The muddy water of the Platte constantly changed the river bottom so as not to be trusted from one day to the next. When the scout finally reached the opposite side on his horse and started back, John Pitney started his team into the water. The oxen, too, were aware of the dangers involved and balked at entering the swift water. But encouragement from the whip coaxed the animals into the water. After the first pair entered the water, the rest became confident and followed along.

Edmund watched as, one by one, the wagons before him slowly dropped down into the river and muddled across against the current. He tried to keep an eye out for places where the wagons bumped and jarred indicating holes or obstructions.

He felt someone step next to him. His brother in-law, John Carson, watched with the same scrutiny. "Looks like there’s a sticky spot about two-thirds the way across."

Edmund nodded. "Yeah, I see it. But do we angle upstream or downstream to avoid it?"

John didn’t answer-any conjecture was just that. "Tell you what," he finally proposed. "Why don’t I help you across, and then once we get over, we can both come back and get my rig."

Edmund liked that idea. "Deal! That high water’s making me nervous."

Soon it was Edmund’s turn and he coaxed his own oxen down into the water. Walking along side, he felt the cold water wrap around his waist and he caught his breath until the initial shock was gone.

Mary Ann watch with eerie fascination as the wheels slipped down into the brown water, completely disappearing except for the top of the steel rim. Even though they had raised the wagon box, the wagon plowed through the water, creating the sensation of floating in a boat.

The swift water would try to lift the upstream side of the wagon and push it down stream, therefore, the river was always approached angling upstream so that the water could sweep around the wagon, instead of pushing it sideways.

Edmund continued along side his oxen, constantly talking to them and goading them when necessary. Every step taken was deliberate and firmly planted in order to push against the current.

About fifty feet from the shore, Clark Hay’s team ahead began struggling with quicksand. Recognizing the danger, Edmund yelled to his brother in-law. "John, keep the team going! I’m going to go help Clark."

Edmund splashed ahead and began pushing on the tailgate of the wagon. Nothing budged so he moved to a wheel, pushing hard to help it turn. Soon he was joined by John Pitney, rushing up and yelling orders. "Get your bag-o-bones oxen moving, Hay! We’re going to roll this thing if you don’t."

If Pitney’s asinine command was good for anything at all, it was to infuriate everyone to work harder, Edmund thought. They were already doing all they could.

The scout also saw the predicament and brought his horse on an awkward run, spraying muddy water everywhere, and swinging his rope. His practice paid off as he threw a loop around the horns of one of the struggling oxen, dallied around the saddle horn, and reined the horse around to pull. With the aid of the horse and four men now pushing on the wagon, the ox bellowed and lunged, breaking itself and the wagon free.

Just as the wagon began lurching forward, Edmund looked back toward his own wagon at the sound of a cry. His oxen, principally the weaker ones, had begun faltering under the constant pressure of the water and allowed the flow to push them downstream. Soon the wagon was broadside to the river with the front axle jackknifing downstream as the animals fought for footing. Horror knotted Edmund’s stomach as he watched the off-balanced wagon slowly topple over into the current. A glimpse of his daughter’s face flashed up just before the canvas dipped into the water, her terrified eyes pleading for help.

Time froze as the wagon and its contents sluggishly tumbled with current. The panicking oxen frantically scrambled toward the riverbank as the wagon dragged them backwards downstream, its canvas top catching the flow of water as a ship’s sail catches the flow of air. Finally, mercifully, the canvas snagged on a heavy willow root, allowing the oxen to gain their footing.

Scarcely had the wagon stopped when Edmund reached Mary Ann who was frantically searching for something. "It’s Emma! I can’t find Emma!" Mary Ann shrieked.

"Where is George?" Edmund called over the rush of the water.

John Carson yelled, "He got out, he’s up on the bank!"

George had been swept clear of the wagon and was able to paddle to the shore. But Emma was either trapped inside the overturned wagon or somewhere downstream. Most of the people who had already finished the crossing ran downstream to search for Emma or items floating away.

Unable to see below the murky water, Edmund ran his hands along the remaining contents of the wagon. At last he felt a leg and found Emma pinned between a large trunk and the tailgate of the wagon. "I’ve found her!" he yelled. "Help me pull her out!" He shoved the trunk and wrenched her out of the wagon and hauled her, with John’s help, up onto the bank.

John laid his niece down and leaned close to her lips, searching for a hint of breath. "She’s not breathing. We’ve got to get the water out of her lungs!" He stretched her arms out over her head while Edmund began pumping her stomach. There was no response.

People gathered around, dumbfounded as to what to do or say. Reverend Whitworth’s wife, Mary, a no-nonsense woman who was as round as she was tall, came bustling up and scattered the small crowd like chickens. "Stop gawking! Go make yourselves useful." She handed Edmund a bottle of Camphor and elbowed in to continue pumping Emma’s stomach.

John Pitney peered over the concerned crowd and commented, "Well, it looks like she’s dead."

Instantly Edmund was livid. It unsettled him so much that he dropped the open Camphor bottle. The pungent tonic splashed on Emma’s face, shocking her enough to make her cough violently. The encouraging sign prompted many hands to eagerly pound her back in attempt to help her.

Emma sat up to cough and began sobbing out of fright, reaching for her father, "Oh Daddy, I sure wanted you to save me!" He scooped her up in his arms and rocked her back and forth. At this moment she was not a maturing young woman-she was still his little girl and he found himself sobbing with her.

Mary Ann gathered in George and Emma and vocally praised God for the miracle of their family.

Holding his wet daughter, Edmund reflected on all the "bad luck" of the trip and compared it to the blessing of the day. He recognized his prideful heart and poured out his heart to God in thanks and repentance. Oh, how grateful he was for his little family!

Author’s Note:

That wreck was but one of a series of misfortunes that the Edmund and Mary Ann Richardson experienced as they traveled westward on the Oregon trail in 1853. These problems reduced Edmund’s rig from one of the finest to barely limping by the time they reached the half-way point on the trail.

Then, quite coincidentally, about four miles from the "Parting of the Ways", the fifth of their original six oxen died. This forced the Richardsons to take leave of their friends and family and limp off toward Salt Lake City with one ox and a milk cow to pull their wagon. Their objective was to winter near Salt Lake, close enough to protect themselves from a raging Indian war, and far enough to maintain a safe distance from the evil, ferocious Mormons.

Soon, however, they were won over by love and by the Spirit and found themselves new converts to the Church. And shortly after that, they received a call to move to Manti, Utah to add support to the beleaguered Saints in the middle of the Walker war. Chief Walker was attacking and killing Mormons on a regular basis and Manti was in his back yard.

In Manti the Richardsons struggled through Indian problems, grasshopper plagues and near starvation. They helped build the town and were participants in the Mormon Reformation.

Just as things start working out for them, a trial is placed before them that stretches them until their very heartstrings are ready to break.