Land of the saints, p.8
Land of the Saints, page 8
The main thing that stuck in James Turner’s mind was that there was some mischief afoot in the town. Both Donovan and old Mr Jefferson appeared to have heard rumours. Donovan had heard somebody make reference to Armageddon. The sooner he managed to get Margaret out of here the better.
What James Turner could not be expected to know was that the Nauvoo Legion had already been operating a ‘scorched earth’ policy around Salt Lake City. They had been poisoning wells, slaughtering livestock and generally ensuring that any federal troops in the area would have a pretty lean time of it. President Buchanan had appointed a new governor of Utah, to replace Brigham Young.
He was already on his way to Salt Lake City, where the army would install him as governor, at bayonet point if need be. Washington had been very patient, but once one part of the United States declared itself a separate and independent nation there was no telling where things would end. It was an eerie foreshadowing of the War between the States, which would begin a few years later.
Margaret was pleased and excited to have seen her brother, but was finding it almost intolerable just to wait quietly for him to come and fetch her. She was a simple child and, unlike James, had given no particular thought to the actual mechanics of a rescue. She had visions of her brother turning up with a buggy or something and just taking her off. She had no idea that there was virtually a war on their doorstep.
Eliza was the chief wife, but Margaret Turner shared a room with Charlotte and Maria, two of the younger and newer wives. Charlotte was hardly older than Margaret herself and had only been married two months. So far she was not finding married life all that different from being in her parents’ house. Her new husband had not yet shared a bed with his bride, being on the whole content to carry on sleeping with Eliza, his first wife. Marrying more than one wife was enjoined upon the Mormon men as a duty, but that did not mean that they needed to treat these extra ‘heifers’ as real partners in marriage. For many, having a string of extra wives was merely a matter of prestige; they treated the young women as help around the house, in some cases like unpaid servants.
As the three young women lay in their separate beds that night, but before they had actually gone to sleep, Charlotte said: ‘Ain’t you excited about your wedding, Margaret? Lordy, that Captain McDonald looks right handsome in his uniform. They say he’s got more power than just being in the Legion, too. Why, I heard that he’s—’
‘You hush your mouth,’ said Maria. ‘Chitter-chatter like that can cost us dear. Margaret don’t want to know what her precious captain might be – and neither do I.’
Margaret Turner was considerably slower on the uptake than her older brother and had not yet understood that even the faithful in this city were fearful of some of those high in the counsels of the prophet.
‘Still and all,’ said Charlotte, ‘it’s a thrill, getting married. Even if it don’t turn out exactly how you think it will. I reckon as I do more sweeping of floors and cooking here than ever I did at home.’
‘Oh, do be quiet,’ said Maria. ‘Somebody’ll talk out of turn and then we’ll all be sorry.’
‘I ain’t no tattle-tale,’ said Margaret, with great indignation. ‘You can trust me.’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean that,’ said Maria. ‘Don’t take on so. No, I only meant that there’s things going on that we aren’t supposed to know about. I shouldn’t wonder if we didn’t find ourselves going on a journey soon.’
James Turner had never in his life shot anything bigger than a squirrel, and that had been with a scattergun and not a pistol. He was a good enough shot, though, having had a fair amount of instruction when his family were living on the farm in Iowa, and then more recently from his Uncle Tom. His father had always said that a man needed to be able to defend himself when it came down to it. The idea, though, of using a gun to kill a man was horrifying in the extreme to the youth. He hoped that it would not prove necessary, although if push came to shove he was prepared to do it if that was the only way of saving his sister.
In a draughty and uncomfortable tent, pitched in an army camp recently established in the foothills of the Wasatch Mountains, Alfred Cumming was growing increasingly restless and irritable. A pompous, self-important and overweight man in late middle age, Cumming had previously held several monumentally insignificant posts: mayor of the little Georgia town of Augusta and deputy superintendent of the Upper Missouri Indian Superintendency being perhaps the most notable. President Buchanan had now appointed this minor bureaucrat to be the new governor of Utah and he was, at least in theory, now on his way to take up residence in Salt Lake City. He had been given a mighty escort of almost 3,000 soldiers to see that no harm befell him and that the citizens of Salt Lake City welcomed him fittingly.
Cumming was not happy because, for all that he was supposedly in charge of all these men, he could not somehow seem to get them to obey his orders. He went to the entrance of his tent and hailed a passing soldier.
‘Hey, you there.’
‘Yes, sir? What can I do for you?’
‘You can send your senior officer to me. Colonel what’s-his-name. You know who I mean.’
The private soldier thus addressed quailed inwardly at the idea of his approaching the colonel and telling him that this fat civilian had summoned him. Still, he thought, this man was apparently in charge.
‘I’ll see what I can do, sir,’ he replied.
The answer appeared to aggravate the new Governor of Utah, for he said: ‘No, soldier, I don’t want you to “see what you can do”. I’m telling you straight, fetch the colonel here, right now. Do you understand?’
‘Very good sir.’
