“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Can you believe it?”
He pressed her to him. “No, I can’t. That’s wonderful!”
“I know. Being out here is making me stronger, Peter. I can feel it.”
He took her face in both of his hands and now saw the wetness on her cheeks. He kissed them both softly. “I love you, Kathryn McIntire,” he whispered.
“No,” she whispered back. “Kathryn Ingalls, Peter. And don’t you ever forget it.”
Thirty-year-old Jesse C. Little, president of the Eastern States Mission, strode along the boardwalk of Pennsylvania Avenue, gazing across the broad lawns to the building that stood shimmering white in the noonday sun. It was as if it were lit from within and glowed of its own accord. Jesse had seen this building before, but its appearance was still impressive. After all, this was not just a white house; it was the White House.
Walking beside him was Amos Kendall, former postmaster general and current advisor to the president. During the past several days since Jesse’s arrival in Washington, D.C., Kendall had proven to be very helpful, offering information and advice and acting as an intermediary between the Mormon leader and the president. Jesse had written a letter to President James K. Polk two days ago, June first, earnestly appealing for the government’s help in the Saints’ westward migration. In response, the president had asked Kendall to bring Jesse to the White House today, June third, for a meeting at noon.
Realizing that his efforts were, it seemed, finally going to pay off, Jesse now found himself remembering the letter he had received some months before from Brigham Young. He had read it enough times by now that many parts of it were committed to memory. The letter had set forth Jesse’s appointment as president of the Eastern States Mission of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In addition to noting his ecclesiastical duties, it instructed him to use “whatever means were at hand” to obtain from the government of the United States “those things which would be of mutual benefit” to Washington and to the Saints. It went on to say: “If our government shall offer any facilities for emigrating to the Western coast, embrace those facilities, if possible. As a wise and faithful man, take every honorable advantage of the times you can. Be thou a savior and a deliverer of that people, and let virtue, integrity and truth, be your motto—salvation and glory the prize for which you contend.”
Wise and faithful man? Well, that was what he had tried his best to be. Jesse appreciated and was humbled by the confidence that Brigham Young placed in his abilities. Now he was going to meet with the president of the United States. Though Jesse was no wilting flower—when he set his mind to accomplish something, he pursued it with great energy and determination—and though he had already met President Polk during a reception at the White House a couple of weeks before, he could not help shuddering just a bit as he contemplated meeting privately with the chief executive of the United States.
“Nervous?”
He looked up in surprise. Amos Kendall was watching him with some amusement.
“No, not at all,” Jesse answered. “I’m just trembling because of the cold.”
Kendall laughed easily. It was almost noon on a summer day and both men were perspiring lightly beneath their coats. “Come on, now. The president is just a man like you and me.” He motioned toward the gate. “He’ll meet us in the Green Drawing Room.”
When they got to the gate, a guard opened it for them and they stepped through. As they walked slowly up the long carriage drive, Kendall went on. “I think you’ll like the Green Drawing Room. As you know, John and Abigail Adams were the first to move into the White House in 1800. Dolley Madison, that incomparable hostess, started a major and elegant redecoration when she moved in in 1809, but all that was lost when the British burned the house in 1814.”
They had reached the steps now, and Kendall barely paused as he waved airily to the man posted there and walked straight in. “The Monroes were the first presidential couple to live in the White House after it was reconstructed. Mrs. Monroe decorated one small parlor room with green silks. It was very elegant. Then when John Quincy Adams was elected president, he began to use the room for small receptions or teas and called it the ‘Green Drawing Room.’ And through all the years since the Monroes were here, it’s been kept decorated in green.”
His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “But they say that the color Andrew Jackson later chose was roundly disapproved of by the women as being ‘odious from the sallow look it imparts.’ ”
Jesse nodded, feeling a little sallow himself. If all of this historical patter was supposed to put him at ease, it wasn’t working very well.
They moved up one flight of stairs, then down a long hallway. Kendall stopped at a door and knocked softly. There was a muffled “Come in,” and he opened the door and motioned Jesse to go in.
