IX
JOHN OPENS HIS MOUTH
On the following Sabbath Captain Van Arden attended divine service, and he was not as surprised as he would have been a week ago, to hear and see the calm, mighty courage which animated every face and spoke in every voice. Here was a handful of wronged and hunted religionists, whose only crime was in desiring to serve God in a way peculiar to themselves. He had walked the streets at darkest midnight, and not once had he seen or heard one word of drunkenness, ribaldry or obscenity. He had failed to find any traces of licentiousness, such as the ugly rumors he had heard before coming here, had led him to expect. Instead, he felt himself surrounded by an implacable circle of watchful care, which prevented him from entering into any relations with women, even the harmless one of mild flirtation with the pretty brown-haired girl he had met at Bishop Winthrop's home. Certainly he had received some enlarged ideas on the subject of religious persecution.
He listened attentively to Apostle John Taylor, who, at the close of his remarks, repeated the statement he had heard before, that the army should not be allowed to enter the Valley; and then, in ringing tones, the preacher asked all who would apply the torch to their dwellings, cut down their trees and lay waste their farms, to raise their hands.
The captain rose in his seat to see the effect of this powerful appeal. Not one hand in that vast assembly of four thousand people, was left to rest in cowardly silence in its owner's lap; but like a unit, the clouds of hands arose. Some horny and worn with toil and poverty; others, soft and white with youth and womanhood; and even little children in their eager, unconscious zeal, elevated their hands high in sympathy with their elders.
The captain felt awed and overcome. Up in his throat rose a lump of sympathy and admiration for this heroic people. He expected to find a seditious and priest-ridden community, mouth-valiant and few in number, whom the mere appearance of troops would tame into submission. He found instead, a handful of enthusiasts rising against the might of a great nation.
When President Young arose to speak the Captain felt a genuine response in his own breast to the vigorous and manly sentiments uttered by the "Mormon" leader:
"When the time comes to lay waste our dwellings and our improvements, if any man undertakes to shield his, he will be treated as a traitor. Now, the faint-hearted can go in peace, but should that time come, they must not interfere. Before we will again suffer as we have in times gone by, there shall not one building, nor one foot of lumber, nor a fence, nor a tree, nor a particle of grass or hay that will burn, be left in the reach of our enemies. I am sworn if driven to the last extremities, utterly to lay waste this land in the name of Israel's God, and our enemies shall find it as barren as when we came here."
At the close of the services the Captain sought President Young, surrounded by his friends and associate pioneers; the officer grasped and held the hand of the maligned leader, and with a voice shaken with emotion, declared his sympathy and fellowship with this band of earnest enthusiasts.
"President Young, my whole heart goes out to you in this cause. I am sure no one in the central government understands the real condition of affairs here. I shall hasten to President Buchanan and when he understands the true situation, be assured there will be a cessation of this war-like movement."
"Perhaps," said the President, "he will not accept your version of the affair."
"He must listen; he shall be convinced. By the eternal heavens, if our government pushes this matter to the extent of making war upon you, I will withdraw from the army, for I will not have a hand in the shedding of the blood of American citizens."
"We shall trust in God, Captain. He will open our way before us. Congress has promptly sent investigating committees to Kansas and other places as occasion has required; but upon the merest rumor, it has sent two thousand armed soldiers to destroy the people of Utah, without investigating the matter at all."
"The government may yet send an investigating committee to Utah, and consider it good policy to do so, before they get through."
"I believe that God has sent you here, Captain Van Arden, and that good will grow out of it. I was glad when I heard you had come."
"I am anxious to get back to Washington as soon as I can. I have heard officially that General Harney has been removed to Kansas. I shall stop the trains at Ham's Fork on my own responsibility."
"If we can keep peace for this winter, I think that something will transpire that will stop the shedding of blood. God bless you, captain, in all your labors and efforts to bring about so desirable a condition."
Notwithstanding the gallant captain's generosity and nobility, John Stevens, who had heard every word uttered between him and his own beloved leader, was greatly pleased and relieved to receive orders to accompany the Captain early the next morning on his homeward destination.
