The Undaunted : The Miracle of the Hole-In-The-Rock Pioneers Read online

  David shot his father a quick look. Brother Miller? Was he a Quaker, by chance?

  “Come in, come in.” He motioned toward the two chairs. “How may I help you?”

  “We are interested in finding passage to America. We were told you are in that business.”

  “Indeed we are. Please, sit down.” He went around the desk as they did so. Once they were all seated, he pulled the inkwell closer to him and took a blank piece of paper. “All right, just let me make a few notes, then I’ll try to answer your questions.” He dipped the quill in the ink. “Names again were David and John Draper, right?” When they nodded, he wrote quickly in large, bold strokes. “Related to William Draper? That’s a prominent name in Utah for sure.”

  Again father and son exchanged puzzled looks, then shrugged. “Not that we know of,” David finally said. In the other offices, David had asked his questions, received the answers from clerks, then moved on to the next place. No one had so much as asked his name once they realized he was not ready to make a purchase.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Uh . . .” They had also determined that there would be no mention of Yorkshire, but again, no one before had asked.

  “We be from Surrey,” David’s father said, “southeast of London.”

  “Good. And the town?”

  “Battersea,” David replied. They had taken his mother’s name, why not her home, too?

  “And when would you be interested in sailing?”

  “As soon as possible,” David said without hesitation.

  The man looked up, a bit surprised. “Oh. All right.” He wrote that down. He was suddenly awkward, almost embarrassed. “Uh . . . I don’t know if you had heard this or not, but just this year, President Young has asked that all fares be paid in advance. In cash. That includes the train tickets and all other expenses. Would that be a problem?”

  “President Young?” David asked, trying to keep up. “Is he president of the shipping company?” This was definitely not going like any of the other interviews.

  Brother Miller gave them a long, strange look. “President Brigham Young.”

  “Oh,” David said, trying to cover his bewilderment. “Of course, Brigham Young. Sorry.”

  “We ’ave cash,” his father broke in.

  A look of greater surprise, then a pleased smile. “Wonderful.”

  “’Ow mooch will it be?” Again from his father.

  “Well, that depends a little on which sailing you choose.” He pulled out a drawer and extracted a printed sheet and slid it toward them. David leaned forward. In large letters, the masthead read, GUION LINE, and in smaller letters, “Steamers to New York—Royal and United States Mail.” There was an ink drawing of a flag as part of the masthead, and one of a large steamship just above the main body of text.

  “We use the Guion Line exclusively now,” the clerk explained, pronouncing it Gee-on. “They have some of the fastest steamers and they are very reliable.” He too leaned forward, tapping the sheet with his index finger. “Look at this.”

  David read aloud to his father: “Fastest Passages. S.S. Alaska—six days, eighteen hours, thirty-seven minutes. S.S. Arizona—seven days, three hours, thirty-eight minutes.”1

  David was greatly pleased. “So it’s true,” he said. “It only takes a week to cross?”

  “Yes.” He pulled a face. “When my neighbors back in the States emigrated to America in eighteen forty-one, it took them eighty-seven days from Liverpool to Boston.”

  “You’re not British, are you?” David asked.

  “No, I was born in America, but my grandfather comes from Preston, up in Lancashire. He was thirteen when he came.”

  “David be thirteen t’morrow,” his father said proudly. “What ya be doin’ in England noow?”

  “I’m here as a missionary.”

  David started at that, but then something else on the sheet caught his eye and he jerked forward, his heart dropping. “It says here that tickets are ten to twenty-five pounds. But—”

  “Aw, pay no mind to that. This is just an advert printed by the newspaper for the shipping company. Those higher fares include a stateroom with private bath and full access to the ship’s lounge. We take steerage class, down below decks. The berths are clean and healthy, but we don’t pay for all that other stuff.”

  “So,” his father asked again, “’ow much will it be?”

  “Well,” Miller said, still reluctant to answer the question before they had all the relevant information, “you have to understand something else. Unlike other companies, we have negotiated with Guion to provide sufficient food on the passage so you do not have to bring your own on board to supplement it.”

