Chapter 6

New York City, New York
to
Iowa City, Iowa

I

Sunday, 15 June 1856

Sarah James leaned over and whispered into Maggie McKensie’s ear. “Do you think you can sit through a worship service where the benches are not swaying up and down?”

Maggie laughed softly. “It certainly feels strange, that’s for sure.”

Hannah McKensie, Ingrid Christensen, and Emma James were sitting directly behind Sarah and Maggie and heard what Sarah had said. Emma James, always the tease and full of life, leaned forward. “To feel normal, in addition to having the room rising and falling we’d have to exchange the chairs and benches for boxes and crates and barrels.”

Hannah giggled behind her hand. “And have a sailor in the crow’s nest looking down on us while we sing.”

They all tittered at that, and Sister Jane James turned and gave them a stern look. They immediately straightened and looked to the front, striving to be a little more prim and proper. But Sarah was right, Maggie thought. It had been only early yesterday morning that their ship had tacked with the wind off Sandy Hook and entered the first of New York Harbor. At eight a.m., a steamboat, appropriately named Achilles, the legendary strong man of Greek mythology, came alongside the Thornton, threw her a line, and towed her towards the city.

They had been extremely fortunate. A doctor had come on board just off Staten Island and pronounced the passengers fit and healthy with no need of quarantine. That was remarkable. President Willie had warned them that some ships were held up for days while they awaited their health inspection and that some of the doctors would exercise their authority and make anyone who didn’t look perfectly fit spend a week or more in quarantine. If there were any signs of real illnesses, such as smallpox or cholera, a whole shipload of passengers might spend a month or more in a quarantine center. Being already very late in the traveling season, that would have been disastrous for the emigrants going to Utah.

A short time later, an equally remarkable event happened. The official from the New York Custom House came on board and, obviously bored, asked a few superficial questions of a few of the passengers. Satisfied, he then passed off all of their luggage without an inspection of any kind. And so by sundown, after forty-two days at sea, they docked at Castle Garden, a large building set aside specifically for incoming emigrants, and stepped on solid ground again.

That was not even twenty-four hours ago, and here they were in New York City joining with the local branch of the Church for worship services. Not even one full day yet. No wonder they missed the perpetual motion of the ship, the rolling with the waves, the swaying from side to side, the sighing of the wind in the rigging, and the crackling of the canvas.

Maggie smiled to herself. Missed was probably not the best term. “Noticed its absence” might be a better way to put it. She had never in her life been so glad to be able to walk a few steps as she had been to walk down the gangplank of the Thornton, never to see it again. And if she spent the rest of her life on dry land and never more set foot on a sailing vessel, it wouldn’t cause her any noticeable grief.

She pulled out of her thoughts as a stir suddenly swept through the room. Two men had entered the room at the back. Several of the Saints immediately stood to shake their hands. Maggie turned to watch. The first man was President James G. Willie, their group leader. The other she didn’t recognize, though he seemed to be attracting the greatest amount of attention among those of the emigrants.

William James leaned over to Maggie’s mother. “Do you know who that is?” he asked.

She shook her head. Maggie, Sarah, and the others were shaking their heads as well.

“That’s Elder John Taylor,” Brother James said.

Maggie started and peered more closely. Here was a name that was well known to the Saints but a face not recognized by many of them. An Englishman himself who had emigrated to Canada back in the late twenties, he had been a missionary to Great Britain, serving considerable time on the Isle of Man, but that had been several years before Maggie’s family had joined the Church. He was very distinguished-looking, with a neatly trimmed Greek-style beard and hair that curled in soft waves and was already showing traces of premature gray, though he was not yet fifty years of age.

“Is he an Apostle?” Reuben James asked in a loud whisper. Reuben had just recently turned fourteen.

His father smiled. “Yes, son. He is one of the Twelve. He is also the president of the Eastern States Mission now. So he presides over the Church here.”

“He’s more than that,” Sister James said. “Don’t you remember, Reuben? It was Brother Taylor who was in Carthage Jail with the Prophet Joseph. He was shot four times and wounded terribly.”

“Really?” Robbie McKensie’s eyes grew very large as he stared at the man at the back of the room.

“Yes,” Brother James said. “Actually, he was shot five times. But remember? As he was about to fall out of the window, one bullet hit his pocket watch and smashed it, throwing him back into the room. It saved his life.”

Sarah was nodding now. Her family had been in the Church longer than the McKensies, and now she remembered Elder Taylor. He had spoken at their Worcestershire Conference when she was younger. “Papa, is it true that he still carries two of those bullets in his body even now?”

“That’s right,” her father said. “They were never able to remove them.”

Robbie’s mouth was agape. “Really?” he said again, his voice filled with awe.

“Can you believe it?” Maggie’s mother said. “He was actually there that terrible day, and now he’s going to speak to us. Think of it, Maggie. Here we are in America, meeting with Latter-day Saints in New York City, and an Apostle of the Lord is about to speak to us. It’s a miracle.”

II

Tuesday, 17 June 1856

For Eric and Olaf Pederson, much of what was going on around them was a great swirl of confusion. Eric thought they had been making grand progress on their English under the tutelage of Maggie McKensie, but now! People were barking orders, shouting out commands, speaking at what sounded like five hundred words a minute. Here and there a recognizable phrase jumped out at him, but most of it was incomprehensible.

