Ben Ch 3

BEN missed his little wagon, of course; and he had his moments of sorrow over it. What natural boy would not? But he did not find much time during the busy days that had come to Nauvoo to grieve about the loss; for he and every other healthy lad in that town had to help all they could through the testing years of 1844 and 1845. Yet, in spite of little duties placed on young shoulders, these Nauvoo boys managed to find their fun, and to get close to some exciting events that were making history during these troublous times.

One event that impressed him deeply happened shortly after he had come to live in Nauvoo-the martyrdom of Joseph and Hyrum Smith. Though only just seven, Ben never forgot the day the bodies of these great men were brought to the city. Still too young to realize what it all meant, he had followed with other boys the draped carriage down to the Mansion House, and gazed with childlike curiosity on the gathering crowd of grief-stricken people. Later he listened to the men in the wagon shop telling how a mob had killed the Prophet and his brother, Hyrum. While he did not understand the inner meaning of what they said about this wicked deed, he did carry in his heart ever afterwards a hatred of mobs and the mob spirit.

Grandfather and Grandmother White, with whom Ben stayed for several days after this tragedy, helped him to know more of Joseph Smith as a boy. They were neighbors of the Smith family in old Vermont.

"Yes, I knew Joseph and Hyrum just like my own boys," Grandfather said. "They lived up the road a piece from us, not far from Sharon. And they were mighty fine boys, too; always helped their father and mother and other folks."

"That's right, Henry," added Grandmother White; "many's the time Joseph would do errands for me when his mother sent him to the village. He was cheery about it, too. I can hear his merry whistle now as I think about the boy."

"He was a plucky young fellow," remarked Grandfather; "you remember that time, Rebecca, when he almost lost his leg from blood poison."

"Course I do," said Grandmother; "his mother has told me about it many times."

"Tell me about it," spoke up little Ben. "Well, once after Joseph had a fever," Grandmother began, "it seemed to settle in one of his legs. This swelled so terribly that they called for a doctor; but in spite of all he did, the leg grew worse. Other doctors were called. They finally said that the leg must be cut off or the boy would die.

"Mother Smith just wouldn't think of this. She begged the doctors to cut in deeper to get out the poisonous matter. She had faith if they did, her son would get well.

"Finally they agreed to try, if only Joseph would stand the pain. They wanted the suffering boy to drink some brandy or wine, but he would not. He said that if his father would hold him in his arms, he could stand it."

"Yes, and the brave boy did stand it," added Grandfather; "and he lived to become our Prophet. Why those cruel men ever killed him, I can't understand."

"They killed him because he told the truth," Grandmother replied. "Some wicked folk don't seem to like to hear truth. Didn't they kill our Savior for telling them the truth and trying to help them? They have killed other good men, too."

"But what shall we do now for someone to lead us?" asked Grandfather.

"The Lord will provide a leader," Grandmother said, "He always finds a way."

Little Ben listened eagerly to their earnest words. He was later to understand more of their meaning.

A leader was raised up to rally and guide the people. It was Brigham Young, President of the Twelve Apostles. He seemed to know just what to do. People must go ahead with their work. The great temple begun by the Prophet must be completed. Farms must be tilled to raise plenty of food. Shops where wagons and other needed things were made must be kept humming. Everybody must work. Ben soon became one of his father's real helpers. He couldn't do the heavy tasks connected with wagon-making, of course; but there were errands to run, and other little duties he could perform to save the time of the men who were shaping the wheels and bolsters and tongues and other parts of the big wagons. He was learning a good deal about the trade, too, while his bright eyes were watching; and often he found some exciting fun when he was out on an errand.

One day his father had sent the boy down to Lower Nauvoo to take a certain tool to a blacksmith whose shop was near the Joseph Smith store. When the tool was delivered, the boy turned to go back to his father's shop. But something kept him from hurrying home. Other boys were running up one of the streets as if they had sighted a circus parade; and Ben raced after them. No$ it wasn't a circus parade, yet it was something just as interesting.

A band of Sauk and Fox Indians had crossed the Mississippi River to hold a pow-wow with the Indian agent in Nauvoo. There they were in all their fine feathers and fringed buckskin, with beads and other ornaments to add color to their shirts and leggings and moccasins. And they were marching in stately single file to the appointed place of meeting. On reaching the spot, the red men circled around on the green, and quietly sat down.

