XXIV
ELLIE'S SECOND WARNING
The two girls avoided John all the next day, for with feminine instinct they divined their case would come up for grave consideration, and neither cared to be questioned or chastised.
When this startling incident came to the ears of Aunt Clara Tyler, she buckled on her aggressive armor of righteousness, but like the tactful soul she was, she drew over her steel coat the soft velvet robe of tender sympathy and bided her time.
Two nights after Dian's encounter, the girls were out at a neighboring party. Returning somewhat late, Aunt Clara's watchful ears heard them call out their merry good-nights to their companions, and the psychological moment was upon them.
The girls found her busy at their own wagon-box bedroom, and they were glad for a pair of sympathetic ears in which to pour out the story of "what he said" and "she said" with the evening's trivial happenings, all of such moment to young, fresh hearts.
"How good it is to get a word with you, Auntie," cooed Ellen, "you are off so much with the sick that I don't get a chance to hug you once a week."
Joining in their merry chatter, the two girls sitting cross-legged on their narrow bed, their mentor sat on the stool at the front end of the box, and gently led them into deep conversational waters.
"These brilliant men of the world do know how to say pretty things, don't they?" said Ellen, after Dian had related the river incident, in her own candid fashion.
"And he never said a rude word or did an offensive thing," finished Dian.
"Good manners, my dear, are only the real or the assumed expression of a truly unselfish soul. Tact is like charity – it sometimes covers a multitude of sins."
Ellen sat silent while this talk went on; Aunt Clara noted it and drew her own shrewd conclusions.
"Well, why must this sweet and gentle courtesy belong only to men who are not good, Aunt Clara?" continued Dian.
"It mustn't, and yet it too often does. Pioneer life in every country leaves very little time for young men especially to cultivate the amenities of life. Aren't our leaders courteous, and can you find lovelier ladies than Sister Eliza R. Snow and Zina D. Young? Our girls are as crude in much of their behavior as are our boys. First the marble must be hewn out, then comes the polish."
"I love the polish," murmured Ellen. And Dian added frankly:
"So do I! The rocks in the hillside are ugly!"
"Not ugly – their rough beauty appeals to an educated mind. And polish is so deceptive. You could enamel any cheap and poor surface, but heat or power would crush the false substance into powder. Ah no, my dear motherless girls, it is my duty to warn you! I see what your youthful eyes could not perceive. The allurements of bad men and corrupt worldliness, have ever been and ever will be present with us in this world. 'Take away the devil's fascination, and you would cut off his right arm at the shoulder,' is an old proverb. The only safety for youth and inexperience is to take the counsel of their parents and guardians. I am a widow, and earn my living by nursing the sick. So I am obliged to leave you girls to watch yourselves much of the time."
"But taking counsel always means to do the thing you don't want to do," pouted Dian, "and to leave undone the things you would like to do."
"That pretty nearly sums up life's best discipline. And now let me warn you, my dear, precious girls, let that soldier alone, and every other man whose life and character is unknown to your guardians; have fun, enjoy yourselves, but don't go outside your own safe circle for pleasure or for peace."
"Oh, pshaw!" grumbled Diantha. But Aunt Clara knew that the temporary resistance of Diantha's frank nature would yield in time, and that above all, she could never quite bring herself to disobey any given counsel. That was the rock upon which the girl's character was builded. As for Ellen:
"Ellie," said her aunt, solemnly, "let me warn you and forewarn you against any evil temptation such as has just assailed Diantha. I'm sure I don't know how you would come out from such a test, my dear, for you do love admiration so well."
"Of course Diantha's the perfect one," replied Ellen, sharply; "I am never quite safe or quite right," but she was very glad Dian had kept her secret. For there was surely no need of Aunt Clara knowing all that!
Alack! The loyalty of youth to youth sometimes works them grave disaster. If Diantha had only been a little less loyal, Aunt Clara would have been set upon the watch tower; for she, with her riper years, knew the weakness as well as the charm of her pretty niece as inexperienced Dian could not then know. But both girls had now been rightly taught and cautioned, and so the elder woman kissed them good-night and left them to the deep slumber of youth and health.
XXV
"DO YOU CARE FOR JOHN STEVENS?"