Yesterday he had been greatly encouraged and very much uplifted. On Sunday when the English Saints went into the city to join in the worship services, most of the Scandinavian group had stayed at Castle Garden, the emigrant center where they were temporarily housed. Knowing that the services would be in English, they stayed behind and began sorting through the luggage. Elder Ahmanson had gone into the city with the others, and Eric and Olaf had almost joined him. They changed their minds when Jens and Elsie Nielson had a bad experience with one of the emigrant officials because they couldn’t understand what he was asking them to do, and so the two brothers decided they had better stay. Ingrid Christensen also stayed to provide whatever limited translation services she could offer. When Maggie and Hannah, along with Sarah and Emma James, came back and reported that Elder John Taylor had spoken to the group, the three English students were deeply disappointed.

Happily, yesterday President Taylor had come out to Castle Garden to meet the rest of the Saints. He spent a good part of the day giving them instruction and counsel. His style of speaking was careful and measured and much easier for Eric to follow. It had been a wonderful experience. With Elder Taylor came several newspaper editors and journalists, curious to see these emigrants who would be going to Utah by handcart in what the newspapermen termed the “bold experiment.” Eric had expected some contempt from such a group, or at least an air of condescension, but for the most part they had manifested friendly feelings for the group and had been quite complimentary on their overall appearance and the general spirit of the company. Curious that he and Olaf could understand some English, one of them had talked with the two Norwegians at some length.

Today had not been so wonderful. More than seven hundred people had come across the Atlantic on the Thornton. Getting them aboard ship and sufficiently provisioned for the six-week voyage had seemed an enormous task. But now they had to get that same number—minus a few who had permission to stay in New York for a time—ready for a thousand-mile journey by railway car and steamboat. Railway cars had to be secured, luggage arranged for, tickets purchased, and people assigned. Food enough for the first day or two was brought in, but after that they would have to secure food at the various stops along the way. The Church agents assured them that this would be no problem, but it seemed to Eric that that was easy to say and perhaps not quite so simple to do. He tried not to think about it too much.

At ten o’clock they loaded back onto a harbor boat with all of the luggage and left Castle Garden for the pier that belonged to the New York and Erie Railway line. This was where the railroad picked up the freight that would be carried inland. There things quickly went from pandemonium to total chaos. Each passenger’s luggage had to be weighed, for the limit they could take on the train was fifty pounds per adult. That was no problem for Eric and Olaf, who together didn’t have enough to make up fifty pounds, but for many it was a difficult and frustrating task. Everything had to be clearly labeled and secured for shipping. Heavier items were sorted out and left behind to be shipped by the Church agents in freight cars, then carried under contract by independent Church wagon companies that were also going to Salt Lake this season.

The weather was hot and muggy, and tempers quickly grew short as the hours dragged on. The Scandinavians had a particularly bad time of it. They were not used to this kind of heat. Then to be jostled and bumped, yelled and shouted at—and frequently sworn at—by frustrated stevedores in a language they didn’t understand was not a pleasant experience. It took until seven P.M. before all of that was completed.

Once again they loaded on board the harbor boat and sailed up the Hudson River a few miles to Piermont. Here, a short distance from the dock, was the railroad station. Here, according to their leaders, they would begin their journey across America by rail.

It was eleven P.M. when they finally trooped off the harbor boat and made their way to the railway station—sweaty, grimy, physically exhausted, mentally beaten down, and ready for a chance to lie down and sleep.

“I’m tired, Mama.”

Eric turned. The Nielson family was behind him and Olaf. Jens Nielson had Bodil Mortensen, the nine-year-old girl they were bringing to Utah for another family, on his back. Her head lay against him, and she looked like she was asleep. It was young Jens, who was five, that had spoken. He was dragging along, his feet shuffling on the cement walkway, his small valise dragging on the ground behind him. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes heavy.

Elsie turned. She already had both of her hands full with their luggage. “Jens,” she said patiently, “we’re almost there. Then we can rest on the train.”

“Here,” Eric said, handing his bag to Olaf. Then he knelt down. “Come on, Jens.” He patted his shoulders. “Would you like to ride on my back, like Bodil?”

“Yes!” He ran forward and leaped onto Eric’s back. Eric took his small bag in one hand, then hoisted him up with the other. “Hang on, then.”

“Thank you, Eric.”

“It’s a pleasure,” he said to Elsie. “All of the children are so tired. It’s been a long day.”

As they came around the corner of a long brick building, a warehouse of some kind, they saw the train. To Eric’s surprise, it was not that long. There was the steam engine and the tender filled with firewood. Next there were two passenger cars with windows. He could see people already filling the benches inside. Then the rest were freight cars—six in all—with a caboose on the end.

Elsie slowed her step, dismay filling her face. “But Jens,” she said, “that’s not enough cars for our group. And look, they are already full.”

Her husband was a little surprised too, but just shook his head. “Let’s be patient, Elsie. President Willie and his counselors know what they’re doing.”

Eric certainly hoped so, for none of their group had started loading onto the train yet. How could only two passenger cars possibly take them all?

Off to one side they saw President Willie and Elder Millen Atwood, his counselor, standing on a trunk so that they were above the crowd. They were calling to the people and motioning for them to come in close.

As usual, the Scandinavian group was near the end of the line. They had learned that it was easier to let the English speakers go first and then they could watch and get some idea of what they were supposed to do. So when Eric and Olaf and the Nielsons came up to where Brothers Willie and Atwood were waiting, it took only another minute or two before everyone was there.

President Willie raised his hands and the crowd quieted. “Brothers and sisters, this is the New York and Erie Railway station. We have booked passage for all of you from here to Dunkirk, which is at the very western edge of New York State, about four hundred and sixty miles from here.”