John felt no shadow of fear or doubt about the coming issue between the picked army of the United States and the struggling guerillas of his own Territory; but it filled his soul with a vague dread and alarm to look forward to a possible contact between the youth of his people and the alluring sins and vices of the world at large.
He was surprised, therefore, as the two men rode along in the cool, September morning, up through the rough canyon gorges, to have the captain turn to him with a question upon the very subject which was occupying his own thoughts.
"Stevens, was I wrong in supposing that although your people greeted me with such noble welcomes, yet there was a barrier raised between any especial friendliness between me and any of your women?"
"Did you make any effort to be especially familiar with our women?" asked John, cautiously.
"Ah, Stevens, you are a genuine Yankee. You answer my question by asking another; and I may not care to commit myself. You have some very fascinating and really intelligent women among your people. I saw some lovely faces in your bowery yesterday."
"Well, yes, our girls are tolerably good-looking."
"Oh, Stevens, no wonder your girls long for a breath of worldly freedom, if all your young men are as cautious and unenthusiastic about them as you seem to be," laughed the captain.
"Do our girls long for worldly pleasures?"
"Another question; I see, my taciturn friend, that the only way to open your oyster of a mouth is to turn confidential myself and open my own heart to you. I confess to some curiosity as to the inner condition of your social affairs. Now, I am quite willing to further confess that I was never more impressed with the grace and magnificence of womanhood than I was when I saw it embodied in those two young girls I met at your Bishop Winthrop's. Such unconscious charm and beauty, I had never seen before. And the brown-haired one was evidently not unkindly disposed to me; however, of course I had not time, even if I had been given the opportunity to go deeper than a profound admiration for the lovely and winsome sprite. She was not forward, although perfectly free and familiar, if I may so express it."
"Did Ellen, for that is her name, express to you any such feelings as you infer our girls possess?"
"Well, yes; she casually mentioned her desire to see and know something of the great, beautiful, unknown world stretching out behind these rugged mountains."
"And you?"
"I was a guest and a stranger, and, I hope, also a gentleman. I could not but admire and be impressed by her innocence, but I also respected and guarded it."
"I believe you are a good man, Captain Van Arden; but you are not of our faith. And if you read the old Scriptures, you will find that God sets a curse on those of His chosen people who marry with unbelievers. God surely knows why this should be so."
"I can't see for the life of me, why one good man is not as good as another; if you believe in the Bible, you must acknowledge that we are all one family, and all children of one Father. Why should you presume to be better than I?"
"It is not an assumption, or an impudence. There is an eternal law which underlies this principle. Perhaps I cannot make it plain to you, but it exists, else God would not have announced it. God is a Master gardener. He does not mix His blooms and fruits, but sets each to multiply with each; nor does He ever mix the birds and animals; else sterility would result. But to His children He has given their agency as their dearest possession; and they use that agency like the reckless spend-thrifts and bunglers that they are. Only man may mix his seed and still retain a measure of fertility. We are eternal. Our spirits sang together when this earth was created, and to each is allotted a time and a destiny; but always our free agency comes in to disturb and confuse that destiny. Yet, only by using that free agency, can we work out our exaltation in the world to come. If we would be prudent, we would let the great Gardener train and trim our lives to His own matchless design. It is the ancient Hebrews, who have preserved to the world the best that we know of home, brotherhood, love, and life eternal; and in their national individuality and history we have the most perfect example of the fruits of careful breeding. Where they have observed the traditions of the fathers, they are strong, domestic, clean, faithful, loving and true. This fact, with all the Israelite's faults, is the lamp which has lighted Christianity for the rest of mankind to see by. If the Jews had mixed with all creation, where would their autonomy be today? Why shall the true Christian hesitate to abide by an eternal truth because of ridicule? The religious emotions are the deepest founts of the human soul. Make them muddy, confuse their source, and you have lost their purity and their worth. All men may believe in Christ, but all do not follow Him; for He came to fulfil, not to abrogate the laws of Moses. Love is too often the result of propinquity, or passion. More: I am convinced that God has mated His children in spirit before they ever dwelt upon this earth. There is a divine belongingness in marriage; and if we will follow the guidance of that unerring spirit, we will not mix our lives nor confuse our destiny; there will be no bungling confusion or muddled strains in races or religions. I do not think all people will be converted to the Gospel in this life; nor that they could be. Nor that all men and women are rightly mated. But all will have a chance behind the veil, for we hold the doctrine of salvation for the dead to be as true as Peter and Paul held it. [A]
[Footnote A: Read I Peter, 3rd chap. verses 18 to 20; also I Peter, chap. 4, verse 6, and I Corinthians, chap. 15, verse 29.]
