The Work and the Glory (610 page)

Will was peering ahead, looking at the cut of the sail and the shape of the hull. He felt Alice clutch anxiously at his arm, but didn’t turn. The
Brooklyn
moved with agonizing slowness, and the other ship revealed itself very slowly. Finally, Will looked up. “I think it’s a Yankee man-o’-war,” he called up to the lookout. “Can you see a flag?”

On the bridge, Captain Richardson had the telescope to his eye and was peering at the other ship, which was now almost fully in sight. The man in the crow’s nest also had a glass to his eye. He was leaning forward precariously, trying to see better. At his height, he had the better view.

“It’s an American ship, sir. She’s flying the Stars and Stripes.”

A ragged cheer went up and there was applause from the passengers below.

Will felt Alice lean against him in relief. “I thought she looked like a Yankee ship,” he said, trying not to show just how relieved he was himself.

“She’s seen us, Cap’n. She’s rigging for war.”

Will leaped for the railing. Without a glass, he couldn’t see much more than specks of movement, but then the sound of a bosun’s whistle came to them faintly across the water. Instantly it was followed by the measured beat of a drum. Will felt his heart go cold. He had seen this enough times up close to know exactly what was happening. The watch on the American ship must have been deeply shocked to look up and suddenly see a ship rounding the entrance to the bay and bearing down on them. The bosun’s whistle signaled the danger. The drum beat out the call to general quarters. Sailors would be racing for the stations. Guns were being loaded and trained on the approaching sails. Others would be racing to the magazine and would start wheeling out black powder and cannonballs.

“Call to quarters,” Captain Richardson yelled, still looking through the telescope. Instantly Mr. Lombard began blowing their own whistle, calling all the crew to quarters.

Will leaped forward, racing toward the bridge. “Captain! Have the women line the rails. Have the men hold their children in their arms. They won’t fire on us until they’re sure who we are. Let’s show them we’re not hostile.”

Richardson shoved the telescope into its case and turned toward his own ship. “Mr. Brannan,” he bawled, “you heard Mr. Steed. Put the women alongside the railing. Get some children up there where they can be seen. Move! Move!”

The general scramble toward the hatch now reversed itself. Though nervous, the women moved swiftly to the railing. Men grabbed smaller children and put them up on their shoulders, then moved to stand behind the women. Soon the starboard railing, the one facing the oncoming ship, was lined with women and children.

“They’re standing down, sir,” cried the lookout. “They’ve seen us. It worked.”

That brought another cheer from the people.

“Look, Will,” Alice said, “there are more ships.”

Will was already looking at the numerous masts that were coming into view behind the man-o’-war. He nodded. “That first one’s a whaler. The next two look like hide droghers.”

“Hide what?”

“Droghers. They’re like barges, only rigged as cutters or schooners. There’s a big trade in cattle hides out of this part of Mexico.” He pulled a face. “Now, there is a sailing assignment I hope to never face. They say the smell is so strong, people know they’re coming three days before they ever reach port.” He was still looking at the little cove that was opening up to their view. “And there’s a second whaler,” he noted. Now they could see at least five or six ships anchored together, with the man-o’-war being the largest.

A cannon boomed and women screamed and dropped down, holding their ears.

“It’s all right!” the captain shouted. “That’s just the shore battery bidding us welcome.”

“Bosun, fire one round of acknowledgment.”

Three of the crew jumped to where their own small cannon was in readiness near the bow of the ship. In a moment, it roared an answering shot.

“Captain?” It was the lookout again. “They’re launching a rowboat. I think they mean to come and say hello, sir.”

“Fine, fine,” Captain Richardson said. It was obvious that he was greatly relieved now, as were his passengers. “Mr. Lombard, prepare to receive visitors aboard.”

Lombard nodded briskly. “Aye, Cap’n. Preparing to be boarded, sir.”

As they watched the slow progress of the rowboat coming toward them, the
Brooklyn
continued to move toward the cove where the ships were anchored. Now the rocky headlands gave way to more rolling hillsides. These came down to the water to meet sandy beaches. There was suddenly the terrible stench of something dead.

“Ew,” Alice said, pointing. “Look, Will.”

