The Mississippi Peddler

THE MISSISSIPPI PEDDLER* By Arthur J. Horne At that period of our history when St. Louis was the mecca of the trapper and the fur trader and New Orleans our principal slave market most of our inland population was gathered, or rather scattered, along the rivers, for these waterways were the chief means of com- munication and afforded the simplest roads to market. Taking ad- vantage of this situation, Edward Rotono procured a boat and, loading it with all manner of trinkets and useful articles, established a sort of trade route between these two chief cities of the Mississippi. Up and down the river he went, bartering his goods for cash or furs, in- creasing his ports of call as new settlers appeared on the river bank, and finding not a little profit from the travelers who came in ever- increasing numbers on the steamboats now making their regular trips upon the Father of Waters. Edward Rotono was not only a trader of wares, but he was a dreamer of dreams as well, for as he sat in his boat steering his way over the murky waters of the broad river he saw himself as a great merchant in the city of St. Louis, his shelves laden with goods brought from all parts of the world by the steamers plying the river, while before his counters ranged the eager purchasers impatient to be waited on by his busy clerks. While thus musing and dreaming, as the sun was sinking low in the west, he reached a familiar bend in the river not far below the city of his dreams. He steered his bark toward the western shore, and ere he reached the bank his small black dog sprang from the bottom of the boat, leaped over the side with a splash into the water, and the next moment was scrambling up the bank, shaking the water from its furry coat onto the green grass among the trees. When the boat bumped against the shore, the man stood up and reaching a coil of rope at the stern tossed one end of it to the dog. The latter caught it in his mouth and quickly ran with it around a sapling. It required but a moment for the man to step ashore and make the end of the rope fast to the tree, then returning to the boat he took therefrom a small satchel and a roll of bedding. "Timothy," he said, addressing the dog, "we'll sleep in John's cabin tonight." At this intelligence Timothy wagged his tail ap- preciatively and bounded away into the forest. After a short walk they came to a clearing on the far side of which was a log cabin. A tiny spiral of smoke issued from the chimney and the peddler started back when he saw it. At that instant a man in the rough garb of the ♦This story is fictional in character, but founded on typical facts. — Editors.

THE MISSISSIPPI PEDDLER . 1135 trapper came from the cabin doorway and went round the corner of the house. "Halloo, brother!" called the boatman, and as the man reap- peared he continued, "I was not expecting to see you here at this season of the year." No more was I expectin' to be here, but the warm weather comin' on so early spoils the fur, an' we decided to let it alone till fall." They greeted each other warmly, embracing in true brotherly fashion. They went inside, leaving the door open to admit the light for there were no windows. Edward sat down on the edge of the bunk while his brother drew up a rude bench and rested his arm on the rough slab table. "You know, John, those 'Mormons' you told me about being driven out of the western part of the state?" The trapper nodded. "They're settling on the east bank of the river somewhere above Quincy. They've already started a city." "Its wicked the way them people was done!" exclaimed the trap- per, and raising his arm he hit the table a resounding whack. "Callin' 'em thieves an' such, the blackguards! There never was a more peaceable an' honest set of folks anywhere. I've stayed with 'em many a time when I've been comin' back with my pack, an' never a pelt stole either. They're a pray in' people an' hard workin'; 'tain't that a way with thieves, you know that, Ed?" "Hard working people is what this country needs right now," returned the peddler, "and I guess it wouldn't hurt any of us if we prayed a little more." "You're right, an' I hope the good Lord will take care of them people. Well, unroll your beddin' an' I'll fetch in some wood fur cookin' supper." The trapper arose and went outside. When the sound of his ax reached the ears of the peddler, the latter went to his satchel and, taking out a long buckskin wallet, returned with it to the fireplace. Kneeling down he deftly removed one of the bricks from the hearth revealing a cavity underneath, in the bottom of which lay a small heap of shining gold pieces. He quickly untied the wallet and took out three gold pieces which he dropped into the cavity. This was his part of the dream — this was the money with which he ex- pected some day to set up his store in St. Louis. As the sound of the ax ceased, Edward hastily replaced the brick and sprinkled ashes over the place. When the trapper came in with an armful of wood he found his brother sitting on the edge of the bunk just as he had left him. Several years went by in this manner. Occasionally the brothers met in the cabin of the trapper, but more often Edward spent the night there alone as he stopped in on his trips up and down the river. And bit by bit the shining horde under the cabin hearth grew, while

