MARY BURTON’S STORY CONTINUED:—TERRIBLE ENDING OF THE HAND-CART SCHEME.  
“It was early in September when we reached Laramie, but we found nothing awaiting us there. We were all very much discouraged at this, and Captain Willie called another meeting for consultation. We knew of course, beforehand, that our position was very bad; but figures, when stated plainly, become startling facts. We now learned that if we continued at the same rate as that at which we had previously been travelling, and received each the same allowance daily, we should be left utterly destitute of provisions when we were yet three hundred and fifty miles from the end of our journey. Nothing remained but to reduce our allowance; so, instead of one pound, we were rationed at three-quarters of a pound a day, and at the same time were forced to make incredible exertions to travel faster.
“Not long after this, Captain Willie received a message from the Apostle Richards. It is the custom, you know, for people who want to send messages to emigrants who come after them to write a note on a scrap of paper, and tie it to a stone or a piece of wood, and leave it on the way. No one disturbs it, as no one but the emigrants travel along that road, and they are sure to find it. It was from a rough post-office like this that Captain Willie got his letter. In it the Apostle told him that we should receive supplies from Salt Lake when we reached the South Pass; but that we knew would be too late. So our allowance was again reduced, and after that we were rationed at an average of ten ounces for every person over ten years of age. The men who drew the carts received twelve ounces, the women and aged men nine ounces, and the children from four to eight ounces according to age. Before this, the men with families had done better than the single men, as they had been able to save a little from the children’s rations, and of course they did not like this new arrangement so well.
[133]
“Picture to yourself these men—in the cool air of September, drawing after them each one a loaded cart, with one or more children most frequently superadded to its weight, trudging wearily every day, ten, fifteen, or twenty miles over the rough desert, wading across streams with the women and children, setting up tents at night, working as they never worked before in all their lives, and withal keeping soul and body together upon twelve ounces of flour a day. This is but one side of the picture—the physical toil and endurance of the working men. Think what the feeble and aged, the sick, the women and children, must have endured!
“By this time many of those who had hitherto held out bravely began to fail, and the people in general were greatly discouraged. Captain Willie and the Elders who assisted him did their best to keep up the spirits of the people, and to get them over as much ground as they could each day. The captains over the hundreds had also no little work to perform in distributing provisions, helping the sick and infirm, and, in fact, superintending everything.
“For some time the nights had been getting colder and colder, and by the time we arrived at the Sweetwater river we suffered considerably from that cause; we felt that winter was fast approaching. In fact, it came on earlier and more severely last year than at any time before since the Saints settled in Utah. Does it not seem strange that at the very time when they were offering up special prayers for us in Zion, that we might be defended from cold and storm, the terrors of a more than ordinary winter overtook us and proved fatal to so many of our company? The mountains were covered with snow; and it was soon quite evident, even to those who had prophesied most loudly that the Lord would work a special miracle in our behalf, that the storm-clouds of winter would soon burst upon us.
“You have never seen the Sweetwater river, so I may as well tell you that it is a very irregular stream, and we had to cross it again and again upon our way. As usual we had to wade through the water each time, and though the men helped over the women and children as well as they could, many of us got very wet indeed, and quite chilled, and we were all cold and miserable. Still, our faith never gave way—some, I know, began to doubt a little, but they had not yet lost all faith, and discouraged and wretched, as indeed we were, the greater number bore up with heroic resolution. I noticed, however, on the faces of some poor souls—men and[134] women—a peculiar expression which it is quite impossible for me to describe. Later on I was led to believe that at that time they, perhaps unconsciously, felt the presentiment of that fearful death which so soon overtook them.
“We suffered much at night. You may remember that I told you we were only allowed seventeen pounds of clothing and bedding, and that, of course, was of little use. Sleeping in a tent, under any circumstances, is not generally pleasant to those who are accustomed to the shelter of a house; but sleeping in a tent, exposed to the keen night air of a wilderness, and with scarcely a rag of covering, was almost sufficient to prove fatal to the stoutest and strongest. During the summer time, although our fare was scanty and our labour incessant, we rose each morning refreshed and strengthened, and ready for the toils of the day. But now we crept out of our tents cramped and miserable, half-frozen, and with our eyes red and tearful with the cold. We seemed to have no life left in us.
