It was true that more than a third of the wagons were not in line yet. It was true that many would likely have to wait until tomorrow before they started. It was true that many families unable to purchase or procure sufficient draft animals had sent their wagons on ahead to Sugar Creek, then returned with the teams to Nauvoo to get other wagons. It was true that, by Stephen Markham’s estimate, there were nearly eight hundred people in camp who had barely enough supplies to last them another week. It was true that way too many had no tents and had insufficient winter clothing and bedding. And all of that truth was like a great burden resting on Brigham’s shoulders.
But there were the hundreds—no, thousands—who had followed counsel. In line now there must have been nearly three hundred wagons. They had their teams. They had food. They had tools and blankets and clothing. There were the Kimballs and the Stouts, the Whitneys and the Steeds, the Pratts and the Rockwoods, and a hundred other names. They stood ready now, eyes turned to him, hearts prepared to follow wherever they were asked to go. And that was enough to make his heart soar. With these kinds of people, it would be enough. It wouldn’t be simple, but it would be enough.
Beside him, Heber seemed to sense his thoughts. “President, I think we’re ready. The others will come as they can.”
Brigham nodded. “Yes.” He smiled broadly at Heber, feeling a sudden burst of exhilaration. “Yes, we are. Give the signal.”
Heber went up tall in his stirrups, lifting his hat high above his head. “Attention, Camp of Israel!” he shouted loudly.
All down the line heads lifted and turned towards him. Mouths clamped shut, mothers hushed their children. Men moved closer to their oxen.
He waved his hat in a big circle above his head. “To the west! Roll ’em out!”
When Alice Samuelson Steed woke up, Will was already gone. She lifted her head slightly and looked around the tiny cubicle walled in by canvas dividers. She sank back with a soft moan. The sound was half in protest at knowing that while she slept Will had risen and cleaned their small space so that it would be ready for seven o’clock inspection. It was also half in pleasure knowing that she could now lie here for another ten minutes. That was her Will, she thought with a sleepy smile. Up at the crack of dawn, cheerfully doing her work for her. He was probably up on the prow of the ship now, face in the wind, hair blowing freely, and laughing in sheer joy to be at sea again.
Pulling the blanket up around her chin—not for warmth but for comfort—she turned her attention to the rolling motion of the ship. The deck was moving up and down perhaps as much as two feet, but it was gentle and smooth, signaling that the ship was still moving through the swells of a calm sea. With a start, she realized that once again she had slept clear through the night without waking. She could not even remember hearing reveille blown at six o’clock. She stared up at the bulkhead above her, surprised and pleased. That was four nights in a row now. She was finally getting used to the never-ceasing motion of the floor beneath her feet.
She wiggled her body slowly, feeling the strength that the rest had restored to her, feeling a great sense of gratitude that the weather was still calm. If there were not ever one more moment of the violent pitching and yawing, it would be too soon for her. Within a week of the ship’s passing Sandy Hook at the eastern edge of New York harbor and moving out into the Atlantic, the weather had turned violent. For four days and four nights, they had been gripped by the howling gale. It had been the most terrifying experience of her life. The “passenger deck” became like something in a nightmare. Luggage, clothing, pots, pans, boxes, barrels, benches, stools—anything that was not either part of the Brooklyn or nailed down firmly to her decks was thrown about as if by some petulant child. People were hurled from their bunks. Terrible seasickness became everyone’s lot. The smell within the confined and closed quarters was unbearable, but no one dared open the hatches to the fury of the storm.
Elder Brannan had fought the ensuing terror by admonishing the Saints to sing hymns and call upon the Lord for deliverance. Surprisingly, though more miserable than she could have ever imagined, Alice and the others had not lost their faith. Even Captain Richardson had come down near the end of the fourth day in total despair. They were being blown toward the Cape Verde Islands, which were just four hundred miles off the coast of West Africa, and would be dashed upon the rocks before morning. He came down to tell them to prepare for shipwreck at best and death at the worst. To his utter amazement he found the Saints composed and unwilling to lose hope. And within hours the winds died, the seas calmed, and they were spared.
