The Prophet turned slowly to face Jessica. He stepped forward, putting his arm around her shoulder. “I heard about Brother John, Sister Griffith. What a loss for you, and what a loss for us. He was a good man.”
Jessica could only nod.
“I saw Amanda Smith earlier and learned of the marvelous things that you and she went through together. How is your hand?”
She held it up. On the palm was a near-perfect circle of purple scar tissue. “It’s fine now, thank you. The ball went through cleanly and didn’t do too much damage.”
His head bobbed slowly, acknowledging all that her simple statement entailed. “The Lord has not forgotten you, Sister Jessica.” She looked up at him, in surprise. “The Lord is well aware of your sacrifice and your faithfulness. And he has not forgotten you.”
He greeted Rebecca and inquired about the coming birth. He asked about Derek and Peter. He turned back to Mary Ann when he learned that Matthew had gone west to help bring the rest of the Saints out of Missouri and gave her calm reassurances about her son’s safety. He greeted the children one by one, calling each by name and inquiring after their welfare. He asked about Joshua and Caroline. Benjamin watched it all and marveled. It was as though there weren’t another person around or another demand on his time. This was Joseph. No wonder they loved him. Not only was he the Lord’s anointed, but this was a man of tremendous personal warmth and great charm. And the power of it lay in the fact that he cared. There was never any question about that. Joseph cared.
“I’d say it’s gusting to seven or eight, Cap’n.” The first mate of the
Bostonia
was yelling into his captain’s ear to make himself heard.
The captain of the packet ship looked upward, hunching his back against the droplets of salt water whipping in almost horizontally against his oilers. Had it been in their faces, it would have stung like pebble-size hail. The sails were as taut as the skin on a pig and strained to their limits. The wind sounded like a woman in travail as it howled across the spars and through the rigging. “Maybe even a nine or ten,” he grunted.
“Shall we prepare to strike the sails?”
“Not yet. Let her run, as long as it doesn’t get any worse.”
The mate gripped the huge spoked wheel that controlled the rudder of the ship. The ship was just cresting a wave. It poised there for a moment, the bow pointing upward, ten feet of keel exposed to the open air. Then it plunged precipitously downward. It shuddered from stem to stern as the prow caught the next wave and dug in deep enough that for a moment it looked as though the whole ship would be buried in the boiling seas. But then the nose lifted, water cascaded across the decks, and she was running up the next massive swell.
In 1805, Sir Francis Beaufort, rear admiral in the British navy, had developed the “Beaufort scale.” Ranging from zero to seventeen, the numbers were used to define the effects of various winds on a sailing vessel. Zero meant a perfect calm. The smoke from cooking fires rose vertically in that condition. Two indicated a wind defined as “that in which a well-conditioned man-of-war, with all sail set, and clean full, would go in smooth water from one to two knots.” Wind labeled with the number twelve meant a gale “which no canvas can withstand.” Twelve to seventeen were all hurricane-force winds.
Captain Jonathan Sperryman wasn’t worried about the wind going much higher. This was not hurricane season in the Atlantic. They were in the middle of a very intense spring storm, as intense as he’d seen in several crossings, but this was a solid ship and the canvas was strong. And with the wind coming almost straight out of the west, they were making good time. They could cut several hours—or more if it continued long enough—off their time. Some of the crew would be sick—were already sick—but they’d come out of that soon enough.
Suddenly he leaned forward, peering intently up the mainmast. It was seven o’clock in the evening, and with the heavy storm clouds, it was fast approaching full dark. But he could see two figures up on the second spar, working together to lash down some loose rigging.
“Who’s that up there with Jiggers?” he shouted.
The first mate didn’t even look up. He had watched the two go up earlier. “Steed,” he called back.
The captain’s eyebrows lifted. “Steed? I thought he was off watch.”
“He is. He was up on deck watching the storm. Saw Jiggers going up. Said he wanted to learn more about fixin’ the riggin’.”
“Watching the storm?” Sperryman said in surprise.
The first mate, whose name was O’Malley, grinned. “Yeah. He was leaning into the wind like a hound sniffing out a fox. Said he loved the feel of the ship doing battle with the sea.”
