The next morning at daybreak, the party began the long steady climb
amidst crags and pine covered hills, up through the rocky windings of
"The Stairs," and still up. The party laughed, sang, walked, climbed,
or rested for a moment beside the churning, foaming mountain stream or
beneath the shadowing pine trees which bordered the newly made road. As
the long cavalcade wound in and out between the hills, the two girls
in the wagon drawn by John Stevens' spirited horses, sang and laughed
in gayest abandon. Aunt Clara's eyes were full of tender gratitude for
such happiness, for she had known the sorrows of many mobbings and
drivings. This haven of peace and joyous plenty was a foretaste of
heaven to the faithful heart which had braved more than the persecution
of strangers; for Aunt Clara had left home, parents, and all she
held dear for the sake of that Gospel which spelled Truth and Life
Everlasting to its faithful votaries.
"Oh, John," cried Diantha at last, "You must let Ellie and me walk;
I just can't resist the pleading call of those gorgeous flowers.
Bluebells, and red-bells--and oh, the exquisite columbines! Look,
Ellie, look! Stop, John, stop! Ellie and I will walk."
John himself was walking beside his team up the heavy, seemingly
never-ending grade of that twenty mile ascent, while Tom Allen and
Charlie Rose placed an occasional block under the wheels or stood upon
them, while the panting horses rested for a moment.
"Here you are," called Charlie, as he heard Dian's plea, "'my waiting
arms will hold you,'" and he held out his arms in mock pleading.
"Aunt Clara's lips will scold you," jeered Dian as she climbed safely
down on the other side. But Ellen jumped gayly into the grasp of the
waiting cavalier, whose modest action in placing her gently on the
hillside belied his bombastic appeal.
"Spirit of the hills, descend and greet,
The pressing of her eager feet,"
sang Charlie as he followed the flying girls, gayly improvising his
boyish madrigals to meet each incident of the day.
The girls climbed from point to point, always going upward, but keeping
out of the way of passing teams. Their arms were soon filled with the
blooms of riotous colors and perfume which intoxicated them with the
blush and glory of the color song of peak and mountain vale.
"Her spicy cheeks were red with bloom,
Her colored breath was panting;
As with a thousand flowers of June--"
Charlie paused to block the wheel, and Diantha finished his doggerel
for him,
"She mocked at Charlie's ranting."
and Aunt Clara who felt faint herself from the rarified air that they
were all conscious of, looked anxiously at the somewhat delicate frame
of her foster-daughter.
"Tom, I believe you, too, are uncomfortable."
Tom Allen was almost speechless, for his bulky form was nearly overcome
with the constant climbing; but he would not betray the fact to the
scorn of Charlie Rose: for Tom dreaded to be teased quite as much as he
loved to tease others. So he quieted his panting breath to say, "Aunt
Clara, I think I heard some one say you had some doughnuts in one of
those baskets; where could we find a better place to eat our frugal
meal than beside this purling stream."
"Just a mile or so, more," interposed John Stevens. "We are almost
there; can't you exercise patience for another hour?"
At that moment, however, word was passed down the line that all would
pause half an hour to rest animals and men.
The cavalcade had passed the two lower sawmills, with the roomy cabins
decorated with waving flags. Now they halted beside the third and last
mill, nestled in the crevice of the canyon. Its buzzing industry was
stilled for this wondrous day, while the workmen and their families
gathered in the grassy space to meet and welcome the company. For their
pleasure they had not only made the last five miles of that difficult
road into the vale of the Silver Lake, just above, but had also
erected three spacious boweries with comfortable floors and seats to
accommodate the gay revelers.
Everybody seemed moved with a common impulse for "doughnuts;" for the
President himself, as he halted at the "saw-mill," stepped up to Aunt
Clara Tyler and accepted courteously her offer of fried cakes.
The impatient girls were glad, nevertheless, when the half-hour was
over, and they could once more resume their places in the wagon for
the final steep climb to the place of destination. When they mounted
the last summit of that low northern rim encircling the valley of
their desire, both girlish throats were at once filled with excited
exclamations of delight, as the fairy scene burst upon their view.
An emerald-tinted valley with a silvery lake empearled on its western
rim lay before them, cupped in a circle of embracing hills and
snow-covered crags. The summits of the eastern and western hills were
crowned with pine, which here and there, like dusky sentinels, traced
their lines down, down to the water's edge. That gleaming, brilliant,
silent water! Every tree upon its brink was reproduced, and even the
clouds above floated again in soft, tremulous pictures beneath the
surface of this beautiful mountain mirror. Sheer above the lake on the
south towered white granite cliffs, holding here and there a whiter
bloom of snow in their pale embrace.
