The Work and the Glory (543 page)

“Yes!” Joshua said, grabbing at Nathan’s arm. “That would give us a real firebreak. It’s moving mostly north. If we can let it go around us, it will miss the rest of the company and go on.”

Rockwood gave a curt nod and grabbed the reins. “Good idea! I’ll tell Brigham!” He wheeled the horse around and pounded away.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Joshua shouted at the family, pointing north. “Get those wagons up to join with Brigham’s group. Mark! Luke! Get the saddle horse and the milk cow. Tie them to one of the wagons.”

Nathan ran back to his wagon. He looked up at Lydia and his mother, who sat side by side on the wagon seat, their faces pale, their eyes frightened. “We’ll be all right. Just hang on.” Josh was waiting by the head of the oxen. Nathan looked at him. “I’ve got to get the flint and tow from the wagon. Then go, Josh. But don’t let the animals panic. The fire will spook ’em.”

“Yes, Papa.”

Nathan darted around to the back of his wagon, pawed through a box there, and came up with the flint, the steel, and a wad of tow. “Go!” he shouted at his son. Then he raced away.

He saw Joshua at the back of his wagon and swerved to join him. Joshua straightened and Nathan saw that he had his fire-starting kit as well. Without a word, they broke into a run, heading for the wall of fire that was bearing down toward them.

“I figure we got less than ten minutes,” Joshua said, between breaths.

“It’ll be enough,” Nathan answered. “The wind will work for us too.” Now the smell of smoke was heavy in the air, and they could see light ash blowing in the wind. He shook his head, hoping that his time estimate was right.

They ran hard for maybe five or six hundred yards. All along, wagons were swinging around. Men and boys were racing to herd in loose stock. Women were running alongside, dousing sacks and blankets in the water barrels. Children were tying wet rags across their faces.

“Here come’s Brigham,” Nathan shouted, pointing. The President and more than a dozen men were running toward them. Nathan stopped and dropped to one knee. He placed the wad of tow on the ground and began striking the flint against the steel with short, hard strokes.

Joshua did the same, calling out the plan to Brigham and the others even as they ran up to join them. Brigham started barking out orders like a general on the line of battle. “You and you. Get clumps of grass. Make torches. We’ll fire the grass all along this line.” He waved his arms. “You brethren, you move right along with it. Don’t let it go south. The wind will take it away from us, so it should be no problem.”

“How far should we let it go?” someone called out.

Brigham considered that for a moment, peering east. He grabbed one man by the shoulder. “You head back across the creek. Have them put a line of men along the east bank to watch for sparks. If we don’t let it get out of hand, the creek will stop it from going farther that way.” The man turned and raced away.

Tow is made up of the short, soft fibers that are pulled off during the hackling of flax. It is dry and highly flammable. On his fourth strike, Nathan’s flint sent a bright yellow spark off the steel and into the tow. He instantly dropped to all fours and blew on it softly. A tiny wisp of smoke curled upward. He blew again. There was a soft puff and the tow burst into flame. “Got it!” he cried. He grabbed a handful of dried grass and laid it gently on top. It caught and started to crackle.

“Mine’s going!” Joshua yelled beside him.

“All right!” Brigham shouted. “I want half a dozen men. Use the grass as torches. Make a line of fire all the way to the creek. The rest fall in behind. The wind will take it north, and that’s what we want. As soon as the fire has moved away from you, follow it in. Stamp out the hot spots.”

He swung around to where women and children watched from about thirty or forty yards away. “As soon as we signal,” he called, “bring those oxen and wagons into the burned area. Anyone not driving a wagon or herding cattle, get a blanket or a sack and come help beat down the fire. And you women! Watch your skirts. Don’t get too close to the flames.”

Nathan was taking the makeshift torches from the men and shoving them into the fire. “All we need is a space big enough to pull all the wagons into it.”

