“Yes. Our two countries have already engaged in armed combat, and we are at full war now. I fully expect that our government intends to seize California from the Mexicans. We are waiting for a stores barque to join us and resupply our ship. Then we’ll sail for Monterey on the California coast. I fully expect that when we arrive, the order to capture the seaport towns will already have been given.”
War?
For the first time Will felt a lurch of concern. The Latter-day Saints were fleeing the United States precisely because their government—county, state, and federal—had not offered them protection or allowed them to defend their rights as citizens. They were not anxious to reenter U.S. territory, nor were they comfortable with the idea of taking their families into a combat zone.
“And what is to become of us?” Brannan said, visibly rocked by the news.
“I am told that the supply ship has extra muskets and ammunition. We shall be happy to sell arms to your group if that is of interest to you.”
Again there was a startled response from the listening Saints. The fear was that the navy had come to seize what arms they already owned. Now the military was offering to sell them more? That was a good sign.
“I would suggest you continue as planned,” Stockton went on. “Only I would strongly recommend that instead of sailing for Oregon you set sail for Yerba Buena, on the Bay of San Francisco, north of Monterey. There is a small Anglo-American colony there, and your people would be a welcome addition to help them hold it for the United States. Of that I am sure.”
Brannan nodded slowly. The relief was evident in his eyes, but there was still some wariness as well. “We appreciate your advice, Commodore, and shall take it under consideration. We also appreciate your offer of arms and are interested in taking advantage of your kindness.” He hesitated for a moment. “As you may know, sir, we have come in peace. We have no intention of joining forces with Mexico in these hostilities. Of that you can be assured, but we would like to be prepared to protect ourselves if necessary.”
“That is good to hear, Mr. Brannan. I was led to believe that such would be the case.”
Captain Richardson spoke up. “I believe Mr. Brannan speaks the truth, Commodore Stockton. And I can vouchsafe for these good people that they are no threat to the United States of America.”
“I was not of any other opinion,” the commander of the
Congress
said pleasantly.
Chapter Notes
After one hundred and thirty-six days at sea and six weeks after leaving the Juan Fernández Islands off the coast of Chile, on 20 June 1846 the
Brooklyn
arrived at Hawaii, then known as the Sandwich Islands. While waiting for a pilot to guide them to the port of Honolulu, island of Oahu, they anchored outside of the reef. There, as described in this chapter, they were met by a warship, the USS
Congress,
which was about to depart for California and participate in the war with Mexico. The
Brooklyn
did not enter the actual port for two days, 21 June being a Sunday. (See “Voyage,” pp. 60–61;
CS,
pp. 36–38.)
Chapter 4
Even though it was not yet ten o’clock, Solomon Garrett was pouring sweat. The headband of the straw hat Jessica had woven for him was soaked, and some of the straws were working loose. The front of his shirt was darkened halfway down his chest, and though he couldn’t see it, from the stickiness he suspected the back of it was the same.
He set the sickle on the ground and straightened, holding his back as he did so. Taking off his hat, he mopped at his brow with a rag he carried in his back pocket. It wasn’t just the heat, though the sun was already hot. It had rained for most of the week and the air was still heavy with moisture. Just walking out to the meadow from the main center of Mount Pisgah had left him feeling clammy and prickly around his shirt collar. He arched his back, still pushing against it with his hands, trying to stretch out the stiffness in his muscles. Solomon had passed his forty-first birthday in March. He was still in excellent health, and five months on the trail had left him trim and fit. But two hours of harvesting meadow grass took it out of the best of men.
He turned and looked back, then sighed. He had cut a swath about ten feet wide and no more than fifty to sixty feet long. It looked pitifully small considering how hard he had worked. There was a brief burst of intense longing as he thought of the McCormick harvesting machine he had jointly owned with one of his neighbors back in Hancock County. Or the one Benjamin Steed had once owned, a gift from Joshua. That one had been destroyed during the 1838 Missouri persecutions. His and his partner’s was sold for a pittance to help raise money for teams and a wagon. Solomon sighed again, replaced his hat, then reached for the wooden rake he had brought with him. In long, even strokes he pulled the newly cut grass into small windrows.