Ellen jumped excitedly from her seat to lean over and hug her friend
Diantha, as the wagon rolled slowly down the smooth road to the spot
which John had selected for the Winthrop and Tyler tents, close to
the marquee of President Young. Dian put up a caressing hand to the
soft cheek of her enthusiastic friend, Ellen, and leaned her own cheek
tenderly against the one bending over her shoulder.
"Oh, Dian," breathed the happy girl, "I never thought there was so much
beauty in all Utah."
"Utah is the home of beauty and goodness," said Charlie Rose gallantly,
and even Dian could not answer this trite compliment saucily, for her
heart was melted with rapture at sight of so much grandeur.
The camp was located on a fairy-like spot, overlooking the surrounding
meadows and lake. The boweries, President Young's marquee, and
President Heber C. Kimball's tent, occupied an open space amid the
small copses of pine on the north side of the lake. The tents,
carriages and wagons, were soon grouped about these central points. A
massive granite rock, fifty-four feet in circumference by fifty-four
feet high, stood at the entrance of this lovely, natural bower; from
the center of this spot, and apparently without earth to sustain them,
grew three pine trees, which were fringed round at the top of the rock
with a thick cluster of young pines, about two feet high. A large flag
was suspended from these trees, bearing the motto "Clear the Way,"
with an all seeing eye in the oval of the upper margin, above two
clasped hands, under which, inscribed on a scroll, were the words,
"Blessings Follow Sacrifices." A representation of the Pioneer company
crossing the North Platte River, on rafts, occupied the central space
of this great flag. Below was another legend, "The Pioneers of 1847
at the Upper Crossing of the Platte, in Pursuit of the Valleys of the
Mountains."
A little farther to the right, and near the northwest corner of the
great, central, hundred foot bowery, was a stately pine, from which
floated the loveliest flag on earth--the Stars and Stripes--its silken
folds now whipping out wide and full now curling in graceful half
circles around the unique flagstaff.
Another banner near by, bore the representation of a bundle of
sticks, bound together with strong cords, and the inscription, "The
Constitution of the United States. Equal Rights! Woe to the Violators!"
From the front of the central bowery hung three great banners, the
first having painted thereon a rock in the midst of billowing waves;
from the summit of the rock floated the starry flag, and below was the
inscription, "The Constitution of the United States! The 'Mormons'
will Defend the Rock! Who can Prevail Against it?" The second banner
had the picture of a lion, with one paw upon a rock above which was
the inscription "Utah Courage," and underneath in golden letters, "The
Spirit of '76 is not Dead." The third banner had a lion standing beside
the docile figure of a recumbent lamb, with the inscription, "Peace
Reigns Here," painted across the silken surface beneath.
On the tallest pines at the crowning point of both eastern and western
summits, there floated great flags, the red, white and blue of their
glory accentuated by the clear, brilliant blue of the sky, and the deep
green of the wooded slopes.
Scattered here and there were massive swings for the youth, while the
little ones were well provided with low swings and wide seats.
Major Robert T. Burton, of the Nauvoo and Utah Militia, with a
detachment of life-guards, had charge of the swings and the rafts on
the lakes, to guard against accidents. John Stevens was detailed to his
own full share of this guard duty, and was therefore soon absent from
the merry party he had brought so carefully to the camp.
The labor of setting up tents and arranging camp filled the remaining
afternoon hours, and Dian was glad when her brother said, "You can go
now, my girl; Rachel and I will finish; take this feather bed over to
Aunt Clara's tent, for Rachel wants her to be comfortable."
"What a kind thought, Appleton; Aunt Clara does so much sick nursing
that she needs to have a good bed. Tell Rachel I think she is pretty
good to give up her own bed."
"That's all right. Rachel and I are young, and can sleep on the ground,
when we need to. She says Aunt Clara was so anxious to make you young
people happy that she gave up all the room she could for your spring
seats and yourselves."
"Aunt Clara is good to us, and Rachel is good to her. Pretty good
religion that, brother, eh? Rachel is very thoughtful, Appleton."
"Yes, she is the best woman on earth, Dolly. I appreciate her, if I am
cross at times. Hark! That's the bugle call for prayers. Run along with
your bed, Dian."
"Allow me to assist in this operation," and merry Charlie Rose appeared
just in time to carry the bulky bed into Aunt Clara's tent.
