“But this was only the beginning of our pilgrimage;—the end we could not foresee. Every evening, when we pitched our tents, we endeavoured—by songs, and jests, and interesting stories—to beguile the tediousness of the way. The days were not quite so warm now, and the nights were more chilly; but altogether, it was much more pleasant travelling than it was in the earlier part of the journey, and no one seemed to remember the almost prophetic remonstrance of Brother Savage.
“Still we travelled very slowly, for the carts were always breaking down; the wheels came off, and we had nothing to grease them with. The boxes of the wheels were made of unseasoned wood, and the heavy pressure upon them, and the dust that got into them, soon wore them out. Some of the people cut off the tops of their boots and wrapped them round the axles, and others cut up their tin plates and kettles for the same purpose; and for grease they used soap, and even their pitiful allowance of bacon. But as the days passed, and the flour began to be used up, these accidents became less frequent.
“Upon an average, they said, we travelled about fifteen miles a day, which I think was very good. Some few days we even made a little over twenty miles, but they were balanced by the shortcomings. We tried to feel happy and hopeful, and even the aged and infirm tried to make light of their toil and privations, for we did not see that heavy cloud which was looming across our way. I frequently talked with the old and weakly among the people, to whom both my husband and myself were able to offer little kindnesses, and they all spoke cheerfully of our prospects. Such faith had they in the promises of the Elders.
“Just before we reached Wood river, vast herds of buffaloes appeared in our vicinity, and one evening all our cattle stampeded, and the men had to go in search of them. About thirty were lost, and after hunting after them for three days, we gave them up. We had only one yoke of oxen now for each waggon, and as the waggons were loaded each with three thousand pounds of flower, the teams could not move them. So they yoked up the beef-cattle, and cows, and heifers, but they were unmanageable; and at last we were obliged again to place a sack of flower upon each hand-cart.
“This sorely tried us all. Some of the people even complained, but the greater part of us bore up bravely, believing that it was the will of the Lord. We still had faith that all would yet be well. This was, however, a hard blow. Our milch cows were useless to us, our beef-rations were stopped, and the burdens which we drew were doubled. Every one did his or her best, but many of us began to be disheartened, and could hardly get along.
“One evening there was quite a commotion in the camp. We had pitched our tents for the night on the banks of the Platte river, I think, when suddenly quite a grand turn-out of carriages and light waggons came up from the east and joined us. Each carriage was drawn by four horses, and the outfits were in first-class style. Nothing could be too good for Apostles and other ‘distinguished’ servants of the Lord, I was anxious to know who they were, but was not long in finding out. There was the Apostle Franklin Richards, and Elders Webb and Felt, and Joseph A. Young, the son of the Prophet, and Elders Dunbar, and Kimball, and Grant—all returning Missionaries. They stayed with us all night, and in the morning called a great meeting, and the Apostle Richards delivered a speech, which since has troubled me not a little, and made me very sorrowful.
“He had heard of what Brother Savage had said, and then and there, before us all, he rebuked him. He then exhorted us to remember the hope set before us, and told us to pray and work on, and especially to be obedient to counsel; and he finished by solemnly prophesying, in the name of the God of Israel, that the Almighty would make a way for us to Zion; and that though the snow might fall and the storm rage on the right hand and on the left, not a hair of our heads should be hurt.
“Some of the people wept with joy as they heard these words. My own heart was full. To me, this was the voice of inspiration—the voice of God—how could I doubt again?
“Sister Stenhouse, before a month was over, I saw with my own eyes that prophecy, those promises, falsified to the very letter; and yet at the time they came to me and to all else as the word of the Lord from heaven. Tell me, if men can thus deceive themselves—for I do not doubt for a moment that the Apostle believed his own prophecy—and if we could be so sadly deluded as to believe that what was said was divine—what surety have we for our religion at all? I strive against these sinful doubts, but they will sometimes creep into my heart unbidden.
“The Apostle and the Elders with him told Captain Willie that they wanted some fresh meat, and the Elders killed and gave them of our very best. What could be denied to the Servants of the Lord? We were then more than four hundred in number—aged men and feeble women, with babes and poor little children too young to walk; many of them infirm and sick, all of them footsore and weary. We were far away from home, travelling slowly hundreds and hundreds of miles, worn out, and without sufficient provisions for the way, or the remotest chance of obtaining any. And yet, oh God! I shame to tell it; these servants of Heaven—our leaders, our guides, our example—these chosen vessels who came to us, riding comfortably and at ease in their well-appointed carriages, took of our poverty—took the very best we had!