Redeye (14 page)

With the influx of entrepreneurs from other parts of our great Nation came the influx of new ideas. Mortuary Science from Denver, Anthropology and Archaeology from eastern universities, Electricity from the Northeast, new Railroads crisscrossing the western domain, newfound respect for the Cultures of American Indians, who are after all, part of the Human Experiment.

Newspapers of the period were reporting the opening of the West to Progress . . .

AUGUST
20, 1891

MUMFORD ROCK—Several interested readers have visited the
Weekly
's office in the last week or so to report incidents of corpse explosions. Mr. Douglass Rankin, newly arrived from Flagstaff, Arizona, reports that his uncle John exploded in Flagstaff on July 5th, 1888. Rankin reports that his kinsman had been shipped on ice by rail from Santa Fe, removed from ice and placed in a coffin. After a wake, the coffin was closed and transported by wagon to the Mount Easter Cemetery during the morning of July 5th, an unusually hot day. At approximately 2:00
P.M.
during the graveside service his uncle John exploded, reports Mr. Rankin. A new coffin was built on the premises from a wagon bed.

Mrs. Watkins Batharlomew reports that her husband, Mr. Watkins Batharlomew, exploded in Idaho during the summer of 1885. Mr. Batharlomew had requested to be allowed to lie in state on the top of the Batharlomew home, a spot on a flat portion of the roof where he often sat to read the Bible. Because Mr. Batharlomew had unfortunately drowned in a tank near his home and was somewhat disfigured it was decided that he would lie in state in a closed casket. Mr. Batharlomew exploded at noon of his
second day in state on the roof. Mrs. Batharlomew reported that it was planned that he be taken down at 2:00
P.M.
Mr. Batharlomew was recoffined and buried in the family graveyard.

Other incidents may be reported to the
Mumford Rock Weekly
office on Fourth Street, downtown Mumford Rock.

  THE FERRY  

 

And, finally, who can say what passions forge the links that bind us in ever-intricate ways? . . .

On Monday, our first day on the trail, we will traverse the famous Thorpe's Ferry, where Bishop Thorpe proposed marriage to the damsel from North Carolina, Star Copeland. What lurid passions lurked in the loins of the honorable Mormon bishop? (Harken! Do we sense a shift to the bawdy? Shame, oh, shame—but yet some of the wildness, the “badness” of our fair west lingers, does it not? We will hasten to extinguish it.) What longings were brought from the green hills of North Carolina by fair maiden Star? Ah, but the plot thickens.

The ferry crossing itself lies in a river bend and has been in place since the earliest days of inhabitation of these lands by civilized peoples.

We will stop for a rest at Thorpe's Ferry (now Sullivan's Ferry—but old habits die hard) and meet the present owner (Mr. Richard Sullivan, oddly enough!) and pass a brief time inspecting the mechanisms of ferry operation. We will point out the spot on the western bank where said proposal was made. We will then proceed along the trail to our first night of song and festivities at an overnight camp . . .

Here is how it happened: Wednesday of last week Uncle P.J. asked if I'd like to go with him up to Beacon City to deliver saddles. Aunt Ann and Grandma Copeland were canning. I'd heard that the wagon drive to Beacon City is quite lovely and I wanted to see where the Mormons lived, so I said yes.

I was spending the mornings at the ranch last week and so a little after dinner, Uncle P.J. came by for me. Libby had just walked out to tell me, among other things, that the young Englishman would need somebody to show him around the ranch and perhaps I'd like to do it. I'd been introduced to Mr. Collier but had had no time to talk with him. He is here at the ranch in order to go with Mr. Merriwether on an expedition onto Mesa Largo. I momentarily regretted that I'd agreed to go along with Uncle P.J. to Beacon City. I've never met an Englishman before Andrew Collier, or even seen one. In fact, the Chinamen who work on the roads and in the mines and the Germans and Dutch in town with the silver mines are the only foreigners I've ever seen.