The camp gathered in the central bowery, at the cool sunset hour, and
the choir sang "Come, Come Ye Saints."
Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear,
But with joy wend your way;
Though hard to you this journey may appear,
Grace shall be as your day.
'Tis better far for us to strive,
Our useless cares from us to drive.
Do this, and joy your hearts will swell--
All is well! all is well!
Why should we mourn, or think our lot is hard?
'Tis not so; all is right!
Why should we think to earn a great reward,
If we now shun the fight?
Gird up your loins, fresh courage take,
Our God will never us forsake;
And soon we'll have this tale to tell--
All is well! all is well!
We'll find the place which God for us prepared,
Far away in the West;
Where none shall come to hurt or make afraid;
There the Saints will be blessed.
We'll make the air with music ring,
Shout praises to our God and King;
Above the rest these words we'll tell--
All is well! all is well!
And should we die before our journey's through,
Happy day! all is well!
We then are free from toil and sorrow too;
With the just we shall dwell.
But if our lives are spared again
To see the Saints, their rest obtain,
O, how we'll make this chorus swell--
All is well! all is well!
After the song, the attention of the assembly was riveted upon the
dignified form of Brigham Young as he advanced to the edge of the
raised platform and said:
"We unite, my friends and brothers, and sisters, in gratitude to that
Father who has permitted us to enjoy this festal occasion. Tomorrow
morning, at seven o'clock, the bugle will call you here to morning
devotions, except those who are detained at their wagons. We wish those
who have children here to see that they are in the tents, and not have
the cry go forth that this, that and the other child is lost. I also
wish to give a word of caution to all who may visit this lake or the
ones in the hidden vales above us. I would rather have stayed at home
than to have it said that a child has been lost, or any person drowned
through visiting this place.
"Suppose a child was lost in the woods and could not be found; suppose
you should lose a sister, a daughter, or a companion on this lake; you
would always think of your visit to Big Cottonwood Canyon with bitter
regret. A circumstance of this kind would mar the peace of everyone.
I wish the sisters and children to keep away from these rafts, unless
they have some person in their company capable of taking care of them;
if they know enough to do so as they should, they will listen to this
counsel.
"Here are swings and boweries prepared for your enjoyment; here are
most beautiful groves, meandering streams, and lovely sheets of
water, amid the towering peaks of the Wasatch mountains. Here are the
stupendous works of the God of Nature, though all do not appreciate
His wisdom, manifested in His works, but are tempted to recklessness
through the buoyant feelings of youth and health, and without caution,
are liable to run into danger.
"Some, if they had the power, would be on the other side of those
loftly peaks in ten minutes, instead of calmly meditating upon the
wonderful works of God, and His kind providence that has watched over
us and provided for us, more especially in the last fifteen years of
our history. I could sit here for a month and reflect on the mercies
of our God, and humble myself in thankfulness because of His favors to
myself as an individual, and to all this great people.
"What do you think the Prophet Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum, the
Patriarch, would have given to have seen this day in the flesh, and to
have been here instead of being taken to Carthage, like lambs to their
slaughter, and butchered by their enemies? We are hid up in the Lord's
secret chambers, according to His promise, where none can molest us, or
make us afraid."
Diantha's whole body shivered in an inner resistance as the President
uttered this joyful challenge to fate. But she listened attentively as
the further quiet words fell from his lips:
"Here is a good floor which we have prepared expressly for your
enjoyment, there are two other boweries for the mothers and their
children, and here are three bands of musicians, together with
our Nauvoo Brass Band and Brother Huntington's Martial Band. The
Springville band and the Ogden band will both assist Professor Ballo
who has charge of the great orchestra provided for dancing. Before we
have our evening prayers, Professor Ballo will favor us with one of his
classical selections,--'what do you call it, Brother Ballo?'" asked
the President calmly, across the pavilion, and the musician flushed
slightly as he responded from the opposite platform:
"It is the Overture to Tancreda," profusely bowing in his embarrassment.
And with that the band struck up the exquisite strains of that tuneful
offering to youth and courage, while the people listened with well
placed musical sympathy, to this unusual burst of melody, in the virgin
solitudes of this sylvan vale. The very hills took up the theme of that
lovely opera by Rosinni, and echoed and re-echoed the fine harmony with
all the Silver Lake's famous echo.
As the massive form of the President's Counselor, Heber C. Kimball,
stepped out to offer the evening prayer for that happy camp, sweet
Ellen's soul sang and sang the words of the prayer into the straining
melody of the Overture to Tancreda, but alas, Ellen's music was hidden
in her soul and had not been taught to find expression on her lips, or
from her finger-tips.
