8 The Great Move West, 1846–47

Leaving home for the sake of the gospel was not a new experience for William Clayton—he had done it in 1840 to make a new home among the Saints in Nauvoo. To be driven out was something else, however, and in this he finally shared a tragedy that hundreds of other Saints had experienced before. As they abandoned Nauvoo in 1846, some of them were being forced to leave their homes for the fourth time since joining the Church. This time, however, they would travel farther and take longer than ever before: it was thirteen hundred miles from Nauvoo to the Great Basin and it took Clayton, who was with the first contingent to arrive in Salt Lake Valley, a year and a half to get there. This time the Saints deliberately set their sights on an area inhabited by bands of Native Americans whose customs and perceptions were entirely foreign to the Saints. The new home of the Mormons was far away from civilization as they knew it. There they would be required to build their own communities from scratch.

The epic journey Clayton was about to undertake was no challenge to his faith, for he was already convinced that the Lord’s chosen people could expect severe trials in their quest to establish the Kingdom of God. What he did not, at first, anticipate is that the pioneer trek would become the vehicle through which he would make his most memorable contributions to the Latter-day Saint community. From this experience came that most poignant of all distinctly Mormon hymns, “Come, Come, Ye Saints”; the most important trail guide for later Mormon immigrants, The Latter-day Saints’ Emigrants’ Guide; and one of the finest firsthand accounts of that memorable crossing, later to be published as William Clayton’s Journal. In addition, his experiences provide important insight into many aspects of that vanguard pioneer trek by allowing us see it through the eyes of one who was not a leader but, rather, a faithful follower and a veritable workhorse in his commitment to building the Kingdom.

The beleaguered Latter-day Saints left Nauvoo in three main waves. Those in the first group, Brigham Young’s Camp of Israel, began their departure on February 4, crossing the frigid Mississippi into Iowa either on skiffs and flatboats or, after the river froze over on February 24, on ice. By early March some three thousand exiles, William Clayton and his family among them, were huddled in temporary, makeshift camps along the plains of Iowa. In April, May, and June another exodus took more than ten thousand westering Saints from Nauvoo, leaving only about one thousand in their beloved city.¹ Some of these were still too poor to travel, others suffered ill health, some were trying to deal with various family problems, and others simply were trying to sell their property. In September, however, angry anti-Mormon mobs attacked Nauvoo, and after the “Battle of Nauvoo” the remaining Saints, and even some of their non-Mormon friends, were driven across the river at bayonet and gun point. Like those who left in February, members of the “poor camp,” as it was called, found themselves jammed into makeshift tents, destitute of food, and often suffering chills and fevers because of the cold September rain. When the Twelve heard of their predicament, they sent back provisions, tents and wagons, and on October 9, the camp was rewarded with a miracle. Flocks of quail, probably exhausted by a long flight, settled along the river bottoms where the starving emigrants could catch and eat them. It was “a direct manifestation of the mercy and goodness of God,” wrote Thomas Bullock.²

The Camp of Israel, meanwhile, moved westward across Iowa organized, in semimilitary fashion, into companies of about fifty families each. On April 15, Clayton composed “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (see the discussion in chapter 7), which soon became a favorite camp song and symbol of faith for all migrating Saints. Camp members selected two major spots where settlements were created for the purpose of raising crops and providing other help to the thousands of pioneers who soon would follow. Garden Grove was located about one hundred forty-five miles west of Nauvoo and Mount Pisgah was twenty-seven miles further on.

On June 14, an advance company reached the Missouri River, and two days later, William Clayton’s group arrived. At first the Twelve thought that about four hundred men could make it to the Great Basin and plant crops that season, but as they surveyed the situation and took into account the needs of the thousands of faithful Saints who were camped on the banks of the Missouri or still spread along the plains of Iowa, they finally decided they must await another year. The main camp, on the Nebraska side of the Missouri, near present-day Omaha, was called Winter Quarters. It consisted of about seven hundred log homes, a few dugouts, and a handful of business establishments. Perhaps as many as five thousand Saints dwelt in Winter Quarters during winter 1846–47. Thousands more were located in camps spread up and down the river on the Iowa side, including one major camp that was renamed Kanesville in 1848 and eventually became the modern Council Bluffs. Others were still scattered eastward along the trail from Illinois.

One event that may have contributed to the decision to stop at the Missouri in 1846 was the war with Mexico, officially declared on May 13, 1846. It was not long before Captain James Allen, of the United States Army, arrived among the Mormons with a request for five hundred volunteers to join Colonel Stephen W. Kearny’s army of the West that was on its way to engage in hostilities. Brigham Young considered the request a godsend, for it would provide money, clothing, and armaments to help the Saints in their westward movement and would also demonstrate that the Mormons were still loyal to the United States. Accordingly, five hundred men volunteered and the Mormon Battalion left Winter Quarters on July 21. As good as it was for the Saints in the long run, the loss of these able-bodied men at that point would have made any effort to continue to the Great Basin that much more difficult.

It is not our purpose here to recount the full story of the epic crossing of the plains, for it has been well told elsewhere and Clayton’s pioneer journal is readily available.³ Rather, we will focus largely on Clayton’s personal reactions to some events of the westward migration to better illuminate the personal concerns and achievements of one nineteenth-century pioneer.

Clayton had a role to play in the organization and activity of the 1846 emigration. Always valued for his services as a scribe, on February 17, he was designated general clerk of the Camp of Israel.⁴ In March, when the main camp was organized into companies of fifty, Clayton was placed in the company that included all the members of the brass band. He presided over the band itself and, in the absence of Peter Haws, over the whole company of fifty.⁵ Clayton was frequently called upon to write letters regarding Church business, and he was responsible for making up the reporting forms used by the clerks of the various companies as well as for instructing the clerks in their recordkeeping responsibilities.⁶ His skills were well used on this historic adventure.

At the same time, Clayton had to organize his own affairs. He had his personal goods to care for as well as certain Church properties, and therefore he was responsible for several teams and wagons. He had three wives and six children with him; they could hardly be expected to manage alone. Much of his time, however, was spent writing letters for Brigham Young. Clayton had teamsters working for him, but he worried about keeping enough of them employed and having enough wagons in good repair. One bit of help came on April 1, when Brigham Young sent him two yoke of oxen, a wagon, and a Brother James, owner of the equipment, to help out. Nevertheless Clayton was unable to provide riding space for all his family, and one comment in his journal on April 22 was probably typical of many pioneer experiences: “We are all comfortable but very tired,” he wrote, “having travelled about ten miles. My wife Ruth walked all the way and myself also. The rest walked by turns.”

To be a Mormon pioneer in 1846 required sacrifice, but Clayton complained in his journal only infrequently. He often wondered where future meals might come from, however, and how he would pay for them. That some sacrifice was simply a way of life is suggested in his entry for April 17. In company with a few members of the band he went to Keosauqua, Iowa, to play. At the same time, in an amazing display of self-restraint, he wrote simply, “I took my music box and china to try and sell them.” One can imagine the unexpressed agony of this young English musician when he realized that he must sell these prized personal or family possessions, yet no complaint was recorded. To him it was only one of those things that the pioneers of 1846 should expect.

