Mary Francher lay as still as possible. The sun had set and the temperature continued to drop. Despite this the brutalized fifteen year old found the cool air refreshing, though she feared that her shivering might give her away. Raped, beaten and twice stabbed she had been left for dead in a shallow uncovered grave. Mary had witnessed the brutal murder of her entire family and knew she too would soon die. But something inside of her, perhaps it was her mother’s nagging or her baby brother’s ever persistent request for her to “git up an play”, made her pull her self off the dusty ground. It was dark and she had a hard time finding her way to what remained of the wagon train. Twice she tripped over the bodies of those that had been killed earlier in the day. Once she slipped and nearly fell after stepping in a sticky puddle of what she knew to be blood. Every time though she kept herself from looking town at the grizzly remains of her once determined family.
It took her a while to find two canteens underneath the body of one the Baker women. Amazingly, they both had water in them. She also found a small supply of jerky and tack biscuits. Exhausted she fell back against the overturned wagon. Something small scurried across her leg, and she heard the scuffling of animals as they made a meal of abundant corpses. She was too afraid to investigate the noise any further and after catching her breath spent the next couple of minutes pulling some blankets free from underneath the wagon. With them was a partially used bar of soap, flint and steel and a small but sharp knife. She also found several dresses thrown about the area and after changing out of the bloody remains of her once pretty dress, she used another dress to clean her wounds and make bandages. The time spent helping her uncle tend to their injured animals proved to be a life saver. Once bandaged, she crawled onto the side of the wagon farthest from the ground and quickly fell asleep.
The next morning Mary ate a small bit of her food and drank some water. After changing her bandages she crawled down from wagon and looked to the north. No, she decided she would not head back towards Mormon territory. Instead she decided to go east. She gathered up a few more supplies from what remained of the wagon train and walked away without looking. Behind her trotted a scraggly dog hoping for a hand out. He had been chased off the macabre smorgasbord by the coyotes and vultures and hoped to find an easier meal.
Captain Stewart Van Vliet was outraged. Just twenty days previously he and his party had left Salt Lake City after a relatively enjoyable stay in company of Brigham Young. And now this; just inside his tent lay a fifteen year old girl. Barely alive due to her injuries and extended exposure to the elements she had struggled just to speak.
“Damn, him. Damn his miserable body to whatever Hell he believes in!” He fumed to no one in particular.
“She most likely won’t survive the night.” The expedition’s doctor reminded him yet again.
“I know. I know.” Van Vliet said as he turned towards the swarthy red haired Sergeant standing just a few feet away. “Sergeant, get six men together. Make sure they know how to ride and ride well. I will be with you in a few minutes.”
The Captain walked back into the tent as the Sergeant hustled away yelling towards the small group of cavalry soldier who had recently joined the expedition. Van Vliet entered the tent just as Corporal Eastman, the designated Chaplin of the group, was reading the girl her last rights. Mr. Wells, a newspaper reporter from St. Louis sat in one corner of the tent busily sketching the scene. The girl’s dog had taken a dislike to the man and usually kept him from entering the tent. This time though the skinny creature lay unmoving upon the foot of the bed with a look on its face that Van Vliet was sure was the closest thing to mourning any animal could manage. Van Vliet put his hand upon Eastman’s shoulder.
“She won’t last…” he began in his thick Boston accent.
“I know. The good Doctor informs me of this every time he opens his mouth.” Van Vliet interrupted. “I’m going to write messages to Colonels Alexander and Johnston and a separate letter to the President.”
Captain Van Vliet spent the next three hours penning the three messages. The shallow breathing of Mary Francher echoed through the tent. The smell of the gangrene that infested her many wounds filled the tent with the scent of impending death. As he wrote his anger built. He had been lied to. He had been duped and made the fool.
The next morning the twenty-six men under Captain Stewart Van Vliet stood to attention as Sergeant O’Reilly played taps. Corporal Eastman said a few words as they buried the young woman.
“She had endured so much. And now Lord we thank you for ending her suffering. Take her into your loving hands and help her to find the way into Heaven.”
Less than an hour later Van Vliet stood watching as Sgt. O’Reilly oversaw preparations for the dispatch riders. It was still relatively early and quite cool. He didn’t notice Mr. Wells’ approach until he was right next to him.
“Captain, if you don’t mind I’d like to accompany the two riders you are sending back to St. Louis. I think it’s important that I deliver my writings to the Post in person.” He said in a low tone.
Not long ago he would have prevented. He knew Wells’ reports would paint the Mormons in a very unflattering light. Once he had been sympathetic towards that odd religion, but now he didn’t care to lift a finger to defend them. They would reap what they had sown one way or another.
He merely nodded to the young reporter and said, “Go ahead.” so quietly that the man barely heard him.
As the seven riders were mounting their horses a commotion arose just outside of the camp. Corporal Eastman ran up to Van Vliet.
“Riders, Sir. About ten of them; almost half are Indians. They’re asking for you, Sir.” He said in a rush. “Well, not you specifically but the commander.”
“Yes, I understand Corporal.” Van Vliet said and gave the dispatch riders a final salute as he turned away.
