Elizabeth Jackson was the oldest of 11 children. Her family
joined the Church in 1841, when she was 15. In 1848 she married Aaron
Jackson, and eight years later she and Aaron were finally emigrating with
their three children, ages 2, 4, and 7. One of Elizabeth's brothers had
emigrated earlier, and one of her sisters traveled with her. Elizabeth's mother
had died a few months earlier, but her father would emigrate the next year with
other family members.
Aaron became seriously ill during the trek, and the last
crossing of the Platte brought on tragedy for this young family. Elizabeth
recalled: "My husband attempted to ford the stream. He had only
gone a short distance when he reached a sand bar in the river, on which he sank
down through weakness and exhaustion. My sister, Mary Horrocks Leavitt,
waded through the water to his assistance. She raised him up to his feet.
Shortly afterward, a man came along on horseback and conveyed him to the
other side of the river, placed him on the bank, and left him there. My
sister then helped me to pull my cart with my three children and other
matters on it. We had scarcely crossed the river when we were visited with
a tremendous storm of snow, hail, sand, and fierce winds."
After the crossing, Aaron Jackson was carried to camp because he
was unable to walk. Soon afterward he was "still sinking."
His wife continues: "His condition now became more serious.
. . . I prepared a little of such scant articles of food as we then had. He
tried to eat but failed. He had not the strength to swallow. I put him to
bed as quickly as I could. He seemed to rest easy and fell asleep. About
nine o'clock I retired. Bedding had become very scarce, so I did not disrobe. I
slept until, as it appeared to me, about midnight. I was extremely cold.
The weather was bitter. I listened to hear if my husband breathed—he lay
so still. I could not hear him. I became alarmed. I put my hand on his body,
when to my horror I discovered that my worst fears were confirmed.
My husband was dead. He was cold and stiff—rigid in the arms of
death. It was a bitter freezing night, and the elements had sealed up his
mortal frame. I called for help to the other inmates of the tent. They
could render me no aid; and there was no alternative but to remain alone
by the side of the corpse till morning. . . . Of course I could not sleep.
I could only watch, wait, and pray for dawn. But oh, how the dreary hours drew
their tedious length along. When daylight came, some of the male part of
the company prepared the body for burial. And oh, such a burial and
funeral service. They did not remove his clothing—he had but little. They
wrapped him in a blanket and placed him in a pile with thirteen others who
had died, and then covered him up in the snow. The ground was frozen so
hard that they could not dig a grave. He was left there to sleep in peace
until the trump of God shall sound, and the dead in Christ shall awake and
come forth in the morning of the first resurrection. We shall then
again unite our hearts and lives, and eternity will furnish us with life
forever more."
Josiah Rogerson, who as a 15-year-old was assigned guard duty on
that bitter night, described the painful events that attended the Jackson
family at the last crossing and the night afterward: "Aaron
Jackson . . . was found so weak and exhausted when he came to the crossing of
the North Platte, October 19, that he could not make it, and after he was
carried across the ford in a wagon [I] was again detailed to wheel the
dying Aaron on an empty cart, with his feet dangling over the end bar, to
camp. After putting up his tent, I assisted his wife in laying him in his
blankets. It was one of the bitter cold, blackfrost nights, . . . and
notwithstanding the hard journey the day before, I was awakened
at midnight to go on guard again till 6 or 7 in the morning. Putting
jacket or coat on...and passing out through the middle of the tent, my
feet struck those of poor Aaron. They were stiff and rebounded at my
accidental stumbling. Reaching my hand to his face, I found that he was
dead, with his exhausted wife and little ones by his side, all sound
asleep. The faithful and good man Aaron had pulled his last cart. . . .
Returning to my tent from the night's guarding, I found there one of the
most touching pictures of grief and bereavement in the annals of our
journey. Mrs. Jackson, apparently just awakened from her slumber, was
sitting by the side of her dead husband. Her face was suffused in tears,
and between her bursts of grief and wails of sorrow, she would wring her hands
and tear her hair. Her children blended their cries of 'Father' with that
of the mother. This was love; this was affection—grief of the heart and
bereavement of the soul—the like of which I have never seen since."
