It was a lovely day in the last of September, a few days after the
occurrences related in our last chapter. The air was cool, crisp, and
full of the odor of pine and sagebrush. In a mountain retreat, around a
gleaming fire, sat a group of men with serious, eager faces, and their
talk was carried on in guarded tones.
The country was wild and barren, except that here and there along the
course of a stream the willows and brush gave a little protection to
man and beast. On a low hill-side to the right of the camp-fire, were
tethered horses, picking a scant supper from the fall-dried plain. Not
very far away yawned a huge black opening in the side of the mountain,
which gave the name of Cache Cave to the spot.
The leader of the party, General Daniel H. Wells, sat in the center of
the council, his fine large head and prominent features giving him a
massive appearance well calculated to inspire respect and confidence.
He was listening to some recital of a recent expedition from the lips
of a tall, red-bearded, slow-spoken man.
"What did General Harney say when Captain Van Arden had explained to
him the condition in our Territory?" asked the General.
"The General replied with an oath, 'I am ordered to Salt Lake City, and
I will winter there or in hell.'"
The men around the camp-fire uttered various exclamations of
determination that the violent general should be well supplied with
opportunities to join his friends in the latter warm retreat.
On the right of General Wells sat an immense, broad-shouldered fellow,
bearded and with eyes like an eagle. He said little, and kept his face
in his hands while listening to the report of his fellow-soldier,
Stevens.
"Major Smith," remarked General Wells, turning to this silent,
keen-eyed giant-like officer, "you will at once proceed to the enemy's
camp, and deliver these documents which have been entrusted to my care
by Governor Young. Wait for a reply, see all you can, hear all you
can, and make yourself, if possible, more familiar with the country
surrounding us than you are at the present. There is much for you to
do in the near future, if we would prevent this army from entering the
Valley this winter. Do you wish any one to accompany you?"
"No, sir, I am foot-loose, and when alone, can ride as fast as I
please."
Accordingly, that night, while the others were fitfully sleeping, Major
Lot Smith proceeded silently out of the camp to go on his mission to
the United States army, now pressing forward to Fort Winfield. Not
a detail of the lonely road, not a bush nor rock; not the slightest
undulation in the silent hills escaped the keen eyes of this traveler.
Arrived at the army's headquarters, Major Lot Smith was conducted to
the United States General's tent, where he was received with great
dignity. His papers delivered, he waited in stern silence, the reply of
a tall, heavy-set, dark-complexioned man, whose prolonged silence gave
him an opportunity to observe underneath the apparent coldness, a shade
of anxiety and care on the officer's face, which the eagle eyes under
the heavy red brows read as plainly as he did the rock-strewn roadway
along which he had traveled.
"Major-General Harney has been ordered back to Kansas," remarked Col.
Alexander, after reading the despatches, "and Colonel Johnston, who
succeeds him, will be here in a few days. Meanwhile, I will myself
undertake to reply to these remarkable documents, and shall send the
answer by you, if you can wait for a few hours."
"I am here under orders to await the answers to these papers, sir,"
answered Smith.
"Very well, my men will attend to your needs, and while you are eating
dinner, your horse shall receive attention."
Lot Smith made no reply, but bowed himself out of the presence of the
officer. Instead of accepting any hospitality for himself, he eagerly,
yet quietly, spent the few hours of his stay, in mastering every detail
of the camp, and fixing upon his mind every word he chanced to overhear
from the soldiers.
He soon ascertained that the present commanding officer was Colonel
Alexander, and that the colonel was in some anxiety as to what move
to make next. Smith discovered this from the remarks of a young,
dark-mustached officer, who sat chatting with his companion outside of
a tent door, utterly oblivious that "Mormon" ears were taking note of
his extravagances.
"I have told the Colonel repeatedly," announced this young braggart,
"that the only honorable and manly course to pursue, is to follow
the plan laid out by Harney. Harney is a trump, by--, and I wish we
had him here again instead of this wavering, chicken-hearted present
administration. All we have to do is to secure most of our troops and
supplies in Fort Winfield; then a few hundred of us with our knap-sacks
on our back could make the valley in a few days, surprise the fanatics
and poltroons down there, take possession of old Brigham's harem for
our own comfort and pleasure, quarter our men in their church, and the
thing is done."
