The next morning, just before sunrise, Major Smith called John's attention to a speck on the eastern horizon.
"Let us go forward carefully, Stevens; we must be sure as to numbers and conditions of this oncoming train."
"There are only half a dozen teams as I make them out."
An hour's ride verified Stevens' keen power of sight. Riding swiftly up to the flurried teamsters, Lot Smith pre-emptorily ordered them to turn back; and turn back they did. But our mountain soldiers had other work to do, and so they rode forward for an hour.
"Major, I have a feeling that it would be well to take a look again at those teams we ordered to follow us. I can't see anything of their dust," said John, as they rode along.
The major turned on his horse and scanned the horizon behind them with shaded eyes and thoughtful mind.
"Stevens, take fifteen or twenty of the boys and go back there, and see if our orders have been obeyed. Meanwhile I will ride forward slowly."
Three hours after this, Stevens returned and reported that he had found the train once more headed westward; whereupon he had unloaded the freight, and set fire to the whole lot. The teamsters were preparing to come eastward again on their animals.
"Good, now let us ride eastward as fast as we can."
Turning in the direction of the Green River bluffs, the men rode into a small clump of willows by the stream, and decided to get some sleep before proceeding further. It was sorely needed, and proved refreshing to the band of weary men.
The next morning before daybreak they were in the saddle; and before riding an hour, the major discovered a cloud of dust coming from the old "Mormon" trail.
Riding fiercely into camp, Lot Smith demanded to see the captain.
"Captain Simpson is out huntin' cattle; and I guess if you want him you will have to hunt him," replied one of the teamsters.
"I'll look after your captain," bluntly announced Lot, and then cocking his own gun as a signal to his men to follow suit, he quietly added, "but you fellows can just fork over your shooting irons; we are wanting some implements of that kind just now."
There was a flash in the red-brown eyes of Lot Smith, and every teamster carefully gathered up his pistol or gun and delivered it over to Stevens, who distributed them among the men.
Leaving Stevens in charge of the camp, Lot Smith rode out to meet the captain, whose name was Simpson. He was driving in some animals, and Lot simply said: "Captain, I am here on urgent business."
The man addressed was no coward, and his eyes flashed as he demanded the nature of that business.
"Just hand over your pistols, and I will let you know the nature of it," answered Smith.
Spurring his horse towards the train, Simpson replied: "No man ever took my pistols yet; and if you think you can without first killing me, try it."
They were all the time riding full gallop towards the train.
"I admire a brave man, captain, but I don't like blood. You insist on me killing you, which would only take a minute, but I don't want to do it. If you will take the trouble to look that way, captain, instead of glaring into my eyes, you will see that your teamsters are in a ticklish situation."
They had ridden as close together as their panting, reeking horses would allow, each looking fire and death into the blazing eyes of the other; but when Simpson raised his eyes and saw his own teamsters huddled together, unarmed and shivering, under the cocked guns of the mountaineers, he turned to Smith and muttered: "You have me at a bitter disadvantage."
"We don't need that advantage, captain. What would you do if I should give up your arms?"
"I'll fight you," answered the captain, between his teeth.
The two had now reached the camp.
"Well, we know something about that, too, Take up your arms."
The teamsters shrank back as one man.
"Not by a d – d sight," one of them exclaimed. "We came out here to whack bulls, and not to fight."
"What do you say to that, captain?" asked Smith.
With another violent oath, the captain ground his teeth and replied: "If I had been here before, and they had refused to fight, I would have killed every man of them."
Major Smith was too brave a man not to be touched by this manly, yet reckless spirit; and after some parley with Stevens, he ordered his men to give Simpson two of the loaded guns, with two of the loaded wagons, to keep his men from starvation until their return to the Eastern States, and then ordering all out of the way, he called out for a big burly Irishman, a non-"Mormon," who had followed Stevens from the trains the day before, and had offered to join their forces: "Here, Dawson, you can put the torch to these trains; it is very proper for the Gentiles to spoil the Gentiles."
The whole train of fifty-two wagons was burned; after which the mountaineers rode away, telling the teamsters that they could take what provisions they had secured for themselves to their comrades, a few miles away, and then return; and if any attempt were made to extinguish the flames, summary punishment would be administered to the offenders.
