SAINTLY PILGRIMS ON THE WAY—THE “DIVINE” HAND-CART SCHEME.  
One Sunday morning in early spring I attended a meeting of the Saints in Williamsburgh.
My husband was there, and took part in the service, and so did the Apostle Taylor, and one or two other Utah Elders. I went to that meeting in a very desponding state of mind, for our prospects since the day of our arrival had not brightened very much, and I felt the need of some comforting and cheering words.
Whether it was the influence of the clear spring morning, or that the Elders had noticed the depression of spirit among the Saints, I cannot tell, but I know that on that particular occasion their words seemed to me more earnest and encouraging than they had been for a long time past.
As we came out from the meeting, Brother Benton, one of the Elders, stepped up to my husband, and said, “Brother Stenhouse, they are expected to arrive to-night or to-morrow; I suppose you will be down at the ‘Gardens’ to meet them.”
I knew well enough who “they” were who were expected to arrive, and so did Mr. Stenhouse. “Yes,” he said, “of course I shall be there, but most likely we shall have to wait a few days before they come.” Then he stopped and talked over the matter with Elder Benton.
Now it chanced that at that time Brigham Young was trying an experiment. The “Prophet of the Lord” sometimes finds it necessary—notwithstanding the “revelations” which he is supposed to receive—to try experiments like other men before he can feel sure that his plans are likely to succeed. The only difference between him and other men is, that he—knowing himself that his plans are his own inventions, or the inventions of the leaders—gives out that they come direct from God, thereby deceiving the ignorant, innocent, and confiding[112] people; and when his plans fail, as they often do, he never confesses that he is wrong or mistaken, but lays all the blame on some other person, or, failing that, on “the Lord” or the devil. Other men, as a rule, say nothing about “the Lord” or devil, but when their experiments fail they frankly confess that they themselves were not inspired, but were liable to err. That is all the difference.
In the present instance Brigham Young tried an experiment upon a rather large scale.
Up to the year 1856 the Mormon emigrants made the journey from the Frontiers across the Plains by ox-teams, as I have already described, and every season some of the wealthier Mormons formed themselves into an independent company, paid their own expenses, and travelled with more comfort. The expense to the poorer emigrants was very small, for they performed the greater part of the journey on foot—the ox-teams being used for transporting provisions and baggage—one hundred pounds of the latter being allowed to each emigrant.
This “plan” was, so far, a success, and the settlements of the Saints increased thereby, slowly but surely, in population and wealth. There were, however, at that time, thousands of Saints in Europe anxious to emigrate, but who were too poor to provide the small sum requisite for that purpose. During the winter of 1855 this difficulty was discussed in Conference by Brigham and the leading men in Salt Lake, and some one suggested what was afterwards known as the “Hand-Cart Scheme.” The idea of this “scheme” was to transfer the people from Liverpool to the Frontiers in the cheapest possible way, and for them then to cross the Plains with light-made hand-carts, just strong enough to carry the fewest possible necessary articles, but sufficiently light for the men, women, and even young girls, to draw them.
This “plan” would not perhaps have been a bad one if it had been properly carried out, and if Brigham Young had seen, as he might have done, that suitable preparations were made beforehand. But the Hand-Cart Emigration Scheme began with a lie and ended in ruin.
The confiding Saints were told that “God” had specially inspired His servant Brigham for this purpose, and the scheme was a revelation direct from on high.—No proper measures were taken to provide for the emigrants—all was done upon faith—faith on the part of the people in their—as they supposed—inspired leaders; deception on the part of those[113] leaders towards the people, whose only fault was that they trusted them too well.
The Millennial Star proclaimed the “plan” to the Saints in Europe, and so great was the response to this special summons that in that year—1856—it was roughly estimated that no fewer than five or six thousand Mormon emigrants travelled from Liverpool to Salt Lake City. It was the first company of these emigrants that Brother Benton alluded to when he told Mr. Stenhouse that “they” were expected that night or the next; but in those days emigrant vessels were frequently delayed by adverse winds and other circumstances, and no one could calculate upon the exact time of their arrival in port.
The following morning, my husband, when he returned from the Mormon office, brought with him a letter bearing the English postmark, and addressed to me in the neat unmistakable handwriting of Mary Burton. I had been waiting and watching for a letter from her ever since our arrival; I was anxious to hear from her, and I hastily tore it open, so impatient was I to know how she was getting on. What I read interested me deeply, though it did not surprise me. I had seen Mary many times after the interview which I have already related, and our conversations and discussions were to us of all-absorbing interest; but as they were mostly personal I have not cared to record them in this narrative. To tell the truth, her love affairs with Elder Shrewsbury occupied more and more the most prominent place in all our discussions. His enthusiasm was perfectly infectious. As long as Mary absolutely refused to see him, her love for him and her faith in Mormonism were anything but overpowering. But Elder Shrewsbury was one of those peculiar persons who have a sort of magnetic charm about them; who, without our knowing it, or even, in some instances, contrary to our will and reason, enlist all our sympathies and leave behind them an impression that we vainly try to efface. He only wanted opportunity, and his success was sure.
Opportunity he had had for pressing his suit with Mary and making an impression upon her heart, ever since the day when they met at my door, and had taken that walk together, as Mary said, for the purpose of discussing important matters.
Now the letter which I received opened to me another chapter in Mary’s life, which without the gift of prophecy I might have easily predicted. Elder Shrewsbury’s patience[114] and perseverance met with their due reward, and Mary at length promised to become his wife; but fascinated though she was, and herself almost as deeply in love as he was, she nevertheless made one condition which showed that she had not entirely lost that prudence and determination which she had shown in the early days of their courtship.