"Old Brigham himself might have something to say about that," remarked
one of the loungers at the tent door. "Van Arden says he is a fighter
of no mean ability."
"Bah! Van Arden is easily frightened. The very first thing to be done
is, of course, to string up such rabble as Young, Kimball and Wells,
with others of their ilk, to the nearest tree. I have no patience with
men who play into the hands of heathens and tricksters. What were we
sent out here for, anyway?"
The young man looked around the circle with a sneer upon his handsome
mouth, and as he met the eyes of one or another, they gave him varying
replies either by word or by glance.
"I don't think any one knows just exactly what we were sent out here
for," at last answered the tall, gray-eyed man who had spoken before.
"I don't know that Harney, Alexander or even Buchanan himself knows
exactly what we were sent here for. Presumably to install Cumming in
the office to which the President has appointed him."
"And do you think that it will take the flower of the American army,
and millions of dollars to do so simple a thing as that? Come, now,
Saxey, you are not so innocent as that. We have a whole Territory to
subdue and the seditious priests of this most villainous community are
to be tried and hanged, or hanged anyway. That's what I came out here
for."
"Well, I am prepared to follow my orders, no matter what they may
be; but I have no desire to take part in street fights, or brawls
such as was witnessed in Illinois ten years ago, when the leaders of
this people were killed by the border ruffians of that State. I know
something of this people from my brief association with a part of the
"Mormon" Battalion, which answered our government's call for troops to
march into Lower California. I never saw a braver or more devoted body
of men. And I will not be a party to another outrage upon an innocent
people." So spake Col. Saxey, gentleman, soldier and man.
"You and I do not indulge in street fights or brawls," replied the
braggart, "but we are determined to see order and decency maintained
in this government, no matter if it be at the cost of a few lives of
such lecherous scoundrels as old Brigham and his priests. Why, their
doings are a blotch on the escutcheon of our proud country. It is an
introduction into our midst of the rotten lives and practices of the
Turks and Orientals. The manhood of this nation will not endure it."
"Let us see, Sherwood," interposed the grey-eyed man, withdrawing his
cigar to give emphasis to his words, "how many of Brigham's daughters
or concubines have you decided shall form part of your establishment
this winter?"
"Oh, plague on your Quixotism; you make no distinction between the
amours of a gentleman and the vile practices of the heathens and
'Mormons.'"
The silent listener at the other side of the tent found it impossible
to keep his teeth from grinding together at this moment, but he was
suddenly approached by a subaltern who requested him to wait at once
upon the commanding officer for his messages to Utah.
Obtaining the despatches, Major Smith started upon the return journey.
It was high noon in the camp of the mountaineers, when dusty,
travel-stained Lot Smith rode into the small circle. He was ushered
into the tent occupied by General Wells and staff and there delivered
his messages. For the first time since leaving his own camp, the Major
sat down and proceeded to satisfy a soldier's appetite, and although
weary and worn for sleep, he was glad to satisfy his cravings for food
before resting or sleeping.
The general saw the worn condition of his faithful officer, and ordered
him to his own tent until the next morning. Meanwhile a courier was
sent to the valley with the despatches from the army, and a full report
from General Wells and his scouts.
All that night General Wells and his staff talked, planned, and
counseled. It was but little after seven o'clock when the council
assembled the next morning to hear the verbal report of Major Smith and
to decide upon future action.
"I overheard much of their vaunting, blasphemous determination to enter
the Valley, kill or imprison our leaders, and to capture and ruin our
wives and daughters. There are a few cautious, sensible men among them,
such as Col. Saxey, whom you all know by reputation at least, but the
majority, especially the officers, who are mostly young men of hot
passions and romantic temperament, are determined to force Colonel
Alexander to proceed at once to the Valley with a light detachment, to
be followed by the masses of the troops, as fast as is convenient."