1136 . IMPROVEMENT ERA the goal which the Mississippi Peddler had set for himself seemed ever nearer and nearer. Meanwhile there was much talk among the people in the vicinity of St. Louis and on the steamboats, about the city which the "Mor- mons" were founding on the banks of the river above Quincy. "We must go and see this city," the peddler remarked to his dog one day. "They tell us a temple is being built there, too. What do you say, Timothy, to a trip to this wonderful city of Nauvoo before we go down river again?" For answer the dog got up from his bed in the stern and, coming back to where his master sat holding the tiller rope, laid his nose against the man's knee and looked up into his master's eyes questioningly. "What say, Timothy? If you mean 'Yes,' wag your tail." Instantly the tail set up such a wagging that the man laughed aloud. "All right, Old Timer, we'll go." It was a beautiful spring morning. Nature was at her best, and when they came in sight of the city of their quest, Edward Rotono thought he had never before witnessed a sight so grand and imposing. Right in their path it lay as if it had been thrust out into the river causing the water to flow around it. On the crest of the hill were the walls of the temple shining in the morning sunlight, while from its base the ground sloped gently to the water's edge, being dotted over with houses set amid the green foliage of gardens and vineyards. Securing his boat at the wharf the peddler stepped ashore and walked up the principal thoroughfare. Mulholland Street, to the business sec- tion on the brow of the hill. He was surprised at the substantial nature of the buildings, most of them being of brick while the temple was being built of a light-gray limestone. On the well-kept streets were many teams of horses and oxen, while pedestrians thronged the sidewalks. He accosted one of the men he met, who seemed to be less in a hurry than the others. "Pardon me, but can you tell me where I can find Joe Smith?" "Joseph Smith," corrected the man quietly, almost reverently. "I beg your pardon," the peddler returned hastily. "I meant no offense, but it is the name I hear all along the river." "I know, but we hold him to be a Prophet of God. I think you will find him in the grove west of the temple. I am on my way there, now, and if you wish I will conduct you to the place." "Thanks," replied the peddler, and they fell into step as they turned their faces toward the temple grounds. "My name is Edward Rotono." "The Mississippi Peddler!" the other exclaimed. "I have often heard of you." "From your opening remarks I judge that you are a 'Mormon.' "No, I can't say that I am — that is, I have not been baptized yet."

THE MISSISSIPPI PEDDLER 1137 "Tell me, do you really think Joe — Joseph Smith is some kind of prophet?" "There can be no doubt about it — the man is inspired. No man could do the things he does except God be with him." By this time they had reached the grove where a large congre- gation of people were already assembled. The occasion, it seemed, was the funeral services of a child. The peddler and his new ac- quaintance sat down on one of the benches at the rear. The Prophet conducted the exercises and himself preached the funeral sermon. *"The Lord takes many away, even in infancy," rang out the voice of the Prophet, "that they may escape the envy of man and the sorrows and evils of this present world; they were too pure, too lovely to live on earth; therefore, if rightly considered, instead of mourning we have reason to rejoice, as they are delivered from evil * * * The only difference between the old and young dying is, one lives longer in heaven and eternal light and glory than the other, and is freed a little sooner from this miserable wicked world." Much more he said, while the people sat in wrapt attention. Never had Edward Rotono heard a sermon like that. Everything this man said was new and startling. By a sentence, by a word, he swept away the doctrines and traditions of men. At the conclusion of the meeting the peddler was introduced to the Prophet who received him with a kindly smile and a handclasp which thrilled him through and through. "I am almost persuaded to be a 'Mormon,' " Rotono confided to his companion when they left the grove. "Not almost but altogether, I hope, brother," returned the other. "For many generations my people have been Catholics; I cannot leave them to follow after strange doctrines." "We shall see," said his companion. "Stranger things than that are happening every day." From that time on the Mississippi Peddler extended his trade route to include the city of Nauvoo, and he never missed an op- portunity while there of attending meetings when they were being held. He thus became acquainted with most of the Church leaders, and though he would not admit it to himself, their personalities and teachings were having a powerful effect upon him. One summer's day as he approached the city, a boatman rode out to meet him. When they were within speaking distance the man said, "The Prophet Joseph and his brother are dead — killed by a mob in Carthage jail." The kindhearted peddler was shocked be- yond measure at this information. "What did they do that for? What harm had he done?" he demanded. ^Historical Record, Book 1, page 490.