Some members of the Camp of Israel were required to share their goods with their brothers and sisters who were less fortunate. Some families were well prepared, having put away food and provisions to last for many months, while others left Nauvoo with very little. Clayton was among those who were moderately well prepared, and therefore, naturally, one of those to whom others came for aid. Clayton shared, though sometimes with a touch of disgruntlement toward those whom he felt had not done their part.

On April 3, Clayton found himself saddened at the distress of two members of the camp guard who reported themselves destitute. Hosea Stout, captain of the guard, had “used them very hard,” Clayton reported, and they had lived on nothing but cornmeal gruel for a week. “I dealt out some of my own flour and bacon to them,” he wrote, “determined to comfort them some if I could and not being willing to see anyone in our company suffer while I have anything left.”⁷ A month later, however, he heard from his wife Margaret that some of the band members were complaining that he was not generous enough. With a note of distress he observed that he had loaned “Miss Kay” a pair of shoes and divided a bag of biscuits among the needy. “I have all the time let them have flour, sugar, bacon and other things as I had them and to hear of dissatisfaction because I will not let them have the last I have grieves me. I have given to the band as near as I can estimate, twelve hundred pounds of flour, about four or five hundred pounds of bacon besides much of other things.”⁸ William Clayton could share when he felt it was needed, but he was learning the hard truth that other human beings could see him quite differently than he saw himself.

The realities of human nature made it impossible even for the Camp of Israel to proceed without some disagreement and personality conflicts. Clayton’s reports were certainly not unbiased, but at least his journal suggests the problems that could occur on such a trip. On May 17, he expressed disappointment with Bishop Miller, who had passed by without leaving him any cattle, though the bishop himself had plenty.⁹ A month later, as he rationed out bread to his company, he noted that the men seemed “very much dissatisfied and growl to each other very much.”¹⁰ Such grumbling was not uncommon, but perhaps more serious was the personal animosity between Clayton and at least one other member of the camp. Hosea Stout seemed to dislike the camp clerk with a passion, and the feeling was returned. The reason for the conflict escapes the historian, but, as Clayton saw it, Stout even threatened to kill him.¹¹ Some potential problems were avoided when, after William Clayton was instructed to go west with the pioneers of 1847, Brigham Young unexpectedly told Stout to remain as the captain of the guard at Winter Quarters.

As if the problems connected with moving his own family and goods were not enough, Clayton’s assignment as camp clerk and the additional duties that came to him because of his skill as a scribe added an extra burden that he did not always appreciate. Sometimes his meticulous concern for detail even got him into difficulty. On May 4, for example, he learned that some of the clerks had complained to Brigham Young that he had ordered them to include in their reports the name of each wife a man had. Apparently the clerks saw no need for this. Clayton denied that he had gone that far and said that his only request was that each name recorded should be listed in full, according to a previous council order. Brigham Young responded that it did not matter whether the names were in full or not, but Clayton confided in his diary, “I think after days it will prove it does.” Present-day historians will appreciate Clayton’s perspective, but Brigham Young, said the scribe, appeared quite angry about it.¹²

At times the duties imposed on him became, in Clayton’s mind, excessive. When Elder Willard Richards wrote two official letters on May 12, for example, he instructed Clayton to copy them, in spite of the fact that he had three men waiting to weigh and load his wagons. At that point, as a multitude of concerns seemed to rush together into a near-impossible situation, he complained in frustration:

The fact is I can scarcely ever go to council but Dr. Richards wants me to do his writing, although I have more writing to do as clerk of the camp than I can possibly do. Moreover I have to unpack the chest and wait on all of them with the public goods in my charge which keeps me busy all the time. President Young, Heber, Dr. Richards and Bishop Whitney have all made out to get lumber sawed to make their wagons comfortable but I can’t get enough to make a hind board for one of my wagons, which has none. They are tolerably well prepared with wagons and teams but I am here with about five tons of stuff and only six wagons and five yoke of oxen to take it. I have dealt out nearly all of my provisions and have to get more before I can go on. It looks as if I had to be a slave and take slave’s fare all the journey for it has worked that way so far.¹³

Clayton needed both time and money to do his family justice, and his clerking and writing activities were keeping him from both. Two months later he was still upset that Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball could purchase a pony, cloth, and other things, “and seem to have money enough but there is none to buy me flour.”¹⁴ Not until September, apparently, did he hit upon a plan that would help him make a profit from the tasks he seemed destined to perform anyway. On September 8, he made a formal, written proposal to Brigham Young. He was willing, he said, to engage in “any kind of common clerking” for a dollar per day, though, he added, “if it is to be copying letters or other documents I would rather have a dollar and a quarter for this is very tedious business.” Alternatively, he would work for three cents a word. He then poured out his problems to his religious leader, whom he had addressed as “Dr. Friend.” “. . . . do not feel ever to undertake again to do two men’s work for one man’s wages which has often been my unfortunate lot,” he said. He was willing to “be advised” if his terms were too high, but, “I have got to make some desperate effort to get something this winter or I can go no further next spring for I lack every kind of provisions and necessaries for my family as well as considerable clothing.” Making his case as impressive as possible, he alluded to the illness that had plagued him for days. He asked to start work as soon as possible, “for I believe if I can get a little nourishment and victual that I can eat, I shall soon be healthy again, but I find it slow work on bread made of sour flour and nothing to improve it with.” He closed his letter with an obvious plea for sympathy by asking the Church leader to act as he saw best, but if he obtained a job for him “be assured you will have the blessing of our grateful heart even if it be only yours in sickness W. C.”¹⁵ His strategy must have worked, for the following day Brigham Young and Willard Richards replied, authorizing him to charge a dollar per day or three cents per word for his services and assuring him of their friendship.¹⁶ Three days later, Brigham Young gave Clayton $8 and Richards gave him some letters to copy, which he did without complaint.¹⁷

Except for two handcart companies in 1856, the exiles of 1846 probably suffered the most acute hardships of all the Mormon pioneers. William Clayton was not spared the difficulties. On April 9, his group planned to travel eight miles, but about noon a heavy rainstorm hit and the road turned to mud. “Several of my teams stuck,” he wrote, “and we had to work till dark to get part of them to camp and two wagons we were compelled to leave overnight.” They traveled only five miles that day, and since their provisions wagon was stuck behind they had very little for supper. The next day was worse. A cold wind struck as the teams were sent back to recover some of the wagons. “It rains and blows very badly and is very severe on our women and teams. Margaret and Lidia are out all the time and continually wetting both feet and all over. . . . Our teams fare hard with wet and cold, having very little corn.”¹⁸

On top of such regular mishaps, sickness plagued Clayton and his family. By June 21, he was so desperate that he seriously considered the possibility of not continuing to Winter Quarters.