Gratefully that had been the last of it. The mountainous waves which had threatened to swamp the ship became light chops or gentle swells. The skies cleared, the breezes were stiff but favorable, the temperatures of the northern latitudes gave way to warm and pleasant days. There had been those two dreadful days in the doldrums—those latitudes north of the equator where the winds died and there was not so much as a gentle breeze to fill the sails—but they quickly passed. Now the winds were steady again and favorable, as the sailors called them.
With a groan, she threw back the covers and sat up, her feet dangling over the side board of their bed. It wouldn’t do to have the inspectors—perhaps Elder Brannan himself—catch her like this. A set of twenty-one rules had been established by Elder Brannan to govern life on ship. Reveille was at six a.m. At seven, rooms were inspected and opened for airing. No one could leave their “state-rooms” without being fully and properly dressed, including coats for the men. At eight-thirty the children began breakfast, followed by the adults. Dinner was served from three to five o’clock, with a “cold lunch” served at eight in the evening. There were times set aside for group and individual prayer, with the Sabbath days—like today—being devoted to rest and worship. They would have worship services at eleven this morning.
The rules helped to maintain order and cleanliness, and most accepted them cheerfully. Most of what little grumbling there was went toward Samuel Brannan, who seemed to view himself as more like a ruler or governor than simply their priesthood leader. His insistence that they always refer to him as “First Elder,” for example, grated on several. He ate with the captain and did not share the simple quarters of the others. After the storm had blown itself out, he had determined that they had to put themselves under covenant to prepare for that time when the voyage was completed and they reached Upper California. He established an order, patterned after the united order set up by Joseph Smith, wherein they all agreed to form a company and put the returns from their labors in a common pot for three years. The fact that it was obviously advantageous to him and that he titled the company “Samuel Brannan and Company” added to the irritation of some, but everyone signed. As usual, Will said little, even to Alice, though she could tell that their leader’s high-handed ways disturbed him.
Chiding herself for getting lost in thought again, Alice hopped down onto the deck, feeling the coolness of the wood beneath her bare feet. Absently, her right hand rose to her stomach and rested there for a moment. She knew it was mostly her imagination, but she thought she could feel the first swellings. She smiled in the half darkness. She had thought about telling Will this day, it being the first of March and seemingly a good time. But now she had another thought. When they crossed the equator there would be a party in celebration for King Neptune—a tradition among sailors, according to Will. Whenever the equator was crossed in either direction, King Neptune, god of the sea, was crowned in a celebration by all on board the ship. It would be a jolly and rollicking time—less so for the Mormons than for others perhaps, because the Saints would not toast the occasion with ale or rum; but it would be a genuine party nevertheless. In light of the monotony of shipboard life, this would be something to look forward to indeed.
Her hand moved up and she began to unbutton her nightdress. Yes, that would be the time. Just before the celebration began, she would whisper it in his ear. Then they would have more than King Neptune and the crossing of his great line of demarcation to be glad about.
She was nearly right in guessing where her husband would be. Will was at the prow of the ship, but he was not just standing there with his face in the wind. He was working with two of the crew, helping them stow the rigging and check on some of the crates that were lashed down to the deck. When he saw her, he immediately left them and came over. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully. He leaned down and kissed her. “How are you feeling?”
“Glorious. Thank you for letting me sleep.”
“I’m not sure there was much choice. I thought for sure you’d wake up when I dropped that kettle on the floor right next to you.”
“You dropped a kettle?” she burst out, and then she saw the laughter in his eyes. “Oh, you,” she said, poking at him.
“Well, you were sleeping pretty soundly.”
“I know, and it felt so good.” She slipped an arm through his and they walked back to about midship. There were several other passengers out and about, and they spoke briefly with them. Then they stopped at the railing where they could be alone.
