The mission of Colonel Haines was of immediate effect. The fear of
desperate warfare was over. But there yet remained much for the people
of Utah to do and suffer.
John Stevens was constantly in the saddle during the few months of the
Spring of 1858, though this did not prevent him from keeping a pretty
close watch on Miss Diantha Winthrop. He was quite familiar with the
tenor of her recent encouragement to Charlie Rose. He was also aware of
the quiet yet effective snubs she had administered to that resplendent
young Englishman, Henry Boyle. In a way known only to himself, John
Stevens contrived to be aware of most things in which he himself was
interested.
It was early in the evening of the first week of April that he rode
down from the northern camps into the valley; as he passed the first
farm-houses outside the city, he caught sight of a wagon-load of young
people, evidently just returning from some merry-making, and he was
conscious of the glory of Dian's hair and the flash of her bright
eyes, even before he heard the silvery peal of laughter with which
she was adding to the stings of a taunt administered to some luckless
wight of the party. The music of her laughter was at once the charm
and the despair of all Dian's lovers. The notes of that peal always
reminded John of a chime of Swiss silver bells, with which a strolling
musician had once delighted the city. They rippled and trilled along
the waves of ether with enchanting melody. Her friends will remember
many youthful graces of this well-known Dian, but none which were more
charming than her ready, irresistible, musical laughter. It was never
forced nor insincere, but was always the expression of the truth-loving
and buoyant soul within. It did not add to John's own merriment to
see the girl enjoying herself so heartily while under the gallant
protection of Charlie Rose; as his horse lingered some distance behind
the wagon, he could pick out the "crowd" even in the cool dusk of the
early evening, and locate all the incipient flirtations. It may be that
the tired man felt the incongruousness of laughter when his own heart
was hot and sore because of the events just now transpiring; but he was
too just not to recognize the further fact that youth is a time for joy
and forgetful laughter; and, furthermore, all possible excitement and
fear had been wisely suppressed by Brigham Young. As soon as he reached
a side street, John turned away, and cantered into the city to deliver
his messages.
The next evening, as he was striding down the State Road he met the
"crowd" face to face. They were returning from singing practice.
"Oh, John," called Ellen, "do tell us all the news. Here's Tom Allen
trying to make us believe that the President is for deserting our good
homes and leading us into the wilderness. It isn't true, is it?"
"Would you rather stay here under the rule of an army, or follow your
leaders into another place of safety and peace?" asked John, gently and
seriously.
"John," said Charlie Rose, now sober and earnest, "I am trying to get
these girls to understand that they are about to have a chance to be
brave and womanly. It's stiff work trying to make a girl see that there
is anything but fun ahead."
"Some girls," corrected Diantha, with lofty emphasis.
"Come into Aunt Clara's sitting-room and let me get a word with her;
then, maybe, you shall get another," said John, quietly.
Sobered and awed, the little group of young people filed, almost
silently, into the familiar gathering place. Dian refused to sit down;
her quick thought had followed the serious mood of John Stevens and
instantly her whole attention was fixed on one idea; what could she do
in this crisis--a girl--and yet so full of devotion to that cause her
friends were defending?
"Aunt Clara, you can tell the crowd how very serious our condition is
at present. They seem to have forgotten Nauvoo," said John, possibly
glad to sober these young people. Charlie Rose, whose face was quite
flushed with the news he had just heard on the streets, walked over to
the loom in the corner and waited impatiently for Aunt Clara to finish
tearing off her last thread.
It was impossible for John Stevens to be unconscious of the fact that
Charlie Rose was standing very near to Dian, as she leaned against the
loom, so near that almost the loose flying tendrils of her yellow hair
were against his shoulder. But with stern grip on his own nerves, he
sat carelessly on the bench and bent his head slightly as he examined
the pattern of his braided buckskin pantaloons.
Aunt Clara felt the tense atmosphere surrounding her, and she waited in
silence for John to speak, for she was sure he had something serious to
tell them. That he had something to say was sufficient for others to
remain quiet.
"Boys, how many of you can be ready to start at midnight for the army
of the United States camped now at Fort Scott?" There was a breathless
silence for an instant, and then:
"All of us," quietly answered Charlie Rose.
