Far away in the West,
Where none shall come to hurt or make afraid;
There the Saints will be blessed.
His voice rose joyously.
We’ll make the air with music ring,
Shout praises to our God and King;
Above the rest these words we’ll tell—
All is well! All is well!
He stopped. The last notes died away. Not a sound broke the silence. For a moment, Mary Ann wondered if he was through. But he did not move. She saw in the faint light that tears were streaming down his face. But when he finally started again, there was not the slightest quaver to his voice. He sang out clearly and triumphantly. It was a cry of faith and affirmation and covenant.
And should we die before our journey’s through,
Happy day! All is well!
We then are free from toil and sorrow, too;
With the just we shall dwell!
But if our lives are spared again
To see the Saints their rest obtain,
Oh, how we’ll make this chorus swell—
All is well! All is well!
William Clayton stood silently for a moment, then looked around, smiling faintly. He slowly sank down to sit on the ground. No one moved. No one spoke. Above them the stars were like a great glittering cape across the sky. Around them the night seemed impenetrable but safe. Finally, Brigham cleared his throat. “William, I want you to make copies of that song. I want it passed around the camp.” He stopped, deeply moved. “I want every Latter-day Saint to learn those words and start singing them to each other. Thank you, William, for bringing us a gift from above.”
Chapter Notes
Once the weather turned warmer and drier, two new challenges began to plague the Saints—rattlesnakes and prairie fires. References to both begin to crop up in the journals at this time. Brigham makes mention of a fire on the sixteenth of April about noon. He says that it “burned over doing no damage.” (MHBY, p. 134.) Several journals also mention a fire on the seventeenth. This was in the evening and was fought “with whips [probably wet blankets and sacks] and water” (“Diary of Lorenzo Dow Young,” Utah Historical Quarterly 14 [1946]: 136). For purposes of the novel, only one fire is described and it is placed on the sixteenth.
In his journal, under date of Wednesday, 15 April 1846, William Clayton wrote the following while camped at Locust Creek in Iowa Territory: “This morning I composed a new song—‘All is well.’ ” Thus was born a hymn that became the most beloved of songs sung along the trail and an anthem that came to symbolize the spirit of the Latter-day Saints throughout the world. The details of its coming forth and of William Clayton come from contemporary sources. (See CN, 6 April 1996, pp. 6, 12; Paul E. Dahl, “ ‘All Is Well . . .’: The Story of ‘the Hymn That Went Around the World,’ ” BYU Studies 21 [Fall 1981]: 515–27.)
Chapter 14
Somewhere on the plains of Iowa—April 18, 1846 (Saturday)
My name is Rachel Steed Griffith Garrett. I was born on the 24th day of January in the year of our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and thirty-two. I am now fourteen years of age. My mother is Jessica Roundy Steed Griffith Garrett, and my father (actually my stepfather, but he is as good as any real father could be) is Solomon Garrett. Perhaps later I can write more of my life story and tell you why my mother and I have all those names, but for now I want to begin with the present.
Two days ago we had a terrible fire on the prairie. We were out where there was lots of grass, and the wind was blowing hard. The fire was large and moved very fast. I was very scared and wondered if someone would be killed or if some of our wagons would be burned. But Heavenly Father blessed us. We started another fire, then drove our wagons into the burned area. The other fire just went around us and we were safe. But that night, after we were in camp, my cousin Emily Steed and me (Emily is not only my cousin, she is also my very best friend) talked about what would happen if we had died in the fire or maybe if we are killed by Indians as we go west. We have not had a chance to get married and have children, so there would be no one who would know that we lived. We decided to keep journals and write about ourselves so that if we die, someone will know about us. Mama gave me her journal and said I could write in the back of it. I promised I won’t read hers, and she promised she won’t read mine.