The captain stood there for a moment, staring up at the two shapes that were nearly lost in the rain and darkness. Fixing the rigging on a spar in the midst of a force-ten wind was not a task for the weak of heart.
“He’s a natural sailor, that one,” the officer said with undisguised admiration. “Fifteen years or not. I wish we had a dozen more like him.”
The captain nodded absently, remembering that he had said something similar to the boy as they were approaching the port of New York. “You want some coffee?”
“Aye, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll bring it out.” Pulling the collar of his oilskin raincoat up around his face, Sperryman turned and started away. Just as he reached the door that led to the galley, he stopped again and turned. For several moments he stood there, looking up at the mainmast; then, with a shrug, he stepped through the door and out of the storm.
Chapter Notes
Joseph and Hyrum and the other prisoners arrived in Quincy on Monday, 22 April, the day following Lucy Mack Smith’s remarkable prophecy. The night after Mother Smith told Edward Partridge her sons would be returning, she had a dream in which she saw them out on the prairie. They were so weak they could hardly stand, and she awoke, grieving that she could not help them. Father Smith tried to calm her and tell her it was just from being overwrought, but she found it impossible to rest; her sons were still before her eyes, and she saw them sleep for a time and then struggle forward on their journey. She rose from her bed and remained awake throughout the rest of the night, determined that she had been shown a vision of her sons. In the morning she again told people that Joseph and Hyrum would arrive that day before the sun set. After their return and the family was gathered together, Mother Smith described to Joseph and Hyrum what she had seen, and they confirmed in every particular that that was exactly what they had been going through that night at the time of the dream. (See
Mack Hist.,
pp. 300–302.)
The depiction of Joseph and Hyrum’s arrival in Quincy is based on the account given by Dimick B. Huntington, who was the first to see the Prophet at the ferry landing (see
CHFT,
p. 215;
Nauvoo,
p. 26).
Chapter Five
While Joseph and Hyrum were happily being reunited with their families and friends in Quincy, about two hundred miles west of Quincy a reunion of a different sort was taking place. Just after sunset, Brigham Young and those traveling with him approached Tenny’s Grove, a stand of trees about twenty-five miles southeast of Far West. Immediately they saw the train of wagons scattered among the trees. It was what they had been watching and waiting for for several days—the rescue party from Quincy had found the group that comprised nearly all of the remaining Saints from Far West.
At a run, Nathan started toward the camp, shouting out Matthew’s name. He found him and the Ingalls brothers about ten wagons back, and in moments there was enough back slapping among Derek, Peter, Nathan, and Matthew to send clouds of dust puffing out from trail-weary clothing.
It was a substantial group that camped that night. There were fourteen wagons and about thirty-six families from Far West. They had come southeast to Tenny’s Grove, far enough to be safe from their enemies in Daviess County, then stopped to wait for the rescue party to reach them. Adding Brigham’s party to that group made well over a hundred and fifty people in the camp. The arrival of Brigham and five other members of the Quorum of the Twelve from out of nowhere was a wonderful surprise to the gathering of Saints and a tremendous boost to the spirits of the camp. The euphoria was heightened by Brigham’s announcement that the Twelve, after their brief stop at Far West, would return to Tenny’s Grove and accompany the families to Quincy.
Only five members of the Quorum of the Twelve had left Quincy, but a couple days before, they had come across John E. Page on the trail and Brigham had convinced him to accompany them back to Far West. That made six. But Nathan had expected there would be seven.
“Where’s Heber?” he asked Derek the first chance he got.
Derek looked surprised. “Didn’t you know? He’ll be at Far West, waiting for Brigham to come.”
“What?”
“That’s right. He said the Twelve would be coming, and despite the danger and the threats from the mob, he’ll be at Far West to meet the brethren when they arrive.”
Nathan exhaled slowly. So with Heber there would be seven of the Twelve. More than a majority. It didn’t surprise him. Heber C. Kimball had the same rock-hard determination to do what the Lord asked that Brigham did. But it did sober Nathan greatly. If Brigham hadn’t been absolutely insistent that they come, it would have been just one member of the Twelve standing in the main square of Far West on the twenty-sixth. He put an arm around Matthew. “Come on. Let’s get your families settled for the night, and then we need to talk.”