Several evenings later, at supper, Tom Allen remarked that the Snows were coming over to spend the evening, and he wondered if they could have some games in the front yard, as it was a bright, moonlight night. Both Diantha and Ellen were waiting upon the table, and no one for the moment seemed anxious to answer Tom's remark. Sister Winthrop, as well as Aunt Clara, had evidently heard something of recent events, and both were very serious and quiet. But the others of this large and oddly assorted family assemblage had heard nothing, and accordingly the idea of having some games to help pass away the brief summer evening with plenty of music of concertina and accordion was received with general favor.
It was a little puzzling to Diantha to see the lover-like attention of John Stevens to her friend Ellen that evening. They sat together, they chose each other for every game, they talked together in the most confidential manner, and at last ended by going off together for a walk before the evening was half over. Of course, she had seen them act just that way before; but then she had cared nothing whatever about it; John was always very queer, and she never knew quite how to take him. In fact, that was about the only reason she had retained the slightest interest in him. A girl does so dislike a man who lets her know all there is to know about himself! A little discreet reserve is such a charm in a man.
Now, my lady Dian felt that she had been actuated by a very uncommon feeling down in the grove, and she had actually stooped to ask a man to do a favor for her own sweet sake if he loved her, forsooth. Certainly that man ought to respond by devoting himself to her at once and forever. And that man was doing the very opposite thing. Dian had forgotten that she was wearing Charlie Rose's ring; had quite forgotten all that might be involved or inferred from such a circumstance. She watched and waited for their return from the walk, feeling for the first time in her life, that somebody had slighted her.
It was not altogether an accident that she sat under the cottonwood tree on the return of the two, nor was it wholly by design that my lady looked like the very spirit of the night, with her simple white dress, her pale yellow gleaming hair breaking about her face in rings and waves, while her white arms, bared to the elbow, rested on her lap and deadened the white of her dress by their warm, creamy tints.
Charlie Rose stood at a little distance, evidently enjoying every detail of the beautiful picture as he leaned on the rude bars of the fence near Dian. Ellen came up to Dian, and as John sat down on one side of her, she slid close to her friend on the other side, and put her arms lovingly around her neck.
"Oh, Dian, isn't the night lovely?"
"Yes, dear, it is. But it is getting late and we must go in."
John sat so close to the fair-haired girl that he could see the starry shine in her soft blue eyes, and as he looked at her beautiful face the remembrance of the scene he had witnessed in the grove, and that this dear girl had been gazed at and admired by a wicked man, brought the hot tide of feeling welling up in his heart, and he was obliged to turn away his face from her dazzling beauty, while he slowly stroked his long beard, and listened to Charlie Rose exchanging poetic nonsense with the two girls.
"Two stars agleam in the silent night
Two girls a-dream in the soft moonlight,"
improvised Charlie.
"The girls have a dread of a cool evening breeze
For they catch a stray cough, two colds and a sneeze,"
jeered Dian in response. And she took Charlie's arm as she allowed him to escort her into the house.
Ah, John Stevens, John Stevens, your lesson is not learned yet!
As the two girls said good-night to their friends they instinctively sat down on their wagon-box bed for a long talk, something neither had enjoyed for weeks; and they felt all the joy of recovered confidence. What if Dian did feel a little half jealous of Ellen, and Ellen was more than a little jealous of Dian! They were girls, and were sincere friends. Jealousy could not rob them of their real affection for each other; they were both too noble for that.
In the long and confidential talk which followed, Dian learned far more of the young soldier's visits than had been told John Stevens. And while Dian could see that her friend had been in a very dangerous position, her own foolish action of the afternoon before closed her lips against giving the good advice with which she was generally so ready.
"But, you know, Dian, that it is all over now, and I am going to behave myself after this. Say, Dian, do you care anything about John Stevens?"
The question was a frank one, and Diantha was not the person to evade any sort of a question. But she was also honest, and she sat some minutes before giving her answer. She wanted to tell the exact truth.
"No, I don't care about John, in the sense of the word that you imply; I don't know whether I ever could or not. I can't tell; maybe, if he really loved me, and tried awfully hard to make me love him, well, I don't know, I'm sure. But one thing I am sure of, I don't care anything about him now, only as a friend. Why?"
"Oh, I just wanted to know, dear; for I believe I could love him better than any man on earth, if he would let me."
"Well, my dear, just you go on loving him, for I am sure he loves you, and I hope you will be happy with him."
It would not be the truth to say that dignified Dian felt no inner pang of jealousy as she uttered these generous sentiments. There stirred in her heart a very indistinct wish to know the exact condition of her friend John Stevens' affections. Curiosity in a woman is not always a common thing, but if once roused, it is apt to be a very strong motive.