"Colonel Alexander informs me in his letter," said General Wells,
"that he will submit our letters and despatches to General Johnston
immediately upon that officer's arrival in camp; and, that meanwhile
the troops are there by order of the President of the United States,
and their future movements will depend upon the orders issued by
competent military authority."
"What shall we do under these circumstances?" asked one of the officers.
"This is the plan adopted in our council before leaving Salt Lake City,
and there sanctioned by President Young. We were to ascertain the
location of the troops as soon as possible, which has now been done by
Major Smith. Then we were to proceed at once to annoy them in every way
possible. We are to use every exertion to stampede their animals, and
are to set fire to their supply trains whenever practicable. Burn the
whole country before them, and on their flanks. Keep them from sleeping
by night surprises, blockade the roads by felling trees or destroying
the river fords wherever we can. Watch for opportunities to set fire
to the grass on their windward, so as to set fire to their trains.
Leave no grass behind them that can be burned. We are to keep our men
concealed as much as possible, and of course we are to guard ourselves
against surprises continually."
"What if we meet a detachment and are compelled to fight," asked one of
the men.
"I anticipate no such catastrophe," answered General Wells. "Brother
Brigham has said that the Lord will fight our battles for us, and if
we follow his counsel to the letter, we shall also be able to comply
with his strictest injunctions, which are, to spare life always when
possible, and not to shed a drop of blood when it can be avoided. 'Say
your prayers and keep your powder dry,' was his parting admonition."
The General sat some time as if in silent meditation, and the officers
present remained silent, unwilling to disturb his reflections.
At length the chief raised his head, and looking straight into the eyes
of Major Smith, he asked:
"Major, do you think that you can take our small force, about forty men
we have here now, and passing in the rear of the enemy, turn back and
burn the supply trains on the road?"
The Major returned the intent gaze of the General, and while a dusky
gleam shot through the red-brown depths of his own eyes, he only
replied in words:
"Yes, sir; I think I can."
"Very well, sir, you can consider yourself under orders to carry out
the plan I have just now indicated. The council is adjourned."
That these men could, at the close of their portentious council, kneel
down and ask God to bless them and assist them in their undertaking,
may seem strange, but they were banded together to protect the lives
of their fellow-men shut up in the narrow valleys of the lower
country, and they felt that if God did not interpose His power, the
soldiers, accompanied as they were by a horde of blasphemous, reckless,
licentious camp-followers and brawlers, would not only kill and
plunder, but they would also decoy and destroy their fair wives and
daughters.
They were facing no imaginary terrors, for the pangs of Illinois and
Missouri were not yet blotted from the memory of even their babes.
No blood would be shed, except in self-defense, but every man there
was prepared to pour his life-current out like water upon the ground,
if necessary, to protect their beloved homes and families and their
honored leaders. God was their father and to Him they appealed.
"Say your prayers and keep your powder dry," had been the counsel of
President Young, and they were united as one man to carry out his
instructions.
One of the first men spoken to by Lot Smith was quiet John Stevens, a
man after Smith's own heart. No need of much talk between these two, as
they divined each other's wishes and purposes without need for words
and explanations.
There was some delay, consequent upon breaking up camp, so that it
was early twilight when the small detachment rode out upon the open
prairie. The Major called John Stevens to his side, and to him in a few
words related as they rode along some of the conversation overheard in
the camp of the enemy.
As John listened to the wicked threats of the dissolute officers
concerning the fair daughters of his people, he was seized with a
sudden, passionate anger, and for a few moments he could think of
nothing but to heap curses upon their wicked heads, and he longed with
murderous longing, to have one of them just now under his own clenched
hands that he might strangle the pride and the devil out of him.
His curses were not uttered aloud, however, and when he recovered
himself, he heard his commanding officer ask:
"What's the matter, Stevens, are you annoyed?"
"Perhaps! I was not old enough to do any good in Illinois; but
now--well, I am glad, major, that you permitted me to accompany you on
this trip."
"Stevens, we are of the same stripe; but we must both remember our
orders, and no matter what the provocation may be, we must shed no
blood, unless compelled to do so. We both understand this, and yet, it
is as hard for me as it is for you, my friend."
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.