Officials took their places with the Indians. Then with dignity, the head chieftain took a pipe of peace--presented it solemnly to the east, the west, the north and the south--and afterwards passed it round the circle. This was an introduction to the talks that followed. Each of the chieftains and also the white officials spoke. Finally, the pow-wow ended with the Indians evidently much pleased, for there was shaking of hands and many "how-hows" and other expressions of good will. Then the white men gave their red visitors a feast.

It all seemed to be a "homecoming" for the Indians. This Sank and Fox tribe, indeed, had once lived in and around the pleasant country on which Nauvoo was built.

Watching the steamboats, with their big wheels churning their way up and down the great stream was another sight that gave, delight to Ben and his pals. Then too, Joe Phelps, a neighbor boy, and Ben, were always ready for a run to the Indian mounds that rose above the high bluffs to the north of town. Sometimes, if their parents gave consent, they would go to the wharf and watch the negroes loading and unloading the boats, and listen to their songs.

Often they would see great rafts of logs floating downstream, with tents or cabins on them for the lumber hands who were taking the timber on to St. Louis or some other river town. Some of these rafts would anchor at Nauvoo; for it was in this way the folk there got the timber to build their houses, and also the temple that was steadily rising on the brow of the hill.

Nauvoo might have remained a pleasant place in which to live had there not been some folk around the city and within it to cause trouble. These people, filled with some evil spirit, would not let the followers of Joseph Smith live on in the city they had built. Just why, no one seems even to this day to know.

"This is a free country," said Grandfather White. "My own father and uncles were in the army that Ethan Allen raised to help win our liberty. Why can't the officers of the law protect us in our right to worship as we like?"

"Well, the sheriff is doing all he can, so they tell me," spoke up Grandmother; "don't you get yourself too excited, Henry. It will all come out right somehow."

Ben, who had been listening to their talk, found out a day or two later that his Grandmother had spoken the truth about the officer she named. It happened that be and Joe Phelps were standing by a store two blocks away from the wagon shop when down Mullholland Street came two horsemen on the dead run. Right in front of the store they drew up their horses sharply, sending the dust and dirt flying as the hoofs of the animals dug into the' road.

It was Sheriff Backenstos and Porter Rockwell, who had been called into service by the sheriff to help drive back the mob. One of the leaders had refused to obey orders of the sheriff, and had been killed. A tragic duty had been performed by the courageous sheriff; it meant further trouble, however, for the people he was trying to protect.

Other true Americans tried to keep down the mobs, but things grew worse. Finally the leaders saw that to live in peace, the Latter-day Saints must find a new home- land farther West.

There was harder work ahead. Every home became a center of industry, with quilting, knitting and weaving and making of clothes. Every shop was as busy as could be, with most of the effort being turned to the making of covered wagons, ox yokes, chains, harnesses, saddles, and other equipment.

Something else must be had for this journey in the covered wagon. That was oxen. These patient, slow moving animals were safer than horses or mules. They would draw heavy loads, and not be so hard to keep well fed on the grasses to be found along the way. As it became more certain that the saints must find new homes, they began to trade for oxen, or purchase them.

Ben's father had only the two fine horses that had brought them from Ohio to Nauvoo. These, like the dog, Bones, were almost part of the family. But it was decided with a good deal of heartache that they must be sold to get money enough to buy several yoke of oxen. In looking around for a buyer, Ben's father found one. Apostle John Taylor, who needed a horse, bought old Mack. There were tears in the eyes of Ben and his mother as this faithful animal was led away.

A few days later the brown mate to Mack was also sold. For a time the barn and corral seemed deserted. Then several oxen were driven into it, and Ben had a new experience watching the men yoke up and train these animals. He had a new chore, too. With Joe Phelps, whose father had also bought some oxen, he had to become herd boy, and to trail the cattle twice a day down an old Indian trail to the Mississippi to let them take a drink.

One day Apostle Taylor came driving old Mack, 'hitched to his buggy, up to the wagon shop. Calling Ben's father out, he said quietly, "Brother Shad, I just drove over to say that you didn't tell me all you know about this horse."

"Well, Brother Taylor," replied the father, "I always found him to be a good 'horse."

"That's what he is. He is a better horse than you said he was. Here's ten dollars more for him. I feel that I owe it to you." With that the fine leader drove away, leaving an abiding affection for him in the hearts of all the family.

It is small wonder that when the time came, as it 'did the next spring, that this pioneer wagon-maker and all his dear ones were ready to follow such honest and faithful leadership into the wilds of the unsettled West.