That night there rode into Provo the Governor of Utah, accompanied by a strong posse of Utah militia. He had come to expostulate with Brigham Young, and to induce him to return to Salt Lake City. John Stevens was on his way from the evening frolic to the President's home, to take up his guard duty, when he met the party just riding into town. Governor Cumming hailed John with hearty friendship.
"Captain Stevens, I am happy to see you here. Will you kindly inform President Young that I wish to see him as soon as possible?"
John at once complied with this somewhat hurried and informal request, and was on hand at the conference which, late as was the hour, proved not very long, but certainly full of interest.
The anxious and wearied Governor laid before the "Mormon" leader all the conditions through which the Territory had just passed; he rehearsed in no measured terms his contempt for the actions of some of the Federal authorities; he assured the "Mormon" leaders that Gen. Johnston, who was now safely camped in the Cedar Valley, would do all in his power to bring about peace and harmony in the unhappy and distracted Territory. He told Brigham Young of the furore that the Southern Move, made by the whole population of Utah, had created in the East and in Europe. He laid before that leader of a hunted band of religionists copies of the "New York Times" and the "London Times," which contained bitter comments on this political blunder of the President of the United States. In closing his speech, he gave utterance to a manly appeal to Brigham Young to accept his pledges of security, and at once to take up his return march for Great Salt Lake City, saying:
"There is no longer any danger, sir. General Johnston and the army will keep faith with the 'Mormons.' Every one concerned with this happy settlement will keep faith and hold sacred the pardon and amnesty of the President of the United States. By – , sir, yes."
"We know all about it, Governor. Our memories are long. But we feel assured of your own integrity in this matter, and for that we grant you our fullest confidence and friendship."
"Then, sir," said the kindly-disposed official, "tomorrow, being the birthday of our glorious country, the Fourth of July, I shall publish a proclamation to the 'Mormons' for them to return to their homes."
"Do as you please, Governor Cumming," replied Brigham Young, with his quiet, shrewd smile. "Tomorrow I shall get upon the tongue of my wagon, and tell the people that I am going home, and that they can do as they please."
And it was so. The next morning in the cool daybreak, the leader of the hosts of that modern Israel stood upon his wagon seat, and in the clarion tones so familiar to his people, he called:
"To your tents, O Israel!"
And once more, but this time with paeans of mingled sorrow and rejoicing and songs of praise not unmixed with anxious future forebodings, the people prepared to take up the line of march backward to the deserted homes, to the grass-grown streets of Salt Lake City and to the sun-dried farms and fields of the northern Valley. The Southern Move was passing into the annals of a deeply engraved history.
XXVI
COL. SAXEY EXPOSTULATES
The hurry, confusion and turmoil consequent upon packing were endured gladly by every one in Provo and vicinity, for every heart beat high with joy that their beloved lands and homes were not to be left behind once more and they themselves turned again into the desert, homeless and poor.
Diantha rode to the city with her brother in his spring wagon. As she sat on the front seat, she was soon covered with dust, and with the loss of her pink and white complexion came an appreciable decline in the thermometer of her generally sweet and cheerful disposition. No one ever accused Diantha of vanity, but there was nothing which made my dainty lady so thoroughly annoyed as to feel that she was looking ugly and commonplace; and above all to know that she was disheveled, disorderly, or unclean; all of which goes to prove that all are of the earth, earthy.
Ellen Tyler rode several teams behind Dian, in her father's wagon, the spring carriage being occupied by other members of the family. Now, no matter how dusty the road nor how much at a disadvantage dear little Ellen might be placed, if she were only treated lovingly and kindly by those she loved, and if she were sure of "one true heart beside her," as she herself put it, she was always cheerful and pleasant. And Ellen was in high feather, for John Stevens drove the wagon she was in, and the whole journey seemed more like a pleasure trip than a dusty two days' journey.
The party were toiling up the long and steep grade to the north of the village of Lehi, and John was out of the wagon, walking beside his team, whistling occasionally to his horses, and sometimes coming up to the wagon to hear the merry chatter of his companion. He had allowed himself to get some distance behind his team when he saw, in a sudden turn of the road, a small party of horsemen coming towards them, and as the dust cleared away, he discovered they were soldiers. He tried to hurry up so that he might be near or reach Ellen before they passed her, for instinct warned him that there was need, yet it was too late. As they passed him, he gazed at the dashing captain – for it was Captain Sherwood, his own despised enemy – to whom he gave a look of hate and repugnance. It was returned with a flash of sneering triumph.
