At the pole, one of the men reached up with a hammer and knocked down the board nailed on the top. He held it up. “It’s a letter,” he said. He really didn’t need to explain. Scrawled in red chalk on the pole beneath the board were the words “Platte Post Office,” and on the board was written: “Open this and you will find a letter.”
The people crowded in closer as Elder Spencer took the board and examined it. It had been hollowed out and turned with the opening to the bottom to protect it from the rain. With his pocket-knife Brother Spencer withdrew two folded sheets of paper.
He looked them over, reading quickly, then turned to his people. “It’s a letter from the Twelve. There’s a report on the trail thus far and some rules that the Twelve have drawn up for the camps.”
“Read it to us,” someone called.
“We will read it in camp tonight. For now, I think we’d better push on.” Spencer glanced at the letter again. “But it was dated May ninth, and today is . . .” He looked surprised. “July Fourth. Independence Day.”
There was a ripple of surprise. No one had thought about this being a holiday.
“That means we’re only about five weeks behind them. That’s good.”
On the Fourth of July, the Mormon Ferry at the last crossing of the North Platte River ran from dawn until shortly after dark. Among the emigrant camps there were several small celebrations. Among the nine Latter-day Saints who stayed to run the ferry there was nothing. They were too busy to do any more than remember that this was the birthday of their country.
As it grew full dark, they tied up the raft for the last time on the south bank of the river. Matthew Steed spoke to Thomas Grover, his captain. “I’ll be back in a little while. I’m just going to take a look around.”
“We would know if they had come in today, Matthew,” Grover said kindly.
“I know,” he answered cheerfully, “but you know me. I always like to check.” He waved and moved away. Almost immediately he was amid the wagons, dozens of them, if not hundreds. The sound of many people filled the air—women talking to each other over cooking fires, children playing games, men shouting at their animals or to each other. Dogs barked, cattle lowed, oxen bellowed, horses whinnied. And all of this while waiting for the Mormons to take them across the river. That was something that Matthew had still not grown accustomed to. The emigrant companies journeying to Oregon and California were coming in so quickly that there was now a four- to five-day wait to be ferried across, even though the ferry ran from dawn to dark.
He turned his head and looked at the glimmer of water off to his left. The water level in the river was dropping noticeably each day. Instead of the hundred yards across it had been when the Pioneer Company had first arrived, it was now about half that width, though the water was still too deep and swift for a safe crossing. But that would change soon enough. Once it was safe to ford the river, the boating team, as instructed by Brigham, would cache the ferry, close up the blacksmith shop with its two forges, and head for home. The only problem being, where was home? Currently three of the men planned to go back to Winter Quarters for their families. Matthew and two others would turn west and follow Brigham Young. Three others would go to Fort Laramie and wait for Brigham when he returned to Winter Quarters.
Having encircled the various encampments, Matthew was satisfied that no new companies large enough to be Mormon had come in. He turned in discouragement and started back for their camp. His daily hope was that the company in which his own family was traveling would show up and then he could go with them to the Salt Lake Valley. But at this rate, the ferry would be shut down in two more weeks, three at the most. Then what would he do?
A little over two hundred miles farther west, the ferrying of the Pioneer Company across the Green River was done. They moved about five miles downriver to a better camping site, then made camp to wait out the Sabbath.
The Sabbath, by chance, was also the Fourth of July, Independence Day. Brief mention was made of it during worship services, but other than that the only celebration came when Elder George A. Smith discovered a long snowbank left by the winter winds on the north side of a hill not far from the river. He and some others took his wagon and fetched a load of snow, then mixed sugar with it and they all had a bowl of “ice cream.” It was a refreshing treat.
While camped there, the Twelve determined to send a letter summarizing their experience along the trail back to the following companies. Five men were chosen to take the letter back, then serve as guides to their brother and sister Saints. That afternoon, Brigham and three others of the Twelve rode north with the five men to see them safely across the river. While they were gone the camp wrote letters or in their journals, read, rested, and otherwise waited for the Sabbath to pass. The fact that it was Independence Day was barely noted. Tomorrow they would turn west again, heading for the next important landmark on the trail, Fort Bridger.