One by one the men lit their torches and raced away. Nathan grabbed a handful of grass, jerked it loose, and made his own torch. In a moment, he was off and running, stopping every few feet to stick the burning clump down into bunches of grass until they caught.

It was a remarkable sight. Lydia stood up on the seat of their wagon, watching anxiously. One moment it was a clot of men gathered around the kneeling figures of Nathan and Joshua. In the next it looked like a band of warriors racing outward, smoke streaming from their hands, on their way to torch the enemy camp. In moments a second fire was burning along a hundred-yard front. The wind whipped it quickly into a crackling, roaring inferno, pushing it north away from them. Dozens of men and women moved in behind those with the torches, beating and slapping at the fire with shovels and brooms or with dripping sacks, rugs, blankets, or aprons.

She turned. The main fire was coming just as quickly along a half-mile front now that stretched from southeast to northwest. It was no more than a quarter of a mile away now. She wanted to cry out. They were standing on an island of brown that was quickly being consumed on either side of them.

Lydia stiffened, staring at the line where the men were starting the second fire. Among the racing, darting figures was a smaller person in a dress. She stared. What was a girl doing there? Then through the swirl of smoke she saw the flash of red hair. She couldn’t believe it for a moment. Then she cupped her hands and started screaming. “Nathan! Nathan!”

Nathan watched the thick grass catch the flame from his torch and eagerly begin to spread. Through the melee he suddenly heard Lydia’s voice and straightened. She was pointing frantically at a spot beyond him. “What?” he shouted.

“Savannah!”

He spun around, not sure what she meant. Then he saw. Savannah had a torch of her own and was moving steadily along with the men, thrusting it down into the clumps of prairie grass. “Savannah?” It came out as an astonished question. He whirled. “Joshua!”

His brother looked up, three or four men down the line from him. Nathan jabbed his finger in Savannah’s direction. “It’s Savannah!”

There was a startled oath, then Joshua dropped his torch and started to run. When he reached her she was bent over, pulling off clumps of grass to form a new torch, since hers had burned down too close to her hand.

“Savannah!” he cried. “What in the world are you doing here? Get back to the wagons.”

“I want to help, Papa.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around. Only then did he see that in bending down she had swept the skirts of her dress around and into the licking flames. The cloth was smouldering and showing black spots.

He jerked her away from it, then stomped on it until he was sure it was out. She watched, half-horrified, half-fascinated.

“This is no place for you,” he snapped. “You get back to your mother and help her there.”

“But Papa!”

“You heard me,” he roared. “Now, go!”

Meekly she nodded and started back to where the wagons were waiting.

Watching it all, Lydia sank back down to the wagon seat, greatly relieved. Thankfully, Caroline was at the back of her wagon and had seen none of it.

Brigham’s figure suddenly stepped out of the smoke. He was waving at them with quick, frantic motions. “Bring the wagons forward,” he shouted.

“Let’s go, Josh,” Lydia said to her son. She turned. Emily and Rachel, as well as Mark and Luke Griffith, were with their loose stock. “Stay close!” she called.

All around, everyone leaped into action. The older boys and some women turned the wagons and started toward the new fire line, fighting to keep the bellowing and lowing oxen from breaking away from them. Women and children ran after loose stock and herded it in toward the wagons. Small children were running back and forth with wet strips of cloth for those on the line to tie across their faces. Women doused towels, rugs, blankets, quilts, and sacks in the water barrels, then passed them up to the waiting men and women on the fire line. There was no bucket brigade. Each wagon carried a small barrel of water for drinking, but there was not water anywhere near sufficient to fight the fire directly. Three or four buckets per wagon and the barrels would be empty. The smoke from the main fire was rolling in heavily now, burning the eyes and searing the throat.

Behind them about two hundred yards, the last of the wagons which were near the creek were frantically going back across. Those still east of the creek were drawn up in a line of defense, with shovels and blankets ready in case the fire jumped the stream.

