Seven Sisters: The Voyage

By Carolyn Hart Bennett

The early Mormon Church was forced out of several states and finally blazed a trail across unknown territory to Utah to form their own theocracy. In addition to this westward movement, converts in Europe were admonished to "gather to Zion" and build up the Church in the Salt Lake Valley.

85,000 Mormon emigrants came to America by sailing ships between the years of 1840 and 1890. Seven Sisters takes place on one of these ships--the Amazon.

Carrying 800 Latter-day Saints, it had a send off from Charles Dickens at the London Docks and landed in New York City a couple of days after the deadliest riot in American History-the Draft Riots of 1863.

During the 44 day crossing, there are births, deaths, storms, sea-sickness, accidents, drama, humor, romance, and pure religion.

All of this is seen through the eyes of seven single young women who start out the voyage individually and are soon placed together as a "family" by Church leaders. Although, they aren't related as such, they are "sisters" in the Gospel, and together they face the adventures, hardships, and dangers of an ocean voyage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 13, 2008
• ISBN: 9780595622979

Carolyn Hart Bennett

Carolyn Hart Bennett grew up in Idaho, and earned degrees from Utah State University in English and Instructional Media. She taught school for thirty-eight years and is the author of Seven Sisters:The Voyage. Carolyn and her husband, Wally, have three married sons and ten grandchildren and reside in Rexburg, Idaho.

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Seven Sisters

The Voyage

Copyright © 2008 by Carolyn Hart Bennett

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Contents

Inspiration

Dedication

Preface

Author’s Note

June 4, 1863

Seven Sisters: The Voyage

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Bibliography

Inspiration

From the diary of Mary Fretwell, who emigrated on the Amazon in 1863:

On June 4, 1863, I bid farewell to my father and brothers and sisters, and sailed on the Amazon from the London Docks. I felt very sad as we sailed away, to see Old England fading out of sight, and especially those I loved. I did not know that I should ever see them again.

    My companions were Ellen Derrick, Ellen Hackman, and Lizzie Cornell. We were in an upper berth, and Lavinia Triplett and her sister and cousin in the lower one. So there were seven of us, and we all kept together till we got to Utah. They gave us the name of the Seven Sisters while on the journey.

Dedication

To the 85,000 Mormon emigrants who trusted in the Lord and had the necessary faith to cross the Atlantic Ocean to come to the land of promise—America—then make the long trek to Zion, in the tops of the mountains in Utah Territory so they could worship God according to the desires of their hearts.

Preface

Seven Sisters is a depiction of life on the ocean for Mormon emigrants who sailed from Europe to America during the years 1840 to 1890 and is verified by the personal accounts found on the Family History Resource File CD, Mormon Immigration Index, Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1999.

On the 330 voyages commissioned by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints during those years, conditions aboard emigrant ships varied greatly. Some voyages were plagued by poor food, sickness, death, and persecution from the captain and crew, while other voyages went smoothly and seemed almost like pleasure cruises.

One of the more colorful voyages was on the Amazon, which sailed June 4, 1863, carrying eight hundred Mormons to New York City, including my great-great-grandmother, Eleanor Wise, who came across the ocean by herself at age twenty-three.

What made the Amazon voyage so unique was that it had a sendoff from Charles Dickens at the London Docks, and it landed in New York City a couple of days after the deadliest riot in American history—the Draft Riots of 1863.

Using this voyage as the setting for Seven Sisters, several of the stories and characters were taken from the Amazon voyage itself, while other stories and characters were taken from other ships—and my imagination—and set on the Amazon.

Character key

* Indicates real people who were associated with the Amazon

** Indicates real people from Mormon history

Seven Sisters:

*Eleanor Wise

Age twenty-three; protagonist; has run away from an abusive mother to go with the Saints to Zion

Caroline Cleverly

Age twenty; from a wealthy family who turn their backs on her for joining the Church

*Lavinia Triplett

Age thirty-five; six feet tall and a spinster in every sense of the word

*Lizzie Cornell

Age twenty-five; poor; from the lower end of London; crossing on the Perpetual Emigration Fund

Susannah Watts

Age eighteen; crossing with her twin sisters to join her mother and brother already in Utah

*Phoebe and Fanny Watts

Age ten; twins; full of life—and mischief

Leaders of the Church:

*George Q. Cannon

Apostle; president of the European Mission; makes all the arrangements for the emigration of the Saints and personally sends out each ship

*William Bramall

President of the Mormon company of Saints, with councilors *President Richard Palmer and *President Edward L. Sloan assisting him