He paused, letting Elder Ahmanson translate that for his people.

“Dunkirk is a port on Lake Erie. There we have booked passage for our group on a steamship to Toledo, Ohio, which is another two hundred and eighty miles. From Toledo we shall go by rail to Chicago, and from Chicago by way of the Chicago and Rock Island line all the way to Iowa City, Iowa. All together, it is about a thousand miles from here to Iowa City.”

There were groans and exclamations of surprise. Eric looked at Jens and Elsie. “A thousand miles?” he mouthed. That was incredible. And that was only to get them to their jumping-off point. Just how big was this North America?

“And how much farther once we get to Iowa?” someone called out.

“Iowa City to the Salt Lake Valley is about fourteen hundred miles. And from there, of course, it will be by handcart all the way.”

To a group that was already deeply exhausted, that was devastating information. An appalled silence settled over the crowd.

“I know that sounds terribly discouraging right now, brothers and sisters,” President Willie said, forcing a smile, “but remember how fortunate we are. The railroad line to Iowa City was just completed this spring. That saves us an additional week or two over what others have had to do on their own.”

When that seemed to settle them a little, he turned and looked toward the train. “As you would probably guess, we do not have the funds to purchase first-class or coach tickets for our group. That would leave nothing for food or for getting you equipped with handcarts. So what we have is what the railroad calls ‘emigrant cars.’ Those are the last six cars you see on the train.”

“But,” a woman cried out, “they’re just freight cars.”

“No,” Brother Willie said patiently. “They were freight cars. Now they have been outfitted with tiers of benches around all four sides, like seats in a circus tent. Each car will house about eighty passengers.”

Every eye was staring at the cars now. Eighty! Eric felt his heart drop. Each car looked to be no more than thirty or forty feet long and maybe ten or fifteen feet wide. Could eighty people fit inside? Not “fit.” “Live!” Eighty people would have to live inside those cars. They would be their home for the next while. He shook his head, aware that little Jens was almost asleep on his back now.

“I know what you are thinking,” President Willie said, speaking more softly now. “But we were fortunate to secure these. In the past some of our people have had to come in cattle cars. And those are not pleasant. Nothing but straw on the floors. Lice everywhere. A terrible smell.”

“But where will we sleep?” It sounded like the same woman again.

President Willie audibly sighed. “You will have to sleep as best you can. And the sanitary facilities will not be ideal. But brothers and sisters, it will be only two days and then we will board the steamship. That will be crowded, but you will have a place to stretch out and sleep and will have plenty of fresh air.”

He waited. Perhaps it was good that they were all so exhausted, Eric decided. If they had been fresh and rested, there might have been much more protest. As it was, they just stared at the cars, wondering how they would manage.

“Brother Atwood and I have to return to New York to attend to some unsettled business. We are asking Brother Levi Savage to take charge now. We will take an express train to Dunkirk when we are through and meet you at the docks.” He looked around. “Are there any questions?”

No one raised a hand.

“All right. Elder Savage has your tickets and your car assignments. Good luck, brothers and sisters. We’ll see you in Dunkirk.”

III

Friday, 20 June 1856

Maggie found Hannah and Emma James near the front of the Jersey City steamship, leaning over the rail staring down into the water of Lake Erie. She pushed her way through the crowds until she reached their side.

“Hi,” she said, moving in beside Hannah.

“Hi. Did you finish?”

Maggie nodded. “It’s all done.” She pulled a face. Scrubbing out their quarters down in steerage had left her a little dizzy. The air was thick and foul and gave her a headache whenever she was down there for very long. Previous passengers were not as concerned about keeping the quarters clean as were the sister Saints. With about seven hundred people in their company, President Willie and his counselors had booked all of the steerage space and put the women and children there. The men had been forced to sleep on the open decks. Immediately the sisters had set to work, much to the pleased surprise of the steamship’s crew, to clean out their quarters. They were doing it in shifts, and Maggie and her mother had taken the first turn along with Sister James and Sarah. Hannah and Emma would go down in a few minutes to take advantage of this “opportunity.”

Maggie grabbed one of the steel posts that supported the deck of the ship above them. She leaned back, breathing deeply. “That air is wonderful,” she said.

“I can’t believe they let that compartment get as bad as it is,” Hannah said, wrinkling her nose. “I hate it down there.”

Emma turned on them. By nature Emma was the optimist, always cheerful, always bright, always trying to see the best side of things. “Well, at least we have a place to lie down when we sleep.” She was sixteen now and about six or seven months younger than Hannah.

“Yes,” Maggie agreed. Her body still ached from two nights of trying to sleep on the narrow benches of the “emigrant cars,” with soot and cinders pouring in through the windows, and the violent rocking. Along one of the stretches, the engineer had opened the throttle and nearly run the train off the track. That had been in the middle of the night and frightened everyone so badly that no one slept until morning. They learned later that the engineer was from Ohio and was a virulent anti-Mormon. When he learned he had a load of Mormon emigrants, he determined that he was going to “drive the Mormons to hell.” It had been a very long two days. The steamship was filthy, but Emma was right. The steamer was a welcome change in at least one way.

It was a beautiful day. They had boarded the Jersey City at six P.M. the previous evening and sailed shortly thereafter, but dark had quickly settled over the Great Lakes and they had not been able to see much. Now the sky was clear and the morning sun was warm off the water. Moving along at about ten miles per hour, the ship created its own breeze, which made the temperature just about perfect.

“It seems so strange after the ocean,” Hannah said. “It’s so calm.”