XI
"IN THE VALLEY OR HELL"
The details of that peculiar and providential winter of 1857-8 are written in lines of vivid interest and incident through the pages of recorded history. The pen would fain linger to describe how Lot Smith and his brave companions followed up their arranged course, burning grass and trees, tearing up bridges, and demolishing houses or huts of shelter everywhere along the road.
Fort Bridger, the point to which the army of Utah had made its slow, plainful way, was a mass of ruins when entered by Colonel Albert Sidney Johnston and his half-frozen soldiers and the remnants of his trains and stock. I cannot refrain from giving the words of the report of this awful march, made to Congress by the two commanding officers, Colonel Johnston and Colonel St. George Cooke.
The condition of the main division is thus stated by Colonel Johnston:
"The expedition was now ordered to Fort Bridger, and at every step the difficulties increased. There were only thirty-five miles to be traversed, but excepting on the margin of a few slender streams, the country through which our route lay is the barest of desert land. There is no shelter from the chilly blasts of this mountain solitude, where even in November, the thermometer sometimes sinks to 16 degrees below zero. There is no fuel but the wild sage and willow; and there is little pasture for the half-frozen cattle. Our march commenced on the sixth of November, and on the previous night five hundred of our strongest cattle were taken by the 'Mormons.' The trains extended over six miles, and all day long sleet and snow fell on the retreating column. Some of the men were frost bitten, and the exhausted animals were goaded by their drivers, until many of them fell dead in their traces. At sunset the troops camped wherever they could find a particle of shelter, some under bluffs, and some in the willow copses. At daybreak the camp was surrounded by the carcasses of frozen cattle, of which several hundred had perished during the night. Still, as the trains arrived from the rear, each one halted for a day or more, giving time for the cattle to graze and rest on such scant herbage as they could find. To press forward more rapidly was impossible, for it would have cost the lives of most of the draft animals; to find shelter was equally impossible, there was none. There was no alternative but to proceed slowly and persistently, saving as many as possible of the horses, mules and oxen. Fifteen days were required for this difficult operation."
Arrived at Fort Bridger, though they found the whole place in ruins, the camp was struck, and tents were erected. Here the army of the United States wintered, calling the camp Fort Scott.
A fine commentary on the foolish extravagance and thoughtless waste of money involved in the fitting out of this disastrous campaign was furnished by the opening of the few supply wagons left them by their relentless pursuers. The wagons loaded with provisions had been burned; the wagons that survived were filled with bedticks and camp kettles. For two thousand six hundred men, wintering in a region seven thousand feet above the sea level, where at night the thermometer always sank below zero, there were three thousand one hundred and fifty bedticks, and only seven hundred and twenty-three blankets; there were one thousand five hundred pairs of epaulettes and metallic scales, but only nine hundred coats and six hundred overcoats; there were three hundred and seven cap-covers, and only one hundred and ninety caps; there were one thousand and ninety military stocks; some of the men were already barefooted and others had no covering for their feet but moccasins, while there were only eight hundred and twenty-three pairs of boots and six hundred pairs of stockings. One wagon was entirely freighted with camp-kettles; with nothing to cook, and no salt with which to season their nothingness.
An extract from Colonel St. George Cooke's report gives quite a dismal picture of his own division. He says:
"The north wind and drifting snow became severe; the air seemed turned to frozen fog, nothing could be seen; we were struggling in a freezing cloud. The lofty wall of Three Crossings was a happy relief; but the guide who had lately passed there was relentless in pronouncing that there was no grass at that point. As he promised grass and shelter two miles further, we marched on, crossing twice more the rocky stream, half-choked with snow and ice; finally he led us behind a great granite rock, but all too small for the promised shelter. Only a part of the regiment could huddle there in the deep snow; whilst the long night through the storm continued, and fearful eddies, above, below and behind, drove the falling and drifting snow. Meanwhile the animals were driven once more across the stream, to the base of the granite ridge, which faced the storm, but where there was grass. They refused to eat; the mules huddled together, moaning piteously, while some of the horses broke from the guard and went back to the ford. The next day, better camping ground was reached ten miles farther on. On the morning of the eighth, the thermometer marked 44 degrees below the freezing point; but in this weather and through deep snow, the men made eighteen miles, and the following day nineteen miles, to the next camping ground on Bitter Creek, on the Sweetwater. On the 10th, matters were still worse. Herders, left to bring up the rear, with the stray mules, could not force them from the valley, and they were left to perish. Nine horses were also abandoned. At night the thermometer marked twenty-five degrees below zero; nearly all the tent pins were broken, and nearly forty soldiers and teamsters were on the sick list, most of them being frost-bitten. The earth has no more lifeless, treeless, grassless desert; it contains scarcely a wolf to glut itself on the hundreds of dead and frozen animals which, for thirty miles, nearly blocked the road."