The eleven men were still mounted when Captain Van Vliet reached them. Several were allowing their horses, which were lathered up in sweat despite the cool weather. The signs of a long hard ride were evident in both the riders and their mounts. Many of them were openly wounded and all of them looked tired enough to fall to the ground any minute.
“What can I help you with gentleman?” Van Vliet asked to no one of them in particular.
“Damn, Mormans, Sir.” One of the white men said. “They’re on the warpath. No offense.” As he said that last part he looked nervously at his red skinned companions.
“Well, get down and have some chow. You gentlemen look like you could use the food…and a rest. My men will look after your horses.”
“Obliged, sir.” The same one said. Almost as one he and the rest of them dismounted. As soon as he was away from the horses he approached Van Vliet. “Name’s Newton Earp, Sir. I don’t mean to be a bother, but you have to understand. There was a massacre. Some place called Mount Meadows. Well word’s gotten back that there was a survivor despite their best efforts. So now the whole Nauvoo Legion is out looking for him.”
“Her.” Captain Van Vliet interrupted. “Her name was Mary Francher. Fifteen years old. Seemed like a nice girl, before this perhaps. But she was a broken husk when we found her. She lasted almost two days with us.”
“My, God Captain! There are nearly two hundred well armed men riding down on us!” He paused for a moment to pace and kick at a small stone. Then he continued a bit more calmly. “Do you know why there are seven Paiutes with us?” He continued with out waiting for an answer.
“Because there were a handful of Paiutes at the massacre, just as the Mormons wanted. You see they wanted some one to take the blame. Well, word got out and some of the Indians weren’t too happy with doing their dirty work. Now the Paiutes are split. Those seven saved our skins.
The Great Prophet and Want to Be Governor Brigham Young recently declared martial law and has forbidden non-Mormons from traveling through the territory. He also had Daniel Wells call up almost the entire Nauvoo Legion.”
Captain Van Vliet already knew much of this but still took some time to think it over. He didn’t have much time for just a moment later the Sergeant approached to tell him that a large dust cloud was approaching. Over one hundred horsemen thundered towards them.
Edward Wells still watched the camp he had recently left through a brass looking glass covered in leather. The last half hour had left him sick to his stomach, and he had had to physically restrain one of the soldiers to keep him from riding off to join his comrades.
The screams and moans of the survivors had been cut short by the methodical close range shootings carried out by the handful of Mormons left behind after the initial battle. The handful of dead Mormons had already been carried off by the main body of troops as they headed back towards the west. Left on the dirt, often in a large pools of blood, were nineteen bodies of Van Vliet’s expedition and the eleven men who had arrived just as Wells was departing. Wells didn’t know who they had been, but they had fought with a bravery that matched the Army soldiers and many of them looked to have been Indians.
Wells finally looked away from the gruesome scene more determined to get his story to the newspaper than ever. Early the next mourning the three of them took off for the long ride east.
It took her a while to find two canteens underneath the body of one the Baker women. Amazingly, they both had water in them. She also found a small supply of jerky and tack biscuits. Exhausted she fell back against the overturned wagon. Something small scurried across her leg, and she heard the scuffling of animals as they made a meal of abundant corpses. She was too afraid to investigate the noise any further and after catching her breath spent the next couple of minutes pulling some blankets free from underneath the wagon. With them was a partially used bar of soap, flint and steel and a small but sharp knife. She also found several dresses thrown about the area and after changing out of the bloody remains of her once pretty dress, she used another dress to clean her wounds and make bandages. The time spent helping her uncle tend to their injured animals proved to be a life saver. Once bandaged, she crawled onto the side of the wagon farthest from the ground and quickly fell asleep.
The next morning Mary ate a small bit of her food and drank some water. After changing her bandages she crawled down from wagon and looked to the north. No, she decided she would not head back towards Mormon territory. Instead she decided to go east. She gathered up a few more supplies from what remained of the wagon train and walked away without looking. Behind her trotted a scraggly dog hoping for a hand out. He had been chased off the macabre smorgasbord by the coyotes and vultures and hoped to find an easier meal.
Captain Stewart Van Vliet was outraged. Just twenty days previously he and his party had left Salt Lake City after a relatively enjoyable stay in company of Brigham Young. And now this; just inside his tent lay a fifteen year old girl. Barely alive due to her injuries and extended exposure to the elements she had struggled just to speak.
“Damn, him. Damn his miserable body to whatever Hell he believes in!” He fumed to no one in particular.
“She most likely won’t survive the night.” The expedition’s doctor reminded him yet again.
“I know. I know.” Van Vliet said as he turned towards the swarthy red haired Sergeant standing just a few feet away. “Sergeant, get six men together. Make sure they know how to ride and ride well. I will be with you in a few minutes.”