The gay captain had cause to be triumphant.
As he passed by the long train of wagons, his eyes were eagerly searching each wagon for the two faces he had come out purposely to see. He hardly knew Diantha. He had seen her but once, and now the gold of her hair was a tawny clay, and the tiny curls were stiff with dust; while the enchanting pink and white of her skin was lost in a deep, sun-flushed crimson, covered over with the dun dust of the valley road.
As soon as he recognized her, however, and that only as they met face to face, he raised his cap with a courtly bow.
Whether Diantha was a little afraid of her brother's instant anger, or whether she was moved by her own sense of right and propriety, or whether there was mingled with it all an indignation that she had not been recognized because of her unprepossessing appearance, she herself never tried to fathom; but certain it was that my lady stiffened herself into an attitude of freezing hauteur, visible through all her dusty disguises, and with a stony stare of her gleaming blue eyes, she coldly looked into the laughing black eyes bent upon her, and gave the soldier the cut direct.
"I say, old chap, that young lady would give pointers to a New Orleans belle in giving a fellow his conge, but I should say she was not bad-looking when properly dressed." So spake a fellow officer as the two rode at the head of their squad. Captain Sherwood had urged his superior officer, Col. Saxey, to come along, as he had learned that this party were on the road, and he wanted his friend to see the two girls who had so taken his own fancy.
Ellen saw them coming, and first looking discreetly back to see that John was well out of sight, she gave the captain a laughing and apologetic smile, and then turned her head coquettishly aside, as the horsemen dashed by.
"That girl is as pretty as the other, only in a different way," said Col. Saxey. "But I would advise you, Sherwood, to let these women alone. You will make yourself and others a great deal of unnecessary trouble, and I can't see that it will do you or anyone else any good."
"Oh, d – n your advice, Saxey. What is life, anyway?"
"Life," answered Col. Saxey to his friend Sherwood, "is pretty much what we make it; good, bad or indifferent. But, really, Sherwood, I wish you would take an old friend's advice, and let those 'Mormon' women alone. You know these people are nearly wild with fear anyway, and I think it the height of folly for us to add to their discomfiture."
"I can't imagine how I am going to hurt anybody by falling in love with a pretty girl, and even marrying her, if worst comes to worst."
"You know quite well, old fellow, you would never dream of marrying one of these uneducated, uncultured western girls; and when you remember that she is of 'Mormon' stock; what an absurdity! Why, what do you think your proud family down in Louisiana would say to such a thing? Give it up, Clem; give it up."
"Say, Saxey," and the young officer turned and faced his companion, reining in his horse to a halt that he might look the other fairly in the eyes, "I want you to tell me what you and I or any of the rest of our fellows are going to do out here, thousands of miles from home and civilization? I say, what are we going to do? I certainly need the love and tenderness of a dear little woman, such as one of these girls."
"I am more than surprised, Clem, to hear you speak so coolly of the ruin of a good, innocent girl. What can possess you?"
"What can possess you, my virtuous friend? Where have you learned your lessons of life, if not in the school of experience? I must be in love with somebody, and lucky it is for me that I have such delightful material to waste a bit of my time and heart's affection upon. You see that I am refined enough to wish even my bacon to be of the choicest cut, and fricasseed to the most delicate brown, instead of fried in huge slices and served with chunks of bread."
They were riding slowly on through the dust and heat, and the elder officer turned and looked keenly into the face of handsome Captain Sherwood, who was stroking his small black mustache, and smiling at his inward fancies.
"Sherwood," he said, at last, "I must confess that I have never in my life realized the full meaning of all you imply until this hour. Men allow themselves to float down the current of custom and do and say many things which are, it seems to me, in my present mood, unmanly as well as impure. True, men of the world have always done the same things, and rarely stop to ask questions in regard to the matter; but – well, in fact, things look a little different now."
"What has changed the current of your opinion, my wise friend?"
"Something in the face of that haughty girl, as she looked her disdain to you, and the look of fierce hatred which that tall, red-bearded fellow gave you as he passed you, have set me to thinking. Maybe we are as guilty of crime in hunting out these people as were the Roman soldiers when they burned the Christians at the stake."