I asked the President what I should do but could get no answer. I have not been able to get any satisfaction from any of the council as to what I should do and am totally at a loss to know whether to tarry here or go on. My provisions are nearly out and my teamsters all gone and nearly all the cattle strayed away and no one to hunt them except James and Corbitt and they are sick.¹⁹

But he went on anyway, only to encounter such days as July 26, when nearly every tent in camp was blown down and considerable damage was done to many wagons and provisions.²⁰

But Clayton’s hardships were, in his mind, small compared to those of the vastly outnumbered Saints who remained in Nauvoo and after fierce but short-lived resistance were brutally driven out by mobs in October. He recorded all he heard about it, commenting especially on the way the Saints fought back. “The brethren did not fire so much in proportion,” he observed, “but did much more execution. Truly, the Lord fights the battles of his saints.” It was with the assurance that the Lord really did care for the Saints that Clayton continued to Winter Quarters, where he spent winter 1846–47.

Life was not all rain, mud, wind, and illness during the 1846 migration. Clayton played the violin well, and as a member of the band he was responsible for arranging concerts in some of the Iowa settlements to raise money. On March 4, for example, the band played in the afternoon at the principal hotel in Farmington, then spent the early evening playing at the schoolhouse. For their efforts the band members were given a fine dinner and $5 in cash. Two days later they were at Keosauqua, where they worked especially hard for what they got. Arriving in town about 3 p.m., they first played for a grocer, who paid them by letting them each take “a little” of his goods. Next a tavern owner insisted that they come to his place, so “we played him a tune,” said Clayton, “and then took some of his cake and beer.” In the evening after supper they played and sang at the hotel for a large audience, and by the end of that day they had cleared a profit of $25.²¹ Such concerts were frequent, as Clayton and his friends were trying to make ends meet. They also played on occasion for the pioneers themselves, providing much-needed diversion from the rigors of the difficult days.

Sometimes the band was disappointed in its pay, but on one occasion Clayton reported with apparent satisfaction what was done about a recalcitrant debtor. A farmer had requested them to play for his family, promising them some honey in return. They played, but no honey was forthcoming. “Very slyly,” however, after the rest had left, one member of the band filled a pail with honey and hid it under his cloak.²² Clayton did not seem to mind a little trickery in such a case.

All this was only preparatory for the big push to the Rocky Mountains the following spring. Clayton spent his time in Winter Quarters preparing his supplies, working as a bookkeeper in the store, and staying in bed with illness. Then, on April 14, came the call for him to leave with the vanguard group. That morning he was in severe pain with what he described as rheumatism in his face, but at 11 a.m. Brigham Young and Willard Richards appeared at his house, and Young told him “to rise up and start with the pioneers in half an hour’s notice.”²³ Immediately he set his family to work getting his clothes ready, and by 2 p.m. he was on his way in Heber C. Kimball’s carriage. They traveled nineteen miles that day and the following day joined the main pioneer camp, some forty-seven miles from Winter Quarters.

The next day the first pioneer company started out. Clayton, having no wagons, horses, or carriage of his own, had no place for his trunk or clothing, so he put them in Appleton Harmon’s wagon (illus. 8-1). Soon he began rotating from one wagon or carriage to another for riding and sleeping.

As Clayton recorded the events of those first few days, he was seized by a kind of historic sense that told him of the natural curiosity that future Saints would have about this company. He dutifully recorded the now-famous tally of 143 men and boys, three women, two children, and “72 wagons, 93 horses, 52 mules, 66 oxen, 19 cows, and 17 dogs, and chickens.” Then, as if awed by the little pioneer party’s prophetic destiny, he described it as constituting

a total of 148 souls who have started to go west of the mountains as pioneers to find a home where the saints can live in peace and enjoy the fruits of their labors, and where we shall not be under the dominion of gentile governments, subject to the wrath of mobs and where the standards of peace can be raised, the Ensign to the nations reared and the kingdom of God flourish until truth shall prevail, and the saints enjoy the fulness of the gospel.²⁴

Thomas Bullock was the official camp scribe on the trek from Winter Quarters to the Great Salt Lake, but William Clayton was appointed to assist Bullock in keeping minutes. He was also assigned by Heber C. Kimball to keep his personal journal. That alone was a time-consuming task, as he suggested in his own diary on May 21. Already Clayton was behind on the job, so Kimball suggested that he leave several pages blank to catch up on later, and start from the present to keep it up as a diary. “He furnished me a candle,” the scribe reported, “and I wrote the journal of this day’s travel by candle light in his journal, leaving fifty-six pages blank.”²⁵

Illus. 8-1. The 1847 vanguard company traveled in wagons similar to this replica. Clayton found that 360 revolutions of a wagon wheel constituted exactly one mile. Museum of Church History and Art

The pioneer company of 1847 was not an exploring or trailblazing expedition. The route to the Great Basin was already well known, and at times the pioneers even saw sign boards telling them how far they were from Fort Laramie. At other times they left their own sign boards for the benefit of following companies. They frequently met other travelers, such as freight wagoners returning from Fort Laramie, and they had with them a map of the western region published by John C. Frémont, as well as Lansford Hasting’s Emigrant Guide to Oregon and California. It was not a tragic journey, nor a particularly difficult one. Its significance lay simply in that this vanguard company, under the leadership of Brigham Young, selected the site for the Saints’ new refuge in the West and began the first permanent settlement in the valley of the Great Salt Lake.

Almost immediately after the vanguard company left Winter Quarters for the Great Basin, the meticulous Clayton recognized the need for a better system of keeping track of the distance traveled each day. Estimates would not be good enough if later companies must depend on whatever information his group provided. Accordingly, on April 19, he suggested to Apostle Orson Pratt the idea of “fixing a set of wooden cogwheels” to a wagon wheel in order to determine with exactness the distance traveled each day. He also suggested the idea to others, and several pioneers, including Elder Pratt, seemed to think the plan would work.

By May 8, nothing had been done, and Clayton was disappointed. Especially irritating was the fact that mileage estimates by different people varied each day by as much as four miles, and most camp members seemed to think that Clayton’s estimates were too low. Accordingly, he decided to find out for sure. Having no wagon of his own, he usually slept in one of Heber C. Kimball’s, which was driven by Philo Johnson. Measuring one of the wheels on that wagon, he was astonished to find that 360 revolutions would constitute one mile, “not varying one fraction.” He spent the whole day, therefore, walking beside the wagon and counting the revolutions. He found that the company had traveled, by the end of the day, eleven and a quarter miles, with twenty revolutions over, and noted with some gratification that others had estimated as much as thirteen or fourteen miles. The lesson was not lost, for several more people began to take his suggestion seriously. But for the next three days, Clayton continued to walk beside the wagon, counting every revolution.

Apparently Clayton did not consider himself skilled enough to even try to undertake manufacturing his machine, so his only recourse was to nag until the leaders took him seriously. Finally, on May 10, Brigham Young assigned Orson Pratt to give the subject some attention. Pratt, a mathematician, proposed what he called a “double ended screw,” which would record up to thirty miles traveled. Based on Clayton’s suggestions, the plan called for a large screw connected to two cog wheels that, as the wagon wheel went round, would record the miles. The plan was turned over to Appleton Harmon, who was soon at work constructing it. Clayton, meanwhile, continued to count wagon wheel revolutions each day—a tedious pioneer adventure to say the least. On May 12, the new device was installed (illus. 8-2).