1138 IMPROVEMENT ERA "They say he was an enemy to the government and a wicked man, but the devil put that in their hearts." The man seemed choked with grief, and immediately turned his boat about and rowed back to the shore. The peddler continued on his way slowly. And so the man who had smiled at him so pleasantly that day in the grove lay cold in death. What a pity. "While thieves and cutthroats of every description are roaming over the country unmolested, this good man is seized and put to death. They said he was an enemy to Caesar, did they? I wonder if they accused him of healing a man on the Sab- bath day?" When he reached the city he found everything in confusion. Armed guards moved about in every direction. All the people he met were sad-looking and downcast — women wept and men's lips trembled when they spoke. No sound of hammer or trowel could be heard in the city and the temple grounds were silent and deserted. "Will these people continue to be 'Mormons' now that their Prophet is dead?" he asked himself. For a time Edward Rotono's customers were neglected. He was too interested in watching the outcome of affairs in the city of Nauvoo. Many leaders put themselves forward to take the place of the martyred Prophet and the people did not know just what to do. Finally the majority seemed to rally about Brigham Young, and under his di- rection work on the temple was resumed. But the people were poor and, being hard pressed by their enemies, the work progressed slowly. The women from their slender savings contributed enough to pur- chase a crane for handling the huge stones. When the peddler heard of this he handed to Brigham Young a ten-dollar gold piece. "I hope to give something every time I come to the city," he said. As the peddler was leaving the house he thought he heard some- one say, "Give the money you are saving for the store to the house of the Lord." He turned to see who had spoken, wondering how in the world anyone had learned of his savings and their purpose. But when he looked about there was no one in sight; he stood absolutely alone on the sidewalk in front of Brigham Young's house. "I couldn't do that," he said half aloud. "It would be many years before I could save a sum as large as that is now — perhaps I never would have that much again. No, no, that is asking too much, I couldn't do that." And he hurried away down Mulholland street to the river. In his haste to get aboard his boat he almost upset it. Hoisting his sail he turned his craft down stream and was soon gliding out over tht rippling waters. "That is too much to ask any man to give — his life's savings. I could give some of it, but to give it all and not have any store in St. Louis when I've set my heart on it for more than ten years?" And though it was a cool day, he actually took out his handker-

THE MISSISSIPPI PEDDLER 1139 chief and wiped the sweat from his perspiring brow. Just then a whistle sounded, and he turned to see one of the big steamboats coming down the river at a lively clip, plowing the water into windrows with its sharp beak and leaving in its wake a row of white-capped waves piled up by the giant wheels. It had gone some distance past him before he realized that this was one of the largest boats on the river and perhaps had a goodly number of passengers aboard. Here was an opportunity slipping past him for disposing of most of his wares, and since he had spent so much time in Nauvoo his business had been sadly neglected. If he was to help build the temple he must in- crease his business. There was a stiff breeze blowing and, setting his sail at the proper angle, he was soon skimming over the water at a rapid rate. As he came up with the big boat again it was just leaving the wharf at Quincy. Three young men in small row boats were waiting out in midstream for the vessel to pass them, and as it did so they rowed one after the other into the great waves thrown up by the wheels. Up and down like corks went the tiny boats as the waves rolled under them until the water subsided. Putting on all sail the peddler raced after the big steamer, gain- ing on it rapidly. Soon he passed it, cutting across in front of it as it rounded a bend in the river. He kept well in the lead, then, until St. Louis was reached. There he moored his bark and waited the arrival of his customers. Soon the big vessel hove in sight and, swinging around gracefully to the wharf, came to a stop not twenty feet in front of his own small boat. He boarded the vessel when the gang plank was shoved ashore, and was soon busy exhibiting his wares to the eager passengers when the boat was about to leave, the peddler shouldered his empty pack and returned to his bark, his pockets bulging with newly acquired coins. "Not so bad, Timothy," he said. "We'll go on down to John's for the night." While he was stowing away his pack and his money and locking the lid where he kept them, his boat had been gently drifting up the river in one of those little swirls fre- quently seen near the bank of every stream. This brought him within a few feet of the big vessel, but as it had not yet raised its gang plank, he concluded there would be no danger in crossing its path. He had scarcely got well behind it when, without warning, the monster wheels began to turn, churning the water into white foam and sending it rearward in huge waves. He tried to turn his boat to ride the waves as the boys had done, but it was too late; the huge wall of water was upon him before he could more than dip an oar. It struck his small craft broadside overturning it into the river, The next instant the water closed over him. He had no particular fears for his safety, for he was an expert swimmer, but somehow he found himself underneath the overturned boat tangled up in the tiller rope. Try is he would he could not free himself. He struggled