Coming into sight was a long stretch of sandy beach. It was strewn with the bleached carcasses of slaughtered cattle that were white with swarms of seagulls. Farther back from the water were large stacks of dried cow hides, stiff as sheets of metal. Will wrinkled his nose. Did they do the slaughtering right on the beach? Incredibly, there were several people lounging on the beach, watching the approaching ship as though this were something that happened every day of the week.

“That must be Yerba Buena,” he said to Alice. Just beyond the beach a few scrubby oak trees sprung out of a wiry-looking grass or vegetation. Farther back, low sand hills, or dunes, gave way to rising ground. There, in a totally random fashion, they could see a collection of buildings. The largest was an adobe building that looked like it had once been an army barracks. But all around it there were small wooden houses, lean-tos which faced away from the beach, and some ramshackle shanties that looked as though the slightest puff of wind would bring them crashing down. The finest-looking building was a newly constructed adobe building, also quite large. From past experience, Will guessed that that was probably the customshouse. Tax collectors always seemed to get the best accommodation. Next to the building another American flag snapped in the brisk breeze.

There was a loud thump as the rowboat from the American warship clunked alongside the
Brooklyn.
At Sam Brannan’s urging, the Latter-day Saints moved forward in a group near the bow. There was considerable nervousness among them. It was a great relief to know that they had not landed in a country hostile to Americans. On the other hand, these were representatives of the United States of America, a country that had at least twice before refused to offer help or sanctuary to the beleaguered Mormons.

A rope ladder was tossed over the side, and in a moment a uniformed officer climbed aboard the
Brooklyn.
He was followed immediately by two others. Captain Richardson and Mr. Lombard stood at attention, waiting.

The lead officer—Will saw from the epaulets on his shoulders that he was a commander—came to attention and saluted Richardson sharply. “Sir. I am Commander John B. Montgomery, captain of the twenty-gun
Portsmouth,
a ship of the United States Navy.” He turned and looked at the assembly of families who were gathered behind Richardson. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he boomed loudly, “I have the honor to inform you that you are in the United States of America.”

There was a moment of silence as those words sunk in, and then in one spontaneous burst of enthusiasm, someone’s voice rang out. “Three cheers for America.”

As one, hundreds of voices rang out with gladness. “Hip, hip, hurrah! Hip, hip, hurrah! Hip, hip, hurrah!”

“Derek.”

It sounded far away, but he thought he recognized the voice. He tried to open his eyes, but it was as though someone had barred the shutters over the windows and there was no prying them open.

“Derek!” It was louder, sharper. And he thought he felt someone roughly shaking his shoulder. He wasn’t sure, because the ague often shook his body as a bulldog shakes a rat. This new shaking was no rougher than that. He finally managed to crack one eye open and see the face before him. For a moment he wasn’t sure if he knew who it was or not. The cheeks were deeply browned from the sun; the nose was peeled and had splotches of bright red. The lips were parched and cracked. A few strands of hair, bleached blond by the sun, poked from beneath a blue and white bonnet.

“It’s me, Derek. It’s Rebecca. We have to go. It’s our turn for the ferry.”

“Just rest a little.” He closed his eyes again.

Now there was a younger voice, sharper and more piercing. “Pa. We have to go.”

“Come on, Uncle Derek. Let me help you.”

That roused him enough for reality to finally push its way in. He opened his eyes fully now. It was Rebecca. And there was Christopher, his eyes looking far too worried for a seven-year-old. Josh Steed, his nephew, stood beside his son, pulling on one of Derek’s arms.

As he sat up, he saw they were beside the river. The muddy brown waters of the Missouri rolled past them in slow swirls. He tried to stand and nearly fell back again, but Josh stepped quickly behind him and helped him stand up.

It was no wonder that he and several others were sick. In addition to that one terrible storm, it had rained hard on other nights as well. They had spent several miserable, cold nights in wet bedding sleeping on the ground.

“Look, Derek,” Rebecca said with a forced brightness. “That’s Fort Leavenworth just across the river.”