Illus. 8-2. Since Clayton needed to know the exact mileage traveled each day on the trek west, he proposed creating an odometer much like this one, a replica of the original designed by Orson Pratt and manufactured by Appleton Harmon. Museum of Church History and Art

As might be expected in such an enterprise, a controversy arose over who really invented the new machinery. Actually, the idea was not original with the Mormon pioneers, though how much they knew of earlier devices is only conjectural. But just two days after the machinery was installed, Harmon apparently began to take credit for its invention, and William Clayton took offense. “He is not the inventor of it by a long way,” he wrote, “but he has made the machinery, after being told how to do it.”²⁶ Another pioneer, Howard Egan, agreed with Clayton. Harmon, he said, “knew nothing about the first principles of it, neither did he know how to do the work only as Brother Clayton told him from time to time. It shows the weakness of human nature.”²⁷

Actually, credit probably belongs to all three major figures in the process. Clayton certainly suggested the idea in the first place, and Orson Pratt was the one who devised the original working plan. Pratt, however, gave considerable credit to Clayton when he wrote on May 12: “William Clayton, with the assistance of Appleton Harmon, a mechanic, has constructed a machine and to-day attached it to a wagon.”²⁸ But Harmon was a skilled mechanic and was certainly justified in taking some credit. Apparently he even simplified Pratt’s plan by cutting down the number of cogs on the second wheel, though the possible number of miles recorded was reduced to ten. Several months later, before Clayton headed back for Winter Quarters, the roadometer, as it was then being called, was modified by William A. King so that it could record a thousand miles of travel.²⁹

Illus. 8-3. In the Emigrants’ Guide, William Clayton recorded well-known landmarks, such as Chimney Rock (top) and Devil’s Gate (bottom), as well as more obscure sites. Frederick Piercy, Route from Liverpool to the Great Salt Lake Valley, 1854, L. Tom Perry Special Collections, BYU, Provo, Utah

William Clayton dutifully recorded, though sometimes rather sketchily, each day’s travels, the buffalo hunts, camp problems, discipline, conversations with travelers, and many other items of interest (illus. 8-3). But as a journalist he was interested in more than simply the daily happenings. Attracted, like many of his contemporaries, to the grandly “picturesque” and observing for the first time the varied, fantastic beauty of the great American West, this romantic English disciple was compelled to record his impressions. Though he was no Francis Parkman, he nevertheless left some intriguing, well-written descriptions of what he saw.

[April 23, after leaving the Pawnee mission station] The country here is indeed beautiful and appears rich, but there is very little timber. . . . We are now camped about a quarter of a mile from the old Pawnee village on a splendid table of land, pleasant as heart could desire. It is not much over three quarters of a mile wide and shielded on the north by beautiful rolling bluffs and on the south by the Loop Fork of the Platte. From this bank can be seen the timber on the banks of the main Platte, the bottom from here to it appears very level. There is something romantic in the scenery around here, and the prospect cannot well be exaggerated.³⁰

[May 6] We have never been out of sight of herds of buffalo today, and from where we are camped, I am satisfied we can see over five thousand with the glass. The largest herd, we have yet seen is still ahead of us. The prairie looks black with them, both on this and the other side of the river. . . . It is truly a sight wonderful to behold, and can scarcely be credited by those who have not actually seen them.³¹

[May 22, on nearing Chimney Rock, one of the major landmarks for westering travelers] The scenery after this [storm] was indeed sublime, the sun peering out from under the heavy clouds reflecting long rays upwards which were imitated in the east. The romantic bluffs on the north and the lightning playing in the southeast all tended to fill my mind with pleasant reflections, on the goodness and majesty of the Creator and Governor of the universe, and the beauty of the works of his hands.³²

[May 27] We have seen a number of romantic spots on our journey, but I consider our view this morning more sublime than any other. Chimney Rock lies southeast, opposite detached bluffs of various shapes and sizes. To the southwest, Scott’s Bluffs look majestic and sublime. The prairie over which our route lies is very level and green as far as we can see. The bluffs on the north low, and about three miles distant. The scenery is truly delightful beyond imagination.³³

Clayton thought often of his family, and when on May 4 the pioneers passed a group of wagons on the other side of the river going eastward, he and many of his companions hurriedly wrote letters for the travelers to deliver to their families.³⁴ The following Sunday, Clayton bathed in the Platte River, put on clean clothes, then sat down and “gave way to a long train of solemn reflections respecting many things, especially in regard to my family and their welfare for time and eternity.” Always introspective, he refrained from putting all his tender thoughts in his journal, for he knew it would one day pass through hands other than those of his family. He was determined, rather, to write to them privately, so that each member of his family would get his or her share, “whether before my death or after, it matters not.”³⁵

As usual, William Clayton also worried about the imperfections of the Saints—including himself. They were, after all, on God’s errand, and this vanguard company supposedly represented the best of modern-day Israel. It is significant, then, that one of the longest entries in his journal came on Saturday, May 29, when Brigham Young severely reprimanded the Camp of Israel for too much levity, frivolity, general laxness in keeping all the commandments, and wasting time. They were beyond the power of the gentiles, he said, but the devil could still work on their minds and spirits, and he was disgusted with how some of them had succumbed. “Give me the man of prayers, give me the man of faith, give me the man of meditation, a sober-minded man,” he scolded, “and I would far rather go amongst the savages with six or eight such men than to trust myself with the whole of this camp with the spirit they possess.”

Already Brigham Young’s colorful, direct, and hard-hitting prose was well known, and the tongue-lashing he gave his followers that day met every expectation. One of the most persistent problems, he warned, was “a mean, low, groveling, covetous, quarrelsome spirit.” Another was too much dancing. “The brethren say they want a little exercise to pass away time in the evenings, but if you can’t tire yourselves bad enough with a day’s journey without dancing every night, carry your guns on your shoulders and walk, carry your wood to camp instead of lounging and lying asleep in your wagons.” But card playing was the worst time-waster, and on this Brigham’s displeasure waxed especially warm. “I would rather see in your hand the dirtiest thing you could find on earth,” he fumed, “than a pack of cards. You never read of gambling, playing cards, checkers, dominoes, etc., in the scriptures, but you do read of men praising the Lord in the dance, but who ever read of praising the Lord in a game of cards?” If they had sense enough to dance and play cards with moderation it might be fine, but, he scolded, “you want to keep up till midnight and every night, and all the time. You don’t know how to control your senses.” He went on to other topics, such as “joking, nonsense, profane language, trifling conversation and laughter,” all of which, he declared, had no place in that camp. For Brigham Young to decry joking was seemingly out of character, for the twinkle in his eye and his general sense of humor became legendary, but this solemn expedition was an exception to him, and it called for exceptional behavior. “I have not given a joke to any man on this journey nor felt like it; neither have I insulted any man’s feelings but I have hollowed pretty loud and spoken sharply to the brethren when I have seen their awkwardness at coming to camp.” Then, as he neared the end of his reprimand he called upon every man to

repent of his weakness, of his follies, of his meanness, and every kind of wickedness, and stop your swearing and profane language. . . . I have said nothing about it, but I now tell you, if you don’t stop it you shall be cursed by the Almighty and shall dwindle away and be damned. Such things shall not be suffered in this camp. You shall honor God, and confess His name or else you shall suffer the penalty.