1 MO IMPROVEMENT ERA blindly in the dark and muddy water, bumping his head repeatedly against the gunwale. The water was pressing into his lungs and he realized that unless help came in a few seconds it would be the end of Edward Rotono. How he wished Brigham Young had his money for the building of the temple! Now it would do no one any good, for no one knew of its hiding place, not even his brother. "O Lord," he prayed, "get me out of this and I'll give every cent of it to build your house." At that moment he felt himself being lifted toward the surface while the boat slowly righted itself. His head came above water and he filled his lungs with the life-giving air. When he could gather his wits he looked about to see who had come to his rescue. Two men were running toward him along the river bank and Timothy was clinging with his forepaws to the opposite side of the nearly submerged boat, but no one else was in sight. The men rushed into the water and began to tow his boat to the shore while he clung to the side, too weak to offer any assistance. '"Peers like it was your dog saved you, Mister. He was tryin' to climb up on top, and when he got up a ways the boat just naturally turned back with him an' you popped up." The peddler sat down on the bank weakly. "Another minute and I would have been done for, I can tell you that," he answered. The men emptied the water from his boat and then offered to take him home with them until he could dry his clothes. "No, thanks," he said, "my brother has a cabin down the river a piece. I'll go on down there." He took off his shoes and drained the water from them and wrung out what water he could from his clothes. He got into his boat again and setting his sopping things to rights as best he could took hold of his oars and once more started out toward midstream. "Thanks, very much for your help," he said to the man, and was once more on his way, not much the worse for his unexpected bath. "I guess the store in St. Louis isn't for us," he said to Timothy. "I wouldn't want it there, anyhow, I'd rather have it in Nauvoo." Timothy wagged his tail up and down in approval, for he was lying down in the bottom of the boat and had no other way to wag it. "Well, if the Lord wants that money for the temple, I guess He can have it." On his arrival at his brother's cabin he built a fire and dried his clothes. The next morning he gathered together his few belongings and piled them in a heap on an old shirt which he had spread out on the floor. Then he removed the brick on the hearth and took out the heap of money. He did not know how much was there until that moment when he counted it. Three thousand one hundred and seventy dollars,, all in shining gold pieces. To these were added nealy fifty dollars more which he took from his wallet. These he placed on the top of the bundle and tied the whole with the sleeves of the

THE MISSISSIPPI PEDDLER 1141 shirt. Then he sat down at the table and wrote a brief note to his brother: Dear John : — I am going up the river to Nauvoo to join the "Mormons." I know your heart is with them, too, so come along. Ed. He placed the note over a peg on the wall and hung the frying- pan over it. Then taking up his bundle he set off in the direction of the river. Brigham Young sat in the front room of his home and looked across at the temple now nearly finished. His massive brow was clouded, and his face troubled. In his hand was a paper on which was written the command of the Lord to finish that structure. Per- haps he was wondering how this was to be accomplished, for already they had signed an agreement with their enemies to leave the city. And while he thus pondered the situation there came a knock at his door. "Come in," he said, and in walked the Mississippi Peddler, a huge bundle on his back, held by a stick slung across his shoulder. "Well, Brother Rotono, we are glad to see you again. It has been but a few days since you left for your trip to New Orleans. Surely you have not been there already?" "No, the Lord ducked me in • the river and wouldn't let me up until I promised to come right back with this." And without more ado the peddler set his bundle in the middle of the floor almost at the feet of his host. Then he began to untie the shirt sleeves. They did yield readily, and, using his strength, he burst them asunder, scattering over the floor in every direction a multitude of shining gold pieces. "There, Brother Brigham," he said, "I have brought this for the building of the temple." And though the mobs with fury beat against the city, driving out the inhabitants into the wilderness of the great west, enough peo- ple remained to complete the house of the Lord and perform their ordinances therein. And when the exodus was complete, and the "Mormons" wended their way toward the mountains, they took with them, as one of their own number, the man who had been known as the Mississippi Peddler. Youth Youth is the song of the lark Youth is a dream of a God When Dawn tip-toes o'er the Asleep in a forest enchanted; meadow; A vision, the soul of a seed, A wistful flute in the dark Entombed in a clod, beholdeth. By the river. -,,- , . . c -u ' Youth is a mirage or Heaven; Youth is the fragrance of flowers A glimpse through the gates of Eden That grow in a hidden garden; That unto Earth's pilgrim is given The largest of magic hours To turn his feet homeward Whose feet are winged. At twilight. I Maud Baggacley.