After prayers, the people dispersed to their tents to finish
preparations for rest, or to join in dance and song around camp fires
or in the great boweries.
At the Winthrop tent, Rachel was completing her camp arrangements.
"Just see 'Enry B'yle 'ang 'round Di," muttered Dian's brother Harvey
to his chums as they carried bundles and boxes from the wagons to the
tents, "He is too fine to chop and dig; he leaves that to John and
father."
"I'm going to tell mother to set him to work, said Lucy, who at once
ran to put her threat into execution.
"Miss Diantha, what can I do to help you?" asked the gallant young
man, on receiving the hint from frank Rachel Willis. Thereupon he took
bundles and parcels from the girl, she laughing again and again at his
awkward attempts to be useful around a camp fire.
The camp-fires, now began to shoot steady flames into the darkening
sky; the squeak, squeak of the fiddles was answered by the toot of the
brass horns, and martial and stringed bands united their forces in
loud, triumphant invitations to "dance."
And how they danced! Old and young, short and tall, fat and slim--the
temporary floor groaning and shivering beneath the hundreds of merry,
flying, stamping feet.
Huge camp fires, all over the valley, flung dancing flames and sparks
high into the fleecy evening clouds, while at each corner of the
pavilion, great pine trees, brought from the hills and set upright
for the purpose, burned a spicy, fragrant glowing radiance into every
crevice and corner of the bowered halls.
"Are you going to dance with me?" drawled John Stevens, through his
long beard, as he suddenly appeared at Diantha's side. She stood in
the brilliant light of the burning pine tree, near the bowery, her
tall, graceful figure melting into divine curves under the simple,
white frock she wore, her arms uncovered to the elbow and her lovely
neck just bared to show the proud lines which dipped in smooth beauty
from ear-tips to shoulders. Her columned throat pulsated with bounding
life under the snowy skin, as she moved her pretty head from side to
side, while the crown of her yellow hair which was coronaded in heavy
braids around and around the shapely head, broke into tiny curls on her
temples and at the white nape of the neck, and was a glittering mass of
spun gold in the dancing flames which heightened both color and quality
of that mass of silken charm.
"Why, of course, I am, if you ask me to," Dian replied frankly.
She knew John was not much of a dancer, being very tall, and not
very fond of gyrating around as rapidly as the swift music demanded.
However, she took his arm and they walked out upon the floor; a waltz
was called, and then the girl looked up in her companion's face with a
dismayed glance, and he gazed at her with a quizzical response to her
misgiving. Of all dances, he was least at home in a waltz.
Once,--twice,--they tried to turn around but without much success. They
stumbled over other couples on the floor. In spite of Dian's heroic
efforts to keep her giant upright and in time with the step, he stopped
suddenly and exclaimed: "I think we shall have to call that a failure."
She looked up quickly to see if there was not a shade of disappointment
on his face, and she rejoiced with a wicked joy, when dapper young
Henry Boyle came up immediately and carried her off to dance, with all
the grace and rhythm that was so necessary a part of a perfect waltz.
They passed John once or twice, as he stood under the blazing pine,
stroking his beard and watching the dancers with an inscrutable
expression.
Diantha forgot him by and by, and did not again think of him, for her
time was so filled with calls for dances that she had no time to think
of anybody or anything but her own excited self.
After a few hours of dancing, the girl accepted Henry Boyle's
invitation to walk out around camp awhile, and together they traversed
the small valley. As they passed their own camp-fire, where sat her
sister-in-law, Rachel Winthrop, chatting with Aunt Clara, she suddenly
wondered where John Stevens had been all the evening.
"Have you seen John, this evening?" she asked Rachel.
"Yes, he has been here, once or twice, getting some cakes and milk for
himself and partner, I guess, for he took two plates."
"I thought I was his partner up here," said Diantha, in a somewhat
injured tone.
"Haven't you seen him this evening?" queried Aunt Clara Tyler.
"Oh, yes, but I have been dancing so hard, I forgot all about him."
"You may find some day, Dian, that two can play at the forgetting
game," said Aunt Clara, with a tenderness that robbed the speech of any
bitterness.
"I wish they would," answered the girl indifferently.
Nevertheless her vanity was touched, a few moments after, when she and
her companion passed a rustic bower of boughs, twined and twisted into
a lovely green retreat, where there was a small camp-fire smouldering
in front, and a low couch inside, covered with softest buffalo robes,
whereon sat her dearest friend, Ellen Tyler; and stretched out with
his long legs to the fire, his arm supporting his head, and his face
turned very intently to the young girl near him, was that recreant,
John Stevens, who ought just now to be suffering all the torments of a
discarded lover.