Nathan worked between Albert Rockwood and Joseph A. Young, Brigham’s oldest son, who was almost twelve now. Derek and Joshua were just beyond that. Brigham Young and others of the party were on the other side of them. Brigham ran back and forth along the edge of the blackened, smoking prairie, stomping and slapping at flare-ups or spots that still smoked too heavily. He bellowed out commands, directed traffic, shouted encouragement.

“Watch out!”

Nathan wasn’t sure who yelled, or whom they were yelling at, but he spun around anyway. He was not quick enough. There was a momentary rattle, a gray blur, and then something struck his boot hard just above the ankle.

“Snake! Snake!” Rockwood gave Nathan a hard shove and began pounding furiously at the ground with his shovel.

Nathan’s blood went instantly cold. He dropped to one knee, clawing at his pant leg. Instantly Joshua and their captain were at his side. “Did he get you?” Joshua cried. “Are you bit?”

Nathan, half-dazed, pulled the trouser leg up, then stared at the two parallel marks where the leather boot had been scored by the fangs. “No,” he breathed. He lowered his pant leg, trying to stop the trembling in his hand. “Thank heavens for strong leather.”

“Rattler! Rattler!” Somewhere down the line a man was shouting.

Brigham was to them now too. He looked grim. “The fire’s driving them out.” He cupped his hand to his mouth. “Watch for snakes. You men with shovels. Keep an eye out. Throw them back into the fire.”

He looked at Nathan and Joshua and grinned. “Don’t know if Brother Joseph would approve, but there’s not time to think about that.” And with that, he swung back to the task of bringing order to the chaos all around him.

Still shaken, Nathan stood motionless for a moment. He turned. The air was thick with smoke, and that, added to his burning eyes, made it difficult to see. Then he grunted in satisfaction. He could see that Solomon and Josh had the two lead wagons of the Steeds into the blackened area. The others were coming on hard behind them. They would be all right now. He lifted his shovel and broke into a run, seeing a tongue of flame licking its way southward through a thick clump of grass.

As he stomped it out, he heard someone come up behind him. He turned. It was Brigham Young. He was looking north, where the flames were now a good two hundred yards away. To the east the fire had died, denied by the creek of any further eastward advance. “I think we did it,” Brigham said.

Nathan nodded, turning to look the other way. All the wagons were into the black now. So were the animals. Beyond them, still roaring in fury, the main fire was now less than a hundred yards away. But suddenly it didn’t seem frightening anymore. When it finally reached where they now stood, it would find nothing more on which to feast. He looked back to Brigham. “Yes,” he said softly, “I think we did.”

On the ground it was nearly full dark now, except for the flickering light of the small campfires which spread out in any direction. The western sky was still a pale velvet purple tinged with the softest of yellow-orange, but night was almost fully upon them. Mary Ann Steed sat back, leaning against a chest that Joshua had gotten for her. She was alone for the moment. The mothers and older children were getting the younger children to bed. Nathan and Derek were off with the stock. The rest of the men were at the wagons, securing things for the night.

After their scare with the fire, Brigham had decided to stop where they were. The fire-scorched prairie was several hundred yards behind them now. The soot-blackened faces were washed; the blankets and quilts that had been used in the battle against the fire were hung on wagon tongues and over tent ropes to dry. But the people stayed near their wagons, tending small fires that were banked and dying now that supper was over.

Mary Ann wondered if this reticence was an instinctive reaction to the fire of that afternoon. When it was all over, everything had turned out okay. No wagons were lost. No one was injured, except for a few superficial burns among the firefighters. When Brigham Young called a halt, he had dubbed the place Camp Rolling Prairie. And that it was. They were still out in a vast sea of grass. The prairie was like a frozen sea, with great swells and gentle troughs of undulating endlessness. And maybe the thoughts of a sudden breeze carrying a spark into the grass and starting the ordeal all over again was heavy on everyone’s mind. Or maybe it was just that the day’s crisis had left them exhausted and drained and they had only enough energy to sit around their fires and contemplate the day.