curious began to arrive. Orville Allen wasn’t willing to wait. He stood up on the wheel of his wagon and shouted out across the camp. “Brothers and sisters, we have come from Council Bluffs. We are sent here by the Twelve to help you.”
It was as though he had poured the waters of life onto the camp. There were startled cries, and people stood slowly and began to move toward them. Nathan could hear the shouts being tossed from tent to tent and shelter to shelter as the excitement spread. In three or four minutes, they had a couple of hundred people gathering in around them.
“Brothers and sisters, may I have your attention.”
They quickly quieted.
“It is true. We have come from Brother Brigham. We have some food and clothing to distribute.” He raised his voice as a ragged cheer went up. “More important, we have come to take you across Iowa so that you can join with the rest of the Saints.”
“But there are only seven of you,” a man shouted from near the back of the crowd.
“Yes,” Allen said brightly. “But more are on their way. Your brothers and sisters have not forgotten you.”
Right in front of Nathan a woman with a small child in her arms began to sob. The child looked up at its mother, startled by her sudden breakdown, then started to wail also.
“We were sent to bring as many of you as we can, and we shall do it. We shall take you to Council Bluffs. We do not promise you plenty. We cannot even promise you all warm homes. But we promise you that you shall be free from the violence of the mobs. We promise you—” He had to stop as his voice suddenly started to tremble. “We promise you,” he went on, more softly now, “freedom from tyranny. Freedom from danger. Freedom from oppression.”
For a moment it looked as if he wanted to say more, but then he shook his head. “I’d like to meet with the leaders of the camp so that we can begin making plans for the distribution of food,” he concluded, then hopped down from his perch.
“Nathan Steed?”
It was a woman’s voice, calling from behind him. Nathan turned to see who had spoken. At first he could see no one; then near the back of the crowd he saw someone waving her arm. “Nathan, it’s me. Mary.”
And then as a woman pushed her way forward, the crowd backing up enough to let her through, Joshua grabbed Nathan’s arm, gripping it tightly. “It’s Mary Fielding Smith,” he said.
Not waiting for her to come to them, both brothers strode quickly toward her. At the front edge of the crowd she finally burst through. “Nathan? Can it really be you?”
“Yes, Mary. And you’re here? Melissa told us in one of her letters that she thought you would be leaving sometime in late June or early July. We’ve been waiting for word of you.”
She took both of his hands and squeezed them tightly, her face infused with joy. “We thought we were leaving sooner. But my brother had difficulty selling the farm. Obviously we didn’t make it.”
Joshua looked around. “This is pretty bad. How are you and your family doing?”
“Wonderful compared to others.” She shook her head. “It has been terrible. So much hunger. So many who are sick. We’ve even had several babies born.”
“Oh, no,” Nathan said in dismay.
“Yes. In one case it was raining and the only place they had for the woman was under a blanket, so the sisters stood around and caught the rainwater in pans while the midwife brought the baby forth.”
That deeply sobered both of the brothers. “Is there any word of Melissa?” Nathan asked. “Are she and the children safe?”
A radiant smile broke out. “They are now.”
Joshua jerked forward. “What about Carl? Are they still on Steed Row? We need to find them.”
The smile only broadened, and now her eyes were filled with both pain and joy. “Come with me. There’s something I want you to see.”
It was clear that the Fieldings were much better off than some of the Saints who had been driven out of Nauvoo. Mary’s clothing was reasonably clean, and she didn’t have that pall of malnutrition as so many of the others had. As she threaded her way through the camp, it became obvious she was headed toward where several wagons stood close together to form a hollow square.