Such was the condition in which this flower of the American army found itself when about ready, as they supposed, to enter the Valley of the Great Salt Lake and subdue a handful of unoffending and simple-hearted people. Something was certainly done by the small band of hardy men who followed and surrounded the army with harassing circumstances; but they did little compared with the forces which were brought to bear by the God of nature, who undertook to fight this battle according to His own good pleasure and plan.
XII
THE FRIEND OF BRIGHAM YOUNG
The bright fire upon the wide hearthstone in Aunt Clara's sitting room in Great Salt Lake City seemed all the brighter to the young man who opened the cheerful green door late in the afternoon on the 24th day of February, 1858. The slow moving figure of Aunt Clara swung around from her busy loom in the corner, as she looked to see who her visitor was.
"You, John? I thought you were in Echo Canyon or in San Bernardino, or on the Southern Mexican route."
"So I was till this morning; I have come to see if you will take a stranger for a few days, who is sent to you by Governor Young."
"Anyone sent from President Young is welcome, and John, anyone you bring is welcome also."
John Stevens thanked her and added that he would return shortly with his guest, and then departed as silently and swiftly as he had come.
"Ellen," called Aunt Clara to the girl whose spinning wheel whirred from the kitchen, "bring some more wood for the fire-place, and put the clean white blankets in the front bedroom. Have we enough white flour to make some biscuits?"
Ellen came into the sitting-room, followed by her friend Dian, who was busily engaged in knitting at some large, coarse but warm socks. Dian did not stop as she walked, but knitted away as if life depended upon the "stunt" being accomplished before the dusk should come upon her.
"Why do you want to make biscuits tonight, Aunt Clara?" asked Ellen.
The answer produced much scurrying of the girl's quick feet, and in less than half an hour, the table was set in the clean front sitting room, shining with the few cherished china pieces brought from the early colonial days into these bleak mountain valleys by this Puritan daughter from New England's wave-washed shores. Ellen set some eggs to wait their turn at the great open fire-place, and in the covered bake skillet were browning the cream biscuits which only Aunt Clara could compound from the various chemical resultants of lye made from wood-ashes and the pleasant acid of soured cream. Serviceberry preserves glowed darkly through the one precious glass dish, and soft Dutch cheese was molded into oval richness on a china saucer. A pitcher of foaming milk testified to its recent cold storage; and a plate of doughnuts flanked the cheese. It was a hasty meal, but none the less appetizing; and was ready none too soon.
A strong yet quick rap at the front door introduced John Stevens, to be followed by a dusty, travel-stained man, of small stature, and of an exceedingly dignified mien, yet looking very feeble and ill.
"Mrs. Tyler, let me introduce Dr. Osborne," said John gravely, and the gentleman bowed courteously over the extended hand of his hostess. The lady looked at the traveler with a curious half remembrance in her black eyes, but the "doctor" responded with only a grave salute, as he followed his hostess into the low-ceiled bedchamber, just off the sitting-room.
"John," said Aunt Clara, when she returned, "I have surely seen that gentleman somewhere, but I can't tell where for the life of me. He is very tired and looks sick;" and she gazed thoughtfully and inquiringly at dusty John Stevens, who only stroked his long beard and gazed kindly at her without reply.
"Hurry, John," called Ellen from the inner kitchen door; "supper is all ready, and if you are going to eat with this gentleman, you will need to hurry and wash. Come out here to the porch; I have water and a clean towel for you."
