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.