“Brother Savage said that in a storm the Great Lakes can get pretty rough too, but it sure doesn’t seem that way now,” responded Maggie.

Off about two or three miles to their left, the shoreline of Ohio was slipping slowly past them. It was a deep green, broken only occasionally with a house or building. Maggie watched it for a minute or two and then remembered something President Willie had said as they were boarding. “We are going to stop at Cleveland in a little while.”

“Yes,” Hannah said, “that’s what Elder Atwood said too.”

“They say that Kirtland is only a few miles from there. Wouldn’t you love to go and see the temple?”

Just then Sarah James slipped up behind them and put her arm around Maggie. “What temple?”

“The Kirtland Temple. It’s not far from Cleveland, where we’ll be stopping for a while.”

“Do you think we could go see it?” Emma asked eagerly.

Maggie shook her head. “I heard some others ask, but President Willie said that first, it is too far away. The boat is going to stop for only a short time. Second, the leaders are going to have to work as quickly as possible just to buy more supplies for us. There won’t be any time for side trips.”

They nodded at that. Purchasing food sufficient for their numbers was an ever-present challenge for their leaders. Coming across New York, it hadn’t been quite so difficult. Each place where the train stopped, a whole growing market designed to provide food for the rail travelers was springing up. But coping with seven hundred passengers at once often tested the local resources. In several places the agents bought up all the bread the village had to offer. Twice they had been favored by the “butcher boys,” food vendors who worked on the trains themselves. They sold bread, cheeses, and various smoked and dried meats, but most of the emigrants could not afford to purchase much at those prices and had to be content with what the agents procured.

“When do we reach Toledo?” Sarah asked.

“Tomorrow morning about nine,” Maggie answered. She had been favored to sit beside President Willie and Elder Atwood for a time this morning and had plied them with these very questions.

“And then back onto the trains?” Hannah said in a despairing voice.

“Yes. We go first to Chicago and then to Rock Island, Illinois. That’s where we cross the Mississippi River.”

“I’m anxious to see that,” Emma said. “They say it makes any river in England look like a trickle of water.”

“I’m anxious to see it too,” Maggie said, “but not because it’s big. Because it means we are almost to Iowa City.”

“I can hardly wait,” Hannah said dreamily. “It feels like it’s been forever since we left Edinburgh.”

“Only because it has,” Maggie said with a faint smile. “Forever and a couple of days beyond that, actually.”

Sarah straightened and looked at Hannah and Emma. “Well, girls, Mama said to tell you it’s your turn to go down and clean.”

They groaned in perfect unison.

Sarah just smiled. “Maggie and I are going to sit here and enjoy the fresh air while you two do your part to help clean up America.”

IV

Tuesday, 24 June 1856

Maggie straightened painfully, bracing herself against the violent, spasmodic jerking from side to side. The noise was constant and loud. She grimaced, doing something she never thought she would ever do again. She actually longed for the quiet of the ship and to have her berth back, crowded as it was with both her and Sarah sleeping in it. Compared to the narrow benches of the railway car, the racket of the engine, the clouds of soot and cinders that blew in through the open windows, the ship had been heaven.

The pain in her neck came because she had fallen asleep, her head at a crazy angle. It was a wonder she had. It was a wonder that anyone could sleep on a train. Yet across from her in the semi-darkness she saw Hannah and Emma, heads against each other as they slept. Robbie was across from her, also asleep with Reuben and George James. She turned. Her mother and Jane James were behind her. William James and two more of his children were opposite. They were all asleep.

With a deep sigh she looked around. The car was dark except for the oil lamps at each end, which were turned down low. Just to her left, outside the narrow window, there was a sensation of motion in the darkness, deeper shades of black gliding by. Inside the car, everywhere she looked she could see the dark shapes of sleeping bodies and squarer forms of baggage filling every free space. A heavy weight on her own lap reminded her that John James, who was four, was using her as his pillow.

She reached up behind her head and retrieved the lumpy pillow. Carefully now she lifted John’s head, slipped the pillow beneath it, then slid out from under him. He stirred slightly as she laid the pillow down on the bench, but that was all. His breathing deepened again. After a moment she stood, then carefully stepped over Hannah’s legs into the narrow aisle.

Seeing two dark figures at the back end of the car, Maggie moved toward them. The one had a cap on. Peering carefully to make sure she didn’t trip over anyone, she moved slowly down the aisle. It was a jumble of legs and feet and an occasional head poking out beyond the limits of the benches.

The man straightened as she approached. She saw him flip something away and there was a momentary streak of orange in the darkness. Almost immediately the smell of tobacco mingled with the more pungent smoke from the engine. Then to her surprise, she recognized the silhouette of the other man. It was Eric Pederson. What was he doing way up here? Someone had said the Scandinavian group had taken the last two cars on the train.

At that same moment he recognized her. He too was startled, then smiled. “Hah-loh, Sister Maggie.”

She smiled. “Hello, Eric. Did you know when you call me Sister Maggie it makes me feel like my mother?”

He laughed easily. “What I call you?”

“Just Maggie.”

“Yes, Sister Maggie,” he said. “I can do.”

She shook her head, a little taken aback with the realization that he was teasing her. “Can’t sleep?” she asked.

He grinned and put his hands over his ears. “Too much quiet,” he said.

She laughed. “And too much sitting still.” She jerked back and forth in imitation of the train’s movements.

“Yah, yah,” he said. “Not like ship.”

“Not at all.” She turned to the other man. She saw now that he was one of the three young railway attendants that had joined them at Chicago. “Good evening.”

“Evening, miss,” he said, tipping his hat.

She brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen across her eyes, feeling the grittiness, longing for the time when she could wash it again. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Almost eleven o’clock.”

“How long before we get to Rock Island?”

“Quarter of an hour. Maybe a little more.”

“Rock Island?” Eric broke in. “Is where we go?”

Maggie turned. “Yes. Rock Island, Illinois. It’s where we reach the Mississippi River. It’s our next stop.”

He looked puzzled, but she wasn’t sure how to make it any simpler than that. She turned back to the attendant. “Really?” She felt her spirits lift. “We’re that close?”

“Yes’m.” He was young, she could tell now. No more than a year or two older than she was. His face was pockmarked and the skin looked like sandpaper, but his eyes seemed pleasant enough.

“Wonderful.” She started to turn. If he was right, it was time to wake the family and start putting their things together.

“Are you from England?” the attendant asked, bringing her back around.

She managed a smile. Only in America could they mistake the Scottish brogue for an English accent. “From Scotland, actually.”

“Oh.”

She couldn’t tell from his face if he knew the difference or not. She also wondered if he knew they were Mormons. If so, it didn’t seem to bother him. In Chicago they had been very badly treated by the railroad conductor, who had insisted on putting them off in the street, baggage and all, then refused to direct them to any shelter, even though a heavy thunderstorm was threatening. Brother Willie finally found the railroad superintendent and prevailed on him to let them take shelter in an empty warehouse for the night. The whole incident had been very depressing for Maggie. Her mother kept saying that they were going to America to escape being persecuted as Mormons. And yet here was the same blind ugliness that had made life for Robbie and Hannah such a nightmare at their school.

“What about him?” The attendant looked at Eric.

“He is from Norway,” she answered, forgetting for the moment that Eric and Olaf and Ingrid had been studying English for over a month now and understood much of what was said to them.

“Yah, Norway,” Eric confirmed.

“How long have you people been traveling?”

She didn’t have to think about it. She had marked every day off with tick marks in her notebook. “Forty-two days at sea. Another nine or ten from New York.”

“Wow!” He actually seemed envious. “All by train from New York?”

She shook her head. “No. We took passage on a steamboat across the Great Lakes.”

“You’ll have to ferry across the Mississippi,” the attendant said. “The new bridge collapsed.”

“We heard that.” She looked at Eric. “They had a new bridge across the river but it collapsed.”

He nodded and she wasn’t sure if he understood or not.

“But the ferry runs all the time,” the attendant went on. “Then you can catch the train again on the other side. It goes all the way into Iowa City. That’s where the line ends.”

“And how much farther is Iowa City once we cross the river?”

“Fifty, maybe sixty miles is all. You should be there ’fore noon, assuming you get the morning ferry.”

She sighed. The original plan had been that they would cross the great river sometime tonight and be to Iowa City by daybreak. She was oh so ready to be off the trains.

“Well,” the attendant said, touching the bill of his cap again. “I’d better start waking people up.” He moved away and the two of them watched him go.

Maggie suddenly felt awkward. She and Eric Pederson had spent many hours together in class, but this was the first time she had ever been alone with him. “Did you understand that?” she asked. “We’ll be stopping soon, Eric.”

“Yah. I go and wake Olaf.”

“Is he sleeping?” She had pulled a face.

“Oh, yah. He has no ears.”

She laughed. This droll humor was a side she had not seen in him before. “My family too. It’s disgusting.”

“Dis-gust-ing?”

She shook her head, not sure how to explain that. Then she noticed that he had put on his sweater in the night’s chill. She reached out on impulse and touched it. “This is beautiful.”

“Tank you.” He shook his head, instantly correcting himself. “Thank you.”

“Where did you get it?”

To her surprise, she saw his face fill with sorrow. “My mother makes special for Olaf and me.”

“I see.” She made a guess. “As a going-away present?”

He looked at her blankly.

“As a gift? for when you left?”

“Yah,” he said. “Is very special to me.”

“I understand.” Then, to her surprise, she wanted to share something with him. “I have a music box.”

“Yah?” he said, seeming to understand but not sure why she said it.

“It was a gift from my father before he died. It is very special to me too.”

“Ah,” he said softly. “Yes.”

She straightened, a little embarrassed now. “Well, I’d better go and wake the family.”

“Good-bye, Sister Maggie.”

She gave him a stern look. His head tipped back and he laughed easily. Then he turned and started down the line of cars toward the back of the train.

V

Thursday, 26 June 1856

By the time they ferried across the Mississippi—a sight which staggered Eric’s mind—and carried their baggage to the train, it had been nine o’clock in the morning. Now it was half past one. The ride to Iowa City had taken four and a half hours.

Eric turned in time to see Sister Elsie Nielson struggling to carry a large suitcase down the steps of the railroad car in one hand. With the other she held little Jens’s hand, trying to keep him from pulling away from her and getting lost in the crush of people. The case seemed almost as large as her tiny figure. Eric thrust his own bag at his brother. “Olaf, take this.”

He turned and moved swiftly to her, taking the case from her hand.

“Takk.” She smiled gratefully at him, then took a firmer hold on her son’s hand. “Jens, you stay right here beside Mama.”