The following recollection from Elizabeth was written about
the time between the death of her husband and the arrival of the express
members of the rescue team, which was when the Martin company was camped
at Red Buttes: "A few days after the death of my husband,
the male members of the company had become reduced in number by death; and
those who remained were so weak and emaciated by sickness that on reaching
the camping place at night, there were not sufficient men with strength
enough to raise the poles and pitch the tents. The result was that we
camped out with nothing but the vault of Heaven for a roof and the stars
for companions. The snow lay several inches deep upon the ground. The
night was bitterly cold. I sat down on a rock with one child in my lap and
one on each side of me. In that condition I remained until morning." Widowed,
camped in miserable conditions, and unable to protect or provide for her
three young children, Elizabeth was at the point of despair. Then at
her time of greatest need, she received divine help. She wrote: "It
will be readily perceived that under such adverse circumstances I had become
despondent. I was six or seven thousand miles from my native land, in a
wild, rocky, mountain country , in a destitute condition, the ground
covered with snow, the waters covered with ice, and I with
three fatherless children with scarcely nothing to protect them from the
merciless storms. When I retired to bed that night, being the 27th of
October, I had a stunning revelation. In my dream, my husband stood by me
and said—'Cheer up, Elizabeth, deliverance is at hand.'"
As the handcart company camped in Martin's Cove, Elizabeth
worked to protect her three small children from the elements as the storm raged
and temperatures dropped. Although God did not use his power to turn
away the storm, Elizabeth felt his power in helping them survive: "We
camped for several days in a deep gulch called 'Martin's Ravine.' It was a
fearful time and place. It was so cold that some of the company came near
freezing to death. The sufferings of the people were fearful, and
nothing but the power of a merciful God kept them from perishing. The storms
continued unabated for some days. . . . When the snow at length ceased
falling, it lay thick on the ground, and so deep that for many days it was
impossible to move the wagons through. I and my children with hundreds of
others were locked up in those fearful weather-bound mountains".
In the memoirs that Elizabeth later wrote of the handcart
journey, she would write: "I will not attempt to describe my
feelings at finding myself thus left a widow with three children, under such
excruciating circumstances. I cannot do it. But I believe the Recording Angel
has inscribed in the archives above, and that my sufferings for the Gospel's
sake will be sanctified unto me for my good. . . .I [appealed] to the Lord, . .
. He who had promised to be a husband to the widow, and a father to
the fatherless. I appealed to him and he came to my aid." Like
many others, Elizabeth Jackson testified to her posterity that her sufferings
and sacrifices in the handcart trek strengthened her faith rather than weakened
it. She also hoped this example would strengthen her posterity: "I
have a desire to leave a record of those scenes and events, through which I
have passed, that my children, down to my latest posterity may read what their
ancestors were willing to suffer, and did suffer, patiently for the Gospel's
sake. And I wish them to understand, too, that what I now word is the history
of hundreds of others, both men, women, and children, who have passed through
many like scenes for a similar cause, at the same time we did. I also desire
them to know that it was in obedience to the commandments of the true and
living God, and with the assurance of an eternal reward—an exaltation to
eternal life in His kingdom—that we suffered these things. I hope, too, that it
will inspire my posterity with fortitude to stand firm and faithful to the
truth, and be willing to suffer, and sacrifice all things they may be required
to pass through for the Kingdom of God's sake."
As I read Elizabeth's story this weekend, I was struck with her
faith. I love that instead of complaining about her circumstances, she sees the
lessons learned and the hand of God in her life. I would imagine that she
couldn't have ALWAYS been super happy about her circumstances, but she was able
to look at the good in them.
It reminded me of this quote that I read from LDS Author Dean
Hughes. He said, “It occurred to me long ago that maybe, as
the pioneer children walked and walked and walked and walked — and walked, they
didn't really always sing and sing and sing and sing — and sing. Sometimes,
maybe, they complained a little or even said, "Are we there
yet?"
I have a feeling that people were people in the 19th century,
and not very different from us. And yet, we know what they had to suffer.
We've developed a stereotype for those hearty Mormon pioneers.
We speak of them almost as though they were superhuman. We say, "I just
couldn't survive all the things they went through." But let me ask, is
that the right lesson for us to learn?
Why speak of our noble forebears if we're only going to use them
to convince ourselves that we aren't up to much by comparison? I think the
right conclusion is that pioneers were regular people who did what they were
called upon to do and we honor those who triumphed. But the point is, they did
what they did, still possessing all the human weaknesses we deal with. Many of
them rose to the occasion and did the hard things. That ought to be a lesson to
us: We can do the same. We, too, can do hard things.”
I love this lesson....it is so true! In the end, average
people can do amazing things - they arrive at their
destination with faith in every footstep, and we can, too! The lesson to
be learned is to look for God's help along the way, and remain true to what we
know as we work our way through our trials having faith that we will make it
through and we CAN do hard things.
Have a great week!
Sister McHood
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