Colonel Buckminster was not in any particular hurry to speak to Cumming. It was pretty widely known that he detested the man but, when all was said and done, this was the fellow whom Buckminster had been charged to protect and take into Salt Lake City. It was a full half-hour before he arrived at Alfred Cumming’s tent, by which time that august gentleman was fuming with rage.
‘Good of you to drop by, Colonel,’ said Cumming with heavy sarcasm. ‘I’m grateful that you could spare me the time.’
‘We’re on a war footing, sir. I have many duties.’
‘Tell me, Colonel Buckminster – I think I’ve got a bit muddled up. Which of us is the governor of this territory?’
‘That would be you, sir.’
‘I’m gratified that you should say so. The President himself asked me to take control here. You’re aware of that?’
‘I am, sir.’
‘Well, what foxes me is that for the better part of three weeks now I’ve been living here in a damned tent. Not in Salt Lake City, I mean to say.’
‘There are many considerations—’
Cumming cut in with the utmost irascibility and vulgarity.
‘I don’t give a shit about your considerations, Colonel. I want to advance to Salt Lake City. You thinking of wintering here, by some chance?’
As a matter of fact that was almost precisely what Colonel Buckminster had been thinking of. He was exceedingly reluctant to hazard his men against what he conceived to be a vastly superior force of religious maniacs.
‘Lord God! You were, weren’t you?’ Cumming said. ‘Well I tell you now, you needn’t think of it for a moment. We’re going to enter the city before the week is out.’
‘I don’t think that’s wise, sir.’
‘Tell me, Colonel, what do you conceive your job to be here? Because, as explained to me by President James Buchanan himself – that’s the President of the United States, you know – your role consists of supporting and aiding the civil power which, in this territory, is me. Is that how you read the case too?’
‘It is.’
‘Which means – and do feel free to correct me if I am wrong – that you are to obey my orders. Or have I got muddled up again? Should it be I who am obeying your orders?’
‘I believe you had it right the first time, sir,’ said Colonel Buckminster politely.
‘I’m so glad that we agree. I want your men ready to move in five days. I am entering Salt Lake City to take up my official position. Is that clear?’
After he had been dismissed the colonel was white with rage. Never, in the whole course of his life, had anybody spoken to him in such a fashion. He knew very well that Cumming was exceeding his authority by throwing his not inconsiderable weight around in this way, but there was little to be done about it. He could hardly refuse to obey orders, even when they came from an odious vulgarian like Alfred Cumming.
Colonel Buckminster went to the staff tent, where a small group of junior officers were chatting inconsequentially about this and that. They jumped to their feet when the colonel entered.
‘Gentlemen,’ he announced, ‘I find that we are about to launch a war.’
Chapter 8
From talking further with Mr Jefferson, James discovered that there were really two types of Saint living in Salt Lake City. Most, at least as far as he could gauge, just wished to live in peace and worship as they pleased. They had no real argument with the rest of the country, just so long as they could carry on as they wanted to do. There was another faction, though, who were more extreme, almost like the crusaders of old Europe that James had read about in a history book. These men were determined to spread their faith and root out those who were not as dedicated as they themselves were.
Some of the Nauvoo Legion belonged to this group, as did all the Avenging Angels or Danite Band. It was these people who were talking of firing the town and starting a new Exodus. It was in the course of hearing about all this from the old storekeeper that James Turner first heard tidings of his sister and learned of her likely destiny.
‘And another thing,’ said Mr Jefferson one afternoon, when business was slack and there was nobody in the store, ‘All these girls that keep being brought here. That’s not right and I’m not alone in thinking so. Some of them are little more than children.’
‘How’s that, sir?’ asked James, putting as little interest into his voice as he could manage. ‘What girls are these?’
‘Of course, you ain’t been here long enough to see it. Those Angels go off at odd times and come back with girls. Sometimes one or two, other times half a dozen or more.’
‘You don’t say? Where are they from?’
‘Heaven alone knows. There was a bunch brought here just before you came. Two of ’em’s due to marry soon. Little bits of things, one only fourteen from what I heard. She’s being married off to Ebeneezer McDonald, in the Legion.’
‘What? The fourteen-year-old girl is?’
‘That’s it.’
‘You mean these girls have fell in love with boys here?’
‘Fell in love?’ said Mr Jefferson, with a prodigious snort. ‘Boys? No, not a bit of it. No, they’re to become wives of important folk, men in the Nauvoo Legion and suchlike. Love don’t enter into the picture at all.’
James made an excuse and left Mr Jefferson to himself. His head was reeling; this was monstrous, worse than anything he could have imagined. So Margaret was being lined up to marry one of those swine? He had to move more quickly than he’d thought. He would find out from the old storekeeper when this marriage was supposed to be celebrated, but it was plain that he had no time to lose.
Colonel Buckminster had asked all his staff officers to think about the best way of approaching the campaign that he had no choice but to conduct in a few days. All the schemes that had been devised had one glaring drawback: Salt Lake City was in a perfectly defensible location. Whether it had been founded on this spot for that reason Buckminster didn’t know, but there it was. The city lay in a valley, ringed by high mountains. There were three passes into the valley that could be negotiated by cavalry and carts. The others were rugged paths through mountains that would, no doubt, be swarming with Brigham Young’s militia.