"Our religion, like our politics, is much a matter of temperament. But the day will come in the great hereafter, when gradually all men will learn and accept the perfect Gospel of peace and right. Meanwhile, let not those who have been so greatly blessed as to see the Truth, confuse themselves and weaken their powers for good by joining themselves for life with those who know not and love not the Truth. As is the husband, so is the wife. As is the wife, alas, so becomes the husband, sooner or later."
"Stevens," said the captain, "you can expound and exhort like the rest of your elders, even if you do not waste time in general conversation," then with a twinkle in his eye, the captain added, "You recall to my mind a scathing assertion I heard uttered by an apostate in your Valley. He said that you 'Mormons' believed that no woman could be exalted in the Kingdom of Heaven without a man. Is that so?" and the soldier looked shrewdly at his companion.
"Yes, captain; that is correct."
Astonished by this frank admission, the captain rode on in silence for some moments. Then, as if to add point to his rejoinder, John Stevens drew in his horse, and turned in his saddle to look his companion full in the eye:
"Yes, sir, that is our belief. But we also hold that no man can be exalted in the Kingdom of Heaven without a woman. Don't you recollect that Paul says the woman is not without the man, nor the man without the woman in Christ Jesus?"
And long before John had finished, the captain was laughing so heartily that he lost his reins.
"Well, Stevens, I give up. You are a better scriptorian than I am; even if you may be inclined to appropriate quotations a bit for your own advantage. That's no more than we all do."
John shrewdly put another question.
"Would you be willing to see your sister marry a Mormon elder?"
The captain looked amused, then amazed.
"Do you mean to imply that 'Mormons' are orthodox Christians?"
"I imply nothing. I only wondered if you would be willing to have your sister marry any virtuous man, no matter what his other condition might be, spiritual or physical."
"Well, Stevens, I fear I could not convince you, and you only further puzzle me. One thing, though, I do maintain, and that is, that every American citizen, woman as well as man, should have the right to choose his own path and companion in life. It is our birthright."
"It is, when we are old enough to know our own mind; but you would not throw your half-grown son and daughter in the midst of temptation and leave them there unprotected, to carry out that argument."
"Perhaps not, perhaps not. You have given me new food for thought, and I already have much new and valuable material for reflection and study. Let us hasten now or we may not reach our evening camp before dark."
As he lay in camp that night, the conversation repeated itself over and over in the troubled mind of John Stevens. Oh, what was the right? How he trembled at the thought of strange and scornful men being brought into this peaceful valley, and left to corrupt and estrange our thoughtless youths and beautiful girls.
He knew something of the moral conditions of men in the world and he also knew much of men in general. He felt that nothing but the keenest religious conscience could protect men from immorality of life. He raised his hand in silent agony to heaven, and swore that his whole strength and life should be devoted to protecting and shielding the youth from this terrible fate – that of too many youths in the outside world. And yet, as he himself had said, there was the divine right of self-choice, or man's agency. He groaned as the consequences of thrusting upon innocent and helpless women, as would be done, opportunities to seek their companions among camp-followers, miners, and other transients of that day. Human agency was an agency fraught with dire consequences. Would we have to meet its terrible responsibility, he asked himself?