I may not get to write every day. There is no way to write in the daytime when we are traveling. Even if I rode in the wagon, which I don’t, it would be too bumpy to write anything. And when we make camp, there is so much to do—getting the tent up, starting the fire, cooking supper, helping Mama churn butter or get little Miriam and Sol to bed. (Miriam is my baby sister. She’s two, almost three. Sol is Solomon. He’s named after my father. He’s just a year old.) By the time we’re done, it’s usually dark. Lamp oil and candles are scarce. So unless Mama or Papa keep a light on, I have to wait. I wanted to start yesterday, but couldn’t because there was so much to do when we reached camp. Maybe on a rest day—like a Sunday—I can write more about my early life and catch up on what has happened since we left Nauvoo, but for now I’ll try and write something every day.
Yesterday, two children in camp died of the measles. I didn’t know them, but the whole camp was sad. Lots of children have the measles right now. And mumps. (Miriam has the mumps and rode in the wagon all day yesterday.) They buried the children outside of camp, then drove the wagon back and forth over the graves so the wolves can’t tell where they’re buried. I will ask Heavenly Father in my prayers tonight to take the children home to him.
Pleasant Point—April 19, 1846 (Sunday)
Pres. Young named our camp here Pleasant Point. This is another beautiful day—the fourth in a row now. Everyone is happy. Mama says spring is here for sure. It is so nice to walk around camp without sinking in mud. We had sacrament meeting today and almost everyone in camp came. Papa said there were about 600 of us. It was a good meeting. Brother John Kay and William Pitt from the band sang a song about the exodus. Then we all sang Brother Clayton’s new song, “All Is Well!” Everyone sang loudly and I felt little goose bumps on my arms when they sang. Mama says that happens sometimes when you feel the Spirit. Uncle Nathan talked to Pres. Y. afterwards and he said he had never felt a sweeter spirit since we started. I’d like to ask the Pres. if he got goose bumps too, but I wouldn’t dare. Emily says she will for me. I forbade her to do it.
This afternoon, some messengers arrived from Nauvoo. They had a whole bag of letters that were passed out. Grandma Steed got a letter from Aunt Melissa and we all gathered round to hear it. Melissa and Carl are doing fine. They say many people are getting ready to leave the city now that the weather’s getting better. One thing was not good news. M. says they got a letter from Kirtland saying that Carl’s mother had died. That’s sad. Their baby Mary never got to go to Kirtland, so she will never see her Grandmother Rogers.
After we finished the letter, we started talking about the rest of our family who aren’t with us. We all pray for Will and Alice, who are at sea somewhere. We also pray for Peter and Kathryn. They should have left Springfield by now, so we hope we’ll meet them soon on the trail.
I knew the good weather was too good to be true. It has started to rain again and I shall have to stop now.
Hog Creek—April 21, 1846 (Tuesday)
We stayed in camp all day yesterday, but I was too busy to write. We washed clothes and cleaned out the tents. Miriam is still quite sick with the mumps. She looks like a chipmunk, but Mama says she thinks she is past the worst. We left camp this morning. It has rained off and on all day. Not hard, but the mud is back. After we got here to camp, someone accidentally lit some gunpowder. It exploded and started a grass fire, but it was wet enough that it was put out quickly. After the fire of the other day, though, a lot of people got quite excited.
Uncle Matthew and other men built a simple bridge over the creek and we camped on this side (west). Tonight some of the hunters found two wild hogs and killed them. So we’re calling this the Hog Creek Camp.
Garden Grove—April 25, 1846 (Saturday)
It has been four days since I’ve gotten a chance to write. There has been too much to do or I was too tired by the time chores were done. I will try and remember what has happened. On Wednesday, we reached a very pretty spot and the leaders named it Pleasant Grove. Pres. Y’s horse was bitten by a rattlesnake that day. He caught the snake and killed it. Then he did something very strange. He cut the snake into pieces and put the raw meat on the wound. The snake meat drew out the poison and the horse was fine. I asked Uncle Joshua if he had ever heard of something like that. He said he’d heard of the Indians doing such a thing, but had always wondered if it was true.