“You’re absolutely positive that Rebecca is all right?”
Nathan smiled, pleased to see the anxiety in his brother-in-law’s eyes. “Rebecca is fine. The last thing she said to me as I left was to tell you not to worry. This baby is going to wait until his father is home before he makes his debut into the world.”
“
His
father!” Matthew smiled. “That’s what Derek keeps telling us, that it’s going to be a boy, but I’m betting on a girl.”
“Me too,” Peter said.
“I don’t care what it is, as long as Rebecca and the baby are all right,” said Derek.
They all nodded at that. Death of the mother or the child—or both!—was far too common an occurrence in nineteenth-century America. To have both come through in good condition was always a blessing to be accepted with great humility.
As they fell silent again, Matthew looked around. Brigham Young and the other members of the Twelve were a few yards off, huddled around a fire together in council with members of the Committee on Removal, getting a full report. Brigham had announced that the Twelve would be leaving at first light.
Matthew turned back to Nathan, who was staring into their fire. “You’re not one of the Twelve, Nathan.”
Surprised that Matthew had sensed his thoughts, he nodded. “I know.”
Derek was watching Nathan closely now too. “We could use some help here, looking after these families’ needs.”
“I know that too.” Nathan picked up a buffalo chip from the stack behind him and tossed it onto the fire. The embers flared and sent a spiral of sparks up into the night. “Look,” he said, facing them both. “I don’t know why, but at the meeting where Brigham first discussed this, I felt quite strongly that I should go. That hasn’t changed.”
“Then I think you need to go,” Peter said simply.
Nathan was touched by Peter’s firmness. Peter had been there in Far West. He had faced the lust-filled mobbers and stood between them and the Steed women. He had been shot at, hit with a rifle butt, nearly killed. And still he did not flinch.
Derek finally saw it too. “It will be very dangerous. They’re waiting for you. Be careful.”
Nathan pulled a face. “Thankfully, Brigham isn’t out to prove anything with the mob. He says we’re going in after midnight, getting the business done, and getting out again as quickly as possible. And we’ll all be glad for that.”
He took a deep breath. “There’s something else,” he said slowly. “When we’re done in Far West, I may join you and the others for part of the trip east, but I won’t be going straight back to Quincy with you.”
As he expected, that really caught them by surprise. “What?” Derek blurted. “Why not?” Matthew asked. “How come?” Peter asked.
“I’m going to St. Louis.” Nathan smiled at them in the firelight. Their expressions said it all.
“St. Louis?” Peter echoed.
“To see Joshua and Caroline?” Matthew cried.
“Shhh!” Nathan soothed, afraid they would awaken some of the children sleeping in the wagons and tents around them. “Yes, to see Joshua and Caroline.”
“But why?”
Nathan hesitated for a moment. This had not come quickly. Nor easily. He had thought about it constantly for the past three days. He knew it would be a bitter disappointment to Lydia when he did not return with the others. But after turning it over and over, looking at it from every possible angle, he knew what needed to happen. So he began to speak slowly and with determination. “First of all, I want to know if they have found Will.”
“Oh yes,” Matthew breathed. “We have all wondered about that.”
“But it’s more too. We’re out of Missouri now. Or nearly so. Once this business in Far West is done, it’s over. This part of our lives is over.”
“So?” Matthew broke in, not helped by that answer at all.
“For these past eight months, about all we’ve had time to think about was surviving. Well, now it’s time to consider getting on with our lives.” Nathan paused for a moment before going on. “Do you remember last fall when Lydia and I suggested we have a family council?”
“Yes, I remember,” Matthew said. “We talked about sticking together as a family.”
“More than just sticking together, Matthew,” Nathan said. “We’re talking about working together, planning together, putting our resources together so we can become stronger.”
Derek’s voice was sober. “And you think it’s time for that?”
“I do,” Nathan said firmly. “And when I told Brigham what I was thinking, he agreed. If I make my way down to the Missouri River and catch a riverboat, I can save several days over what it would take if I went back to Quincy and then down to St. Louis.”