The chastising itself was not enough. Brigham called for a prayer meeting the next day, where they would all come fasting, ready “to humble ourselves and turn to the Lord and he will forgive us.” He then lined them all up according to their priesthood: Apostles, high priests, seventies, elders, and, lastly, all the others. He put each group, in turn, under a solemn covenant “to turn to the Lord with all their hearts, to repent of all their follies, to cease from all their evils and serve God according to His laws.” Everyone accepted the covenant by raising his hand, after which the Church leader blessed them and prayed that God would help them fulfill their covenants.

After such an experience, the Camp of Israel was, to say the least, subdued. The next morning, the prayer meeting was held, and in the afternoon the members of the Council of Fifty found a quiet, secluded spot, surrounded by bluffs and therefore out of sight, and held a private prayer circle. Albert Carrington and Orrin Porter Rockwell stood guard a little distance away to prevent interruption, while the rest donned their “priestly garments” (temple clothing) and offered prayer for themselves, the rest of the camp, their brethren who had joined the army to help fight the war with Mexico, their families, and all the Saints. At the end of the day, Clayton made a poignant comment in his diary that reflected the impact of two days of preaching and praying. “I never noticed the brethren so still and sober on a Sunday since we started as today. There is no jesting nor laughing, nor nonsense. All appear to be sober and feel to remember their covenant which makes things look far more pleasant than they have done heretofore.”³⁶

For Clayton the pioneer trek was a spiritual odyssey as much as anything else, and standing in sacred prayer circles with Brigham Young and other Church leaders was one of his continuing links with Joseph Smith and Nauvoo. The first such occasion had come exactly a year before, while the Saints were still on the plains of Iowa. Traveling some three miles away from the main camp, thirteen men met together and pitched two tents, “fixed up” for the sacred ceremony. Clayton had borrowed a temple robe from his brother-in-law Aaron Farr. With two men standing guard outside the makeshift temple, the men inside donned their robes, went through a portion of the temple ceremony, and offered prayer.³⁷

As the vanguard company moved westward, all other concerns were increasingly overshadowed by the anticipation of the end of the journey. “The idea of dwelling with my family in a land of peace,” wrote Clayton on June 1, “in the midst of the Saints of God is better felt than described, but the mild, still scenery of this morning puts me in mind of it.” He was eager to learn more about the Great Basin, where he knew they were heading, and he recorded various descriptions of the region provided by people they met along the way. The descriptions conflicted, however, and nothing could fully satisfy the company until they saw the region for themselves.³⁸

So it was that as they neared journey’s end, Clayton’s descriptions reflected an increasing concern for the kind of environment that would sustain life. “There is not much grass here,” he wrote, on July 19, as they were struggling down what is now Emigration Canyon, “but is said to be more plentiful a little farther.” The next day he made note of rose and gooseberry bushes, as well as poplar and birch trees, but he also observed that the area around them was swampy and dangerous for cattle. The soil looked sandy, except in low moist places where it was “black and good,” and, though pine was seen occasionally, timber was scarce. “A few house logs might be cut, but this is truly a wild looking place,”³⁹ he wrote. One can sense an element of apprehension that must have hovered over the disciples, including Clayton, who were sure they were being led to a promised land, but were not yet satisfied that it was choice above all other promised lands.

The next day he seemed to grow a little more optimistic. He saw a great many service berries that were “good and rich when ripe,” though he also noted that there was little grass at their camping spot and therefore “a poor chance for cattle.” At the same time, he observed a grove of sugar maple, much timber along the creek, and beds of green rushes in several places. Water and growing plants were cause for hope. Then, on July 22, he caught his first dramatic view of his future home. While some of his brethren were cutting a road, Clayton climbed to the top of a hill. There, he said, he “was much cheered by a handsome view of the Great Salt Lake.” He sat down to “contemplate and view the surrounding scenery” and wrote a vivid description of the huge valley in his journal. He noted especially that the valley seemed to be “well supplied with streams, creeks, and lakes, some of the latter are evidently salt.” His only objection to the valley was that he could see little timber, though “we have not expected to find a timbered country.” Reflecting one of the chief concerns of the future homebuilders, he speculated on the probability of timber in the surrounding canyons but observed that to build log houses would take a great deal of time and labor. But “we can make Spanish brick [that is, adobe] and dry them in the sun; or we can build lodges as the Pawnee Indians do in their villages.” Actually the pioneers would use both timber and adobe for building their first homes. “For my own part,” he declared, “I am happily disappointed in the appearance of the valley of the Salt Lake, but if the land be as rich as it has the appearance of being, I have no fears but the Saints can live here and do well while we will do right.”

As the group struggled down the canyon, Clayton continued to observe the elements that would affect and sustain life. Grass, birds, and signs of game animals were all observed, but so was the fact that the ground seemed “literally alive with the very large black crickets crawling around up grass and bushes.” They appeared loathsome to Clayton, but he took comfort in the saying that they were excellent for fattening hogs. The bears, they had been told, lived mostly on these crickets during the summer. Little did he realize that a year later those same black crickets would sweep down upon the crops in the valley and that only the “miracle of the seagulls” would save the settlers from almost total ruin. He also noted the apparent lack of rain, but believed that irrigation could solve the problem since streams were plentiful.

On Sunday, July 25, the day after Brigham Young and the last group of the vanguard company had arrived in the valley, a special religious service was held, and gratitude was expressed for the blessings of the trek. “Not a man, woman, or child has died on the journey,” Clayton gratefully recorded, “not even a horse, mule, ox, cow or chicken has died during the journey.” A full 100 percent of the original company of men, boys, women, children, wagons, horses, mules, oxen, cows, dogs, and chickens that the pioneer journalist had so carefully enumerated at the beginning had arrived at the journey’s end. Together with the promise of fertile soil and plenty of water, what more comforting evidence could there be that the Lord indeed had been their guide? It had all been summed up in Clayton’s thoughts three days earlier, as he thrilled with his first view of the new promised land:

When I commune with my own heart and ask myself whether I would choose to dwell here in this wild looking country amongst the Saints surrounded by friends, though poor, enjoying the privileges and blessings of the everlasting priesthood, with God for our King and Father, or dwell amongst the gentiles with all their wealth and good things of the earth, to be eternally mobbed, harrassed, hunted, our best men murdered and every man’s life continually in danger, the soft whisper echoes loud and reverberates back in tones of stern determination; give me the quiet wilderness and my family to associate with, surrounded by the Saints and adieu to the gentile world till God says return and avenge you of your enemies.⁴⁰

The pioneer company lost no time in beginning to build the new western metropolis (illus. 8-4). The day before Brigham Young arrived in the valley, an advance party was already plowing the hard, dry ground and building a dam in what they called City Creek to get water on the land. A few days later, Brigham designated the spot for the temple, declaring that the city would spread out from there in a series of square, ten-acre blocks, eight lots to each block, streets eight rods wide with twenty-foot sidewalks, and a house set twenty feet back on each lot. Four blocks were set aside for public purposes. At first the new community was given the grandiose name of Great Salt Lake City of the Great Basin, North America, but it was quickly changed to Great Salt Lake City and, in 1868, just Salt Lake City. Here, after 1848, William Clayton would spend practically all the rest of his life.