All of the Steeds were gathered around their campfire, hoping that the smoke would drive off the mosquitoes. They talked quietly with each other, and Peter told them all that had happened since he and Kathryn had split up. Derek suddenly straightened. “Look,” he said, “Brother Brigham and the Twelve are returning.”
He was looking upriver. When they turned they saw a large party of men approaching the camp.
“Uh-oh,” Nathan said. “They must not have been able to get the men across the river.” Brigham had taken only three other members of the Twelve with him to see off the five guides, but many more than just four were coming now.
“Wait a minute,” Rebecca cried. “Those aren’t the same men. Look, Derek, they have white belts and bandoliers. They’re battalion men.”
Derek stood slowly, peering forward, seeing what Rebecca had seen. He could scarcely believe his eyes. Battalion men? Out here?
The oncoming men were just fifty or sixty yards away now. One of the men suddenly started jumping up and down and waving. “Derek! Derek!”
“That’s Tom Williams,” Rebecca exclaimed with joy.
“It is!” Derek nearly shouted it. “It’s part of the detachment from Pueblo.”
Now cries were going up and down the rest of the camp as they realized that Brigham Young was returning with about a dozen men. Derek broke into a run. Robert Crow gave a cry and sprinted after him. Kathryn and Rebecca started after Derek, Peter helping Kathryn, who hadn’t taken time to get her cane. Nathan fell in with them. “These are our friends,” Kathryn explained excitedly. “This is who we spent the winter with.”
Soon almost everyone in the camp was moving out to greet the newcomers.
On seeing the camp approaching, Brigham Young formed the men into a line with him and the other Apostles at the head. As he did so, Derek, Bob Crow, and the other runners in front slowed to a stop.
Brigham waited until the others had come up as well, then held up his hand for silence. “Brethren and sisters,” he said loudly, “imagine our surprise when we took our five brethren to the ferry this afternoon and found thirteen men on the opposite bank. Much to our joy and surprise, they are members of the Mormon Battalion. They are part of Captain James Brown’s detachment that wintered at Pueblo. Elder Amasa Lyman and those we sent from Fort Laramie to lead them back have found them and are bringing them along.”
“Where’s everybody else?” Derek called.
Sergeant Williams answered. “They’re about a week behind us.”
Brigham glanced at the men behind him, then explained. “They had some horses stolen, and Captain Brown sent thirteen men ahead to recover them, which they have done. But when they learned that we were a short distance ahead of them on the trail, they decided to ride hard to try to catch us.”
Derek counted swiftly. There were only twelve of his former companions.
As though he had asked the question, Brigham answered. “One of their number, Brother William H. Walker, learned that his family is with one of the following companies, so he determined to go back with our five guides.”
Derek moved over beside Nathan. “Sergeant Williams is the one who first took Josh under his wing and became his teacher and mentor,” he whispered. “You’ll like him a lot.”
“This is a glorious occasion,” Brigham proclaimed. “After sending these brethren off to serve almost one full year ago now, they have returned to our midst. I say that this calls for a cheer to welcome them home.”
He raised his hand, fist clenched. “Ready? Hip, hip, hurrah! Hip, hip, hurrah! Hip, hip, hurrah!” It came out as a mighty roar as more than a hundred and fifty voices joined in unison.
“I also propose a ‘Glory to God’ for their safe return,” the President shouted when the sound died away. “Ready?”
Now men straightened and removed their hats. On signal, as one voice, they let their gratitude ring. “Hosannah! Hosannah! Hosannah! Give glory to God and the Lamb. Amen!”
With that, the battalion men and the camp members broke ranks and swarmed around each other in joyous welcome.
At Sutter’s Fort in Upper California, the observance of the Fourth of July was brief but intense. There was the raising of the flag, an impromptu march around the compound by the children, a few speeches, and a seven-gun salute to independence. It was interesting to Will and Alice that Captain John Sutter and the other Swiss immigrants who had come with him to America and founded New Helvetia, or New Switzerland, participated in the festivities as fully and as enthusiastically as those who were native-born Americans.
But then he decided that wasn’t so surprising after all. Derek and Peter came from England. Jenny and Kathryn came from Ireland. And while they still loved their mother country, they considered themselves as fully American now.