Dian was still knitting away for dear life, near the small-framed west window; John halted a moment at her side.
"What's the hurry?" he asked, laconically, as he touched the dark grey ribbed stocking swinging from the shining needles in her deft fingers.
"Oh, it's for the Utah militia boys. Aunt Clara has kept us girls knitting and spinning, sewing and weaving, night and day, for the soldiers. We don't mind, for it's all we can do to help along."
"Any particular soldier?" he queried, indifferently. Dian glanced up to discover a latent meaning, but John's cool gaze gave her no clue. However, a girl flings many chance shots, and some are sure to hit. So she replied with a supercilious accent: "Oh, I promised Charlie Rose to knit all the socks he needed for the expedition. Will you take these to him?"
"Certainly," answered John, gravely. He turned and left her, saying: "Charlie will be real grateful for your kindness."
"How provoking men can be," thought Dian.
Left with Dian, Aunt Clara stood in the center of the floor, her dark eyes fixed in an absent-minded stare, so common to her when she was trying to puzzle out some mental problem that eluded her. Where had she seen her visitor? Dian hurried away to her home across the way, ignorant both of Aunt Clara's problem or its possible solution.
As soon as the supper was despatched, Aunt Clara followed her two guests out of the front door, and said softly to John, "Come back after your interview with the President, John; I have something to tell you."
John nodded assent, and he and the traveler melted away into the freezing gloom of the winter's darkness.
But John did not return with his visitor till after midnight, and then, finding the front door on the latch, as was usual in that safe and honest pioneer town, he guided his guest by the light of the fire into the front chamber, now somewhat warmed by the open door from the sitting room, and, lighting the tallow candle left on the light-stand by the bedside for his guest, he softly made all as comfortable as he could and then left the traveler to seek a much-needed repose.
Who was the traveler and what was his business with President Young? This was the thought that flashed and wandered in and out of the sleepless brain of Aunt Clara, hour after hour, in that still and cold night. She knew much of her people's inner, unwritten history, for hers was the silent tongue and quick sympathy which drew all men, as well as women, to her tender heart and warm hearthstone for help and counsel. She had been the trusted friend of the great Prophet Joseph Smith, and to him she had given more than a human devotion; she had accorded him his place beside the greatest martyrs in Biblical history. She was likewise the confidential friend of his successor, Brigham Young; to Aunt Clara the great Pioneer often looked when he had a delicate task which needed the quickness and subtlety of a woman's help. And now she could not sleep till she had puzzled out her puzzle, and had answered the challenge of her unerring memory.
Daylight had brought the answer. Aunt Clara was up early, and, by the light of her candle, was kneading the loaves for the day's baking. To her soon came Ellen, intent on finishing her spinning and reeling before daylight should bring breakfast and interruption.
"Do you suppose that this is another of those splendid United States soldiers?" asked Ellen, her feet stepping off the regular rhythm of the whizzing yarn, as it whirled and spun from the steel point into fine threads under the flying fingers of the industrious girl. Her wheel paused in its onward circling flight to catch Aunt Clara's answer:
"No, dear; if he were, John would have taken him down to the Salt Lake House. And how could John bring in a soldier? They are all out east. John has been down to San Bernardino."
Evidently Aunt Clara herself had been busy with the same question, which still did not possess so vital an interest for youth as for experienced age. Youth leaned upon the wisdom of Brigham Young, and the proved Providence which drew them safely from most difficulties; maturity grasped the dangers and difficulties with surer fear, and sought to find answers to every problem.
"Well, one thing is certain, Aunt Clara. President Young has kept the soldiers out of the Valley, and the winter is half over."
"True, dear; but no one but God knows what is ahead of us just now. One thing just now, however, is to get this yarn all spun, reeled and woven into good coats for our soldiers;" and Aunt Clara slid into her seat before the huge loom, as if to shut off further discussion.
When the traveler came into the room two hours later, he found the wintry sun well started on his morning pilgrimage and his hostess placing his modest breakfast on the table in the sitting room; he noted every point of the innate refinement and peace which filled the small place with more than human sweetness. The delicately crocheted white window-curtains, the cushioned rush-bottomed chairs, all of them garnished neatly with antimacassars, tied with green ribbons; the windows filled with geraniums and blooming petunias; and the great hand-loom in the corner of the roomy sitting-room only added to its homelike air.
