EMIGRATING TO ZION:—WE ARRIVE IN NEW YORK.
The afternoon following, Mary herself came to see me, her face all
flushed with excitement, and eager to tell me something.
“Whom do you think I’ve been talking to, Sister Stenhouse?” she
exclaimed. “You’d never guess.”
“I don’t think there’s much need for guessing,” I said. “Your face
betrays the secret, Mary.”
“Well,” she said, “perhaps it does, but you wouldn’t wonder at it, if
you only knew how very anxious I have been. All this time I have kept my
word, and I did not see him or speak to him once, except at meetings,
and not much then, and I have been _very_ unhappy. This afternoon I came
round about an hour ago to see you, and there on the step was Elder
Shrewsbury. He said he was here yesterday, and was just going to call
on you again, and then he asked me to go a little way with him, as he
had something very important to say to me. At first I refused to go, but
he wouldn’t listen to it for a moment. So I went with him, and we have
been talking ever since; or rather he has been talking, and I have been
listening to him. I can’t tell you, Sister Stenhouse, all he said—you can
guess better than I can tell you. But I’m afraid I shall not be able to
keep my resolution much longer, for when we came back to the door again
he said he wouldn’t come in to see you now, and when he begged me to let
him call at Mrs. Elsworth’s to-morrow night, I did not feel it in my
heart to refuse him;—was it very wrong of me to do so?”
Said I, “I’m afraid, Mary, my opinion would not matter much either way;
Elder Shrewsbury’s eloquence is the music which you like best to listen
to.”
She blushed, and came and sat down beside me, and we talked together
until the sun went down and my little room was quite dark. I told her of
my troubles in Switzerland, and of the miserable effects of introducing
Polygamy there; and she in return told me all her love affairs with
Elder Shrewsbury and of her resolution not to listen to him unless he
solemnly promised never to have anything to do with the hated Revelation.
Her faith in Mormonism itself had, as I expected, been very severely
shaken; and I think that had it not been for my efforts to reassure her,
she would have left the Church at that time. Would to God she had.
After tea, she said, “Have you a copy of the Revelation here, Sister
Stenhouse? I want to show you some strong points in it which I think will
astonish you. I learned all about it from Elder Shrewsbury that night
when he came to see me, and it was that that disgusted me with the whole
affair.” We searched through my trunk but could not find the document,
and I told her that I had not patience to read it quite through when it
was given to me, and that since then I was not sure that I had even seen
it. “Never mind,” she said; “I’ll bring it with me when I come again.”
How often have I thought since how much depended upon that trifling
circumstance. Had we then together read over the Revelation and noticed
the “strong points” of which she spoke, I believe my eyes would have
been opened, and I never should have submitted to the misery which I
afterwards endured in Utah.
Towards the end of the year 1855 it was determined that a company of
Mormon emigrants, numbering several hundreds, should leave Liverpool _en
route_ for Salt Lake City; and for that purpose a vessel was chartered
early in November. This was not the ordinary season for emigration, but
there were then in England numbers of the Saints, anxious to go to Zion,
but too poor to pay their passage all the way. It was thought that when
they arrived in New York they would have time to earn sufficient to carry
them on, and it was then supposed they could join those who came over by
the ordinary spring emigration. My husband and myself were counselled to
join these emigrants in Liverpool and proceed at once to New York.
The Mormons in London were very kind to us before we left, and did all
they could to help us in preparing for our journey. A kinder people
than the Saints in Europe could nowhere be found. My husband had been
directed to take charge of the emigrants in the transit from London to
Liverpool, and consequently I received no assistance from him. It seemed
to me a very cruel arrangement for the Elders to take away from me and my
helpless little ones the very person to whom we ought naturally to have
turned for protection; but what were the feelings of a weak woman when
they came in conflict with the “counsel” of inspired Apostles?
We arrived at Liverpool the same evening, and there my husband was
relieved of the charge of the company, and some of the brethren were
appointed to see that the baggage was safely transferred from the railway
to the ship. Early the next morning we went on board, and it was not long
before we began to experience the pleasures (?) of an emigrant life.
Before we set out for Liverpool, I had been told that on board ship I
should be able to obtain all the “help” that I might desire; and, anxious
to provide for the comfort of the children, I engaged the services of
two young girls to look after them and assist me generally. This was
an imprudent step, as I afterwards found to my cost; but at the time I
thought that I had made a very sensible arrangement. Help being secured,
my next thought was to get our berths fixed, so that all might be ready
before the rolling of the ship began. My first inquiries were for our
bedding; but it was nowhere to be found. Now this was very annoying, for
we were all tired, and the children, poor things, were fidgetty; and
anticipating a long and unpleasant voyage, I wanted to have everything in
readiness. Besides which I had made special preparations in the shape of
many additional comforts which I knew on board ship would be absolutely
necessary, and had even sold my watch and jewellery for that purpose.
I inquired of the proper authorities, but could obtain no information,
and nothing remained but for me to wait until the Apostle came on board
to bid a final adieu to the emigrants. I felt this annoyance all the
more, as I considered that we had no right to expect such mismanagement.
We would naturally have preferred to make our own arrangements and to go
alone, had we been permitted to do so; but we had, over and over again,
been instructed not to go by any other vessel than that chartered by the
Apostle Richards, that so we might escape the perils which were sure to
overtake the Gentiles. Imagine our disgust when we found that as there
were not enough of the Saints to occupy the whole ship, the lower deck
was filled with Irish emigrants of a very low order, and that their
luggage and ours had been thrown together indiscriminately into the hold.