  Father and son exchanged glances. So that much was true. “And we heard it also includes help with getting the papers we need,” David said.

  “Yes, it does. Not only here, but to enter the United States as well. We’ve had a lot of experience in that and we make sure there are no complications.”

  “Fur the same price?” his father asked.

  “Yes. And, remember, in our case, the fare also includes the entire trip to Salt Lake City—ship and train tickets, lodging in New York while you clear customs and immigration, all food and other expenses. And the cost for that is—”

  He snapped his fingers. “Say, do you happen to be craftsmen of any kind? President Young has sent out a call for different kinds of craftsmen. If you are one of those on the list, the Perpetual Emigration Fund will pay for everything except the ship ticket. Once you’re settled in Utah, then you pay back that part to the fund as you can.”

  David shot his father a warning look, but his father ignored it. “I’m a coal miner.”

  “Wonderful. That qualifies. We recently opened a coal mine east of Salt Lake City about forty miles. In a place called Coalville, appropriately enough.”

  “Salt Lake City?” David said. “Where is that? And what is Utah?”

  That took Miller aback. “Utah Territory.”

  “Which is where from New York City?”

  “You’ve never heard of Utah?” He was clearly shocked.

  “No.” David’s father was also shaking his head.

  Confused, Miller’s eyes were now flicking back and forth between them. “It’s out West. Not quite as far as California, but close.”

  “Okay, so ’ow much?” His father was clearly losing patience.

  “Well, as I said, actual fare depends on which ship, but let’s say you joined the group leaving a week from today. That would be the S.S. Wisconsin. Total cost from Liverpool to Salt Lake would be eleven pounds each, or about fifty to fifty-five American dollars.”

  “Eleven pounds!” David cried. “We were told you were less than the other companies.”

  “Remember, this is not just for the ocean passage. That includes everything from here to Salt Lake City, including the train ticket. Also remember, the eleven pounds is for you. For your father, it would be just five pounds for the ship ticket.”

  He mistook their astonishment for dismay and rushed on. “That’s a real bargain. Especially knowing how many there are out there who will cheat you blind—make promises they can’t fulfill, only pay for half of what you need on the crossing. Many of these unscrupulous agents will leave you high and dry in New York City. We do not do that. We take care of our own.”2

  David was torn. Something was amiss here, but he couldn’t decide if this Mr. Miller was playing them for fools, or if he himself was missing something. He took a breath and leaned forward. “Just to make sure I understand: You’re saying we can get passage from here all the way to this Utah for both me and my father, including all food and paperwork, for sixteen pounds?”

  “That is correct. With the railroad clear across the United States completed now, we project that the total travel time will be about three to four weeks. One week for the crossing; one to two weeks to clear immigration, customs, and health inspections; and five to seven days on the railroad. All of t
hat for sixteen pounds for the two of you. Once your father starts to work, he would then begin paying back the other portion of his ship fare.”

  David turned to his father. He wanted to jump up and down and shout, but he only said, “What do you think, Dahd?”

  John’s head bobbed quickly. “We wud lek two tickets. It be better than anythin’ else we’ve found.”

  “Thank you, Brother Draper. That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to say.” He turned to David. “When you said you wanted to go as soon as possible, are you interested in booking on the Wisconsin, sailing on June twenty-first, then? We still have several berths available.”

  “Yes, definitely.” David found himself getting a little irritated by all of this good cheer and self-promotion and Brother this and Brother that. And what about that certificate on the wall? How was a church involved in all of this? “What if we’re not interested in Utah? Would it be just five pounds then to New York, with some extra for the other services?”

  The man visibly blanched. “You’re not interested in going to Utah?” And then he shot forward. “Are you Mormons?”

  “Are we what?”

  “Mormons. Members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

  Father and son looked at each other, completely baffled now.

  Miller was incredulous. “So you haven’t been baptized?”

  When they slowly shook their heads, he rose to his feet. “I am so sorry, Mr. Draper. We are not a commercial shipping agent. We provide emigration services for members of our church. When you came in, I just assumed that . . . I am terribly embarrassed.”