The Captain walked back into the tent as the Sergeant hustled away yelling towards the small group of cavalry soldier who had recently joined the expedition. Van Vliet entered the tent just as Corporal Eastman, the designated Chaplin of the group, was reading the girl her last rights. Mr. Wells, a newspaper reporter from St. Louis sat in one corner of the tent busily sketching the scene. The girl’s dog had taken a dislike to the man and usually kept him from entering the tent. This time though the skinny creature lay unmoving upon the foot of the bed with a look on its face that Van Vliet was sure was the closest thing to mourning any animal could manage. Van Vliet put his hand upon Eastman’s shoulder.
“She won’t last…” he began in his thick Boston accent.
“I know. The good Doctor informs me of this every time he opens his mouth.” Van Vliet interrupted. “I’m going to write messages to Colonels Alexander and Johnston and a separate letter to the President.”
Captain Van Vliet spent the next three hours penning the three messages. The shallow breathing of Mary Francher echoed through the tent. The smell of the gangrene that infested her many wounds filled the tent with the scent of impending death. As he wrote his anger built. He had been lied to. He had been duped and made the fool.
The next morning the twenty-six men under Captain Stewart Van Vliet stood to attention as Sergeant O’Reilly played taps. Corporal Eastman said a few words as they buried the young woman.
“She had endured so much. And now Lord we thank you for ending her suffering. Take her into your loving hands and help her to find the way into Heaven.”
Less than an hour later Van Vliet stood watching as Sgt. O’Reilly oversaw preparations for the dispatch riders. It was still relatively early and quite cool. He didn’t notice Mr. Wells’ approach until he was right next to him.
“Captain, if you don’t mind I’d like to accompany the two riders you are sending back to St. Louis. I think it’s important that I deliver my writings to the Post in person.” He said in a low tone.
Not long ago he would have prevented. He knew Wells’ reports would paint the Mormons in a very unflattering light. Once he had been sympathetic towards that odd religion, but now he didn’t care to lift a finger to defend them. They would reap what they had sown one way or another.
He merely nodded to the young reporter and said, “Go ahead.” so quietly that the man barely heard him.
As the seven riders were mounting their horses a commotion arose just outside of the camp. Corporal Eastman ran up to Van Vliet.
“Riders, Sir. About ten of them; almost half are Indians. They’re asking for you, Sir.” He said in a rush. “Well, not you specifically but the commander.”
“Yes, I understand Corporal.” Van Vliet said and gave the dispatch riders a final salute as he turned away.
The eleven men were still mounted when Captain Van Vliet reached them. Several were allowing their horses, which were lathered up in sweat despite the cool weather. The signs of a long hard ride were evident in both the riders and their mounts. Many of them were openly wounded and all of them looked tired enough to fall to the ground any minute.
“What can I help you with gentleman?” Van Vliet asked to no one of them in particular.
“Damn, Mormans, Sir.” One of the white men said. “They’re on the warpath. No offense.” As he said that last part he looked nervously at his red skinned companions.
“Well, get down and have some chow. You gentlemen look like you could use the food…and a rest. My men will look after your horses.”
“Obliged, sir.” The same one said. Almost as one he and the rest of them dismounted. As soon as he was away from the horses he approached Van Vliet. “Name’s Newton Earp, Sir. I don’t mean to be a bother, but you have to understand. There was a massacre. Some place called Mount Meadows. Well word’s gotten back that there was a survivor despite their best efforts. So now the whole Nauvoo Legion is out looking for him.”
“Her.” Captain Van Vliet interrupted. “Her name was Mary Francher. Fifteen years old. Seemed like a nice girl, before this perhaps. But she was a broken husk when we found her. She lasted almost two days with us.”
“My, God Captain! There are nearly two hundred well armed men riding down on us!” He paused for a moment to pace and kick at a small stone. Then he continued a bit more calmly. “Do you know why there are seven Paiutes with us?” He continued with out waiting for an answer.
“Because there were a handful of Paiutes at the massacre, just as the Mormons wanted. You see they wanted some one to take the blame. Well, word got out and some of the Indians weren’t too happy with doing their dirty work. Now the Paiutes are split. Those seven saved our skins.
The Great Prophet and Want to Be Governor Brigham Young recently declared martial law and has forbidden non-Mormons from traveling through the territory. He also had Daniel Wells call up almost the entire Nauvoo Legion.”
Captain Van Vliet already knew much of this but still took some time to think it over. He didn’t have much time for just a moment later the Sergeant approached to tell him that a large dust cloud was approaching. Over one hundred horsemen thundered towards them.
Edward Wells still watched the camp he had recently left through a brass looking glass covered in leather. The last half hour had left him sick to his stomach, and he had had to physically restrain one of the soldiers to keep him from riding off to join his comrades.
The screams and moans of the survivors had been cut short by the methodical close range shootings carried out by the handful of Mormons left behind after the initial battle. The handful of dead Mormons had already been carried off by the main body of troops as they headed back towards the west. Left on the dirt, often in a large pools of blood, were nineteen bodies of Van Vliet’s expedition and the eleven men who had arrived just as Wells was departing. Wells didn’t know who they had been, but they had fought with a bravery that matched the Army soldiers and many of them looked to have been Indians.
Wells finally looked away from the gruesome scene more determined to get his story to the newspaper than ever. Early the next mourning the three of them took off for the long ride east.