Once the celebration—in duration no more than an hour and a half—was over, people resumed their normal activities. Will was back at Sutter’s Fort now permanently. They had finished cutting the lumber for the sawmill upriver and were letting it cure. In the fall Sutter planned to hire a full crew to go back and start construction. In the meantime Will was helping bring in the crops. Sutter and Will had gone in partnership and had purchased a small sailing vessel. They would start shipping wheat and vegetables down the Sacramento River to the San Francisco Bay area in another week or two. Will would captain the boat but for now was helping bring in the goods that would serve as his freight.
Alice had brought Jared out to watch as Will directed a group of about thirty Mexicans and Indians whom Sutter had hired to load the shocks of grain onto waiting wagons. These would be hauled to a threshing floor, and then the wheat would be taken upriver a mile or two to Sutter’s new gristmill.
Alice had brought a blanket and found a grassy spot on a nearby creek bank. Jared tried once to venture into the grass, but thereafter seemed content to crawl around his mother or play with some toys she had brought along.
Off to her left a movement caught Alice’s eye. Two men on horseback were coming towards them. She turned. Will and his crew were throwing the sheaves of grain onto a wagon and had not seen the approaching men yet. As they drew closer she recognized the gray mare that the lead rider was on. “Will?” she called.
He poked his head around the wagon, now piled almost to its capacity.
She pointed. “I think it’s Mr. Sutter.”
Will took off his hat, swiping at his forehead with his sleeve as he peered at the two riders. Satisfied that it was John Sutter, he said something to the other workmen, then came over to stand beside Alice. Jared immediately crawled to Will and started pulling himself up on his trousers. Will picked him up, talking softly to him.
The second man with Sutter was a big man with a thick beard but a pleasant-looking demeanor. They swung down and both men came over to where Will and Alice waited. Sutter spoke even as they approached. “Will Steed, I’d like you to meet Thomas Rhoads from up on the Consumnes River.”
Will shifted Jared to his left arm and held out his hand. “How do you do, Mr. Rhoads.”
Sutter had an amused look on his face. “I thought you called each other ‘Brother.’ ”
That took Will aback for a moment as he looked more closely at the man. “You’re a Latter-day Saint?”
“I am. I think you know my two boys—John and Daniel.”
“Ah,” Will said, understanding now. John and Daniel Rhoads had been two of the heroes in the rescue of the Donner Party, and Peter had told him they were Latter-day Saints. “I do know them,” he said. “And two fine sons they are, Brother Rhoads.”
“Thank you. They’re good boys.”
“This is my wife, Alice, and this is our son, Jared.”
Rhoads touched the brim of his hat in acknowledgment.
Sutter came in again. “Tom has come down from the Consumnes to do some trading. He was asking about you.”
“Oh?” Will said.
“Yes,” Rhoads said. “You probably know about the colony of New Hope.”
Will nodded. New Hope was the name Sam Brannan had given his attempt to establish a colony near the junction of the San Joaquin and Stanislaus Rivers. He had taken twenty families from the
Brooklyn
there to start farming the rich land. Unfortunately, like so much, it seemed, of what Sam Brannan put his hand to, the colony had refused to be governed any longer by Brannan’s rules, feeling that they were set up primarily to enhance his own position. Brannan had lobbied hard to get Will to join them, but thankfully Will had started in with John Sutter by then.
“Well, Tom Stout—he’s the leader at New Hope—and a couple of other men came by my place the other day hoping to trade for some wheat and produce.” He reached in his pocket and withdrew an envelope. “They brought this and asked if I would bring it down here the next time I came.”
“It’s for me?” Will asked in surprise.
“Yes.” He handed the letter to Will, who took it eagerly. He looked at the name on the back, then turned to Alice in amazement. “It’s from Private Josh B. Steed of the Mormon Battalion.”
“It’s from your father?” she exclaimed in amazement.
“No, not Joshua, Josh. My cousin.” He opened the letter and skimmed the page quickly, then turned it over. “It
is
from Josh. Can you believe it? He’s here in California too. Down at a place called Pueblo de Los Angeles.”