Illus. 8-4. Charles B. Hall’s engraving of the Salt Lake Valley as it may have appeared in 1847. Once here, Clayton and others felt blessed to be free from mob violence and constant danger. Courtesy Church Archives

On August 2, Orson Pratt began the official survey of the city, and five days later the leaders of the Church, soon to return to Winter Quarters, became the first to select their own lots. Brigham took an entire block east of the temple site (much of which would be used for Church purposes) as well as other lots in other parts of the city, and the rest of the Apostles also selected choice and convenient locations. On August 16, William Clayton also got to make an early selection, since he too would be going back, and he chose lots 1, 7, and 8 on block 95, just west of Temple Square. As Clayton wrote in his journal, however, “Brigham Young broke into our arrangements and wanted 7 and 8 reserved, consequently I made choice of lots 1, 2 and 3.”

Clayton spent a little over three weeks in the valley before returning to Winter Quarters, busily engaged in almost everything except plowing and planting. On August 26, riding a horse provided by Brigham Young, he joined the pioneer leader and several members of the Twelve on a short exploring expedition that took them to the low hills just north of the present city, then north and west to some hot sulfur springs, later to become popular recreation spots. Elders Willard Richards, Ezra T. Benson, and Heber C. Kimball, in fact, began the process by bathing there and then.

“The more I view the country,” Clayton reported, “the better I am satisfied that the Saints can live here and raise abundant crops.” He observed and wrote at length in his journal about many events of this pivotal time: the progress of plowing and planting; building the bowery on Temple Square; the visits and activities of various Indians, who, he felt, sometimes took unfair trading advantage of the pioneers who were willing to pay twenty charges of powder and balls for a buck skin when the usual price was three (evidently he did not know enough about the usual history of Indian trade to see the poetic justice in this); the discovery that one could swim and not sink in the Great Salt Lake; the firm instructions from Brigham Young pertaining to what would and would not be allowed in the city; the arrival of a group of southern Saints and a detachment from the Mormon Battalion, under Captain James Brown, who had all spent the winter at Pueblo, Colorado; stirring Sunday sermons from Young, Kimball, and others; and the beginning of at least seventeen cabins in the new settlement. He assisted Orson Pratt in his survey of the temple lot, worked on a roadometer that had been and would continue to be so important to him in recording mileages (though William King actually performed the major repairs and modifications on the machine), took his own swim (or float) in the Great Salt Lake, wrote prodigiously in his diary, and, on August 2, received instructions from Brigham Young to start early on the return to Winter Quarters so he would have plenty of time to record the distances traveled and other details. Little did Brigham realize that a few Mormon Battalion boys were so eager to get back to their families that they would leave the valley secretly even before Clayton and his advance group got started.

As Clayton sat spellbound at his first sight of the valley of Great Salt Lake, not all his thoughts were pleasant. “I dread nothing so much as the journey back again,” he ruminated, “and when I think of the many dangers from accident which families travelling this road are continually liable to and especially this last mountain road from Weber River, it makes me almost shudder to think of it.”⁴¹ But back again he must go, for his family was still in Winter Quarters waiting for him to return and take them to the new Zion the following year.

The returning travelers made up two companies. Clayton’s group started on August 17, and it consisted of seventy-one men and thirty-three wagons. This included several pioneers plus a group of men from the Mormon Battalion who had come from California. Sometimes dubbed the “ox train,” for its teams were composed mainly of oxen, Clayton’s company was sent ahead on the assumption that the oxen would travel more slowly than horses, and that the main company, which included Brigham Young, eventually would catch up.⁴² The ox train was to kill buffalo and thus provide meat for all of them. Unfortunately, the horses traveled slower than expected, and the two groups never did join together.

Clayton was not specific about what caused the first disagreement in his camp, but on September 14, something made him decide to go ahead of the others. Some of the company opposed it, he said, “not with good grace,” and there was apparently some threat to report him to the council for disciplinary action. He believed the council would refuse to censure him when they learned his story, but, he said, “If they do I will bear the censure in preference to what I now bear.” Though these cryptic remarks tell us nothing about the nature of the difficulty, the members of the advance company clearly were having some disagreements.

The next day, however, Clayton and those who went ahead with him changed their minds. They had traveled twenty-one miles by the end of the day but found that the ox teams were nearly keeping up. For some unexplained reason, they discovered, the rest of the company meant to keep up with them even if it meant killing the oxen. If the teams were thus injured in the haste, Clayton reasoned, his group would be blamed for it, so to save the teams they gave up their plan to go ahead .⁴³ Perhaps it was a good thing, for the Native Americans along the trail at times seemed more hostile than before, and undoubtedly there was safety in numbers.

Brigham Young’s company, meanwhile, struggled along behind, experiencing difficulties. On the night of September 9, about thirty horses were stolen by Indians. Twelve days later a band of Sioux attacked the camp and got away with about ten more horses.⁴⁴ As they proceeded farther, their horse teams grew weaker, and, though this helped them learn that oxen were really superior to horses for this kind of travel, they needed another kind of blessing at the moment. Food was running short, and in their effort to catch up with the ox train they had little time to hunt and kill buffalo.

On September 30, the ox team company camped at Rattlesnake Creek, exactly 678½ miles from the City of the Great Salt Lake by Clayton’s reckoning. Before going on the next morning, Clayton wrote a letter of concern to Brigham Young. He reported that they had killed and dried a great deal of buffalo meat, though they were still short of supplies. There was considerable anxiety among them because the president and his group had not caught up. Nevertheless, Clayton explained, “Circumstances seem to urge the necessity of our moving on slowly to save the teams, and we are expecting to see you come up every day.”⁴⁵

A few members of the company wanted to stop and wait for the trailing group, but the rest felt it would be best to move on, at least beyond the Pawnee Indian village. Clayton had a special reason for wanting to hurry. He was trying to make an accurate table of distances between Salt Lake and Winter Quarters, but his calculations depended upon the pioneer roadometer. He saw signs of rain and was fearful that if it came the wagon wheels would swell and throw off the accuracy of his measurements. If that happened, he wrote, “I am defeated.” If there were any who would insist on going faster than the rest, Clayton was determined to go with them.

Before they broke camp the next morning, Clayton secured his letter in a post beside the road, expecting that it would be found when their trailing brethren finally came by. Sure enough, six days later a Frenchman traveling with Brigham Young’s company found it and brought it to camp.⁴⁶ Now that they knew how far ahead the others were, some of them, at least, reluctantly accepted the fact that they never would catch up. When Amasa Lyman got hold of the note, he scribbled these interesting words across the bottom: “Wednesday evening 6th 1847 All well and going ahead we shall overtake them if it is at Winter quarters. Amasa Lyman.”