Eric was struck again with the difference between this woman and her husband who had befriended them as they were leaving Denmark. Elsie Nielson was four foot eleven. She weighed less than a hundred pounds. Jens was a tall and muscular farmer. At six feet two inches, it was always easy to pick him out from the group. Together they were like a towering tree beside a new sapling. When they stood together, people who didn’t know them turned to look and then would smile. Eric had learned something, though. They might differ greatly in physical stature, but here was a couple who were one in spirit. Their love for each other was immediately evident, and they were totally united in their love of the gospel as well. Eric felt a deep rush of affection and gratitude for them. Their offer of friendship there on the steamer at Copenhagen had not been an empty one. The Nielsons had taken Eric and Olaf in as though they were their own. It had been wonderful for Olaf. His homesickness had become bearable, and having the two children to help care for had helped keep his mind occupied.

Eric smiled to himself. It wasn’t just Olaf who had benefitted from Elsie’s mothering and Jens’s friendship. It had been good for him as well.

“Thank you, Eric,” Jens said as he appeared with another case and Bodil Mortensen.

Eric set the case down and looked around. Beyond the cars of the train he could see rows of buildings on either side of the track. Beyond the buildings was the vastness of the great American prairie. It was a flat, featureless landscape, such a shock to the eyes after the mountains of Sognefjorden. The grass was already starting to turn brown in the June heat. So this was Iowa City. He felt a momentary panic. What if Utah was like this?

And the heat! It was as if they had been dropped into a bathhouse. The air was hot, heavy, almost like a weight pressing against one’s body. He could already feel the first prickling of sweat beneath his shirt.

“Let’s go, brothers and sisters. The rest are moving.”

Eric turned. It was Brother Ahmanson. The Scandinavian group once again had taken the last two cars, so they were at the end of the long line of people who had gotten off the train.

“Brother Willie says the Church agents are waiting for us at the end of Main Street.”

•••

Olaf’s eyes were wide as the group left the station and started up the main street of Iowa City. The buildings were mostly new. Some were made of logs. Most had tin roofs, but he saw two with grass growing on the top and tugged at Eric’s sleeve to show him.

They moved right up the center of the street, a long line of weary emigrants shuffling along in the thick dust. For a moment Olaf wondered why, but then he saw the townspeople. They lined the boardwalks on both sides of the street, leaving nowhere but in the street for the new arrivals. They gaped at the emigrants as they slowly passed. There were men, women, and children. Some of the children pointed, giggling behind cupped hands. “Hey, Mormons!” a young man about Olaf’s age shouted. “Go back home where ya come from.” But an older man standing next to him cuffed him sharply and he said nothing more.

“This isn’t a zoo,” Olaf muttered to Eric. “What are they gaping at?”

“Maybe the way we’re dressed,” Eric responded.

“They’re the ones who are dressed funny,” Olaf retorted.

“To them, we are the ones who are dressed oddly. We are the ones who are different.”

Olaf grunted and lowered his head, not wanting to look at these Americans anymore. In about five minutes they began to leave the buildings behind. As they came to a large field, Eric pointed. Up ahead the crowd was stopping, spreading out like water behind a dam.

“What is it?” Bodil Mortensen asked Elsie.

She shrugged. Jens, who was tall enough to see over most of the crowd, answered for her. “There are some men in a wagon waiting there for us.”

Olaf went up on tiptoes. Jens was right. The people were forming into a large circle around four men who stood together in the back of a wagon so that they were above the crowd.

“I think we have arrived,” Eric said.

Just then Elder Ahmanson came up. “Eric? Olaf? I know your English is not good yet, but see what you can do to help our people understand what is being said. I will be speaking too, but not all may be able to hear.”

Surprised and yet pleased, they both nodded. “Let’s go over there,” Olaf suggested. “We can be heard better there.”

•••

All around, people were sitting on the grass or on their luggage. Women adjusted their bonnets and began fanning themselves with whatever was at hand. Men removed their hats and mopped at their brows. Even that much of a walk in the heat had set them to sweating heavily. Dark spots beneath their arms and on the backs of their shirts were visible on many.

The McKensies and the Jameses found a place near the wagon and gathered in together. Then Hannah saw Ingrid among the last of those coming in and waved. She smiled back and came over to join them. Maggie saw Eric and Olaf move off to one side and remain standing.

At the wagon, President Willie along with Millen Atwood and Moses Cluff, his counselors, were in conference with the four men who had been waiting for the group of Saints. They were far enough away that Maggie could not hear, but she was interested to note that there was clearly agitation among them. Then finally President Willie climbed up beside the other four and raised his hands. “Brothers and sisters, may I have your attention please?”

He didn’t have to ask. The crowd had already instantly quieted. Maggie saw that he too looked tired. He was a kind and gentle man in his mid-forties. He had left his family four years before to return to England, his native land, as a missionary. He must be very anxious to return to them. And yet, in the two months of their journey, their leader’s first concern had always seemed to be for his people. It was no wonder he was so widely respected.

“After almost two full months,” Willie began, “we have finally reached the end—and the beginning—of our journey. We are grateful to the Lord for bringing us safely this far. We pray that His over-watching care may continue.”

He half turned. “I would like to introduce you to four men that many of you who are from England already know. These are the Church agents here in Iowa City,” he said. “All have been missionaries in the British Isles for the last three or four years. They left England earlier this year at the direction of President Brigham Young. They came here to Iowa City to get things ready for the companies who would be crossing the plains this season. They arrived in March and have been here ever since.

“We are now under their jurisdiction. In charge is Brother Daniel Spencer.” One of the men stepped forward, raising a hand in welcome. “With him,” President Willie continued, “are Elders George D. Grant, Chauncey Webb, and William H. Kimball, son of President Heber C. Kimball.”

As each stepped forward, there were nods and murmurs from those who recognized them. But at the mention of the Kimball name, surprise and admiration rippled through the crowd. Heber C. Kimball was in the First Presidency and was known by name to almost everyone because of his being the first missionary to bring the gospel to Europe.