As they had inched their way across Iowa Territory, Brigham had decided to create semi-temporary way stations for his people. Garden Grove was the first, and because he was an excellent farmer, Solomon had been asked to stay behind to help put some crops in. He had been promised that it would be only a short time and then he could continue on to rejoin his family. The promise had been half kept. They stayed at Garden Grove for almost two weeks, and then John Taylor had said that Solomon and Jessica could move on, but not to Council Bluffs. Solomon’s skills were needed in Mount Pisgah. Would he consent to stopping there for a time as well?
Solomon wasn’t cutting this meadow hay for himself. He had contracted with three families who were going to winter over here at Mount Pisgah. He would cut enough hay to help see their stock through the winter. In return he would get a side of pork, a hundred pounds of cornmeal, a hundred pounds of wheat, and three gallons of molasses. That would be a great boon to the family, whether they stayed in Council Bluffs for the winter or went across the plains. Two more days, maybe three, and he would be done, and he and Jessica could take their family on. He bent over, grabbed a bunch of the meadow grasses, and went to work again.
It was an hour later when Jessica appeared. On her back in a canvas pouch that Solomon had made for her she carried little Solomon, now fourteen months old. She also carried a wicker basket in one hand. Solomon dropped the sickle and turned to watch her come across the swath he had mowed. She moved lightly. There was no touch of gray in her hair as yet, and her skin was still smooth and clear. She looked five or six years younger than him, even though she was actually almost a year older.
He smiled as he watched her. How fortunate they had been that Joshua had decided to do a little unannounced matchmaking! Solomon had been supervisor of “common schools” for Hancock County, Illinois. The state was vigorously trying to launch schools that were financed out of public funds to compete with the schools offered in the homes of individual schoolteachers. Joshua, then a successful businessman, had met Solomon in Ramus one day, and before their conversation was through he had suggested that Solomon come to Nauvoo to observe a school run by a woman named Jessica Griffith. He spoke so highly of her that Solomon had agreed.
What Joshua hadn’t mentioned then was that she had been married twice before—once to Joshua himself, and once to John Griffith, who had been brutally killed at Haun’s Mill. Not that it would have made a difference to Solomon. He was also a widower. So he went to Nauvoo and sat in on Jessica’s school, and that, as they say, was that.
Solomon’s eyes softened now as he watched her walk toward him. They both owed Joshua a great debt for his foresight.
He removed his hat and swiped at his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “Hello.”
Jessica smiled as she came up, then turned her back to him. He lifted little Solomon out of the carrier. “You’re making good progress,” she said.
“I think I’ve got about half a load, but it’s coming. I think I can have a full load by tonight. If the weather holds, I can get another one tomorrow. Then we can rest up on Sunday and leave on Monday.”
“I hope so, Solomon. I’m so anxious.” She held out the basket. “I brought you some food and some cool milk.”
“Wonderful.”
She went down to her knees and opened the basket and began to take out some bread and cheese, slices of ham, and a crock of milk. He sat down beside her. “Actually,” she said with a smile, “there’s news. I couldn’t wait for you to come in.”
“From the family?”
“From east and west.”
He looked puzzled, and she laughed lightly. “A new group of families arrived from Nauvoo about an hour ago. They brought a letter from Melissa.”
“Good. How are she and Carl doing?”
“I’ll talk about that in a minute. Two riders also came in from Council Bluffs this morning.” She was smiling now, almost laughing.
“Oh.” That explained her comment about east and west. “And they also brought news of the family?”
There were sudden tears in her eyes, and she clasped her hands together in an expression of great joy. “Joshua was baptized a week ago, Solomon.”
He nearly dropped the baby. “
What?
”
“Can you believe it? But the man swears it’s true. He was there.”
“Joshua?
Our
Joshua?” He set the baby down, who immediately toddled over to examine Solomon’s wooden rake.
“Yes. He said that Joshua had been secretly reading the Book of Mormon and finally he decided it was true.”
He sat back, leaning on his hands. “Well, I’ll be.”
“Isn’t that wonderful? Caroline must be so happy. And Mother Steed.”
“It seems too good to be true.”
“I know. I can scarcely believe it myself.” Then she frowned. “But Melissa’s letter is not so good. Someone burned the store down.”
He jerked forward, shocked deeply. “They what?”
