The hurry, confusion and turmoil consequent upon packing were endured
gladly by every one in Provo and vicinity, for every heart beat high
with joy that their beloved lands and homes were not to be left behind
once more and they themselves turned again into the desert, homeless
and poor.
Diantha rode to the city with her brother in his spring wagon. As she
sat on the front seat, she was soon covered with dust, and with the
loss of her pink and white complexion came an appreciable decline in
the thermometer of her generally sweet and cheerful disposition. No
one ever accused Diantha of vanity, but there was nothing which made
my dainty lady so thoroughly annoyed as to feel that she was looking
ugly and commonplace; and above all to know that she was disheveled,
disorderly, or unclean; all of which goes to prove that all are of the
earth, earthy.
Ellen Tyler rode several teams behind Dian, in her father's wagon, the
spring carriage being occupied by other members of the family. Now, no
matter how dusty the road nor how much at a disadvantage dear little
Ellen might be placed, if she were only treated lovingly and kindly by
those she loved, and if she were sure of "one true heart beside her,"
as she herself put it, she was always cheerful and pleasant. And Ellen
was in high feather, for John Stevens drove the wagon she was in, and
the whole journey seemed more like a pleasure trip than a dusty two
days' journey.
The party were toiling up the long and steep grade to the north of the
village of Lehi, and John was out of the wagon, walking beside his
team, whistling occasionally to his horses, and sometimes coming up to
the wagon to hear the merry chatter of his companion. He had allowed
himself to get some distance behind his team when he saw, in a sudden
turn of the road, a small party of horsemen coming towards them, and
as the dust cleared away, he discovered they were soldiers. He tried
to hurry up so that he might be near or reach Ellen before they passed
her, for instinct warned him that there was need, yet it was too late.
As they passed him, he gazed at the dashing captain--for it was Captain
Sherwood, his own despised enemy--to whom he gave a look of hate and
repugnance. It was returned with a flash of sneering triumph.
The gay captain had cause to be triumphant.
As he passed by the long train of wagons, his eyes were eagerly
searching each wagon for the two faces he had come out purposely to
see. He hardly knew Diantha. He had seen her but once, and now the gold
of her hair was a tawny clay, and the tiny curls were stiff with dust;
while the enchanting pink and white of her skin was lost in a deep,
sun-flushed crimson, covered over with the dun dust of the valley road.
As soon as he recognized her, however, and that only as they met face
to face, he raised his cap with a courtly bow.
Whether Diantha was a little afraid of her brother's instant anger,
or whether she was moved by her own sense of right and propriety, or
whether there was mingled with it all an indignation that she had not
been recognized because of her unprepossessing appearance, she herself
never tried to fathom; but certain it was that my lady stiffened
herself into an attitude of freezing hauteur, visible through all her
dusty disguises, and with a stony stare of her gleaming blue eyes, she
coldly looked into the laughing black eyes bent upon her, and gave the
soldier the cut direct.
"I say, old chap, that young lady would give pointers to a New Orleans
belle in giving a fellow his conge, but I should say she was not
bad-looking when properly dressed." So spake a fellow officer as the
two rode at the head of their squad. Captain Sherwood had urged his
superior officer, Col. Saxey, to come along, as he had learned that
this party were on the road, and he wanted his friend to see the two
girls who had so taken his own fancy.
Ellen saw them coming, and first looking discreetly back to see that
John was well out of sight, she gave the captain a laughing and
apologetic smile, and then turned her head coquettishly aside, as the
horsemen dashed by.
"That girl is as pretty as the other, only in a different way," said
Col. Saxey. "But I would advise you, Sherwood, to let these women
alone. You will make yourself and others a great deal of unnecessary
trouble, and I can't see that it will do you or anyone else any good."
"Oh, d--n your advice, Saxey. What is life, anyway?"
"Life," answered Col. Saxey to his friend Sherwood, "is pretty much
what we make it; good, bad or indifferent. But, really, Sherwood, I
wish you would take an old friend's advice, and let those 'Mormon'
women alone. You know these people are nearly wild with fear anyway,
and I think it the height of folly for us to add to their discomfiture."
"I can't imagine how I am going to hurt anybody by falling in love with
a pretty girl, and even marrying her, if worst comes to worst."
"You know quite well, old fellow, you would never dream of marrying one
of these uneducated, uncultured western girls; and when you remember
that she is of 'Mormon' stock; what an absurdity! Why, what do you
think your proud family down in Louisiana would say to such a thing?
Give it up, Clem; give it up."
"Say, Saxey," and the young officer turned and faced his companion,
reining in his horse to a halt that he might look the other fairly in
the eyes, "I want you to tell me what you and I or any of the rest of
our fellows are going to do out here, thousands of miles from home and
civilization? I say, what are we going to do? I certainly need the love
and tenderness of a dear little woman, such as one of these girls."
"I am more than surprised, Clem, to hear you speak so coolly of the
ruin of a good, innocent girl. What can possess you?"
"What can possess you, my virtuous friend? Where have you learned your
lessons of life, if not in the school of experience? I must be in love
with somebody, and lucky it is for me that I have such delightful
material to waste a bit of my time and heart's affection upon. You see
that I am refined enough to wish even my bacon to be of the choicest
cut, and fricasseed to the most delicate brown, instead of fried in
huge slices and served with chunks of bread."
