The days and weeks of the dry, brilliant summer and autumn flew
along with dusty, burnished wings. For some time the efforts of
the commanding officer at Camp Floyd were measurably successful in
restraining undue intercourse between his men and the people of the
neighboring settlements.
In the city of Great Salt Lake the affairs of the people went on with
much the same regularity and soberness that had always characterized
them. Yet, underneath every act and word, one could feel the current
of silent expectation and preparation among this hunted people;
expectation of anything sudden and vicious which the army of Utah
might attempt to do; and a consequent preparation for defense and
perhaps war. There was a small reign of terror, at times, rampant
in those whilom silent city streets. While the officers might hold
their own men in check, they exercised no authority over the crowd
of vile camp-followers which sometimes swept up and over those city
thoroughfares with a terrifying cloud of debauchery and crime.
President Young was threatened continually in divers ways; by anonymous
letters; by wild and erratic apostates; and he knew through reports of
authorized agents that no effort would be spared by the district judges
or the military force to put his freedom and his life in jeopardy.
Around him, therefore, was gathered a trusty band of his bravest and
best friends; and among them was found our good friend, John Stevens.
His watch at the President's office came at night, and he was therefore
prevented from attending many of the parties and balls which still went
on in every part of the city. Brigham Young knew his people too well
to allow other and less innocent occupations to usurp the place of the
dance and amateur theater.
On Christmas eve, 1858, there was to be a magnificent ball given in the
fine, new Social Hall. Oh, the blessed memories clinging around that
dear old hall! What scenes of enjoyment, and frolic, sweet and pure,
have been celebrated within its gray walls! What hearts have met their
fate, what lips have spoken the words of love eternal, while mingling
in the happy dance--old and young, rich and poor! No class distinctions
ever marred the festivities of that generous place! No separation of
old folks from the young ever jarred upon the spirit of mutual love
and confidence which marked the social intercourse of the Saints.
And what wonderful plays were enacted by that remarkable company of
players, headed by Hiram Clawson, John T. Caine, James Ferguson and
Mrs. Wheelock and Mrs. Gibson! Dear are these precious memories to the
children of the pioneers; for within these walls they learned, through
definite object lessons, that religion was not merely a Sabbath affair,
put on as a cloak! Ah, no; it entered into the very center of pulsating
life and emotion, and was a living entity in the innocent, religious
pleasures, as well as the simple, trustful sorrows of this blessed
people!
"I am going to bring my dress over to your house, Dian," said Ellen
Tyler, early that Christmas eve, "and get ready with you, for I want
you to fix my hair; you have such lovely taste. I never look so well as
when you arrange my hair and dress. And then I can get the use of your
looking-glass, too."
Ellen did look lovely. She had a new pink print dress, and print
dresses in those days were as superior to the common calicoes of today,
as are the prices of today less than were those early standards of
values. The skirt was made with dainty, flying ruffles, nearly to the
waist, and edged with the prettiest of hand-crocheted lace; while the
waist, full and gathered into the belt, was fitted with billowy sleeves
of bishop shape. At the belt and near the left shoulder were flying
bows of pink ribbon; while peeping behind the right ear, a tiny bow of
pink made the chestnut brown hair richer for its suggestive contrast.
"Ellie, dear, you look just like one of Aunt Clara's spice pinks!
I never saw you look so lovely. I could hug you myself for very
admiration."
Dian stood afar off from her friend admiring her, and approaching Ellen
at last, she bestowed upon the soft, pale cheek, a small pinch, to give
the delicate tint needed to complete the exquisite picture.
"Well, it's no use telling you how you look, Dian, for I am sure you
know it so well yourself; the fact of your own magnificent charm is so
apparent that it is nonsense for anyone to try and flatter you."
"Are you making fun of me, Ellie?" queried Diantha, as she turned
around from the tiny looking-glass to ask her question. "I know well
enough that I have a passably good form, and that I do have some taste
in dressing myself; but I hate these ugly red cheeks, and would give
anything in this world for your clear, pale complexion."
The girl looked with a positive gleam of anger in her flashing blue
eyes at the image of herself reflected in the glass, and muttered as
she pretended to pinch her own rose-tinted cheeks: "Oh, you ugly,
scarlet things, how I hate you!"
"It makes me unhappy, Dian, to hear you call yourself ugly. You know
God has blessed you with rare gifts of face and form, and you ought not
to speak as you do, let alone feeling so wicked about your red cheeks.
They are lovely to me. They always make me feel as if I would like to
take a bite out of them, as I would from a red June apple."
Dian was almost in tears now, at such a homely, unpoetic comparison,
and her friend hastened to change the conversation.
"Say, Dian, do you think John Stevens can get off tonight to come down
to the ball? I feel as if half of my fun would be gone without him."
"Oh, I don't know, I am sure. I haven't seen John for weeks. He is up
at the President's office night and day, I guess."
"Well, I will have to content myself with Tom Allen, or Brother Leon,
I guess, for I must have some fun with somebody. I am just wild for a
frolic. I can hardly wait for Tom to come, I want so much to get to the
party."
The girl was indeed full of the vitality of youth and health, and her
pulse danced and tingled with expectant pleasure. She was young, lovely
and loving, and she longed for love and admiration. Who could blame her?