  For a long moment, David’s father said nothing. Then he got slowly to his feet. “It be awl reet, Mr. Miller. It be our mistake. But we still be interested in going.” He shot David a hard look. “And that be all the way to Utah, too.”

  One hand came up to rub at his face. “I . . .” He blew out his breath. “I’m sorry, but we provide this service only to members of our faith.”

  “Oh.”

  The disappointment was like a kick in the stomach. David also stood, but very slowly. “Let’s go, Dahd.” A total of sixteen pounds to get them all the way out to the western part of America. That was remarkable. He had already started calculating what they could do with the rest of their money.

  “Wait,” Miller said, coming around the desk. “I mentioned that I’m a missionary for our Church. I work here in the office during the day, but I preach the gospel of Jesus Christ in the evenings. In fact we’re having a meeting tonight at—”

  “No!” David cut in sharply. “We have no interest in that.”

  Miller swallowed once, then let his eyes slip over to David’s father. His head was down, and it was clear he was thinking about what Miller had said.

  “It wouldn’t be just to get passage, of course. We wouldn’t want that. But the message we bring is wonderful. We have had tens of thousands of converts here in the British Isles, including my own family. If you just came and listened, then—”

  “No!”

  His father looked up. “Ya ’ave bin moost kind an’ ’elpful. Thank ya, Mr. Miller.”

  “Brother Miller,” the man broke in. “We call ourselves brother and sister because we believe that God is literally our Heavenly Father and . . .” He let it trail off. “Well, I apologize for the misunderstanding. I should have asked about that sooner.”

  He turned, took another piece of paper, and quickly scribbled an address on it. He blew on it, then handed it to David’s father. “In case you change your mind. This is where we preach. Sunday services are tomorrow at ten. Tomorrow evening, I’ll also be preaching a sermon on the plan of salvation as taught by Jesus Christ.”

  He handed it to John, then looked at David, who was glaring at him. “I’d recommend the Guion or the Black Ball Lines. They’ve both been crossing the Atlantic for decades now. Their fare is ten pounds, but they do include all food and provide some help with your papers. Go back to the docks, turn left, then take the first street on your left. They’re both in there.”

  “Thank you.” The mistake had been honest enough. “We appreciate that. Good day, Mr. Miller.”

  “Naw, David!” Now his father was getting angry. “Nuthin’ ya can say will be changin’ me mind. The answer is no.”

  “But Dahd! Think about it. Sixteen pounds to go all the way across America. That would leave us over fifty pounds. We could even buy some land for that.”

  “Aw,” his father shot back, voice heavy with sarcasm, “so noow ya be awl excited aboot goin’ ta Utah, eh?”

  “I don’t care where we go,” David said, throwing up his hands. “If Utah is farther west, so much the better. Ole Man Rhodes would never reach us out there.”

  “An’ ya wud become a Mormon fur that?”

  David made a growling sound in his throat. “In name only. It doesn’t hurt them. He was ready to give us our tickets. So we go to Utah. Say thank ya very much, and go our own way. What’s the harm?”

  “No! Ah naw be lyin’ ta God just ta get cheaper tickets.”

  “Lying to God? Come on, Dahd.” He spun away. “Who cares? It’s just another religion.”

  “Yur muther wud be ashamed of ya, David Dickinson.”

  “Draper,” he shot back. “And no she would not. You know how badly she wanted to go. And you know how long it took us to save seventy pounds. She would be the first to say do it.”

  “E’nuff!” he roared, making David jump. “Ya will naw be smearin’ yur muther’s name in that way. Joost b’cuz she didna go ta church doesn’t mean she would mek a mockery of them.”

  “But Dahd.”

  “I mean it, David. Yur muther ’ad naw use fur organized religion. Thot they awl be a bunch of crooks, looking doon thare noses on people lek us. She wud never, not in a ’undred years, join a church joost ta save a few poonds. She wud naw do it.”

  He raised a hand in warning, cutting off David’s objections. “Ah’ll naw be ’earin’ anuther word, David. Naw anuther word.”