“I’ll let you read her letter. It was awful. Two men came and threatened her at the store. Young Carl drove them off with a shotgun. That night the store was burned to the ground.”
“How terrible!”
“Melissa is really frightened, but she doesn’t think Carl will hear any talk of leaving. He was still up at the pineries getting lumber when she wrote.”
Just then there was a shout from behind them. Both of them turned to see.
“It’s Mark,” Jessica said, getting to her feet now. Her son was running hard toward them, waving his hands.
Solomon stood up beside her, feeling a sudden pull of anxiety. It was obvious that something had Mark stirred up.
“Mama, Papa!” As he reached them and pulled up short, he bent over, breathing hard.
“What is it, son?” Solomon asked. “What’s the matter?”
“Brother Woodruff sent me, Pa. He wants you and Mama to come quick.”
Jessica reached out and grabbed his arm. “Why, Mark? What’s the matter?”
“Soldiers. There’re soldiers in camp, Mama.”
To say that Mount Pisgah was in an uproar would be a grave understatement. The meadow where Solomon had been cutting hay was no more than a mile from the main camp of Mount Pisgah, and they walked swiftly. By the time he and Jessica arrived back, people lined the dusty streets or stood outside the rows of cabins talking excitedly or pointing up the street. They were calling back and forth to one another. Some men had rifles.
Solomon grabbed the nearest man. “Are there really soldiers here?”
“Absolutely.”
“How many?”
“Five or six,” came the reply, “plus a supply wagon.”
“Where are they?” Solomon asked.
“Meetin’ with President Huntington and Elder Woodruff,” the man responded. “Been in there for near quarter of an hour now.”
“Were they armed?” Solomon asked.
“Just side arms,” another man volunteered. “They didn’t have them out or anything.”
“Mark,” Jessica said, taking her son by the shoulder. “Get Luke; then you two find Miriam and John. Stay with them until we come.”
“Ah, Ma, I—”
“Do it, son,” Solomon said softly.
Grumbling, he turned and trotted away. Solomon, still carrying the baby, motioned to Jessica and they started toward Wilford Woodruff’s tent. They had gone only a few steps when the flap to the tent opened and William Huntington, president of the Mount Pisgah settlement, stepped outside. There was instant silence, and Solomon and Jessica stopped where they were. A moment later an officer dressed in the blue uniform of the United States Army appeared. He was followed by four more officers, and then Elder Wilford Woodruff. The officers stopped, standing close together. Elder Woodruff conferred briefly with President Huntington, who nodded, and then he turned toward the people.
“Brethren and sisters,” Elder Woodruff called in a loud voice. “Would you gather in closer, please. We have an announcement to make.”
The people immediately obeyed and began to push forward. In a moment, there was a tightly packed crowd of a hundred or more. There was much murmuring and whispering as the people got a closer look at the army officers. Then Elder Woodruff raised his hands for silence.
“Brothers and sisters, as most of you can see we have visitors today. They have come from Fort Leavenworth, in Indian Territory. They come on assignment from the president of the United States.”
That sent a ripple through the group, and it was not purely a favorable one. There was some grumbling and a few angry mutters. Elder Woodruff ignored them. “President Huntington and I have listened to what they have to say. We think you need to hear it for yourselves. I therefore introduce to you Captain James Allen of the United States Army. Please give him your kind attention.”
He stepped down and one of the officers took his place. Solomon could see the two gold captain’s bars sewn onto his shoulders. Once up, he looked around. It was clear that he had sensed the mood of the crowd and was not entirely comfortable. He glanced quickly at Wilford Woodruff, smiled, though it seemed a little strained, then turned back to the crowd.
“Thank you, Mr. Woodruff. I appreciate your willingness to let us speak directly to your people.” He straightened to his full height, then reached inside his jacket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. “Ladies and gentlemen, as you all know now, as of May thirteenth of this year, the United States of America is at war with Mexico. It is that circumstance which brings me to you. As your leader has indicated, I am Captain James Allen of the First Dragoons of Fort Leavenworth, which is the headquarters of the Army of the West. I come under authority of my commanding officer, who received his orders from the secretary of war in Washington. I am told that these orders originated directly from President James K. Polk himself.”