President Willie stepped back, and the one he had introduced as Brother Spencer moved to the edge of the wagon box, waiting for the group to quiet again.

“Good afternoon, brothers and sisters. Welcome to Iowa City. We are glad to see you here.” He smiled broadly. “But I’ll wager we’re not half as glad as you are to see us.”

Suddenly, Sarah was poking Maggie as laughter and applause broke out. “Look, Maggie. Eric and Olaf are helping translate.”

Maggie turned and saw that along with Johan Ahmanson the two brothers were helping the people know what Elder Spencer was saying. “Wonderful,” she whispered. “There’s nothing that will help them more.”

Elder Spencer went on. “As Brother Willie has indicated, the four of us were sent here to act as agents for the Perpetual Emigrating Fund. We stand ready to help you in any way possible to further your journey to Zion.”

He stopped and the smile on his face slowly died. When he began again the crowd quickly became very, very still.

“Brothers and sisters, I must tell you that we did not expect more emigrants to come this season. Yes, we heard recently from some of our people traveling west that more companies were on their way, but that was only a few days ago. We hoped that perhaps you would stay over in New York until next season. It is very late now. We have already outfitted and sent off three handcart companies in the last six weeks. The last one left just a few days ago. We thought that was it. In fact, we were packing up our things and getting ready to start west ourselves.”

Now a buzz swept through the crowd.

Maggie was staring at her mother. Too late? She had left James and Scotland and a job that helped her support the family, and now they were being told they were too late? What did the Church agents expect them to do? troop back to the railway station? climb back on the cars and return home? The Scottish in her flared in irritation.

“What will we do, Mama?” Hannah asked.

“It will be all right,” Mary soothed. “Let’s listen and see what they say.”

Daniel Spencer sighed, shaking his head slowly. “To have this many people show up now . . . This will tax our abilities greatly. We have exhausted our lumber supply. We have very little canvas left for the tents. We don’t even have a place for you to sleep tonight.” There was a long, long silence. Then in a low voice he concluded, “Our resources and funds are nearly gone.”

James G. Willie had gone rigid. “But Brother Spencer, President Richards said he had written to tell you of our coming.”

Spencer was a middle-aged man of medium build and height. He was clean shaven, and his complexion had been marred some years before by acne or some other infection. His hair and sideburns were very curly and combed back from a high forehead. All of these combined to make him look stern, almost grim. His mood at the moment did little to dispel that impression.

“I suppose he did, Brother Willie, but the mail from Europe—especially out here on the frontier—is very unreliable. Your arrival comes as a great shock to us.”

Millen Atwood raised his hand. “We are not the last,” he said loudly. “Another ship was supposed to leave about three weeks after us.”

Spencer whirled, as did all of his companions. “What?”

Willie nodded slowly. “Yes, it’s true. It could not be helped. With the announcement of the handcart plan, many more Saints responded than was expected. Brother Edward Martin is bringing another shipload. They were scheduled to leave three weeks after us.”

“But it is already way past the time for departure,” Brother Grant said. “It is the last of June. By now we should be gone from Florence, and that’s three hundred miles farther on from here. And you’re saying there are others still three weeks behind you?”

“What were we to do?” Brother Willie answered. “You must realize how things are in England. These people had quit their jobs, or were let go for being Latter-day Saints. They sold everything. When they came to Liverpool expecting passage, they had nowhere to stay, no way to make a living in England. As you know, England’s laws are very strict. Many of them would have been thrown into the poorhouse. President Richards did the only thing he could do.”

Brother Kimball spoke up now. “How many are there in the next group?”

Willie shook his head. “They were still forming it when we left. President Richards thought perhaps there might be as many as a hundred more than in our company.”

“And you’re seven hundred?” Grant exploded.

“Yes. Some stayed in New York to come next season, but yes, we are about seven hundred.”

The agents huddled and began to talk in great excitement. The crowd erupted in a low roar of sound. Daniel Spencer raised his hand and shouted for order. He had to shout again, and then again a third time before he got their attention.

“Brethren and sisters, obviously this news is distressing to us as it is to you. There is no question but what it is very late in the season.” He took a quick breath. “In fact, President Young has counseled us to send no groups west if they cannot leave from Florence by June first.”

Maggie felt sick. It was June twenty-sixth and they had just arrived.

The head of the agents in Iowa City shook his head slowly. “This is not good.”

Jane James touched her husband’s arm. “Surely we haven’t come this far only to stop, William?”

“We must not lose faith.”

A hand shot up near the front of the crowd. It was one of the English members, Eric saw.

“Yes, brother?” Spencer said.

“Some of us are not going by handcarts. We have sufficient means to go by wagon. What about us?”

Spencer nodded. “We shall be forming one or two independent wagon companies—independent meaning that you can travel on your own without having to go with the handcarts. However, those of you who are in that category will be asked to delay your departure. If the weather does happen to turn cold, the risk to a wagon company is not as great as to the handcarts. You will be able to carry more food and supplies in the wagons than we can in carts. So you will follow after the handcart companies so you can give them aid if they need it.”

“Thank you.”

Mary was looking at Maggie, seeing the distress in her eyes. “We have to wait and see, Maggie. The Lord didn’t bring us here just to forsake us.”

Before Maggie could answer, Brother Daniel Spencer cried out again. “Brothers and sisters, please!”

The sound died quickly.