**James H. Hart

New York Mormon immigration agent who receives each ship at NYC and makes arrangements for the overland trip to Florence, Nebraska

Priesthood leaders: 

**John Harvey Tippets

President over the Seven Sisters’ ward

Marcus Fielding

Returning missionary from Wales who falls for Susannah

**George Careless

Well-known musician from London who organizes a ship’s choir

*Elijah Larkin

Former police detective in Cambridge and now Captain of the Guards 

Captain and crew:

*Captain Henry Hudson (name changed from Hovey)

Captain of the Amazon; not sure he likes Mormons

Titus Holt

Antagonist; hates Mormons and everyone else

Griswold

Idolizes Titus; against Mormons

Jabez

Idolizes Titus; against Mormons

Alfie

Love interest of Lizzie

Horatio Huntley

Old sailor who befriends the twins

Others:

** Joseph Smith

Prophet, founder, and first president of the LDS Church; martyred in 1844

** Brigham Young

Prophet and second president of the LDS Church; led Mormons to the Salt Lake Valley

*Charles Dickens

Famous British author; came down to the London Docks on June 4, 1863, to interview and observe Mormon emigrants who were setting sail for America; wrote an essay for his monthly serial in The Morning Chronicle newspaper; later published under the title: Charles Dickens: The Uncommercial Traveller, Chapter XXII—Bound for the Great Salt Lake

Author’s Note

Many journal entries, hymns, poems, and newspaper articles are quoted throughout Seven Sisters. To distinguish them from the rest of the manuscript, they have been placed in italics.

June 4, 1863

Seven Sisters: The Voyage

Chapter One

To the docks, Reynolds! the gentleman ordered as he jogged down the front steps of his flat and climbed into the waiting open carriage. Once seated, he tamped a top hat onto his head and took a deep breath to test the early-morning air. It was a bit chilly for the first of June, and he was glad to be wearing his woolen waistcoat.

Upon his signal, the carriage pulled away. He opened a leather case, took out a notebook and pencil, and turned to a blank page. He wondered if the bumpy ride would make his writing illegible, but after his first sentence, he determined he could write all his thoughts and still read them later.

Allow me to introduce myself. I travel for the Great House of Human Interest Brothers. Literally speaking, I am always wandering here and there from my rooms in Covent Garden—seeing many things, which because they interest me, I think might interest my readers. These are my brief credentials as the Uncommercial Traveller. Behold me on a cool morning in early June, on my way to that part of London generally known to the initiated as Down by the Docks.

This would be an ideal opening paragraph for the monthly serial his editor had commissioned him to write. He continued jotting down his impressions as the carriage moved along. It was a glorious day, and he felt prose flowing. When the carriage neared the streets adjacent to the docks, the traffic got more and more congested as wagons and carriages brought emigrants, baggage, and supplies to the area.

Reynolds, pull over and stop here. I’ll walk the rest of the way and catch a cab back this afternoon.

Very good, sir.

The Traveller walked along the crowded streets, noticing the characters, the smells, the shops and businesses—pubs and commerce of every description. He leaned against a lamppost to scratch some dandy notes that described the scene before him. Proprietors and storekeepers were trying to lure the public into their establishments, and land sharks tried to separate sea-goers from their hard-earned money. Fish stands were receiving their daily shipment of oysters, shellfish, and the catch of the day. The smell of rotting fish soon told him it was time to move on.

Inside the eating establishments, the Traveller could see sailors and emigrants partaking of a last home-cooked meal before beginning their voyages. The sailors, hoping for some company before departing, tried to coax the daughters of Britannia who were wandering through the streets inside to dine with them. The daughters, too, were looking for comfort, with their engaging smiles, full skirts, and yards of crinoline beneath, but they were particular this morning and kept on roving. The emigrants out in the streets searched for extra food to purchase for their journey. One couldn’t count on the shipping company to have the best of provisions.

The Traveller’s notes were temporarily interrupted when he heard a loud ruckus in the distance and saw several bystanders drawn to it. He didn’t want to miss something that would enhance his essay, so he hurriedly followed them around the corner, only to discover a crowd of cheering people applauding a brawl of shaggy beards, wild hair, tattooed arms, and a rag-bin of colorful shirts. There was malice, mud, and madness, along with two women—whom the fighting seemed to be about. These two screeched insults at each other as their compatriots held them back. Fortunately for those involved, the brawl only lasted a minute more before it was broken up by a marine policeman patrolling the docks.

