Martin Handcart Trek

Kelly was very organized and put together our gear for our trek with the descendants of the Martin Handcart Company.  My great-grandfather, Thomas Durham came in 1856 with his wife Mary Morton.  He did not know that a future wife, Caroline Mortensen (age 6) was ahead of him in the Willie Handcart Company.  Thomas was 28 at the time.  He was told in a patriarchal blessing that he would make it to Zion by the "skin of his teeth."  I became very grateful for the rescuers that were sent by Brigham Young, otherwise, it is unlikely that any of my handcart ancestors would have made it to Salt Lake. 

Doralee Madsen wrote a story about an experience that Thomas had along the way.  Part of it follows:

Thomas' Miracle

. . . "The voyage across the water," thought Thomas, "That was where he had hurt his knee." And to hurt the knee of a track star was hurting something pretty precious.  But Thomas was not a man of complaining, and trusted in the Lord, and so felt that there must have been a reason for it . . . .

     The days passed, with the people traveling across the plains under very poor conditions.  The snows fell early that year, and made things rather cold.  There were animals to be killed for food, and the little food they had brought was rationed out.  People who were sick and died, had to be buried. . . .

     One evening as the camp was settling down for the night, Mary turned to her husband.

     "Thomas?" The young, good-looking man turned to face his wife.  "What's troubling you?  For the past few days you seem to have had something on your mind.  Is your knee bothering you?"  Her sweet face looked quite concerned.

     "It's Sister McKinnly.  The poor old lady can't hang on much longer, I'm afraid.  Even though she's lived eighty full, rich years, she would like to reach the valley."

     "And you don't think she will?"

     "Brother Martin has said that we cannot stop a day, even for the sick, and I am afraid she has seen her last days.  We will pray for her though, my dear."

     But Mary's face still searched her husband's for the knowledge about the hurt knee.

     "Thomas, your knee has been bothering you, hasn't it," she asked?

     "I believe it has some poison in it because of the swelling, but if we have faith, it will be healed."

     The night proved to be a beautiful one.  Standing out under the stars, one felt so close to God.  The cattle didn't need much watching tonight, so Thomas sat down and thought of the trip that still lay ahead.

     "I hope it won't be much further," he thought to himself.  They were almost out of food, and if the snows kept up, and conditions got worse, who knows what might happen.  Morning soon stole her shadows across the sky to tell of her arriving.  Everything seemed to awaken with her coming, and soon the camp was up for the day.

     They started on their way, but soon Mary noticed that her husband was no where to be found.  Getting quite worried, she inquired around.  Soon, she discovered that Mrs. McKinnly had reached the point where it would only be a matter of time.  She had not the strength to walk any farther, so Thomas had stayed behind to make sure she had a nice resting place.

     "Brother Martin," Mary pleaded, "can't we stop and wait for my husband?  If not, he mightn't catch up again.  Oh, please!"

     "I'm sorry," the captain said, "but we must move on and cannot make allowances for anyone."

     "But, my husband," she cried.

     A day or two passed and the company got farther along the trail.  Mrs. McKinnly soon passed on, and Thomas, although on a lame leg, made a very nice burial place for the sister.

     Mary had stopped pleading for the company to stop, but she never stopped praying for her beloved husband's return.

     By now his knee had swollen to quite a large size and was extremely painful.  More snow fell and continued falling.  Brisk, sharp winds cut across Thomas's bare arms and face.  His pant legs were torn while he was crossing through a stream.  Sharp ice in the stream had almost frozen his feet and cut his legs.  But he kept on, and walked as fast as possible so as to catch up with the company.  If only he had a horse to ride!  But, no!  So he just kept walking, on and on.  And his poor lame knee was getting worse each day.

     Late one night, . . ., in walked Thomas Durham, worn out, and fatigued from the few days journey alone on a sore, lame leg.  Mary did her best to settle him on a comfortable piece of ground, and lay her blanket around him.  But nothing could stop the throbbing pain in his leg.

     The new morning came all too soon, but the company moved on.  Not knowing of Thomas's sore leg, no one paid much attention to the man.  And because Thomas had such a strong faith and much determination, he would not stay behind.  They were going to Zion!

     Conditions were getting poorer and poorer.  The food was running out, and many people were dying.  So far seventy people had died!

     Every day, and night after night, Thomas prayed that his knee would soon be healed and that the people would soon reach Zion.  One morning as the company was readying its journey for the day, Thomas noticed that his knee was swelling more rapidly.  He just couldn't stay behind.

     "I must bear this misery," he said to himself, "and continue on the journey."  But it is mighty hard to walk a great distance on a leg that is throbbing and burns with pain.  That day he lagged behind a wee bit, for he could not walk as fast as the others now.

     "Brother Durham," a small voice said.  He turned and saw the figure of a young girl coming towards him.  She bent down to the side of the path and picked up a small bag filled with a poultice made from flax seed meal.  The perfect medicine for drawing out poison!

     "This is for your knee," the young girl said.

     "Oh, no, this is not mine.  Someone must have left it here."

     "But, no, Brother Durham," she said, holding the bag towards him.  "I'm sure it was meant for you.  Here take it."

     Looking a bit puzzled about how this young girl should just see a bag of flax seed meal and know it was for him-- he undid it and sat down.  Carefully placing it on his knee, he tied it around and continued on.  That night, as they settled in camp, he took it off and found, that [because of] the flax seed poultice, the poisonous swelling had also gone!  His knee was on the way to recovery!  Now he would be able to finish the journey safely.

     Kneeling down he thanked his Heavenly Father for the miracle he had sent from heaven.  Surely, he could, and would never lose the faith which he had in this great gospel.  

     Many cold and bleak days passed.  Brigham Young sent out a party with more food and help for the courageous people.  Although ninety saints had died en route, the people did not lose their faith, and it was miracles like Thomas's that made the saints move ever onward to this land of Zion. . . .

Our camps had nice spring bar tents, and the temperatures varied from 40 to 85 degrees, rather than the 10 degrees below farenheit that Thomas had to endure.  The Sweetwater had 3 inches of ice in 1856 when the Saints crossed the river, and the ice really did cut the men's legs.  My cousin, Doralee, wrote the story of Thomas Durham after talking with her father.  She took some license with the story, but it does have the essence of the miracle.  Who was the little girl?  Where did the poultice come from that healed his infected knee?  As we re-enacted this journey in 2011, we had a chance to pull the wagons up a hill.  Some of the "angels" were allowed to help pull the wagons, as the trekkers grew weary.  I do believe that there were miracles along the way, and I believe that those who died would agree with the verse of Come, Come Ye Saints:  "And should we die, before our journey's through,  Happy Day, All is Well!"

http://www.ehow.com/how_2068290_make-flaxseed-poultice.html

Thomas Durham, 1828-1909

From left to right:  George Henry Durham, G. Homer, Wilby, Lowell, Marsden, Wayne

The caption under the picture is incorrect.  My lineage descends from Thomas Durham and Caroline Mortensen to George Henry Durham, to Wayne Cole Durham.