Sherwood gazed with more and more astonishment at the words of his friend, and at the close of the little, conscience-stricken speech, he burst into a hearty peal of laughter, and again and again he laughed as he recalled the absurdity of such a comparison.
"You must excuse me, old boy, but it is too utterly funny for words. These adulterous, ignorant, impudent 'Mormons' to be compared to the ancient Christians? Ha, ha, ha!"
The elder man winced a little under the fire of ridicule, but his own sense of right and honor told him his position was the true one, and he felt stealing over him a contempt and repugnance for the man who could so recklessly plan the destruction of innocent, helpless womanhood.
The soldiers reached the outskirts of their own camp late that afternoon, and as Col. Saxey gazed at the crowded hive of huts and tents, filled with men, a few women, and many squaws, which composed the nondescript village just across the stream from Camp Floyd, he felt a sense of horror and dislike for all that this motley crowd signified, which he had never before felt, and which was as surprising as it was new to him.
Camp Floyd had been laid out with the care and skill which characterized all the labors of General Johnston. At the hillside lay the officers' quarters, while down the river a little lower were stationed the quarters of the men, with the parade ground between. All the tents had been pitched on a low three-foot adobe foundation, thus giving some measure of comfort to their temporary structures. Outside the camp, and across the bridge which spanned the small mountain stream, was a collection of rude log huts, one or two small adobe houses, and a great many tents of all sizes, all pitched on the low adobe walls. Here were gathered the usual camp followers, those who did the store-keeping, the washing, the ironing, the makers and vendors of every commodity bought and sold in the camp. In this place all grades of camp-followers were sheltered.
Men were there, some few decent and eager only for the labor and exchange of money for that labor which came to them; others willing to buy and sell anything on earth which could be traded off. The most of them were drunken, carousing, miserable wretches, possessed of no impulse but that of a selfish and sensual gratification. Here a coarse woman, with a flaunting air and a ribald jest, passed through the throng, and there a squaw sat beside the road, her eyes red with the whisky she had sold herself for, and her face horrible with the soulless leer of savage, half-drunken invitation.
A wave of horror passed over the sensitive face of Col. Saxey as this accustomed scene appeared to him for the first time in its true colors. He almost hated himself that he was a man. Sherwood noticed nothing unusual, and as they passed a woman with a red scarf across her shoulder, he tossed her a coin, as he said lightly:
"There is enough for two drunks, Liz, and don't try to run them both into one, either; for the last time you did that, you raised such a row that the Colonel threatened to have the whole place cleaned out."
Louisiana Liz, as she was called, screamed back her thanks, and with her large, dark, but bleared and blood-shot eyes she flashed up at the young man her most fascinating gaze.
Arrived at their own quarters, the officers were met by an orderly, who instructed them to report at headquarters that evening.
"I particularly request you gentlemen," said General Johnston, when they reported at his tent, "not so much in a military capacity, as in the name of decency and honor, to remain as much as possible in your own quarters, and to keep away from these 'Mormon' villages. As for the men, I wish you to deal severely with any of them who go far from camp; in fact I wish all to be done that can be done to keep down unnecessary excitement. You understand, gentlemen?"
"I wonder if the gallant general imagines," said Sherwood, as they walked away from the general's tent, "that any one is going to obey strictly his orders and requests. Why," said he, as the two were returning to their own tents, "he is either very simple or else very tame if he expects either officers or men are to be entirely restricted in making some sport out of this dead, dreary and absurd campaign."
"I think the general is entirely right, Sherwood, and so far as I am concerned, I shall do what I can to carry out his orders; even to reporting delinquents, officers as well as men," he added significantly, as he gave a quick glance at his companion.
"Oh, well, 'catching comes before hanging,' is a true if a vulgar proverb, so I bid you a pleasant good-night."
As Captain Sherwood turned into his own tent, he was surprised to find a figure dimly outlined by the sputtering tallow candle, crouching near his bunk.
"What on earth are you doing here, Liz? Don't you know it would mean severe punishment to you and disgrace to me, if you were found inside these lines?"
The half-breed Creole laughed with a low, sneering sound and answered softly:
"Do you think I have forgotten all the lessons of my youth, learned in the silent swamps of our early Louisiana home? Fear not, the snake herself is not more silent, nor the night-bird more swift in her flight than I. Fear not!" And she laughed again, with a quiet, mirthless chuckle.