“These things soon began to tell upon the health of every one of us, especially upon the aged and those who were sickly. Hope at last died out in their poor weary hearts. One by one they fell off—utterly worn out. Poor things! how they had longed to see the promised Zion, and now all expectation of peaceful rest on earth was over—the bitter end had come.
“We dug graves for them by the wayside in the desert, and there we laid them with many tears, scarcely daring to look one another in the face, for we felt that our own time might perhaps be nearer than we thought.
“One by one at first they fell off, but before long the deaths became so frequent that it was seldom that we left a camp-ground without burying one or more. This was, however, only the beginning of evil.
“Soon it was no longer the aged and sickly who were taken off, but the young and strong, who under other circumstances would have set disease and death at defiance. Cold, hunger, and excessive toil brought on dysentery; and when once attacked by that there was little hope for the sufferer, for we had no medicine, and it was quite out of our power to give them relief in any other way. I now began to fear for my husband, for I had noticed for some time an expression of extreme weariness in his face. Our trials had not hardened our hearts; on the contrary, I think, as death seemed to be drawing near, our affection for each other grew more pure and devoted, and in my heart I often prayed, that if it were His[135] will, God would let us die together and rest in the same grave. We never spoke a word to each other on this subject, but we felt the more. I exerted all my strength, and day after day toiled along at his side, helping him all I could; but although he never complained, I saw in his eyes a dull and heavy look which, more than any words, told of failing strength and the approach of disease, and my heart sank within me.
“But my own troubles did not alone engross my attention; there was too much wretchedness around us to allow any one to be absorbed entirely in his own griefs. Acts of devotion on the part of both parents and children came before me daily such as would have put to shame the stories of filial and parental piety which we used to be taught at school.
“I saw one poor man, whose health had evidently never been strong, draw the cart with his two little ones in it, as well as the baggage, mile after mile, until he could hardly drag his weary limbs a step further; his wife carried a little five-months old baby in her bosom. This they did day after day, until disease attacked the husband, and it was evident that he could bear up no longer. The next morning I saw him, pale as a corpse, bowed down, and shivering in every limb, but still stumbling on as best he could. Before the day was half over, the poor wife lagged behind with her babe, and the husband did not seem to notice her. This was not the result of heartlessness on his part; I believe that even then he had lost all consciousness. He did not know it, but he was dying. Still he stumbled on, until the short wintry day came to a close, and we pitched our camp, and then I missed him. There was no time to inquire, and a chill came over my heart as I thought of what might be his fate. Presently my husband came to the tent and told me all. The poor man had dragged the cart up to the last moment, and, when the company halted for the night, he had turned aside, and sitting down he bowed his head between his knees and never spoke again. Later still, the poor wife reached the camp, and I saw her then. There was no tear in her eyes, and she uttered neither cry nor moan, but there was upon her features a terrible expression of fixed despair which I dared not even look upon.
“A few days after this, one morning as we were almost ready to start, I saw that poor mother in her tent, just as they had found her. She was cold and still—frozen to death—her sorrows were over at last, and her poor weary spirit was[136] at rest; but on her bosom, still clasped in her arms, and still living, was her little child, unconscious of its mother’s fate.
“Most of those who died, as far as I could tell, seemed to pass away quietly and with little pain, as if every feeling of the heart were numbed and dead. But my own sufferings and fears at that time were so great that I could not be a very close observer. Strange as it may seem, the fear of death did not so much appear to terrify these poor victims as the thought that their bodies would be buried by the wayside in the desert, instead of in the sacred ground of Zion. Poor souls! the absorbing passion of their life was strong in death.
“As death thinned our ranks, the labours of those who survived were increased, until at last there were hardly enough left with strength sufficient to pitch our tents at night. A great deal devolved upon the captain of our hundred, Elder Chislett. He is a very good man, and a devoted Saint; and I am glad to say that both he and a lady to whom he was betrothed, and who was also with our company, escaped with their lives. I have often seen him, when we stopped for the night, carrying the sick and feeble on his back from the waggon to the fire, and then working harder than a slave would work in putting things straight for the night. He showed a great many kindnesses to my husband and myself.