“When he spoke to me in that way—you know how, Sister Stenhouse”—she said in her impulsive way, “How could I persist in saying No to him? It wasn’t in my heart to do so. I didn’t say ‘Yes’ in so many words, but I simply said nothing, and he took my silence for consent. Then—but no, I won’t even tell you everything.... I know he thought he was going to have it all his own way; but I didn’t think so. I told him then that I had firmly resolved upon one thing—that I never would marry him unless he made a solemn vow and promise before God that he would never enter into Polygamy. I could not hide from him that I loved him—he knew it and could see it; but I said I never would go to Utah alone, and I certainly never would marry at the risk of my husband taking another wife. No; I was willing to give him my heart, my all—it was only fair for him to do the same by me.... He was very near me then, and my hand was in his; and he was looking into my eyes. Then he whispered the promise I had asked of him, and, dear Sister Stenhouse, I know I can depend upon his word. We shall be happier in this world by ourselves, and we feel quite sure that God will not ask us to do anything in heaven that would make us miserable. Perhaps I oughtn’t to say this, but I’m so happy that I cannot allow myself one single wretched doubt about the future or my husband, such as I used to have.... We were married on the 27th of January....
“And now we are getting ready for Zion, and are busy day and night. Of course you have heard of the “Divine Plan”—the Hand-Cart Scheme. Oh, Sister Stenhouse, I am so very, very much ashamed of myself for all the wicked things that I used to say about the Apostles and the Elders. Since our marriage, Elder Shrewsbury has explained everything to me, and set things in their right light. It is a glorious privilege for us to be permitted to gather to Zion, and now that I know my dear husband will never even think of another besides myself, I glory in the thought of leaving the Gentile world and all its wickedness....
[115]
“We go with the first company this season.
“I will tell you all the rest of the news when I meet you, dear.”
So Mary Burton was married, and coming with the Hand-Cart Company. “Why,” I said, turning to my husband, “they’ll be here in a day or two now.”
“Perhaps to-day,” he replied.
They did not, however, arrive either that day or the next; but towards the end of the week we were told that their vessel was in the river, and I accompanied my husband to Castle Gardens to see them.
A strange spectacle was presented to our view. More than six hundred Mormon emigrants were gathered there, all on their way to Zion, and burning with zeal and enthusiasm worthy of a better cause. There were aged men and women, whose heads were hoary with the snows of many a winter, and whose tottering steps had borne them to the verge of three score years and ten; there were stout-hearted fathers and families, and matrons with sons and daughters growing up around them; there were young men in the pride and strength of manhood; and maidens in the modest blush of womanly beauty; and little toddling children, and babes in their mothers’ arms—all obedient to what they thought was the command of God Himself—all with their faces set steadfastly and anxiously Zionward.
Let not the reader smile at the blind infatuation of those poor emigrants. Would he or she have suffered so confidingly—so faithfully—for his or her religion? They might be mistaken; but truly theirs was a faith which “hoped all things, believed all things, endured all things.” Surely, in His sight—who judges the heart—the blind obedience of those men and women who were ready to suffer and to endure unto the bitter end, because in their child-like faith they thought that it was His holy will—such practical devotion was more truly acceptable than the formal professions of an untested faith.
I met at Castle Gardens many whom I had known in the old country; but it was one particular face which I was anxious to see. A man wrapped in a thick great coat, and with a fur cap upon his head, brushed against me; and before I had time to raise my eyes, my hand was grasped in his, and I heard Mary’s husband say, “Oh Sister Stenhouse, I’m so glad to see you; I knew we should meet you in New York. Come and see Mary. She’s my Mary now!”
[116]
I went with Elder Shrewsbury and I saw Mary. But oh, how greatly was she changed! When I returned from our Swiss mission and saw her after an interval of several years, I was, of course, struck with the alteration which had then transformed her from a pretty little fairy-like girl into a decorous young lady contemplating matrimony; but although I had now been absent from England only a few months, I observed a much more striking alteration in her than on the previous occasion. It was not now, I thought, so much an outward and personal change, as a new development of her inner consciousness—her soul itself. Her form was as graceful, and her eyes as bright as ever; but from those eyes there now shone forth another light than that which I had thought so charming in the by-gone time.
Her affection for me was as warm and demonstrative as when we first met. She recognized me in a moment, before her husband had time to say a word; and, throwing both her arms round me, she kissed me again and again with all the effusion of her childish days. Taking my hand she led me gently into a quiet corner and seated me beside her on a big trunk, and then she began to talk. It was the same soft sweet voice again, which used to be so dear to me when I was left all alone in Southampton, soon after my marriage, while my husband was on mission in Italy.
She told me all the story of her courtship—all, and much more, than she had told me in her letter. But it was when she came to speak of her marriage, of her husband, and especially of their pilgrimage to Utah, that I observed more especially the change which had taken place in her. She was no longer the light-hearted girl, half-doubting her strange religion, and rejecting it altogether when it did not coincide with her own ideas and wishes. No: Elder Shrewsbury—had he been ten times a Mormon Elder—could not have wished for a more obedient, a more earnest, I might say, a more fanatical believer than was now to be found in his young and beautiful wife. Her eyes really glowed with enthusiasm as she spoke of “the work of the Lord” and of “gathering to Zion;” and her voice, though soft and sweet as ever, had in it, now and then, a tinge of sternness which told of a determination and spirit which the casual observer would never have suspected.
I expressed some surprise that she and her husband, not being without funds, should have gone with the Hand-Cart Company when they might have waited and have gone with so much more comfort with one of the independent companies.
[117]
“Why, Sister Stenhouse,” she said, “we have done it as a matter of faith. Certainly we could have afforded to go in any way we chose, but my husband said we ought to be an example to the poorer saints; so we gave away nearly all our money to help the emigration fund, and then we came, just as you see us, along with the rest.”
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