What did the future hold in store for this hunted and persecuted people? God alone knew! It was so difficult for a man of John's temperament to say God's will be done, when it involved the life, or worse, perhaps, the virtue of men and women. For he feared for the virtue of the youths among his people quite as much as he dreaded the temptations to be offered to the maidens. To John Stevens virtue, of both man and woman, was far dearer than life.
He felt as if he must arise, and with mighty power, seize and flee with his loved ones to the safe fastnesses of the mountains.
X
IN ECHO CANYON
It was a lovely day in the last of September, a few days after the occurrences related in our last chapter. The air was cool, crisp, and full of the odor of pine and sagebrush. In a mountain retreat, around a gleaming fire, sat a group of men with serious, eager faces, and their talk was carried on in guarded tones.
The country was wild and barren, except that here and there along the course of a stream the willows and brush gave a little protection to man and beast. On a low hill-side to the right of the camp-fire, were tethered horses, picking a scant supper from the fall-dried plain. Not very far away yawned a huge black opening in the side of the mountain, which gave the name of Cache Cave to the spot.
The leader of the party, General Daniel H. Wells, sat in the center of the council, his fine large head and prominent features giving him a massive appearance well calculated to inspire respect and confidence. He was listening to some recital of a recent expedition from the lips of a tall, red-bearded, slow-spoken man.
"What did General Harney say when Captain Van Arden had explained to him the condition in our Territory?" asked the General.
"The General replied with an oath, 'I am ordered to Salt Lake City, and I will winter there or in hell.'"
The men around the camp-fire uttered various exclamations of determination that the violent general should be well supplied with opportunities to join his friends in the latter warm retreat.
On the right of General Wells sat an immense, broad-shouldered fellow, bearded and with eyes like an eagle. He said little, and kept his face in his hands while listening to the report of his fellow-soldier, Stevens.
"Major Smith," remarked General Wells, turning to this silent, keen-eyed giant-like officer, "you will at once proceed to the enemy's camp, and deliver these documents which have been entrusted to my care by Governor Young. Wait for a reply, see all you can, hear all you can, and make yourself, if possible, more familiar with the country surrounding us than you are at the present. There is much for you to do in the near future, if we would prevent this army from entering the Valley this winter. Do you wish any one to accompany you?"
"No, sir, I am foot-loose, and when alone, can ride as fast as I please."
Accordingly, that night, while the others were fitfully sleeping, Major Lot Smith proceeded silently out of the camp to go on his mission to the United States army, now pressing forward to Fort Winfield. Not a detail of the lonely road, not a bush nor rock; not the slightest undulation in the silent hills escaped the keen eyes of this traveler.
Arrived at the army's headquarters, Major Lot Smith was conducted to the United States General's tent, where he was received with great dignity. His papers delivered, he waited in stern silence, the reply of a tall, heavy-set, dark-complexioned man, whose prolonged silence gave him an opportunity to observe underneath the apparent coldness, a shade of anxiety and care on the officer's face, which the eagle eyes under the heavy red brows read as plainly as he did the rock-strewn roadway along which he had traveled.
"Major-General Harney has been ordered back to Kansas," remarked Col. Alexander, after reading the despatches, "and Colonel Johnston, who succeeds him, will be here in a few days. Meanwhile, I will myself undertake to reply to these remarkable documents, and shall send the answer by you, if you can wait for a few hours."
"I am here under orders to await the answers to these papers, sir," answered Smith.
"Very well, my men will attend to your needs, and while you are eating dinner, your horse shall receive attention."
Lot Smith made no reply, but bowed himself out of the presence of the officer. Instead of accepting any hospitality for himself, he eagerly, yet quietly, spent the few hours of his stay, in mastering every detail of the camp, and fixing upon his mind every word he chanced to overhear from the soldiers.
He soon ascertained that the present commanding officer was Colonel Alexander, and that the colonel was in some anxiety as to what move to make next. Smith discovered this from the remarks of a young, dark-mustached officer, who sat chatting with his companion outside of a tent door, utterly oblivious that "Mormon" ears were taking note of his extravagances.