“Another beautiful day,” Will said.
“It is. I’m so glad.” She waited a moment. “I’m coming to understand why you so love the sea.”
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?”
“At times. At other times it can be terrifying.”
“I won’t argue that point.”
And then, since they were talking about the sea, she decided this might be the time to raise a question that had been on her mind of late. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“You know how we were blown off course during the storm.”
“Yes.”
“How long do you think that will delay our arrival in California?”
He was a little surprised by her question. “Oh, two or three days, maybe. Why?”
“Two or three days? That’s all?”
“Yes, why?”
“Didn’t you tell me that the Cape Verde Islands were off the coast of Africa?”
“Yes.”
“Africa? Not South America?”
He was clearly puzzled. “That’s right. They’re about four hundred miles west of the westernmost shoulder of Africa.”
“But that’s a thousand miles off course, Will. How can you say it will delay us for only two or three days?”
Now he understood. His first impression was to chuckle, but then he caught himself. Why shouldn’t she assume that that was what had happened? He had not taken the time to explain things to her.
“Look,” he said, holding up his left hand, fingers pointing up and palm facing the two of them. “Picture South America in your mind. The tips of my fingers are the northern coast; the palm is the fat part of the continent. My thumb is the western coast; my little finger and the side of my palm are the eastern coast. My arm is where the continent narrows.”
“Okay.” It was a crude similarity, but for his purposes it was fine.
“If you can picture it, the continent is long and mostly straight down the west coast. But here”—he tapped the side of his little finger—“there is a great bulge eastward. It is called Brazil. Can you picture what I mean?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now tell me where this eastern tip of Brazil—what they call Cabo de São Roque—is in comparison to New York City.”
She looked at him for a moment, then tapped a spot in the air above the tip of his little finger. “About here?”
He smiled. “That’s what most people in North America think. They picture South America as being directly south of us. But it’s not true. Mexico and Central America have a great eastward curve and South America is offset quite a bit to the east of North America.” Now he tapped a spot above the tip of his thumb. “Would you believe New York is about here, directly above the western coast of the continent, and is more than a thousand miles west of Brazil’s eastern tip?”
“Really?”
“Yes. The east coast of North America is about even with the west coast of South America.”
She looked at him closely to see if he was teasing her. But he was quite serious.
“Okay,” he continued, “that’s the first problem. If you want to go around Brazil, what direction do you have to sail?”
“Southeast,” she said promptly.
“That is correct. And there is the second problem. We’ve talked about the prevailing winds. You remember that?”
“Yes.” Will had been trying to teach her a little about sailing and had spent an hour one day after the storm describing how around the globe various winds blew in predictable, reliable patterns. Because they were so important to sailors and ships, they were called the trade winds.
“Well, if you were to head directly southeast from New York”—with his right forefinger he drew a line from above the tip of his thumb to the right side of his palm—“not only would you not clear South America, but right here at the eastern end of the Caribbean you would run into the northeasterly winds. What is that going to do for us?”
She nodded slowly, understanding starting to come now. The winds were always named for the direction from which they came, not the direction in which they blew. So a northeasterly would blow them southwest. “It would blow us directly toward South America.”
He beamed. She was really very quick and it pleased him greatly. Not only that, she really wanted to know. “Okay. Now, when you sail mostly east from New York you hit the westerly trades. They take us out far enough that we clear the land mass of Brazil and miss the northeasterly winds.”
“I see that, but do we go all the way to Africa?”
“No, not all the way, but almost. When the storm hit, it drove us farther east than we would normally go. That’s when we came dangerously close to the Cape Verde Islands and nearly shipwrecked. But we were not a thousand miles off course. This is the route that all the China traders and the whalers use. It is about a thousand miles longer, but it cuts nearly two weeks off the total journey.”
She nodded and turned back to the railing, glad she had asked him. It was a simple answer, and she felt foolish for having harbored the fears for so long.