“I’m sorry if we have appeared discouraged. There are hard realities we have to face. But . . .” the word hung in the air like a banner. “But it is not upon us that you are relying, it is upon the Lord. That’s why you’ve come. In obedience to His commandment.”

Mary shot Maggie a triumphant look. It was nice to have your words validated so quickly.

“We find it hard to believe that the Lord led you this far only to have you stopped. You’ve come in faith. Let’s not let faith die now.”

Without conscious thought, Maggie began nodding slowly. Sarah reached out and laid a hand on her arm. “It will be all right, Maggie,” she murmured.

Daniel Spencer’s face was resolute now, his voice firm. Any feelings of his being harsh or unfeeling were now completely dispelled. “Brothers and sisters, the coming of this many so late may have caught us off guard, but it hasn’t caught the Lord by surprise. He who knows all things will watch over our labors. If it is His will that we winter over here at Iowa City or at Florence, then we shall bow to that will. But until He tells us otherwise, we shall go forward with full faith. We shall go to work and secure those supplies that we need. We shall find the lumber. We shall secure the funds. We shall locate the flour we need.”

Now all around the assembly, people were nodding as he punched out each sentence. There were smiles too. They were tentative, anxious, but also hopeful. And Maggie’s was one of those.

Brother Spencer straightened to his full height. “Brethren and sisters, our outfitting camp is about two miles south of town. As yet we do not have tents enough for all of you. We are pleased to hear that you have sewn some together on your voyage. We shall take those to camp and set them up first thing tomorrow. Perhaps some of the women and children can come with us and stay. In the meantime Brother Webb has contracted with the local superintendent of the railroad to let us have use of one of the large engine sheds for the night.”

He glanced toward the west, where far in the distance there was a line of gray clouds. “It looks like we may have rain, so you won’t want to be out in the open. Tomorrow the rest of you can come on down and we will go to work.”

He stopped and smiled warmly at the faces of these people who were hanging on his every word. “Though we may sound dismayed, make no mistake, brothers and sisters. We are pleased that you have come. You are doing what you have been called upon to do, and we are proud to be associated with you in this great task.”

Chapter Notes

The details shared in this chapter about the journey from New York City to Iowa City are drawn from the Willie Company journal (see Turner, Emigrating Journals, pp. 1–10). Since the travel by rail and steamboat did not involve the same sacrifice as traveling by wagon and handcart, most of the journal entries that cover the “sail and rail” portions of the journey are not as detailed as those that cover the latter half of the company’s journey. However, by modern standards, it is clear that this portion of their travel had its own set of hardships.

One author has written: “Mormons, because they almost always traveled in ‘emigrant cars’—that is, the cheap cars rather than the first-class and ‘palace’ cars—experienced most of the discomforts typical of mid-nineteenth-century railroading. Among the standard problems were crowding (up to eighty-four in each car), uncomfortable cars, poor heating, bad ventilation, dim lighting, marginal sanitary facilities, few if any sleeping arrangements, inadequate eating conveniences, and a lack of drinking water; loud noise, strong smells, jolting, shaking, vibration and fatigue; an abundance of dirt, lice, soot, sparks, smoke, and fire; gamblers, thieves, tramps, drunks, marauding soldiers, impolite railroad personnel, and ‘mashers’ who tried to ‘take advantage’ of women; loss of luggage; plenty of snow and ice; and such other inconveniences as sickness, bad breaks, animals on the tracks, derailments, accidents, wrecks, [and] delays” (Stanley B. Kimball, “Sail and Rail Pioneers,” pp. 30–31).

The experience with the engineer who declared that he would drive the Mormons to hell is a true one, though it did not happen to the Willie Company as shown here (see Kimball, “Sail and Rail Pioneers,” p. 31).

In the Willie Company journal, the entry for 26 June 1856, the day of their arrival at Iowa City, reads: “This morning at 7 a.m., we left and crossed the Mississippi by the steam ferry boat, and at 9 a.m. we left by rail for Iowa City. We arrived there at 1:30 p.m., and camped on the green, but in consequence of a thunderstorm approaching, we obtained possession of a large engine shed and remained there during the night, it raining in torrents all night. Many of the brethren from the camp visited and cordially welcomed us, and on their return, took a large number of the sisters to the camp with them” (in Turner, Emigrating Journals, p. 10).

There seem to have been four Church agents operating in Iowa City at this time, and in both the Willie Company and the Martin Company journals frequent mention is made of Daniel Spencer as the presiding agent. All of these brethren, along with most of the leadership of the Willie and Martin Companies, had gone to England in 1852 or 1854 as missionaries and were returning home after almost four years of service.

There is some confusion as to whether the Church agents in Iowa City had any advanced notice of the late companies. Three handcart companies consisting of about eight hundred Saints had already been outfitted and sent west. The last of these had left Iowa City on 23 June, just three days before the Thornton company arrived (see Hafen and Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 193). If the agents did know of the coming of the last two shiploads, it couldn’t have been very long in advance, and so they were still caught off guard by the numbers and the lateness of the emigrants’ arrival (see ibid., pp. 91–92).

The speech given by Daniel Spencer here is not based on any recorded address but seeks to capture some of the concerns these brethren faced with the arrival of two more shiploads of Saints. The reference to President Young’s counsel that companies were not to start west from Florence, Nebraska, (Winter Quarters) later than June first is accurate (see Christy, “Weather, Disaster, and Responsibility,” pp. 11–12). However, this seems to have been viewed more as a general rule than a specific directive. All of the first three companies of handcarts left Iowa City (three hundred miles east of Florence) after that deadline, and no one seemed too concerned about it.