"I have told the Colonel repeatedly," announced this young braggart, "that the only honorable and manly course to pursue, is to follow the plan laid out by Harney. Harney is a trump, by – , and I wish we had him here again instead of this wavering, chicken-hearted present administration. All we have to do is to secure most of our troops and supplies in Fort Winfield; then a few hundred of us with our knap-sacks on our back could make the valley in a few days, surprise the fanatics and poltroons down there, take possession of old Brigham's harem for our own comfort and pleasure, quarter our men in their church, and the thing is done."
"Old Brigham himself might have something to say about that," remarked one of the loungers at the tent door. "Van Arden says he is a fighter of no mean ability."
"Bah! Van Arden is easily frightened. The very first thing to be done is, of course, to string up such rabble as Young, Kimball and Wells, with others of their ilk, to the nearest tree. I have no patience with men who play into the hands of heathens and tricksters. What were we sent out here for, anyway?"
The young man looked around the circle with a sneer upon his handsome mouth, and as he met the eyes of one or another, they gave him varying replies either by word or by glance.
"I don't think any one knows just exactly what we were sent out here for," at last answered the tall, gray-eyed man who had spoken before. "I don't know that Harney, Alexander or even Buchanan himself knows exactly what we were sent here for. Presumably to install Cumming in the office to which the President has appointed him."
"And do you think that it will take the flower of the American army, and millions of dollars to do so simple a thing as that? Come, now, Saxey, you are not so innocent as that. We have a whole Territory to subdue and the seditious priests of this most villainous community are to be tried and hanged, or hanged anyway. That's what I came out here for."
"Well, I am prepared to follow my orders, no matter what they may be; but I have no desire to take part in street fights, or brawls such as was witnessed in Illinois ten years ago, when the leaders of this people were killed by the border ruffians of that State. I know something of this people from my brief association with a part of the "Mormon" Battalion, which answered our government's call for troops to march into Lower California. I never saw a braver or more devoted body of men. And I will not be a party to another outrage upon an innocent people." So spake Col. Saxey, gentleman, soldier and man.
"You and I do not indulge in street fights or brawls," replied the braggart, "but we are determined to see order and decency maintained in this government, no matter if it be at the cost of a few lives of such lecherous scoundrels as old Brigham and his priests. Why, their doings are a blotch on the escutcheon of our proud country. It is an introduction into our midst of the rotten lives and practices of the Turks and Orientals. The manhood of this nation will not endure it."
"Let us see, Sherwood," interposed the grey-eyed man, withdrawing his cigar to give emphasis to his words, "how many of Brigham's daughters or concubines have you decided shall form part of your establishment this winter?"
"Oh, plague on your Quixotism; you make no distinction between the amours of a gentleman and the vile practices of the heathens and 'Mormons.'"
The silent listener at the other side of the tent found it impossible to keep his teeth from grinding together at this moment, but he was suddenly approached by a subaltern who requested him to wait at once upon the commanding officer for his messages to Utah.
Obtaining the despatches, Major Smith started upon the return journey. It was high noon in the camp of the mountaineers, when dusty, travel-stained Lot Smith rode into the small circle. He was ushered into the tent occupied by General Wells and staff and there delivered his messages. For the first time since leaving his own camp, the Major sat down and proceeded to satisfy a soldier's appetite, and although weary and worn for sleep, he was glad to satisfy his cravings for food before resting or sleeping.
The general saw the worn condition of his faithful officer, and ordered him to his own tent until the next morning. Meanwhile a courier was sent to the valley with the despatches from the army, and a full report from General Wells and his scouts.
All that night General Wells and his staff talked, planned, and counseled. It was but little after seven o'clock when the council assembled the next morning to hear the verbal report of Major Smith and to decide upon future action.
"I overheard much of their vaunting, blasphemous determination to enter the Valley, kill or imprison our leaders, and to capture and ruin our wives and daughters. There are a few cautious, sensible men among them, such as Col. Saxey, whom you all know by reputation at least, but the majority, especially the officers, who are mostly young men of hot passions and romantic temperament, are determined to force Colonel Alexander to proceed at once to the Valley with a light detachment, to be followed by the masses of the troops, as fast as is convenient."