What a unique place for a study of bawdy, vulgar characters, the Traveller thought—but he had another destination. Picking up his pace, he walked towards the prominent Shadwell Church, which was handling quite a business of emigrant prayer-makers this morning. When he passed the front gate and rounded the corner, there—gigantic in the basin—loomed his emigrant ship: the Amazon. The majesty of the ship took him by surprise. It was an impressive sight—very impressive! He estimated the full-rigged ship to be over seventeen hundred tons and over two hundred feet in length. On her bow, freshly painted, was a wooden carving of a voluptuous Amazon warrior. Her head, however, was not disfigured as those ancient women were fabled to have been. The Traveller chuckled to himself as he praised the artist:

A flattering carver

Who made it his care

To carve busts as they ought to be

Not as they were!

He continued surveying the scene and couldn’t write fast enough to keep up with his observations. Two great gangways connected the Amazon to the wharf, and up and down these gangways—in and out like ants—were the emigrants who were going to sail. Some had cabbages, loaves of bread, cheese and butter, milk, beds, boxes, and bundles. Nearly all of them carried a new tin can for their daily allowance of water. There were many families arriving, but one in particular caught the Traveller’s eye as it made its way along the wharf and up the gangway. Stretching out for fifteen feet was a father, followed by his wife, a few inches shorter than he was—holding their baby—then seven more children, all stepping down in height and all holding hands to keep from being lost—or stolen, as they had been warned about—until the dawdling three-year-old brought up the rear.

Where did these people come from? Where were they going? The Traveller was intrigued to find out. When he walked up the gangway and crossed the threshold, a band on the poop deck struck up Rule, Britannia! as though they were playing especially for his entrance, but he knew they would have no knowledge of his visit. Arriving on deck, he watched the emigrants swarming about.

The general appearance of things is as if the late Mister Amazon’s funeral has just come home from the cemetery, and the grieving Mrs. Amazon’s trustees find everything in great disorder, and are looking high and low for the will!

But not all were moving about. Those who weren’t scurrying here and there were in every corner—kneeling, crouching, or in some other attitude—writing letters or in diaries or journals. Each seemed to be expressing his or her thoughts about this life-changing event. Louise Wamsley looked up from her writing to dip her quill in a small bottle of ink sitting nearby and noticed the Traveller as he walked past. She fixed on his face; she had seen him somewhere before. Yes, his tintype was in the newspaper, but she couldn’t quite remember his name, so she improvised.

A newspaper reporter came on board just now. His eyes are on everyone, and he is walking about—writing all the time.

Elijah Larkin scratched a letter to his brother.

We are fortunate to have the Cardiff Band playing on the poop deck. It is hard to believe they are all emigrating together. They are well-known for their music in Wales.

Lavinia Triplett, with a mixture of dread and determination on her face, wrote:

The thought of crossing the ocean is very frightening to me, but I have been saving for eight years to go to America, and all the King’s men can’t stop me from going!

Esther Devereaux coughed softly as she put her secret thoughts into her diary.

I have come on board, even though I have had an ailing heart many years standing. I want to start my husband and children to America.

The Traveller thought about the people before him. He had seen emigrant ships before, but these people were strikingly different from all others he had seen. Without realizing it, his thoughts became vocalized.

What would a stranger suppose these emigrants to be?

Just as he got these words out, he felt a hand rest gently on his shoulder and heard a deep, familiar voice.

What indeed? A stranger would be puzzled to guess the right name for these people.

Not turning around, the Traveller played along. Indeed he would, he said smiling.

The voice continued. If you hadn’t known, could you ever have guessed?

How could I? replied the Traveller. I would say they are the pick and flower of England.

So should I, said the voice.

How many are there? inquired the Traveller.

Eight hundred—in round numbers.

Eight hundred what? Geese, villain?

Eight hundred Mormons! said the voice.

Mormons? exclaimed the Traveller as he turned around to discover that the voice came with a body and a head that he recognized.

Captain Hudson! Good to see you again! he said, grinning broadly as the men grabbed and shook hands.

Charles Dickens, my old friend! You pay me great respect. I am honored you came on board to write a piece for your monthly serial.

My editor gave me instructions to do you credit, and I’ll try to do just that, assured Dickens. Can you show me around?

Surely. Let’s go below. And with that, Captain Hudson and Mister Charles Dickens, the Traveller, disappeared through the nearest hatchway.

~      ~      ~

Down the wharf and out of traffic’s way, Harold Watts had his arms full as he knelt and clasped his ten-year-old twin daughters to his bosom. Finally he said in a choked whisper, It’s so hard to let you go. Please promise that you will mind Susannah and not be any trouble. Can you do that?