Most of the Mormon emigrants recovered their property when they arrived
at New York; but as for our own, personally, we never saw it again, and
all the voyage through we were left utterly destitute.
Nothing remained but for me to put the best face I could upon matters. I
took my wearing apparel and other articles out of the trunks and put them
into pillow-slips, and extemporized as well as I could a rough substitute
for beds. These served for the children, and I covered them with my
cloaks and shawls; and for our own berths and bed-covering I had only a
few pieces of carpet which I put aside for the cabin floor, together with
a worn-out blanket which an old lady on board was good enough to lend me.
This was our going to Zion.
We had not been long at sea when the young sisters whom I had engaged to
help me fell sick, and some of the brethren were very anxious to nurse
them. This appeared to be quite the established order of things, for I
then found that it was very seldom that a Mormon emigrant ship crossed
the ocean without one or more marriages on board. It was, no doubt, very
interesting to them, but to me it was extremely inconvenient, especially
considering that my husband had now taken to his berth, which he did not
leave during the remainder of the voyage, and myself and the children
were not much better off.
Sick as I was, I had to prepare our food and manage everything, for
in those times emigrants either took out their own provisions or were
allowanced in raw material, and in either case had to do their own
cooking. My chief difficulty was in getting what I had prepared to the
fire-galley, for I could not leave the children, and I was afraid to
venture myself upon deck. So I got any of the brethren who chanced to
be passing to take it up, and of course they were willing to oblige me;
but the galley was so crowded—every one having his or her own interest
to attend to—that I very rarely, if ever, had my provisions decently
cooked, and on more than one occasion I never saw them again. This was an
inconvenience which emigrants do not suffer at the present day.
Unsuccessful with the young sisters, I thought I would try if I could
not get one of the brethren to help me, and fortune at first appeared
to favour me. There was on board a young man—Harry they called him—and
he was so situated that I found it easy to open a negotiation with him.
He had been a saddler’s apprentice in a country town in England, and
having listened to some itinerant preacher, had been converted, joined
the Church, and began to think for himself. So hearing that terrible
judgments were quickly coming upon the Old World, he resolved to flee to
the New, and in his hurry to get there he forgot to inform his master
that he was about to leave. This accounted for his being so badly
provided for.
Now, Harry had those two great blessings—a splendid appetite and
unimpeachable powers of digestion. I will not say that he enjoyed these
two blessings, for that he did not, on account of lacking a third
blessing, namely, the wherewithal to make the first two blessings a
pleasure, and not an inconvenience. The ship’s allowance was altogether
insufficient for him, and he therefore gladly engaged to do what few
things I required upon condition that I should add a little to his own
private commissariat.
Harry was a smart lad and at first very useful, and he soon convinced me
that he had told the truth when he said that he had not had enough to eat
ever since he came on board—it seemed to me very questionable whether he
ever had before. He had, however, nothing to complain of in that respect
while in our employment; for although the children were able to eat
whenever we had anything fit for them, my husband and myself could seldom
touch our rations, and as everything that was not used fell to Harry’s
share, he fared pretty well.
Harry was not the lad to neglect his own interests, and as our interests
appeared just then to be his also, matters worked very harmoniously. Our
bread was never now brought back to us half raw or burnt to a cinder. It
must be properly cooked for our eating or it would not do for Harry’s;
and as for it being lost or delayed on its way to or from the galley,
that was, of course, quite out of the question. But the strangest thing
of all connected with Harry was that immediately after his coming we
were incessantly annoyed by _the rats_. I had brought for the children’s
use a small supply of preserves and other little delicacies; but these
mysteriously disappeared with alarming rapidity; and whenever I saved any
trifle for the children to eat between meals, that also was gone when
it was wanted, and in every instance Harry suggested that it was “the
rats,” though I never could find any traces of those interesting animals.
I was sorry to part with Harry, for he used to tell funny stories to the
children, and amused them a great deal; but “the rats” and Harry were
so closely associated in my mind, that I thought if Harry left the rats
might perhaps also cease their visits. So Harry went, and I was once
more left alone to do the best I could.
The weather was very cold, and we felt its severity very much. The
rigging of the ship was hung with icicles, and, without fire or warmth of
any sort, it is no wonder that we all were soon hardly able to move from
cold and sickness.
In the midst of my trouble I was told of an ancient Scotch sister—a
maiden lady, sharp and shrewd—who, like the miser in Scott’s “Fortunes of
Nigel,” was willing to help us “for a consideration.” It was agreed that
she should give me her services for the remainder of the voyage; and the
“consideration” was to be two pounds English. Small as was our stock of
money, and much as I knew we should need it upon our arrival, I felt that
I could do no better than engage her. There was no saying upon whom _she_
might chance to set her maiden fancy, but there was not the remotest
chance of any of the brethren falling in love _with her_; so I considered
her a safe investment, and, besides, I must have _somebody_—there was no
alternative.
It was now Christmas time—a season sacred to joyous memories and
festivities; but to us, exiles and wanderers, seeking a land of which we
knew nothing, and which to us was a new and untried world, it was far
from being a happy time. In the midst of the wild, dreary ocean there was
nothing to recall the pleasant reminiscences of the past, or to inspire
us with hope and courage as we thought of the future.
The captain told us that we might prepare to eat our Christmas dinner in
New York; but he was mistaken in his calculations. We did not eat our
Christmas dinner in New York, as he had promised. A storm came on, which
compelled us to stand out to sea again, and then a dead calm followed,
and it was not until New Year’s eve that we set foot upon the shore of
the New World.