"Colonel Alexander informs me in his letter," said General Wells, "that he will submit our letters and despatches to General Johnston immediately upon that officer's arrival in camp; and, that meanwhile the troops are there by order of the President of the United States, and their future movements will depend upon the orders issued by competent military authority."
"What shall we do under these circumstances?" asked one of the officers.
"This is the plan adopted in our council before leaving Salt Lake City, and there sanctioned by President Young. We were to ascertain the location of the troops as soon as possible, which has now been done by Major Smith. Then we were to proceed at once to annoy them in every way possible. We are to use every exertion to stampede their animals, and are to set fire to their supply trains whenever practicable. Burn the whole country before them, and on their flanks. Keep them from sleeping by night surprises, blockade the roads by felling trees or destroying the river fords wherever we can. Watch for opportunities to set fire to the grass on their windward, so as to set fire to their trains. Leave no grass behind them that can be burned. We are to keep our men concealed as much as possible, and of course we are to guard ourselves against surprises continually."
"What if we meet a detachment and are compelled to fight," asked one of the men.
"I anticipate no such catastrophe," answered General Wells. "Brother Brigham has said that the Lord will fight our battles for us, and if we follow his counsel to the letter, we shall also be able to comply with his strictest injunctions, which are, to spare life always when possible, and not to shed a drop of blood when it can be avoided. 'Say your prayers and keep your powder dry,' was his parting admonition."
The General sat some time as if in silent meditation, and the officers present remained silent, unwilling to disturb his reflections.
At length the chief raised his head, and looking straight into the eyes of Major Smith, he asked:
"Major, do you think that you can take our small force, about forty men we have here now, and passing in the rear of the enemy, turn back and burn the supply trains on the road?"
The Major returned the intent gaze of the General, and while a dusky gleam shot through the red-brown depths of his own eyes, he only replied in words:
"Yes, sir; I think I can."
"Very well, sir, you can consider yourself under orders to carry out the plan I have just now indicated. The council is adjourned."
That these men could, at the close of their portentious council, kneel down and ask God to bless them and assist them in their undertaking, may seem strange, but they were banded together to protect the lives of their fellow-men shut up in the narrow valleys of the lower country, and they felt that if God did not interpose His power, the soldiers, accompanied as they were by a horde of blasphemous, reckless, licentious camp-followers and brawlers, would not only kill and plunder, but they would also decoy and destroy their fair wives and daughters.
They were facing no imaginary terrors, for the pangs of Illinois and Missouri were not yet blotted from the memory of even their babes. No blood would be shed, except in self-defense, but every man there was prepared to pour his life-current out like water upon the ground, if necessary, to protect their beloved homes and families and their honored leaders. God was their father and to Him they appealed.
"Say your prayers and keep your powder dry," had been the counsel of President Young, and they were united as one man to carry out his instructions.
One of the first men spoken to by Lot Smith was quiet John Stevens, a man after Smith's own heart. No need of much talk between these two, as they divined each other's wishes and purposes without need for words and explanations.
There was some delay, consequent upon breaking up camp, so that it was early twilight when the small detachment rode out upon the open prairie. The Major called John Stevens to his side, and to him in a few words related as they rode along some of the conversation overheard in the camp of the enemy.
As John listened to the wicked threats of the dissolute officers concerning the fair daughters of his people, he was seized with a sudden, passionate anger, and for a few moments he could think of nothing but to heap curses upon their wicked heads, and he longed with murderous longing, to have one of them just now under his own clenched hands that he might strangle the pride and the devil out of him.
His curses were not uttered aloud, however, and when he recovered himself, he heard his commanding officer ask:
"What's the matter, Stevens, are you annoyed?"
"Perhaps! I was not old enough to do any good in Illinois; but now – well, I am glad, major, that you permitted me to accompany you on this trip."
"Stevens, we are of the same stripe; but we must both remember our orders, and no matter what the provocation may be, we must shed no blood, unless compelled to do so. We both understand this, and yet, it is as hard for me as it is for you, my friend."