Fanny wiped her eyes. Yes, she sputtered, but I’m afraid to go on the ocean, Papa!

You must be brave. We will all be together next year, I promise. Your brothers and I will work hard to earn our passage money, and I’ll be released from my mission president duties by then, so there will be nothing to keep us from coming on the last voyage of next season.

But, Papa, how will we find Mummy and Edward when we get there? Phoebe asked.

Don’t worry, they’ll find you.

Harold kissed and hugged each twin again as Susannah and her two brothers watched. Boys, why don’t you take the twins on board and see where they will bunk?

Harold’s two adolescent sons eagerly took the twins’ hands and started up the gangway. Ooh, this ship is big! exclaimed Fanny.

Phoebe stopped briefly. Here, Stephen, I’ll carry Lovey, she announced as she relieved her brother of the white wicker birdcage he was carrying. The little yellow canary inside swung on its perch and chirped a goodbye song as they walked up the gangway. Fanny didn’t dare look down into the harbor as she held onto James’s hand.

I’ve never been more than eight or ten miles from home, and I’ve never seen a ship or any kind of water bigger than a brook before! she said.

You’ll be all right once you’re on board, James assured her.

Now Harold and Susannah were by themselves, and Susannah could not contain her emotions any longer. She flung herself into her father’s arms and burst into tears.

Oh, Papa, I’m having second thoughts about this! I’m afraid to face the world alone with Phoebe and Fanny—and on foreign soil!

He held her tightly, trying to comfort her. Susannah, the Lord has called us to gather to Zion, and this is the only way we can afford to go. You’re almost nineteen and have shown you can take your mother’s place while she’s been gone.

But, Papa, I doubt I can do this. We don’t know anyone on the ship. Who will help us?

Just have faith and obey the leaders, Susannah. You’ll be fine. Now, let’s go on board and find your brothers and sisters.

~      ~      ~

Captain Henry Hudson commanded twenty-four sailors of various ages and experience. They generally worked the rigging and sails and situated cargo and baggage, but right now they were sizing up the kind of emigrants they would be dealing with for the next six weeks. Alfie was particularly observing the young girls as he worked. He had an eye for the ladies and had been successful with them as well. He was handsome—in a roguish sort of way. As he swarmed up the ratlines, he was joined by his shipmates, who were setting the mainsail.

Huntley, you’ve been across the pond with Mormons before. What are they like? questioned Alfie.

An agreeable lot, said Huntley through his thick Irish accent.

Emigrants are the scrapings at the bottom of the barrel, Titus growled scornfully. Then he spit—just missing two women standing below.

If there’s anything I hate, it’s religious zealots and nippers, said Griswold as he started back down.

Seems we’re awash with both on this trip, Jabez chipped in.

I’m to the gunwales with the bickering, stealing, and fighting among the dirty, undisciplined bunch, said Griswold, recalling his voyage with German and Irish emigrants last season.

Stepping off the ratlines onto the gunwale, Titus spotted the giggling twins nearby and—looking his most menacing—boomed, These nippers better stay out from under my feet, or I’ll throw them overboard some dark night—along with all their piety.

He took a sudden jump onto the deck in their direction, and the shocked twins screamed and fled for Susannah’s skirt, while she, not knowing exactly what had happened, bustled them away from this dark-eyed and truly frightening man. The rest of the sailors laughed uproariously at this demonstration. Titus was their idol. He dared say or do anything, and they loved it when he did. He was the largest sailor on the ship, standing a head taller than anyone else, and his muscular body was half again as wide. He had swarthy skin and dark circles around his eyes, giving him a terrifying look.

Having moved up to the wheelhouse, the sailors leaned on the railing and laughed as they continued to survey the arriving passengers. A few moments later, a family with three adolescent daughters arrived on deck, and Titus carried on with his entertainment.

What do we have here? Hmmm, maybe I’ll have to change my mind about Mormons.

The others leered at the three young girls and gave some low wolf whistles.

Look at all the pretty birds! said Alfie, loud enough for them to hear.

Griswold joined in the mocking. Are you all shipping to the Mormon Kingdom to become Brigham Young’s wives?

Titus gave a guttural laugh. Why, I’d marry all three of you, and I’m not even a Mormon!

The boorish crew laughed loudly as the three girls, with cheeks flushing, quickly moved to a hatchway and disappeared down the stairs.

The sailors were starting to get some disgusted looks from the adults standing within earshot, but the passengers didn’t want to provoke any retaliation, so they stifled their responses.

Huntley tried to quietly subdue Titus. Best not let Bramall hear you say those things. He won’t look kindly on your pestering his flock.