The room was green, all right. And it was elegant beyond anything he had seen before. But there was no time to dwell on these impressions, for Jesse’s attention was soon riveted on President James K. Polk, who rose from a chair as soon as the two men entered. Kendall quickly shut the door behind them. “Good afternoon, Mr. President. I believe you’ve met Mr. Jesse C. Little from New Hampshire.”
For all Kendall’s brave front, Jesse noted with satisfaction that during the brief interchange that followed, even Amos Kendall’s demeanor changed when they were actually in the presence of the president of the United States. Not that Polk was a particularly imposing man. But the office that he held was imposing enough for any person. It was almost as though there were an aura surrounding it, and it affected Kendall too.
The president showed them to a sofa, and then sat down himself. Polk inquired briefly after Kendall’s family, then turned the conversation for a minute or two to some items that were now before the Congress. Finally he turned to Jesse. “Mr. Little, I’m glad for this opportunity to speak with you. From your letter, which I have read with interest, I understand that you come as a representative of your people, the Mormons.”
“Yes, Mr. President, I do.”
“And I take it that you can speak for the leader of your people, Brigham Young?”
In his coat pocket Jesse was carrying the letter he had received from President Young. Now he withdrew it and extended it out. “I have a letter from him if you’d like to read it.”
Polk waved a hand. “That won’t be necessary. From the information I’ve received, I have full confidence in you. Let’s move on to the matters you brought up in your communication. Please elaborate on what it is the Mormons want.”
“Well, as I explained in my letter, a large body of our people is currently leaving the United States and heading for the Rocky Mountains.”
“Yes, yes,” the president said impatiently, “I’ve known of that for some time now.” Jesse was a bit taken aback by the sudden exasperation in Polk’s voice. “In January,” the president continued, “I received a letter from Governor Thomas Ford of Illinois saying that the Mormons were planning to emigrate westward. A shameful affair. Where was the governor in all of this? Why didn’t he offer your people more protection?”
Jesse tried not to stare. So the president’s irritation was not directed at him but at Governor Ford. That was like a cooling mist on a summer’s day. It also confirmed what Kendall and others had told him about President Polk’s relatively sympathetic attitude toward the Latter-day Saints.
“Senator Semple of Illinois has likewise briefed me on the situation,” Polk went on. He looked at Kendall. “And, as I recall, Brigham Young offered to help when I made the proposal to Congress a few months back to build a series of stockade forts along the Oregon Trail, did he not?”
“That’s correct, Mr. President. The Mormons offered to build and man them.”
“Yes.” He turned back to Jesse. “Now, from what you say in your letter, Mr. Little, you are here to seek assistance for your people, correct?”
“Sir, I am here to learn the policy of the federal government toward our people and especially toward our migration to Upper California.”
The president rose from his chair and began to circle the room, studying the paintings on the walls as he spoke. “The Constitution of the United States of America requires that your people be treated as all other American citizens, without regard to the sect to which you belong or the beliefs which you may profess. What has happened in Missouri and Illinois is without excuse, in my eyes. But that can no longer be helped. I personally have no prejudices against your people that would induce any other form of treatment than that promised by the Constitution.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Jesse Little said with genuine relief. “That is an important thing for us to know. And you should know too, sir, that we are Americans in all our feelings and are friends of the United States.”
Nodding in acknowledgment of Jesse’s words, Polk came back around to face the two men. His hand came up and punctuated his speech as he talked. “As you know, our country is at war. We have seen American blood shed on American soil. The Mexican people have declared that they mean to stand in the way of our manifest destiny, which is to spread our country from the Atlantic to the Pacific. We cannot allow their actions to go unanswered. And while we are occupied with Mexico, I cannot be worrying about Britain or France stepping in to interfere or complicate matters.”
“I understand that you are calling for fifty thousand volunteers to help win the war, Mr. President,” Jesse volunteered, emboldened by Polk’s firm declaration of impartiality toward the Mormons.
“Yes, I am. They will be formed up in three armies. Plans are already under way. We are at war, Mr. Little. Dithering and delay do not win wars.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And that is where you and your people come in. As I’m sure Mr. Kendall has already mentioned to you, I want to know if five hundred or more of the Mormons now on their way to Upper California would volunteer to enter the United States Army in that war and serve under the command of a United States officer.”