When Uncle P.J. arrived to pick me up, I lingered as long as I might in case Mr. Collier might approach us, but he remained out of sight.

And so we were off to Beacon City.

Just before the ferry crossing was a little house with a
MEALS
sign on a porch post.

“One of Thorpe's wives runs that place,” said Uncle P.J., “and another one runs a little trading post on the other side of the river.”

“I thought that was against the law—more than one wife.”

“It is, and they all say they ain't married no more—except to just one, or none.”

When we got to the ferry crossing, the ferry itself was on the far side of the river unloading chickens and goats, and there was a surrey waiting on the near side. When the ferry reached our side I observed that the owner, Bishop Thorpe, was an imposing sort, wearing a high black hat, and dressed in dusty black clothes, except for a white shirt buttoned tightly around his neck. He looked to be older than I imagined he would be, yet very fit and capable, and he also seemed to be a man who was no stranger to anger—to being angry. His hair down around his ears and neck seemed unnaturally black and I wondered if he used soot on it, but I studied it carefully once I got close to him and reckoned that he didn't. His eyebrows were bushy and the eyes underneath were very young and, I might even dare to say, alluring.

Once the ferry, an almost square boat, reached our side of the river, we rumbled onto it. In one corner of the open deck a table was nailed to the flooring. Nailed to the top of the table was a small wooden box with a glass top. Inside were two books, side by side. One was the Bible and the other was the
Book of Mormon.

After we launched, Uncle P.J. was conducting friendly conversation with Bishop Thorpe when it struck me that perhaps
“Mormon” was a person, like Matthew, as in the Book of Matthew, so at the first lull in the conversation, I asked Mr. Thorpe if Mormon was a person.

“A prophet. An ancient prophet.” He eyed me for a second or two. “Haven't seen ye in these parts, ma'am,” he said.

“No sir, I'm new—I hail from North Carolina. A Mormon once asked my grandmother to marry her.”

“And where did this take place?”

“Back east, in Missouri.”

“
Missouri
? Do you know his name?”

“I never knew. I just knew he was a Mormon.”

“Ah. Well, I'll be happy to tell you some of what has been revealed to us, ma'am. May I?”

“Certainly.”

“Let me tend this landing and then perhaps ye might tarry just a moment.”

There was a plank landing. A Mexican woman and two Mexican boys were waiting to help off-load items.

Bishop Thorpe took care of the landing—you could not imagine him not being in charge wherever he might happen to be. Uncle P.J. drove his wagon off the ferry onto shore. There were no ferry customers in sight, so Bishop Thorpe launched into a little sermon of sorts, as we walked to some benches by the river.

He had started talking to me but was now eying Uncle P.J., and talking loudly. “Our ultimate purpose is the establishment of the Kingdom of God here in this western United States as preparation
for the millennium reign of Jesus Christ. We are the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Our struggle with the government over celestial marriage was our last with the U.S. government. There is now nothing left for us to be
not
in compliance with.” We were by now sitting on a bench before a stone table, an area for ferry waiters next to the river, and Uncle P.J. glanced at me as if to say, Why'd you get him started?

“And of course,” said the Bishop, “the signs of the coming of Christ are beyond reasonable debate—earthquakes, wars, and rumors of wars.”

“What's in the
Book of Mormon
?” I asked him.

“My dear, the story of the
Book of Mormon
is the history of one group of descendants of Manasseh, a group which migrated to America and became the ancestors of the American Indians. Those Nephites of old, of the lost tribes of Israel, passed northward through these valleys. As a matter of fact, my son and I have spent these last three days in the mesa seeking evidence which proves that fact. The descendants of Ephraim, on the other hand, were dispersed through Europe and are the ancestors of the Anglo-Saxon and Germanic peoples. The descendants of these people settled America after the Indians. One of the great purposes of America is to allow the gathering of
all
these descendants to Zion, that is, to Utah and surrounding states, and to here establish through them the Kingdom of God on Earth. Our mission is clear, our purpose strong.”