“Very carefully and gently I raised him up, and, in the darkness, every whispered word conveyed more meaning to my mind than all his eloquence in by-gone times. After some time I persuaded him to take a little nourishment—miserable stuff that it was—and presently he fell asleep again. I laid his dear head upon the best pillow that I could make of some of my own clothes, and then I slept a little myself—not much, but it was more refreshing than any sleep that had visited my eyes for a long time past—hope had come again.
“The next morning my husband was evidently better, and I knelt down beside him and thanked God for the miracle that He had wrought; for was it not a miracle thus to raise my dead to life again? How many stronger, stouter men than he had I seen fall sick and die; but to me God had shown mercy in my utmost need.
“We waited three long days for the return of Captain Willie. My heart was so full of thankfulness that my husband had been spared that I certainly did not feel so acutely the misery with which I was surrounded as I otherwise should have done; I was like the prisoner who feels happy in a reprieve from death, but whose situation is nevertheless such as would appear to any other person the most wretched in which he could be placed. The misery that was suffered in that camp was beyond the power of words to describe. On the second day they gave us some more beef-rations, but they did us little good. The beef was, of course, of the poorest, and, eaten alone, it did not seem to satisfy hunger, and those who were prostrated by dysentery, although they ate it ravenously, suffered much in consequence afterwards.
“The number of the sick rapidly increased, and not a few died from exhaustion; and really those seemed happiest who were thus taken from the horrors which surrounded them. Had it not been for the intense frost, we should all probably have fallen victims to the intolerable atmosphere of the camp. I would not even allow my mind to recall some of the scenes which I witnessed at that time: scenes, the disgusting and filthy horrors of which no decent words could describe. When you consider the frightful condition in which we were, the hunger and cold which we endured, you may perhaps be able in a small degree to conjecture—as far as a person can conjecture who has not himself suffered such things—what we then passed through. I saw poor miserable creatures, utterly worn out, dying in the arms of other forlorn and hopeless creatures as wretched as themselves; I saw strong and honest, honourable men, or who had once been such, begging of the captain for the miserable scraps which had been saved for the sick and the helpless children; I saw poor heart-broken mothers freezing to death, but clasping as they died, in an agony of loving woe, the torn and wretched remnants of clothing which they still retained, around the emaciated forms of their innocent babes—the mother-instinct strong in death; and sometimes at night when, all unbidden, I see again in dreams the awful sufferings of those poor God-forsaken wretches, I start in horror and pray the Almighty rather to blot out from my mind the memory of all the past, than to let me ever recollect, if but in fancy, that fearful time.
“The third day came, and still no relief. There are mysterious powers of endurance in human nature, weak as we often deem it, but there is a point beyond which the bow, however flexible, will not bend. It was evident that if no help arrived speedily, the end was not far off.
“The sun was sinking behind the distant western hills, in all the glory of the clear frosty atmosphere of the desert, and many who gazed upon its beauty did so with a mournful interest, believing that they would never again behold the light of day. But at that moment some who were anxiously watching with a last hope—watching for what they hardly dared expect to see—raised a shout of joy. We knew what it was! Men, women, and children rushed from their tents to welcome the approaching waggons and our friends in time of need. Captain Willie and the other Elder had found the rescue from Salt Lake overtaken by the storm just as we were, but he had told them of our terrible situation, and they had hastened on without a moment’s delay. It was he and they, convoying good supplies, who now approached us. The poor creatures shouted wildly for joy; even the strong men shed tears; and the sisters, overcome with the sudden change from death to life, flung themselves into the arms of the brethren as they came into the camp and covered them with kisses. Such happiness you never saw—every one shaking hands and speaking joyfully—every one saying ‘God bless you’ with a meaning such as is seldom attached to those words.
“The supplies were to us more than food and clothing—they were life itself. Elder John Chislett was appointed to distribute the provisions and clothing, and everything was placed in his hands. He gave out to us all that was immediately necessary, but strongly cautioned us to be very moderate in what we ate, as it was dangerous to go from the extreme of fasting to a full meal. After supper the clothing and bedding was fairly divided, and we felt more thankful for those little comforts than a person, who had never endured as we had, would have felt had he become suddenly the recipient of boundless luxury.
“Two of the Elders who had held forth such delusive hopes to the company, not long before, as I have already told you, were with the brethren who came to our relief. I have never ventured to ask how it was that they could hold out to us in God’s name such promises, when they must have known after a moment’s reflection, that they were utterly baseless; but I think that probably they left their comfortable homes in Salt Lake City and came across the stormy desert with supplies to meet us, only to show practically how anxious they were to atone for having led us astray. Next morning Elder Grant went on east to meet the company following us, but Elder W. H. Kimball took command of our company for the rest of the way.
“We could now journey but very slowly, for the road was bad; the sick and weakly were, however, able to ride, and altogether we suffered less. To some this change for the better arrived too late—the mental and physical sufferings which they had endured were too much for them. Poor souls! they alone and their Father in heaven knew what they had passed through. They seemed to have lost all consciousness, as if their faculties had been numbed and stultified. We talked to them of the past, but they looked at us with unmeaning eyes, as if we spoke of something in which they had no interest; we tried to lead their thoughts to Zion, and the promises of the Lord; but it was all in vain. They turned from us with a look of terrible apathy; and one or two, who partly seemed to understand, only replied with an indifference painful to witness—‘Too late, too late!’