"We shall leave the Eagle Gate, then, at twelve o'clock, boys; I shall
expect you to be there. Bring your usual outfit."
"John," said Aunt Clara, with a note of anxiety in her voice, "what is
it now?"
"We are to meet and escort Governor Cumming into the Territory."
"Governor Cumming? Is Brigham Young no longer Governor of Utah then?"
asked Charlie.
"I have this day delivered the official information that the President
of the United States has appointed a new Governor for our unhappy
Territory. It is for this reason, ostensibly, that the flower of the
American army has come out into the wilderness of the West. Thousands
of trained soldiers have been sent to install one man in a Territory
of a few hundred pioneers." John spoke bitterly, but it was not his to
question. He was but to obey.
"What is the name of this new Governor?" asked Dian with quick sarcasm
in her tones.
"His name is Cumming, and so far as I am able to judge, he is not to
blame for this blunder of Buchanan's. But, boys, meet me at the Eagle
Gate at midnight."
"Oh, John, will the soldiers kill us all, or drive us from our homes?"
asked Ellen, tearfully.
"Only God can answer that," replied John, solemnly.
The heart of every girl was thrilled with the sense of personal and
communal danger. Yet, there mingled with it all a paradoxical and
feminine joy in the intrepid character of the men who would protect
them and their homes in life or in death.
Ellen ran up to Dian, and with her arms around her neck, begged her
friend to "stay all night." Ellen felt suddenly a sense of coming
disaster; her very heart was choking in her throat, and she felt that
she must have many people near her. Dian was glad to stay; although
her own thoughts were not busy with herself, but dwelt upon the larger
interests of the starving army beyond the mountains, who were all human
beings, even if enemies. Her soul bowed in prayer for Brigham Young
and the other leaders of her people, whose judgment and wisdom must be
supreme in this the people's most trying hour.
The days that followed were filled with vague rumors of coming
disaster. Women clung to their little children; men gazed upon their
innocent daughters and wondered what the future held in store for all.
They had seen their dear ones mobbed, driven and plundered, time and
again in the past; what would this new disaster bring forth?
Fear and suspense--are they not man's most dreaded foes? Anything
which comes is better than the undefinable things which are so feared
but which rarely happen. And thus the days and weeks of that month
of suspense which followed John Stevens' expedition into the eastern
mountains were far more unendurable to Diantha and her girl-friends
than the simple events which followed. For, after all, when the day
came for the entrance of Governor Cumming into the Territory, the sun
shone, the meadow-larks piped out their usual notes of musical inquiry
into the state of the worm and bug market, the crickets hopped nimbly
out of the way of the oncoming posse of mountaineer soldiers who acted
as the gubernatorial escort, and the whole party drew up to the Salt
Lake House, clattered under the broad eaves of its western porches, and
debouched quietly within. The first great act of the expected sensation
was over, while the second act was quite small and inadequate to the
tremendous overture of dread which had been pounding at the ears of
the small inland city for so long. Governor Cumming proved to be a
very generous, whole-souled man, and in the historic interview which
followed between the new and the old Governors of the then distracted
Territory of Utah, both men discovered the elements of candor, truth
and sincerity in the other, and the bond of mutual understanding was
not long in forming. The days of adjustment and readjustment which
followed were not days of unmixed confusion and disturbance, for time
was taken in which to dispel fears and to form new ties.
Diantha Winthrop was conscious, in those uncertain and troublous days,
of a certain dissatisfaction regarding the outcome of the dramatic
beginnings which her quick intelligence had discovered in this
appalling incident. Like most noble if youthful minds, her thoughts
had been busy with the high purpose and exalted ideals of the people.
Unlike her volatile friend Ellen, Dian's gloomy fears at this period
settled around the leaders of her people; while to little laughing
Ellie the one important feature of it all was little Ellie's own
connection with each and every happening. It was therefore somewhat of
a disappointment to both girls that there was such a tame ending to
so tragic a beginning. Governor Cumming was in the city, he had been
properly received by Governor Young, and the whole incident was closed,
apparently, without even the hoisting of the flag. The girls mentioned
the matter to Aunt Clara, and that good lady only answered:
"None but poets and prophets know the difference between tragedy and
comedy. What you feel is going to be tragedy turns out to be comedy,
and what starts as comedy too often turns into tragedy."