On October 6, the men in Clayton’s company again disagreed over how fast they should travel, and Clayton and the others who “felt more willing to go on than tarry” again left their comrades behind. Two days later they changed their minds again, this time with more direct incentive than before. Accosted by hostile Native Americans, they decided that the better part of valor was to turn around. The Indians quickly departed, though not before stealing a horse, four oxen, and some provisions. Clayton’s little group found the rest of the company some six miles back.

Tempers flared as Clayton’s party returned, possibly because the men who stayed behind felt that those who went ahead had made the whole company more vulnerable to danger. Besides, the group returned in such haste that they had left some oxen behind. Some “slang and insults” flew, but there was little time for argument, for they were concerned with protecting their wagons and provisions from more attacks. They loaded their guns and moved on, and when they came to where Clayton’s group had encountered the Native Americans, they found the oxen still there. Posting an extra guard, the Mormon pioneers camped for the night.

Still all was not well as more charges and countercharges were exchanged among the discordant brethren, and those who had started ahead were accused of mutiny and ordered from then on to travel at the rear of the company. Young Lorenzo Babcock, who had stayed behind, even shook his fist in the face of his captain, Zebedee Coltrin, “damned him,” and threatened to whip him. Dismayed, Clayton observed that such conduct had induced some of them to go ahead in the first place and that it would leave feelings of hatred and revenge that would require much time to heal. “For my part,” he wrote, “I shall be glad when I get in more peaceable society, and I think I shall not easily be caught in such a scrape again.”⁴⁷ The group probably needed another sermon from Brigham Young, but he was too far behind to know what was happening.

Meanwhile, the Saints in Winter Quarters heard that American troops were on the march in the vicinity. Not sure of the army’s intentions, they became concerned for the returning pioneers and sent a company of sixteen men to meet and help them. On October 8, the day of the attack on Clayton’s group, the company set out from Winter Quarters under the leadership of none other than Clayton’s old nemesis, police captain Hosea Stout.⁴⁸

We have no record of exactly what passed between the two men when they met again on October 14. Clayton only noted that they saw the company of “old police” going to meet the pioneers behind them and that they were “gladdened with the news they bring from Winter Quarters.” Stout, however, put a different kind of entry in his journal for that date. He recorded the joyful meeting, though from his perspective the joy was to hear from the Salt Lake Valley. But he also became disgusted with the whole advance company. They had gone ahead, he believed, to lay up buffalo for the group behind, but instead they “were now out of Buffalo country leaving those who were to follow to shift for themselves.”⁴⁹ He also accused the group of refusing to stop when their trailing comrades sent word for them to wait after they had been attacked by Native Americans and lost eighty horses. (Actually, only about forty horses had been stolen.) Thus the “ox train” pioneers were accused by Stout of deserting their president and other brethren in time of trouble.

The hapless William Clayton came in for special abuse, for apparently the men with whom he had haggled all along now accused him and John Pack of leading out in this presumed treachery, “with some more to back them up.” “The main body of the camp,” Stout wrote in his diary, “were true and faithful Saints and viewed this treacherous act in its true light. . . . You may immagine our feeling of joy, anger & supprise on meeting them and recieving this intelligence.”⁵⁰

How much substance there was to Stout’s charges is impossible to determine, but the unhappy incident serves to illustrate again an important truism characteristic of any society composed of mortals. Even among the most well-meaning disciples there will always be differing perspectives on many things. It would be out of character for the sensitive, contemplative Clayton deliberately to leave behind the Church leader whom he revered as a prophet and friend, on whom he so often relied for both economic and spiritual aid, and who shared his confidence as a member of the Council of Fifty. On the other hand, though apparently a rigid disciplinarian, Stout was not unfeeling, and it is unlikely that he would concoct an accusation such as this from nothing more than his imagination. The likely answer is that these two habitual antagonists had such conflicting personalities and differing general attitudes on some things that they could never be fully compatible, and when Stout heard elements of the story, his old dislike for the quiet English scribe made it easy for him to believe the worst. Clayton, apparently, returned the sentiment, though in this instance he simply chose to ignore the man so far as his diary was concerned.

For modern, idealistic Saints who might be shocked by such divergent discipleship, the Clayton-Stout dispute provides some thought-provoking insights into Church history. Great as they were, the Saints were not perfect, for, after all, the Lord never expected his servants to achieve perfection in this life. Indeed, he had even told their prophet, Joseph Smith, that the “fulness of my gospel” would be proclaimed, not by those who had been perfected, but by “the weak and the simple unto the ends of the world.”⁵¹ Within five years both Clayton and Stout were called on missions to different parts of the world,⁵² but so long as they remained Saints they also remained human, and so long as they remained human they never rose above at least some of the failings of the natural man. Both returned home in disappointment, after only a few months in their respective fields of labor, but both also remained faithful, active Church members throughout their lives.

Clayton finally arrived in Winter Quarters on October 21, 1847. “I find my family all well,” he wrote with gratitude, “except Moroni, who is very sick and his mother is somewhat sick. Their circumstances are not good, but in other respects they have been prosperous for which I thank my God.”⁵³ He soon set about publishing his Emigrants’ Guide, and the following season he took his family to the valley of the Great Salt Lake. They arrived on September 24, 1848, and Clayton began building homes for his family. For the third and last time he was helping to lay the foundation for a new community on the American frontier.

All this gives important perspective, through Clayton’s eyes, on the Mormon pioneer experience, but it does not fully reveal his enduring contributions to the total pioneer effort. Clayton is still known not only for his important pioneer journal, but also for his role in developing the pioneer roadometer and for his irreplaceable Emigrants’ Guide.

The Latter-day Saints’ Emigrants’ Guide was Clayton’s most cherished pioneer project (illus. 8-5), and it was the success of the roadometer that enabled him to complete it. When the idea for the guide first struck him is not known, but before he left the valley to return to Winter Quarters he was assigned to make a table of distances covering the entire route. As usual, he took the assignment seriously, even though he felt that the rest of his company had no interest in what he was doing,⁵⁴ and his meticulous efforts resulted in an invaluable aid to future travelers. The day they arrived in Winter Quarters he observed that he was now prepared “to make a complete traveller’s guide from here to the Great Salt Lake, having been careful in taking the distance from creek to creek, over bluffs, mountains, etc.”⁵⁵ The entire distance was 1,032 miles.

Illus. 8-5. A page from William Clayton’s Emigrants’ Guide, which was “read to pieces” by both Mormon pioneers and others bound for the West. Courtesy Church Archives

Almost immediately, it seems, the Saints at Winter Quarters recognized the value of what Clayton had done and began to ask for copies. He declined, however, for he wanted Brigham Young’s approval before he made any distribution. Besides, it took him two full days to make one copy and that, he said, “of course puts it out of the reach of profit if I was inclined to help myself a little by it.”⁵⁶ Nevertheless he did make a copy for Brigham Young and sent it to him for his perusal and to seek his suggestions for improvement. He also wanted permission to sell a few copies.