He walked up to the fire-place and as he stretched out his hands to the blaze, he said cordially:
"Well, Aunt Clara, have you found me out yet?"
"Yes, Colonel Haines, I discovered you not more than three hours ago."
"What was your clue?"
"You spoke of our people last night as your friends; there is but one man in the United States who thus refers to this hunted people."
"I had no idea that I could remain so long incognito to those keen eyes and ears of yours, Aunt Clara. You see I've not forgotten the quaint Yankee term by which all of your friends designated you in Nauvoo?"
"Have you had your interview with the President?"
"Yes, and I must say again, what I have said before: if the government of this country knew Brigham Young as I know him, they would honor themselves by honoring him with every trust and responsibility they could bestow."
"Ah, Colonel, how few men ever get human perspective. Only a true man himself may discover truth and honor in another."
"I find your people very sore, and naturally so; but President Young has wisely agreed to welcome Governor Cumming into the Territory, and I think he will permit the army to be quartered somewhere, not too near your settlements; I can appreciate his dislike to bringing the turbulent elements of army life into too close a juxtaposition with your innocent and sylvan communities. Yet the great government of which we are all proud factors has sent an army here – right or wrong – to be quartered within the confines of this Territory; and I was sure that President Young only needed the assurance that Governor Cumming comes here as an element of peace, and not as a casus belli, to accept wisely and quietly the unfortunate situation. Captain Van Arden has been a good friend to your people, my dear lady. We are to hold another council meeting this morning, and then I shall take myself from under your hospitable roof and go on my way."
"Surely, Colonel, you will not think of taking up another journey in this terrible winter season, and you in the delicate state of health which is evidenced in the lines of pain just now showing upon your face?"
"Fear not, friend Clara. Your president promised me last night that my life should be spared to complete this and other good works; and you know that I look upon Brigham Young as a prophet."
Aunt Clara moved quietly about the room for a few moments; then, coming up to the table once more, she said reverently, with the deep tenderness that only a devout woman may express in voice and eyes:
"Friend Thomas, I feel that God has sent you here to put a stop to this terrible misunderstanding and tragedy."
"Dear old friend, you are just repeating the words of our mutual friend and President, Brigham Young, last night, as he gave me his goodnight hand-clasp. And now tell me who is that exceedingly pretty girl who was in here last night?"
"That is the daughter of my dead sister; she lives with me and assists me as my own daughter would have done, if she had lived."
"She is certainly good to look upon. May I charge you to look well after her? The future advent of many strange men into this primitive society of yours will call for the closest watching and the most loving care on the part of you older ones."
"Ellen is the light of our eyes; she is a good girl, Colonel Haines; very loving and sincere; she is easy to lead and asks only for love in return."
"Ah, Aunt Clara, it is the paradox of human nature that man, who should be the protector of woman, is too often her assailant; and that the kindly virtues of a woman which make her the best of wives and mothers, too often renders her the easiest prey to a wicked man."
"Have you noted anything wrong with my Ellen, sir?" asked Aunt Clara, in mournful surprise.
"Not so. She is just a little too endowed with natural loveliness for her complete safety in this unhappy world."
Then, saying a few words of gratitude, the Colonel, or "Doctor Osborne," arose and put on his heavy army cloak.
"May I ask you one question, Colonel?"
"A dozen, if you will."
"Why do you come here to us under an assumed name?"
"Ah, that is easy to answer; for you yourself have riddled me my riddle. I had received such generous and courteous treatment in your old unhappy city of Nauvoo, and had made so many warm friends there, that I wondered if it could be that you had changed into the creatures that your enemies in Washington tried to convince me you were; so I chose to come under a borrowed name, and thus test all round your quality of hospitality. And my good friend Aunt Clara Tyler has proved for me all that I sought to discover."
The interview at the President's office that day was so satisfactory that within twenty-four hours, John Stevens was once more at the head of an escort which was to convey Colonel Haines, the mediator, the friend, and the great heart, on his mission of mercy and peace into the lines of Federal armies quartered at Fort Scott, on Black's Fork.