And thus life poured its turbulent stream down into the channels
of Utah's history and the evening and the morning made up the
scintillating days of that trying season.
Suffice it to say, Governor Cumming was duly escorted into the city,
and he and his gentle lady-wife were suitably quartered. To him Brigham
Young turned over all the Territorial records, the great seal and all
insignia of his exalted office; all were delivered over safely and
formally by the maligned "Mormon" leader. But our friend John, with his
companions Charlie Rose and Tom Allen, was kept long weeks in active
service out in Echo Canyon. The city seemed very lonely to Ellen and
Dian during those long spring weeks.
One day in the early spring, some weeks after Governor Cumming's
entrance into the Valley, Dian sought a quiet interview with Aunt
Clara, hoping to ascertain something definite as to the real nature of
all the rumors and forebodings again quivering in the very air of Great
Salt Lake City.
"Dear Aunt Clara," said Dian, when they were seated and busily
knitting--oh, those active, flying hands of women which never rested,
scarce night or day, during those trying months--"I am so troubled;
my nights are full of unhappy dreams and my days are so restless that
I cannot accomplish anything worth while. What is all this about?
Please confide in Ellie and me, dear Aunt Clara. I know you enjoy
the confidence of the leading brethren, and I long to know if it is
true that the soldiers are going to be allowed to enter our beloved
Territory? And is Governor Cumming really our friend?"
"Governor Cumming is a very liberal and humane man, my dear. But it is
apparently true that we shall have to bow to the will of the government
of this great nation which we all love so well, and allow these
soldiers, this terrible army, to come into the Territory and quarter
themselves here, for how long no one can tell. Ostensibly the army came
to install Governor Cumming; but as you know, Governor Cumming has been
peaceably installed, yet General Johnston insists on coming into the
Valley. President Young has turned over the records and great seal of
our Territory which our wicked enemies swore to President Buchanan we
had destroyed, and now Governor Cumming has notified Brother Brigham
that a Peace Commission may be sent out to this Territory to hand us
out a Proclamation of Amnesty. And there is the full story."
"What's a Peace Commission and what is amnesty?" asked Ellen.
"Surely, my dear! What is amnesty? It is forgiveness. And why the
United States should deem it necessary to send an army out here to
crush us into submission, when we had never revolted, and then think
it necessary to send us a proclamation of amnesty, when we have done
nothing to be forgiven for, is more than a poor woman can understand.
However, the plain English of it is that someone wanted the army
out of the way in Washington, others wanted the money that comes to
contractors, and still others don't know anything about it, except
someone has raised another cry of 'Down with the Mormons.' Governor
Cumming hopes to clear everything up with the aid of this Peace
Commission. But, girls, I have something very serious to confide to
you; next Monday we are to pack up everything that can be loaded into
wagons, leaving the rest piled up with kindlings ready to burn, and
then we are to start for the South."
"For the South? Where?" asked the two girls in one breath.
"I cannot tell. Some have already gone quietly ahead. We shall pack
up everything that we can pile in our wagons, and with sufficient
provisions to last us a year, we shall once more go out into the
wilderness. This time we shall take to the mountains."
"Oh, Aunt Clara, surely you are not in earnest?"
"Girls, this is no time for any of us to be in jest. We know not what a
day may bring forth. Do you get to work at once. And then, when all is
ready, we shall fill this house with sufficient kindling to burn every
stick and log within twenty-four hours of the time when the word is
given."
"Aunt Clara! Burn this house which you love so well? With this dear
green door? It's the only green door in the city. And all this comfort
which you have worked so hard to secure? Oh, I can't bear the thought.
And the lettuce and radishes which you sowed on the snow and which
are just now ready to eat? What about everybody else?" asked Ellen,
incoherently.