Clayton received no word from the Church leader for over two months, but he nevertheless went ahead with plans to publish his work. He hoped that by selling it to the emigrating Saints he could raise enough to buy the necessary equipment to leave again in the spring. “I dread the idea of having to be left,” he told Brigham Young.⁵⁷ By early February he was ready to go to St. Louis to seek a publisher, but he wanted appropriate letters of introduction from Brigham Young as well as his approval of the project. Clayton got both, for on February 8, Willard Richards wrote, in behalf of Brigham Young and the council, the desired letters. Sent to Nathaniel H. Felt (apparently the presiding elder in St. Louis) and a Mr. William Pickett (misspelled Pichert), they introduced Clayton and his project, verified the desire of the Church leaders to have the guide published, and asked the recipients to do all they could to help. “By his getting the same published it will be but a very trifling expence to the Emigrating Saints in comparison to the labor of handscribing same for each company.”⁵⁸

On February 10, Clayton was on his way to St. Louis with Lucius N. Scovil, and nineteen days later they arrived. In a short time he was able to arrange with the Chambers & Knapp publishing house to have five thousand copies of the guide printed.⁵⁹ From then on the guides were sold to those who wanted them, and William Clayton’s good friend, Thomas Bullock, was one of those who peddled them among the Saints in spring 1848.⁶⁰ A year later a Utah settler wrote a friend in Missouri what must have been a typical reaction to the value of Clayton’s work:

If you could have learned the great demand there has been for the Guid. . . . and could have had them on the road, they would have brought a good piece. Five dollars is what they have been sold for, but twenty-five dollars has been offered for them, and they could not be had. The emigrants say that they have realized great advantage from them, and if they had to travel this route again, they would gladly give twenty-five dollars, rather than be without them. I have only got a few here, and I shall not take for them less than $2.00 a piece. I wish I had some more, and when you, or any of you come, I wish you to bring four or five hundred of them.⁶¹

The letter writer was not exaggerating, for the little book was indeed a marvelously detailed and helpful guide to every mile the traveler could expect to see. Every major stream, hill, swamp, or other landmark was listed, and brief descriptions were given of what might be found there. Suggestions were given for camp sites, watering places, and forage, and Clayton was very careful to tell his readers how and where to cross the streams. In addition, he told the traveler how far away he was from Winter Quarters, how far to the next landmark, and the distance from each landmark to the City of Great Salt Lake. Who could ask for more?

It was not only the Mormons who appreciated Clayton’s guide. When Joseph E. Ware, in 1849, published The Emigrants’ Guide to California, he abridged with hardly any change in wording Clayton’s description of the five hundred miles between Fort Laramie and the Bear River. “Plagiarism,” commented western historian John Caughey when he later edited Ware’s work, “but from the best handbook for this section of the trail.”⁶² Not just the Mormons but thousands of other pioneers bound for Oregon or California subsequently used Clayton’s guide for the appropriate portions of their journey, and the original edition has practically disappeared, “presumably,” commented one editor, “from the fact that the copies were read to pieces.”⁶³ Its importance was further recognized by the fact that several facsimile printings have been made, even as late as 1983. The meticulous care and sense of accuracy with which Clayton always worked resulted in a most significant contribution to the saga of the West.

We do not know how many editions of the guide were printed for pioneer use, but Clayton reported in 1852 that a new edition had been issued then and that it was selling for fifty cents. Apparently he had not authorized this edition, for, he said, he offered to sell the press of Fisher and Bennett the copyright, “but they considered themselves perfectly safe without it.” He was on his way to England on a mission and intended to republish the work there. Nearly all the European emigrants would cross the plains and by selling it there he would beat Fisher and Bennett to the market and “spoil their speculations.”⁶⁴ His unexpectedly quick return from England, however, prevented him from completing his plans.

William Clayton, the pioneer, reflected the faith, hopes, problems, foibles, and frustrations of many a faithful follower among the Latter-day Saints of his day. He also contributed in a very significant way, through his Emigrants’ Guide, to the success of the epic crossing of the plains. But in spite of all his faithfulness and exemplary loyalty to his leaders, Clayton could not help but let down on a few occasions and confide his innermost frustrations to his diary and his future readers. He seemed well aware that one day his account of the vanguard company would come to public attention,⁶⁵ yet shortly after he arrived in the valley in 1847 he seemed compelled to tell it all so far as the burdens he carried were concerned. His remarks may seem self-serving, but none could more profoundly express the combination of faith and frustration that undoubtedly waged battle in the soul of many a Saint in that generation:

I have received from Elder Kimball a pair of buckskin pants, as a present I suppose, but as I have on similar occasions been branded with the idea of receiving a great many kindnesses without consideration I will for this once state a little particular on the other side of the question. I acknowledge that I have had the privilege of riding in a wagon and sleeping in it, of having my victuals cooked and some meat and milk, and occasionally a little tea and coffee furnished. My flour I furnished myself. I have no team to take care of. Howard Egan has done most of my washing until a month ago in consideration of the privilege of copying from my journal, using my ink, etc. The balance of my washing I have hired. Now what have I done for Brother Kimball? Am I justly indebted on this journey? Answer: I have written in his journal 124 pages of close matter on an average of 600 words to a page, which if paid at the price of recording deeds in Illinois would amount to over $110.00. I have collected the matter myself, besides writing letters, etc. This has been for his special benefit. I have kept an account of the distances we have travelled for over 800 miles of the journey, attended to the measurement of the road, kept the distances from creek to creek and from one encampment to another; put up a guide board every ten miles from Fort John to this place with the assistance of Philo Johnson. I have mapped some for Dr. Richards and keeping my own journal forms the whole benefit to be derived by my family by this mission. I have yet considerable to write in Elder Kimball’s journal before I return. I am expected to keep a table of distances of the whole route returning from here to Winter Quarters and make a map when I get through, and this for public benefit. Now how much am I considered to be in debt, and how often will it be said that I was furnished by others with victuals, clothing, etc., that I might enjoy this journey as a mission of pleasure.⁶⁶

Perhaps like many quiet followers, Clayton cried inwardly for at least a portion of the recognition he thought he deserved but might never receive.

Except for two short journals, William Clayton’s diaries abruptly end with his return to Winter Quarters in 1847. As camp historian for a southern exploring expedition in 1852, he kept a journal that covered less than a month, and as a missionary in 1852–53 he kept another for about five months. Beyond that we have nothing—and with no apparent reason except, perhaps, the possibility that other journals are still in someone’s attic or, more likely, that new responsibilities and challenges (especially economic) left him with no time to do what he had done before.

Whatever the reasons, the basic personal manuscript sources for Clayton’s life in Utah are letters rather than diaries. His letterbooks, filled mostly with day-to-day business transactions in connection with his official duties as territorial auditor and as recorder of marks and brands, are usually routine, repetitious, and dull. But tucked amid the tedium are several interesting letters that cast light on various topics of concern both to Clayton and to the Church during the next three decades. It is partly because of what these and other sources reveal that the balance of this work will focus on a few significant themes: economics, missionary work, Clayton’s apocalyptic fervor, and his curious flirtations with pseudoscience. But first a general overview of his life from 1848 to the time of his death will provide a framework for the chapters that follow.