“But individual efforts availed nothing against fatigue and hunger, and the fearful cold. To the minds of all of us, the end was fast approaching. Nothing but our faith sustained us; and foolish as many people would think that faith, I am quite sure, that but for it, no living soul of all our company would have ever reached Salt Lake.
“At last the storm came, and the snow fell—I think it must have been at least five or six inches deep within half an hour. The wind was very keen and cutting, and it drifted the snow right into our faces; and thus blinded by the storm, and scarcely able to stand, we stumbled on that day for fully sixteen miles. What we suffered it would be useless for me to attempt to describe. Some of the scenes we witnessed were heart-rending.
 
OVER AT LAST.
 
To face p. 136.
 
“There was a young girl, with whom I was very well acquainted, and whom I saw struggling in the snow, clinging to one of the hand-carts, and vainly trying to help in pushing it on, but really doing just the contrary. She is now in Salt[137] Lake City, a helpless cripple, her limbs downwards having been frozen during that storm, and subsequently amputated. A poor old woman, too, whom I think you must have known in London, lingered behind later in the day. When night came on it was impossible for any one to go back to search for her, but, in the morning, not very far from the camp, some torn rags—the remains of her dress—were found, a few bones, a quantity of hair, and at a little distance a female skull, well gnawed, and with the marks of the wolf-fangs still wet upon it;—the snow all round was crimsoned with blood.
“We halted for a little while in the middle of that day, and to our surprise and joy, Joseph A. Young and Elder Stephen Taylor drove into the camp. We found that when the returning missionaries, of whom I have already told you, left us by the Platte river, they made their way as speedily as they could to Salt Lake City. Joseph A., who felt deeply for our sufferings, although he had been away from home for two whole years, hastened to his father, and reported to him the condition in which we were. Brigham Young was of course anxious to undo the mischief which had resulted from the people following his inspired counsel, and at his son’s earnest entreaty allowed him to return with provisions and clothing to meet us. Joseph A. lost no time, but pressed on to the rescue, and having told us that assistance was on the way, hastened eastward to meet the company that was following us.
“I cannot tell you what a relief this intelligence was to the minds of all, and how much the poor people felt encouraged by it. But as for me, at that time my heart was sad enough. For some time my husband’s strength had evidently been failing, and for the last two days I had felt very serious apprehensions on his behalf. He had been overtasked, and like the rest of us he was starving with cold and hunger, and I saw that he could not hold out much longer. My worst fears were speedily realized. We had not journeyed half a mile from the place where we rested at noon, when, blinded by the snow, and completely broken down, he dropped the rail of the cart, and I saw that he could go no further. How I felt, you, as a wife and mother, only can guess. In a moment my own weakness was forgotten; my love for my husband made me strong again. To leave him there or to delay would have been death to one if not all of us. So I called to those who shared the cart with us, and they helped me as well as they could to lift my husband up, and put him[138] under part of the bedding. It was the only chance of saving his life; for, as I before mentioned, some, previous to this, who had been overcome, and had lingered by the way, had been frozen to death or devoured by the wolves.
“I then took hold of the cross-bar or handle of the cart, and numbed with the cold, and trembling in every limb, it was as much as I could do to raise it from the ground. To move the cart was impossible, so I appealed to the old folks again, and they exerted all their strength to push it from behind, and our combined efforts at length succeeded; but the chief weight fell upon me. How gladly I bore it; how gladly I would have borne anything for the mere chance of saving my dear husband’s life, your own heart can tell.
“The snow drifted wildly around us, and beat in our faces so blindingly that we could hardly proceed. The greater part of the train had passed on while we delayed on account of my husband, and now every one was making the most desperate efforts to keep up with the rest; to be left behind was death. Had I been asked whether under any circumstances I could have dragged that heavy cart along in all that storm, I should certainly have replied that it would be utterly impossible; but until we are tried we do not know what we can bear. It was not until the night came on, and we pitched our tents, that I realized what I had passed through.
“They helped me to carry my husband to the tent, and there we laid him, and I tried to make him as easy as was possible under the circumstances, but comfort or rest was altogether out of the question. All that night I sat beside him, sometimes watching, sometimes falling into a fitful sleep. I did not believe that he would live through the night. ............