But no amount of grief on the part of the girls could change the
condition of things, and after awhile the prudent counsels of their
good friend calmed undue excitement, and they resigned themselves to
the common fate, willing to share in the general affliction as they
had shared in the common good. Here was tragedy, surely! When least
expected, here it was! Nightfall found them all tired out with the
day's labor and excitement.
Evening brought Charlie Rose to the door of the quiet sitting-room, and
even if they were tired, they were glad to see his welcome face.
"Oh, Charlie, will we all have to go South?" asked Ellen, unable to
restrain her excitement.
"Yes, Ellie, I bring word to Aunt Clara that she and you must be
ready to start tomorrow morning for the South. Dian, your folks are
to go tomorrow also. We didn't expect to go for another week, but
the government is going to send some peace commissioners out to
the Territory, and they may be as dangerous to our welfare as the
peacemakers at Carthage. So we shall get away tomorrow, as many as can,
and as fast as we can. 'Boil and bubble; toil and trouble,'" quoted
Charlie, mournfully.
"Aunt Clara, if that is the case, I must hurry home and help Rachel;
she may need me; and you and Ellen can get along without me," said
Diantha.
"Oh, I shall be frightened, Dian. Just Aunt Clara and me here all this
dreadful night," cried out Ellen.
"Hush, child! Why should we be frightened? No one wants anything of us.
Go right on, Dian; you are needed at home. No doubt my sister will be
here before long," expostulated Aunt Clara.
Ellen was fain to be comforted; her heart yearned for the presence of
her dear friend Dian in this hour of common peril and distress. Yet she
had Aunt Clara, and she must be content.
As Dian left the door, Charlie stood beside her and she whispered:
"Go back, Charlie, and stay with Aunt Clara awhile. I am not a bit
afraid to run over home alone."
"Dian, let me come with you. I will come back to Aunt Clara; but I
can't bear to see you or any of our girls out alone on the streets."
"Why, we always go out on the streets alone, when we have any occasion
to; why should we be afraid now?"
But the young man was walking by her side even as she protested. As
they reached Dian's gate he put a detaining hand upon her arm and said,
earnestly:
"I have to go back to camp in Echo Canyon tomorrow; Dian, will you miss
me?"
The dim darkened new moon was shining down upon the young people with
the tender radiance of spring folly; they were young; Dian's heart
was very sore with the quivering emotions wrought up in the last
twenty-four hours. She liked Charlie Rose, for he was as wholesome and
pure as he was honest, and he was always bright and gay. The night was
very lonely.
"Of course, we shall miss you, Charlie. All the boys, even to Tom
Allen, are out in the canyons. It is very lonely."
"You have Henry Boyle left," said her companion, somewhat maliciously.
"Pooh!" contemptuously. "He is almost ready to apostatize; he is scared
to death over this army business. He has asked Governor Cumming to let
him go out of the Territory under the protection of the soldiers."
"Can that be true, Dian? I would not have thought him a traitor as well
as a coward."
"Are not all cowards traitors?"
"Hardly, Dian. That's too sweeping. But I am surprised about Henry. He
cut quite a shine here for months."
The girl began to open her gate; she knew that her brother did not
approve of young people standing at the gate in the late evenings.
"Dian, listen just one moment; here, wear this ring for me while I am
gone; won't you?" As he spoke he drew a pretty ring from his finger,
evidently an heirloom in his family. Rings were rare in those days, and
Dian's eyes sparkled. She knew that she was not in love with Charlie;
but neither was she with anyone else. Why should she not wear a ring?
"I will wear it awhile, Charlie, but I won't keep it. You must give it
to the girl you are going to marry."
"That's what I'm doing, Dian."
The tone of his voice startled her with its intensity; she drew away
from him, half frightened.
"Here, Charlie, take your ring; I do not want to wear it."
But with instant comprehension of his rashness, the young man said with
a light laugh:
"Oh, pshaw, Dian! Oblige me by wearing my ring until I find the girl I
am to marry. Then I will come to you for it."
Pacified, the girl pushed the ring back on her finger, and then at once
turned into the gate, saying as she did so:
"I shall not forget you nor any of the boys in my prayers, Charlie.
Goodnight and goodby."
And the young man was fain to be content with this general parting wish.