It was annoying to say the least. Dian acted as if she did not see them
at all, and whispered with much animation to her companion, as they
passed the light of the fire.
She hurried at once to the bowery and none were more sprightly and gay
until the ten o'clock bugle sounded throughout the valley, and then she
allowed Henry Boyle to accompany her to the tent where the elder ones
still sat chatting and enjoying themselves.
Diantha Winthrop was pre-eminently sensible. She was sometimes annoyed
with the frequent compliments she received as to this trait of her
character. She was rarely angry with people; she never gossiped about
anybody, and if she had nothing good to say, she rarely said anything
at all. She was not impulsive, nor was she unduly swayed by her
emotions, deep as they sometimes were. She acted upon mature thought,
and only the few who were her intimate friends, really knew the value
of her sterling character.
Henry begged his companion to stroll up the hill-side a little, just
fairly out of range of the jokers by the camp-fire, and the girl was
the more willing because of that other couple under the pines across
the tiny valley.
"Here you are, Dian," cried out Rachel. "I was just wondering if you
would not like to get that pop-corn and pop some for the crowd."
But Henry was still begging under his breath, for her to come up in the
shadow of the pines, and away from the crowd.
"Can't Lucy and Josephine pop the corn, Rachel?" asked Dian, at last.
Both children protested their utter weariness.
"Ah, child," said young Boyle, patronizingly to little Lucy, "just pop
the corn, like the leddy you are."
"I'm not a 'leddy'," flashed the child back, "and I don't think it's
fair, so there."
"Don't cry," still teased the young fellow; "do be a good girl," then
joking in his rather clumsy fashion, he added, "Come and kiss yoo papa."
"Never mind, youngsters," sang out Tom Allen, "I'll help you," while
Harvey and Josephine both flew to assist Lucy Winthrop.
Lucy sprang into the tent in an angry flame, while her mother followed,
herself too annoyed at the liberty the young man had taken to answer at
all. But she soothed the two little girls, and they all came out and
finished the corn. Rachel herself carried some up to Henry and Dian,
who now sat cozily far up on the hill-side, under the dense shadow of
the trees.
The younger ones slipped away from the fire, and the laughter and song
there died down; but the young couple still sat under the dark shadow,
far up on the hill-side.
Henry was entertaining Dian with long tales about his former home in
the British Isles. He gave glowing pictures of the castle belonging to
a distant relative in Staffordshire. The girl listened with increasing
interest; for who could fail to sympathize with the neglected cousin,
even if a third one, of a real lord and earl. The narrator's allusions
to himself were a little broad and fulsome, but Dian was inexperienced,
if shrewd by nature. A feeling of deeper respect for this good
looking and highly connected youth was growing momentarily in her
breast--he certainly was such a fine dancer, and he always picked up
a handkerchief so gracefully! She could but feel flattered by these
confidential revelations of superior virtues and titled relations. The
sounds were hushed from tree to tree, and the canopy of silence was
unfolding in all the majesty of the mid-night hour.
Suddenly there was a pounding crash and roar above them on the
hill-crest, and down through the brush and trees came bounding some
terrible wild animal.
Dian screamed, and Henry jumped wildly in the air, yelling at the top
of his voice.
"Run, run; it's a bear."
He took his own advice so quickly that the girl was barely on her feet
before he was half-way down to the camp fire, still yelling, "Run, Run!"
As the young man reached the full blaze of the fire, a quick chorus of
childish voices, above them on the hill-side from which he had fled,
high falsettos, trebels, and one deep bass voice, united in a blasting
sing-song:
"Come and kiss yoo papa; come and kiss yoo papa."
And the children, in one derisive row of merciless tormentors, stood
just in the upper shadow line, repeating the refrain with painful
insistence, until Boyle himself was glad to retreat into the silence of
his own tent for the night. There were sounds of laughter from every
near-by tent. What Dian thought of this absurd adventure could only
be conjectured from the scornful expression of her rosy lips, as she
gathered the two little girls in her arms and drove the still jeering
boy, Harvey, and Tom Allen in the darkened back-ground, away into the
far seclusion of their own tent.
But even as she fled, she heard in the near distance another shrill
cat-call, "Come and kiss yoo papa." And she joined with one smothered
hysterical burst of laughter, the two girls, who were still in her
arms, in laughing at their discomfited enemy.