“We waited three weeks in Iowa Camp while they were making the hand-carts. They were very lightly made, and I think not at all suitable for such a long and wearisome journey; and being so hastily put together, and most of the wood unseasoned, they were utterly unfit for the rough work for which they were constructed. Twenty of these carts—one to every five—were allowed to every hundred persons, who were also allowed five good-sized tents and one Chicago waggon, with three yoke of oxen, to transport the baggage and provisions. We were only allowed seventeen pounds of bedding and clothing each, which, with cooking utensils, &c., made up about one hundred pounds to each cart, and that was quite as much as the cart (itself only sixty pounds in weight) could carry. You can see, Sister Stenhouse, how difficult it must have been out of every hundred persons—men, women, and children—to find twenty who were strong enough to pull even such frail things as those hand-carts were. The married men and the young men and boys did the best they could, but they could do no more, and some of the carts were drawn by young girls alone.
“The girls and women who had no husbands used to occupy a tent by themselves at night; but in the other tents, whole families, without respect to age or sex, together with the young men who assisted them during the day, used to find shelter. This you will see at once was exceedingly inconvenient; but we had no choice, and we had been so long associated, and had suffered so much together, that we did not feel it as much as we otherwise must have done.
“GATHERING TO ZION”—LIFE ON THE PLAINS.
To face p. 125.
“What weary days we spent! Hour after hour went by, mile after mile we walked, and never, never seemed to be a step the further on our way. Sometimes I recalled to mind a hymn which we used to sing at Sunday School, when I was a child—an evening hymn in which we returned thanks that we were—
‘A day’s march nearer home.’
“But day after day went by—wearily, hopelessly—and when each night came on, and, tired and footsore, we lay down to rest, we seemed no nearer to our home in Zion.
“Do not think, Sister Stenhouse, that we gave way to despondency. What we felt, God alone knows; but our poor weary hearts were full of confiding faith in Him, and we placed undoubting confidence in the promises and prophecies which we had received through His chosen servants. The young folks were light-hearted and gay, and with all the enthusiasm of youth they pressed on, thinking not of the way but only of the end; and their example was most encouraging.
“My husband was one of the bravest and truest of all that band. He drew the cart which we shared with another Elder and his wife and their grown-up daughter. They were old people—I mean the Elder and his wife—and the daughter was an old maid, unpleasant, thin, and sour, and too feeble to do anything. There were reasons why I was excused from taking any share in hard work; but I felt as zealous as the rest, and day after day walked beside my husband, thinking that, if nothing more, my companionship might cheer him. The old folks walked behind, and so did the children; but sometimes, when the little ones were very weary indeed, the parents would place them on the top of the bedding in the hand-cart, and give them a lift. But some of the elderly people who were unused to walking far, and whom it was impossible to carry, suffered a great deal; and sometimes mothers with children at their breasts would trudge on mile after mile in all the heat and dust without a murmur or complaint, until they almost dropped down with fatigue. What some of those poor creatures suffered, no words could tell.