Jesse straightened and leaned forward, feeling a sudden thrill at what he had just heard. Kendall had mentioned this possibility to him several days ago. Now the president himself was asking Jesse about it directly. This was far more than he had hoped for when he first arrived in Washington. Far more. “Yes, sir, Mr. President, I have no doubt that they will do as they are asked. And if the United States will receive them into service, I shall depart immediately to overtake our people and make the arrangements for them to do so.”
The president had been intense and forceful. His demeanor now softened and he smiled broadly. “Good. That is what I wanted to hear. I have confidence in your people as American citizens. If I did not, I would not make such proposals.” The president now stood. “I would like to discuss this subject further tomorrow with you and Mr. Kendall. I have matters I wish to go over with the secretary of the navy and others.”
Jesse and Kendall now stood up as well. “We’re happy to come back tomorrow,” said Kendall.
Jesse nodded his assent. “Thank you, Mr. President,” he said. “I am confident that President Young will respond positively to your request.”
“I certainly hope so.” Polk shook Jesse’s hand briefly. Then, apparently as an afterthought, he said, “I understand that Colonel Thomas Kane is a mutual friend of ours.”
Jesse smiled. “Yes. I met him only last month in Philadelphia, but he has become a very good friend and has offered me some sound advice.”
“I don’t doubt it. I’ve been in touch with him lately as well. I think your people have found a fine advocate in Thomas. His father and I are good friends.” Polk then turned to the former postmaster general. “Amos, thank you for making the arrangements. You’ve been most helpful as always.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mr. President. But actually Mr. Little here deserves a lot of the credit. He can be very persuasive.”
Jesse felt his face flush a little at that, and the president laughed as they moved toward the door. “I’ve learned that for myself now,” Polk said. When they reached the door, he shook hands with Jesse one last time. “Again, Mr. Little, thank you for coming and for your response. I think we can take an action that will be mutually beneficial to the both of us.”
“I think so too,” Jesse said fervently. “Thank you again, Mr. President.”
Chapter Notes
The Congress of the United States ratified President Polk’s declaration of war against Mexico on 13 May 1846. It was not until 27 May that word of that declaration reached the settlement at Garden Grove. It would be even longer than that before Brigham Young would know. (See CN, 1 June 1996, p. 12.)
One of the reasons why James Reed had the unusual wagon, which Virginia Reed called the “pioneer palace car,” constructed for his family was to provide comfort for Sarah Keyes, mother of his wife, Margret. But, reportedly suffering from consumption, Mrs. Keyes found the rigors of six weeks on the trail to be too much for her and she died on 29 May, somewhere near present-day Marysville, Kansas. This was the first recorded death in the Donner-Reed party. The details of her burial site were recorded by some of those who were present. (See Edwin Bryant, What I Saw in California [1848; reprint, Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1985], pp. 63–64; diary of George McKinstry, in Dale Morgan, ed., Overland in 1846: Diaries and Letters of the California-Oregon Trail [1963; reprint, Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1993], pp. 208–9. See also Kristin Johnson, ed., “Unfortunate Emigrants”: Narratives of the Donner Party [Logan, Utah: Utah State University Press, 1996], pp. 18–19, 269 n. 11.)
The affection that the novel depicts Peter having for his oxen was common among the drovers along the trail. Joseph F. Smith, son of Hyrum and Mary Fielding Smith, drove his mother’s teams across the trail in 1848. He later stated: “My team consisted of two pairs, or yokes, of oxen. My leaders’ names were Thom and Joe—we raised them from calves, and they were both white. My wheel team were named Broad and Berry. Broad was light brindle with a few white spots on his body, and he had long, broad, pointed horns, from which he got his name. Berry was red and bony and short horned. Thom was trim built, active, young, and more intelligent than many a man. Many times while traveling sandy or rough roads, long, thirsty drives, my oxen, lowing with the heat and fatigue, I would put my arms around Thom’s neck, and cry bitter tears! That was all I could do. Thom was my favorite and best and most willing and obedient servant and friend. He was choice!” (Cited in Joseph Fielding Smith, comp., Life of Joseph F. Smith, Sixth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1969], pp. 155–56.)