Colonel Buckminster was not about to underestimate the Nauvoo Militia who, from what he had seen of them, were as tough as any regular army. It was these men who held the three passes leading down into the city. It would be necessary to secure these defiles if he was to be able to bring the new governor safely into Salt Lake City. And therein lay the problem.
The idea of marching a column of men towards a narrow pass, with towering rocks on either side, held by hostile forces, went against all the colonel’s military training. It would be madness. Yet he was practically obliged to make the attempt, having been instructed by the lawful civil power in the region to proceed. He would just have to hope that some unexpected development in the city would neutralize those forces defending the passes, but what that might be he had no idea at all.
Once he had a name to work with it didn’t take James long to find out about Ebenezer McDonald of the Nauvoo Legion. It turned out that it was at the house of Captain McDonald that Patrick Donovan was employed. At first James had thought this an amazing coincidence, but later he realized that it was not random chance at all. The more important members of the community had their pick both of the young women who were kidnapped and brought to the city and of the single men who arrived in search of lodgings and work. It was quite natural that the man who had snatched up a useful fellow like Donovan should also be first in line for a new bride as well.
James found that he had to stop himself thinking about that too much, because it set his blood boiling and he knew that he would need a cool head if he was to be able to free his sister and get her out of there safely.
Since their meeting near the temple Donovan had taken to dropping by the store where James worked, obviously wanting to make friends with him. This made James a little uneasy, because he had the impression that Patrick Donovan was going to let others know that he had only joined the Saints as a way of escaping his poverty-stricken circumstances. On the other hand, the servant of the important man who was hoping to marry Margaret was about the only link James had so far managed to forge in the chain which would lead him to making contact with his sister; for that reason alone Donovan was worth cultivating. It would not be the smartest move to be seen as a close friend of such a one, though, so he just tried his best to ensure that the two of them were not seen together in the more populous parts of the city.
One evening, a few days after he had first bumped into Donovan, the youth invited James to his master’s house, so that he could hear for himself what was going on. This looked likely to be a risky undertaking, but by that time James was despairing of ever finding any sort of angle that would enable him to gain access to and then free his sister.
‘You haven’t to let anyone know of this,’ said Donovan, when he suggested smuggling James into the house. ‘Himself would be after having me ears on a platter!’
‘You mean Captain McDonald?’
‘That’s the fellow. I tell you now, he’s a regular devil. I fear what he would do to me. But I don’t want to be caught in a sea of fire nor anything like.’
‘Nobody’s going to be caught in a sea of fire,’ said James, unable to prevent a smile coming to his lips. ‘You’ll find it’s all some big misunderstanding.’
He really believed that the Irish boy had overheard some flowery and high falutin religious talk and taken it at face value. After all, who would want to burn down an entire city?
At about nine o’clock that evening Donovan let James into the McDonalds’ house through a little rear entrance.
‘Listen now,’ Donovan told him, ‘his self and his cronies are meeting in the front room. The pantry backs on to it and there’s cracks between the boards there. You can hear every word as is spoke.’
‘Where are his wives?’
‘Ah, he’s packed ’em all off to a prayer meeting. He doesn’t like to have them around when he’s after plotting. You know how women are talkin’.’
By a little after nine James was safely installed in the pantry of Captain McDonald’s kitchen. Just as Donovan had said, he could hear clearly every word being spoken in the next room. Patrick Donovan himself was kept busy, waiting on the men and keeping the kitchen in good order.
There were only two men in the room when first James took up his post, but over the next quarter-hour or so more arrived. Judging by the number of rings on the bell, at least another five had come. It was not until all those whom the captain was expecting had seemingly arrived that he began his lecture. For lecture was really the only way to describe Captain McDonald’s conversational style. He spoke in an odd mixture of Biblical English delivered with a New York accent.
‘I heard a trumpet blast. I believe it was the Angel Moroni himself, summoning us to the fray.’
‘What makes you say so, Ebenezer?’ asked one of his visitors cautiously.
‘I had a vision,’ replied McDonald. ‘It was the most glorious yet. The whole world was drenched in blood. It was like looking through a ruby, there was that much red. And the whole was lit up by flames. When I looked closer, what do you suppose I saw? It was this very city. It was burning like one of the cities of the plain. Like it was caught in a rain of fire and brimstone.’
‘What is the interpretation of this vision?’ asked another man, this one with a voice that gave James the shivers it was so low, and the owner hissed like a snake.
‘That’s no great mystery,’ said Captain McDonald. ‘It means that the Lord has numbered the institutions of this world and found them wanting. The same goes for this very city, which is become a hotbed of beastliness and sin.’
This opinion was greeted with dead silence. Perhaps, thought James to himself, the listeners did not care to hear their town described in such terms. At length, somebody spoke up.
‘What then do you purpose, Captain?’ he asked. ‘This ain’t some conspiracy against our blessed leader, I hope. ’Cause if so, I’ll have no part of it.’