He turned his head a little and squinted against the afternoon sun. In the distance he could see a stockade wall with open gates. Inside, there were one or two large buildings, several small ones, and a cluster of white tents set up in neat rows. An American flag hung limp in the summer heat.

“We’ll be there in a few minutes, Papa,” Christopher said, taking his father’s hand. “Then we can get some food and water.”

“Come on,” Rebecca said, urging him forward. He felt Josh start to gently push him from behind.

Now he saw that the ferry, already loaded with people he recognized, was just a few feet in front of them. Two men jumped off and hurried to them. “Come on, Brother Ingalls,” one of them said. “We’ve waited five hours for our turn. Let’s not miss it now.”

When Derek awoke, his first awareness was of the sweltering heat. His body was bathed in perspiration. His eyes stung and burned from the sweat that ran into them. He reached up to wipe his brow with his arm, realizing as he did so that he had no shirt on.

He half rose, not sure where he was. All was whiteness. “Becca?”

Almost instantly a flap opened and Rebecca stepped inside the tent. She had a bowl of something in one hand. Her face showed concern, but on seeing him she immediately smiled. “Hi,” she said softly.

He managed to get up to a sitting position, though he felt very weak. “Where are we?”

“We are in our own tent,” she said happily. “U.S. Army issue.”

“Tent?”

“Yes, we received them this afternoon when we arrived at Fort Leavenworth.”

“We’re there?”

She laughed. “No, we’re here. And I must say that you picked a very good time to faint on me. Some of the brethren had to pitch our tent for me.”

“I . . .” He looked around again, seeing now the canvas and the tent poles and understanding why it was so hot and why he had felt as if he were inside a cloud.

“They issued one tent for each mess of six men,” Rebecca explained, moving over to sit beside him on the cot. “Since there are five of us, they let us have our own tent. Josh was assigned to the mess next to ours. I promised to help cook for them if they would help me with the tent and getting camp set up.”

He let out his breath, feeling the shame. “I haven’t been much good to you, have I?”

She waved that away, then brought up the bowl she had been holding. “I brought you something.”

He looked down, squinting a little. It looked like milk at first, but then he saw it wasn’t liquid but solid, more like the consistency of soft butter. Then as he looked more closely, he saw that some of it did seem to be melting. “What is it?”

She took a spoon from the pocket of her apron and scooped out a heaping pile of the white stuff. “It’s ice cream.” She shoved it toward him and he opened his mouth. What followed so surprised him that he gave a little cry, instantly followed by a sound of delight and pleasure.

“Isn’t that wonderful?” she gushed, then gave him another spoonful.

“Absolute heaven,” he answered as he savored the cool sweetness in his mouth. “Where ever did you get it?”

“The post commissary is selling it for a nickel a bowl. Christopher and Benji have already had two bowls each. I’ve had one too.” There was momentary guilt. “I’m sorry. I know it’s expensive, but I couldn’t say no. Josh bought the boys their second bowl.”

He took another bite, this time letting it melt slowly in his mouth so as to lengthen the pleasure. In Nauvoo, they would sometimes fill a bowl with ice shavings, then put another bowl inside of it and whip a mixture of milk, cream, and sugar until it partially froze. But that had never tasted anything like this.

“They have what they call an ice-cream machine,” Rebecca explained. “They chop ice from the icehouse and pack it all around a metal can, then crank the machine until the mixture inside the can freezes. Isn’t that wonderful?”

He took another bite, then closed his eyes with the sheer pleasure of it. “This is enough to make me a healthy man.”

She laughed. “If that’s the case, I’ll go buy four more bowls.”

Derek looked more closely at his wife, studying her face. Two hundred miles and more than ten days in the summer sun had taken their toll on Rebecca’s normally clear and fair skin. But he couldn’t remember her ever looking more lovely.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Very weak, but better.” He peered out the tent flap where he could see rows of additional tents. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“Well, we arrived here at Fort Leavenworth about five o’clock today. The army immediately issued us tents and some limited food supplies. They say they will issue the weapons and other equipment the day after tomorrow. They have authorized each mess to purchase a baggage wagon and four mules.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

“Yes, isn’t that good news?”

“Of course.” Then, after another spoonful of ice cream, he asked, “How is Josh taking to all this?”