  They had been back in their room about half an hour, moving about in a strained silence. His father had wanted to go immediately to the Black Ball line and buy their tickets, but David refused. He said he was too tired. They would go back later this afternoon. His father knew exactly what David was doing, but he said nothing. Once they bought their tickets with Black Ball, it would be settled. There would be no changing his father’s mind.

  A sharp rap on the door sounded, startling them both. David turned, gave his father a questioning look, then called, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Mrs. O’Keefe, Mr. Draper,” came the reply. “Beggin’ yur pardon, sir, but Ah ’ave somethin’ ’ere fur ya.”

  “Maybe some food left over from lunch,” David whispered hopefully.

  His father stood and went to the door. “What is it?” he started to say as he opened the door, but it was cut short in a gasp of astonishment.

  Mrs. O’Keefe was already disappearing down the stairs. Standing at the door was Tom Cutler, constable from Cawthorne. He swept off his hat, grinning wickedly. “Well, well. Wud ya look at that. It be John Dickinson an’ son. What a pleasant surprise.”

  Tom Cutler sat in a chair across from father and son. His legs were crossed and he twirled his cap in his hand. He was trying to appear relaxed and affable, but his upper body was tense, his eyes wary. He had opened his jacket so that the pistol in his belt was prominently displayed. “Ah be a reasonable man, John,” he began.

  “’Ow did ya find us?”

  A triumphant smile spread across his face. “Patience. Rhodes sent four of us ’ere ta Liverpool, but the others tired after a couple of weeks, said ya be awreddy gone. But Ah thot better of ya than that, John. Ah figured ya wud tek yur sweet time gittin’ ’ere. So Ah found me a cheap room, joost lek ya did, an’ been broddlin’m aroond ever since.”

  “So ya saw us this mornin’ an’ followed us back.”

  “Ya got it, John. Figured ya’d be cumin’ ta
one of the shippin’ lines sooner or later. Warn’t naw problem ta follow ya ’ome.” He was clearly quite pleased with himself.

  “We’re not going back,” David said hotly.

  “Go back?” He looked hurt. “Who sez yur goin’ back?”

  As father and son looked at each other, Cutler put his cap back on and sat up. The down-home country boy demeanor had vanished. “Okay, noow, let’s see,” he mused. “’Elp me r’member ’ow much thare wuz in the strongbox that night? Seventy poonds of yurs, an’ a ’undred and sixty-five poonds of Rhodes’s. That be a lot of muney, John. A lot of muney.”

  David rocked back. “What? We didn’t—”

  His father’s hand shot out and clamped down hard on his knee, cutting off his words. His eyes never left Cutler’s. “So that be Rhodes’s game, eh? Moost be ’opin’ the mine owners will cover ’is loss. Easy way ta double yur muney.”

  Cutler’s eyes narrowed. “What ya be sayin’?”

  “We never took a farthin’ frum Rhodes’s bag. Took only our own back.”

  The constable sat back, weighing that. “Be just lek ’im,” he finally allowed. “’E be a reet rascal, shure ’nuff.”

  “Lek ya said, Tom,” David’s father said, his voice cold now. “Ain’t no sense wastin’ time. Ya be ’ere fur the purpose of extortion, so git ta it.”

  “Noow, John. No one, includin’ me, be sayin’ that what Rhodes did ta ya an’ yur missus be awl reet. An’ it was wrong fur ’im ta tek yur muney. But Ah can’t change any of that. Ah’ve only got a couple of choices ’ere, way Ah see it. If Ah cum back wit the two of ya, Rhodes will naw only pay me the extra bonus ’e promised, ’e’ll also pay me costs ’ere as well. On the other ’and, if Ah come back wit’out the two of ya, Ah ain’t gonna git nothin’. Maybe even lose me job.”

  David’s father said not a word, just watched the other man calmly.

  Cutler was all business now. “’Ow mooch of that seventy-two poonds is left?”

  “Only sixty,” David said.

  “More like sixty-five,” his father answered. “’Ad to eat. An’ then thare be the train tickets we ’ad ta pay.”