What do I care? sneered Titus. These birds are looking right for plucking! The sailors sniggered knowingly.

Huntley persisted, Their leaders keep a sharp eye on ’em—a good lookout. They post guards every night to keep the girls from coming up on deck to consort with the sailors and to stop the sailors from wandering below.

Not liking to be disciplined, Titus challenged Huntley. Here’s a wager, matey. I’ll have my way with one or more of them before we raise Newfoundland!

I’ll put my silver on Titus! said Jabez, and the crew agreed with belly laughs.

~ ~ ~

Just as Captain Hudson was in charge of his crew, William Bramall was called by Church leaders to be the president of the Mormon company of emigrants, or Saints, as they referred to each other. Bramall had been on a three-year mission to the British Isles and was returning to America. He wasn’t a young missionary like so many returning on the Amazon but had been called from the pulpit at a General Conference session by President Brigham Young himself. He left his wife and family of six children in Utah to answer the call to preach the gospel. This wasn’t a rare occurrence; many men were called over the pulpit the same way.

President Bramall didn’t have the sole responsibility of leading the company, however; he had two councilors to help him manage his flock. President Richard Palmer was also an American returning missionary, and Bramall’s other councilor, President Edward L. Sloan, was an English Church leader emigrating with his family. Their jobs were to oversee the Saints, organize them, and see to all their physical and spiritual needs. With that uppermost in their minds, Presidents Palmer and Sloan were at the bulwark sizing up the passengers as they boarded the ship. Soon a gangly adolescent with a trumpet slung over one shoulder started up the gangway.

Halt, young man! Before you board the ship, you must pass the test, declared President Sloan.

I have my ticket, sir—Matthew Geddes, second deck, berth 47b, he said, holding it out to him.

No, that’s not the test, said President Palmer. You can’t cross the deck until you play us a tune on your horn.

Matthew was relieved. That, I can do, he said as he unshouldered his trumpet, put it to his lips, and played a spirited march. Both leaders clapped enthusiastically as did others standing nearby.

I think we’ve found our trumpeter, President Palmer, remarked Sloan. Son, can you sound the call for all to arise each morning?

I’m positive I can, said Matthew eagerly.

President Palmer put his hand on Matthew’s shoulder. This is a big responsibility, son. We also need you to signal for prayers, sacrament meetings, and for all to go to bed at night.

I would be honored, sir!

After another pat of congratulations, Matthew ran to his parents.

Father, Mother, I’m going to be the trumpeter!

~      ~      ~

Three decks below, Captain Hudson showed Charles Dickens the storage area while Dickens pretended to wipe his nose with a handkerchief. Captain Hudson could see an explanation was needed.

The emigrants have to get used to the smell below deck, he said. The odor from eight hundred bodies in close quarters, without many bathing opportunities for the next six weeks, will only be multiplied when they are confined below deck during a storm—and seasickness takes over.

Dickens suddenly comprehended a few of the trials these people would face on their voyage. When the two arrived at the storage room, he tried to get his mind off the smell.

And this is where they come for their weekly rations and daily water supply? he asked as he noted the many boxes and barrels the dockers were bringing in.

    Yes, these barrels are filled with such things as salt pork, beans, oatmeal, peas, flour, and, of course, fresh water. The emigrants eat very simply.

As they left the storage area and made their way to the cooking galley, they found a small room with a ten-foot-square stove in the center. The ship’s steward fed the fire, while nine people stood on the other three sides, holding onto their pots and pans with rags or their skirts. As one person left a spot, another one took it.

How can eight hundred emigrants be fed under these circumstances? asked Dickens.

Captain Hudson was quick to explain that the Mormon leadership had divided the eight hundred passengers into fifteen groups, or wards—each presided over by a president.

Each ward has thirty minutes to cook in the galley, he explained. Then the next ward comes in.

Dickens was impressed. They moved up the stairway to the second deck, where berths lined the walls—three tall and three deep. Down the center of the room were five long tables and benches, which were bolted to the floor. Many passengers were getting settled. Their baggage was stowed close to their berths with their cooking utensils on top of their beds at one end.

These are close quarters, said Dickens, looking around.

Our conditions have improved greatly since the Irish famine ships, said Hudson. They became known as coffin ships because so many died from sicknesses caused by cramped, filthy conditions. The captain continued with pride, The Amazon sails for the Black Ball Line and has the reputation of being the luckiest of western ocean packets. Our passengers have been very satisfied.

As the two stepped out of the hatchway into the fresh ocean air, Dickens took a deep