The Story of the Mormons, from the Date of Their Origin to the Year 1901

by William Alexander Linn

While pursuing their journey in this manner, their camp was visited one evening by Apostle F. D. Richards and some other elders, on their way to Utah from mission work abroad. Richards severely rebuked Savage for advising that the trip be given up at Florence, and prophesied that the Lord would keep open a way before them. The missionaries, who were provided with carriages drawn by four horses each, drove on, without waiting to see this prediction confirmed.

On arriving at Fort Laramie, about the first of September, another evidence of the culpable neglect of the church authorities manifested itself. The supply of provisions that was to have awaited them there was wanting. They calculated the amount that they had on hand, and estimated that it would last only until they were within 350 miles of Salt Lake City; but, perhaps making the best of the situation, they voted to reduce the daily ration and to try to make the supply last by travelling faster. When they reached the neighborhood of Independence Rock, a letter sent back by Richards informed them that supplies would meet them at South Pass; but another calculation showed that what remained would not last them to the Pass, and again the ration was reduced, working men now receiving twelve ounces a day, other adults nine, and children from four to eight. Another source of discomfort now manifested itself. In order to accommodate matters to the capacity of the carts, the elders in charge had made it one of the rules that each outfit should be limited to seventeen pounds of clothing and bedding. As they advanced up the Sweetwater it became cold. The mountains appeared snow-covered, and the lack of extra wraps and bedding caused first discomfort, and then intense suffering, to the half-fed travellers. The necessity of frequently wading the Sweetwater chilled the stronger men who were bearing the brunt of the labor, and when morning dawned the occupants of the tents found themselves numb with the cold, and quite unfitted to endure the hardships of the coming day. Chislett draws this picture of the situation at that time:—

"Our old and infirm people began to droop, and they no sooner lost spirit and courage than death's stamp could be traced upon their features. Life went out as smoothly as a lamp ceases to burn when the oil is gone. At first the deaths occurred slowly and irregularly, but in a few days at more frequent intervals, until we soon thought it unusual to leave a camp ground without burying one or more persons. Death was not long confined in its ravages to the old and infirm, but the young and naturally strong were among its victims. Weakness and debility were accompanied by dysentery. This we could not stop or even alleviate, no proper medicines being in the camp; and in almost every instance it carried off the parties attacked. It was surprising to an unmarried man to witness the devotion of men to their families and to their faith under these trying circumstances. Many a father pulled his cart, with his little children on it, until the day preceding his death. These people died with the calm faith and fortitude of martyrs."

An Oregonian returning East, who met two of the more fortunate of these handcart parties, gave this description to the Huron (Ohio) Reflector in 1857:—

"It was certainly the most novel and interesting sight I have seen for many a day. We met two trains, one of thirty and the other of fifty carts, averaging about six to the cart. The carts were generally drawn by one man and three women each, though some carts were drawn by women alone. There were about three women to one man, and two-thirds of the women single. It was the most motley crew I ever beheld. Most of them were Danes, with a sprinkling of Welsh, Swedes, and English, and were generally from the lower classes of their countries. Most could not understand what we said to them. The road was lined for a mile behind the train with the lame, halt, sick, and needy. Many were quite aged, and would be going slowly along, supported by a son or daughter. Some were on crutches; now and then a mother with a child in her arms and two or three hanging hold of her, with a forlorn appearance, would pass slowly along; others, whose condition entitled them to a seat in a carriage, were wending their way through the sand. A few seemed in good spirits."

The belated company did not meet anyone to carry word of their condition to the valley, but among Richard's party who visited the camp at Wood River was Brigham Young's son, Joseph A. He realized the plight of the travellers, and when his father heard his report he too recognized the fact that aid must be sent at once. The son was directed to get together all the supplies he could obtain in the city or pick up on the way, and to start toward the East immediately. Driving on himself in a light wagon, he reached the advanced line, as they were toiling ahead through their first snowstorm. The provisions travelled slower, and could not reach them in less than one or two days longer. There was encouragement, of course, even in the prospect of release, but encouragement could not save those whose vitality was already exhausted. Camp was pitched that night among a grove of willows, where good fires were possible, but in the morning they awoke to find the snow a foot deep, and that five of their companions had been added to the death list during the night.

To add to the desperate character of the situation came the announcement that the provisions were practically exhausted, the last of the flour having been given out, and all that remained being a few dried apples, a little rice and sugar, and about twenty-five pounds of hardtack. Two of the cattle were killed, and the camp were informed that they would have to subsist on the supplies in sight until aid reached them. The best thing to do in these circumstances, indeed, the only thing, was to remain where they were and send messengers to advise the succoring party of the desperateness of their case. Their captain, Mr. Willie, and one companion acted as their messengers. They were gone three days, and in their absence Mr. Chislett had the painful duty of doling out what little food there was in camp. He speaks of his task as one that unmanned him. More cattle were killed, but beef without other food did not satisfy the hungry, and the epidemic of dysentery grew worse. The commissary officer was surrounded by a crowd of men and women imploring him for a little food, and it required all his power of reasoning to make them see that what little was left must be saved for the sick.

The party with aid from the valley had also encountered the snowstorm, and, not appreciating the desperate condition of the hand-cart immigrants, had halted to wait for better weather. As soon as Captain Willie took them the news, they hastened eastward, and were seen by the starving party at sunset, the third day after their captain's departure. "Shouts of joy rent the air," says Chislett. "Strong men wept till tears ran freely down their furrowed and sunburnt cheeks, and little children partook of the joy which some of them hardly understood, and fairly danced around with gladness. Restraint was set aside in the general rejoicing, and, as the brethren entered our camp, the sisters fell upon them and deluged them with kisses."

The timely relief saved many lives, but the end of the suffering had not been reached. A good many of the foot party were so exhausted by what they had gone through, that even their near approach to their Zion and their prophet did not stimulate them to make the effort to complete the journey. Some trudged along, unable even to pull a cart, and those who were still weaker were given places in the wagons. It grew colder, too, and frozen hands and feet became a common experience. Thus each day lessened by a few who were buried the number that remained.

Then came another snowstorm. What this meant to a weakened party like this dragging their few possessions in carts can easily be imagined. One family after another would find that they could not make further progress, and when a hill was reached the human teams would have to be doubled up. In this way, by travelling backward and forward, some progress was made. That day's march was marked by constant additions to the stragglers who kept dropping by the way. When the main body had made their camp for the night, some of the best teams were sent back for those who had dropped behind, and it was early morning before all of these were brought in.