Except for a move of only one mile in the evening, we stayed in camp on Thursday while Pres. Y and others rode ahead to reach the Weldon River where the settlement will be. Some others caught up with us. It rained hard during the night and it is cold and muddy again. The hunters are finding quite a bit of game—a deer, some prairie chickens, and a wild turkey. One of them shot what they call a prairie dog. Ugh! Papa says they’re just a ground squirrel and probably taste like a squirrel. I said I didn’t want to eat anything that was called a dog, even if it was a squirrel. Emily says she would rather waste away and die first. But there is hardly any flour in camp anymore so the meat the hunters find is important.
I thought I would write about what it is like out here so that my grandchildren will know what I went through. Actually this is Josh’s idea. (Josh is Emily’s older brother.) Emily told him that we’re writing journals now and he said that our children and grandchildren are going to want to know more about us than whether or not it rained on this day or that. I think that’s a good idea so here goes. I shall pick a good day to describe for my future readers.
The bugle blows at 5:30 each morning. I don’t know who blows it. One of William Pitt’s band members I guess. Then we have to be up by six o’clock. First thing is always prayer. We do this as a family in our tents. Then while the men get a fire started—if we’re lucky and it didn’t rain, there will still be a few coals from the night before—the girls and the women start breakfast. The younger boys and girls get the little children dressed. Mothers with little babies have to feed them, so they help when they can.
Breakfast on the trail is usually simple. Most often its just mush with a little milk or sugar. Sometimes we have just bread and milk topped with a touch of sugar if there is any. If there is meat, the men like fried bacon or ham, or thin steaks. When there is no meat, we eat a lot of lumpy dick. When I tell you how we make it, you won’t wonder any more why it’s called that. For lumpy dick, you fill a kettle with milk and put it over the hot coals. You have to watch it real close so the milk doesn’t scorch. The minute the milk starts to boil, you start to put in flour, just a little bit at a time. You don’t stir it in. You have to kind of poke and mix it. You don’t want it to become slick and smooth. You want it to be lumpy. (See, I told you it would make sense.) You do that for about fifteen minutes until it’s quite thick, like cereal. Eat it with sugar or thick cream while it’s still hot and it’s very good, though I get tired of it quickly.
When we noon, or stop at midday, we usually eat a cold meal—bread, cheeses, dried fruits, beef or venison jerky, and hardtack. Hardtack is like a biscuit, only harder. We eat a lot of it for two reasons. First, it never spoils. If you keep it dry, it will last for months. It doesn’t have any yeast in it. Second, it is easy to make. You just get flour, salt, and then add just enough water to make the flour stick together and make dough. Then you roll it out flat, cut it into squares, bake it on both sides, then eat it. It’s called hardtack because it’s like chewing on the bark of a tree, only tastier.
Supper is the biggest meal. Unless it’s raining hard, we always build a fire and cook supper. Things we eat a lot are rice and baked beans and stew. Stew is especially good if the hunters have shot a rabbit or a squirrel. Especially good is when they get a prairie hen or a wild turkey. With the stew we eat corn bread or johnnycake. (Those are about the same thing only corn bread has yeast and is baked, johnnycake is cornmeal mixed with water or milk and cooked on a griddle.) For dessert, we may have sugar cookies or gingerbread. Sometimes we have pilot pudding. Pilot pudding is easy to make. You take some bread and break it into a bowl, then pour boiling water over it. Then you drain off the extra water, put sugar and cream on it, and eat it while it’s hot. It is very good. If the cow has just been milked and there is fresh cream, one of my favorite desserts is to skim the cream off the top of the milk where it is the thickest, then spread it on a piece of white bread or corn bread like it was butter and sprinkle a little sugar or cinnamon on it. Mmm. I’m hungry just thinking about it.
Once breakfast is over, we clean up the camp while the men get the stock and hitch them to the wagons. The older boys take the tents down and fold them up. Usually we start out between eight or nine o’clock. Though traveling is the hardest part of being out here, it is also my favorite part. I love to walk alongside the wagons or up beside the oxen. Papa is teaching me how to drive them by calling out to them. Papa never whips the oxen. He says it only frightens them the more. Usually I have chores to do, such as to grease the axles if they start to creak, or to watch the smaller children. That’s very important now that the rattlesnakes have started to come out everywhere.