They were riding slowly on through the dust and heat, and the elder
officer turned and looked keenly into the face of handsome Captain
Sherwood, who was stroking his small black mustache, and smiling at his
inward fancies.
"Sherwood," he said, at last, "I must confess that I have never in my
life realized the full meaning of all you imply until this hour. Men
allow themselves to float down the current of custom and do and say
many things which are, it seems to me, in my present mood, unmanly
as well as impure. True, men of the world have always done the same
things, and rarely stop to ask questions in regard to the matter;
but--well, in fact, things look a little different now."
"What has changed the current of your opinion, my wise friend?"
"Something in the face of that haughty girl, as she looked her disdain
to you, and the look of fierce hatred which that tall, red-bearded
fellow gave you as he passed you, have set me to thinking. Maybe we
are as guilty of crime in hunting out these people as were the Roman
soldiers when they burned the Christians at the stake."
Sherwood gazed with more and more astonishment at the words of his
friend, and at the close of the little, conscience-stricken speech, he
burst into a hearty peal of laughter, and again and again he laughed as
he recalled the absurdity of such a comparison.
"You must excuse me, old boy, but it is too utterly funny for words.
These adulterous, ignorant, impudent 'Mormons' to be compared to the
ancient Christians? Ha, ha, ha!"
The elder man winced a little under the fire of ridicule, but his own
sense of right and honor told him his position was the true one, and he
felt stealing over him a contempt and repugnance for the man who could
so recklessly plan the destruction of innocent, helpless womanhood.
The soldiers reached the outskirts of their own camp late that
afternoon, and as Col. Saxey gazed at the crowded hive of huts and
tents, filled with men, a few women, and many squaws, which composed
the nondescript village just across the stream from Camp Floyd, he felt
a sense of horror and dislike for all that this motley crowd signified,
which he had never before felt, and which was as surprising as it was
new to him.
Camp Floyd had been laid out with the care and skill which
characterized all the labors of General Johnston. At the hillside
lay the officers' quarters, while down the river a little lower were
stationed the quarters of the men, with the parade ground between. All
the tents had been pitched on a low three-foot adobe foundation, thus
giving some measure of comfort to their temporary structures. Outside
the camp, and across the bridge which spanned the small mountain
stream, was a collection of rude log huts, one or two small adobe
houses, and a great many tents of all sizes, all pitched on the low
adobe walls. Here were gathered the usual camp followers, those who did
the store-keeping, the washing, the ironing, the makers and vendors of
every commodity bought and sold in the camp. In this place all grades
of camp-followers were sheltered.
Men were there, some few decent and eager only for the labor and
exchange of money for that labor which came to them; others willing
to buy and sell anything on earth which could be traded off. The most
of them were drunken, carousing, miserable wretches, possessed of
no impulse but that of a selfish and sensual gratification. Here a
coarse woman, with a flaunting air and a ribald jest, passed through
the throng, and there a squaw sat beside the road, her eyes red with
the whisky she had sold herself for, and her face horrible with the
soulless leer of savage, half-drunken invitation.
A wave of horror passed over the sensitive face of Col. Saxey as
this accustomed scene appeared to him for the first time in its true
colors. He almost hated himself that he was a man. Sherwood noticed
nothing unusual, and as they passed a woman with a red scarf across her
shoulder, he tossed her a coin, as he said lightly:
"There is enough for two drunks, Liz, and don't try to run them both
into one, either; for the last time you did that, you raised such a row
that the Colonel threatened to have the whole place cleaned out."
Louisiana Liz, as she was called, screamed back her thanks, and with
her large, dark, but bleared and blood-shot eyes she flashed up at the
young man her most fascinating gaze.
Arrived at their own quarters, the officers were met by an orderly, who
instructed them to report at headquarters that evening.
"I particularly request you gentlemen," said General Johnston, when
they reported at his tent, "not so much in a military capacity, as in
the name of decency and honor, to remain as much as possible in your
own quarters, and to keep away from these 'Mormon' villages. As for the
men, I wish you to deal severely with any of them who go far from camp;
in fact I wish all to be done that can be done to keep down unnecessary
excitement. You understand, gentlemen?"
"I wonder if the gallant general imagines," said Sherwood, as they
walked away from the general's tent, "that any one is going to obey
strictly his orders and requests. Why," said he, as the two were
returning to their own tents, "he is either very simple or else very
tame if he expects either officers or men are to be entirely restricted
in making some sport out of this dead, dreary and absurd campaign."
"I think the general is entirely right, Sherwood, and so far as
I am concerned, I shall do what I can to carry out his orders;
even to reporting delinquents, officers as well as men," he added
significantly, as he gave a quick glance at his companion.
"Oh, well, 'catching comes before hanging,' is a true if a vulgar
proverb, so I bid you a pleasant good-night."
As Captain Sherwood turned into his own tent, he was surprised to find
a figure dimly outlined by the sputtering tallow candle, crouching near
his bunk.
"What on earth are you doing here, Liz? Don't you know it would mean
severe punishment to you and disgrace to me, if you were found inside
these lines?"
The half-breed Creole laughed with a low, sneering sound and answered
softly:
"Do you think I have forgotten all the lessons of my youth, learned
in the silent swamps of our early Louisiana home? Fear not, the snake
herself is not more silent, nor the night-bird more swift in her flight
than I. Fear not!" And she laughed again, with a quiet, mirthless
chuckle.