The death of Ellen Tyler cast a heavy gloom over the whole community.
The terrible circumstances surrounding it gave an added cause of enmity
between the people and the army.
The funeral, which was held in the ward school house, was attended
by nearly every one in the city. The people assembled in the quiet
and undemonstrative fashion usual on such occasions; and long before
ten o'clock, the time set for the services, the house was filled to
overflowing. The windows were raised, and temporary benches arranged
outside, so that as many as possible could hear the sermon.
The simple cortege made its way down the street. As the mourners
entered the hall, no one wondered to see John Stevens assist the
foster-mother of the girl as she leaned heavily on his arm. Aunt
Clara's face was very pale, for her heart was well-nigh broken; and yet
her eyes were lifted and clear while all who glanced at her saint-like,
controled face, felt calmed and quieted. Diantha was among the chief
mourners, but she was not as tearless and as calm as Aunt Clara; her
convulsed face betrayed her mute agony.
The whole awful story had swept from mouth to mouth, and some of the
men who sat watching the sad procession file in felt the hot blood of
revenge pour from heart to temple, and there were few present who would
not gladly have taken up the ghastly burden of swift revenge in behalf
of the dead girl.
The coffin was placed upon the table just below the pulpit. Its plain,
mountain wood was unrelieved by ornament or trimming. Within, the girl
lay, peaceful and silent, her sweet face just touched by the creamy,
heavy petals of the sego-lilies which her small hands clasped. Those
lilies were like her own life, beautiful and white, yet at the heart
just purpled with the shadows.
President Young lastly passed in, and the congregation waited with
anxious longing to hear his words upon this unhappy occasion. After a
brief hymn, the President arose, and with slow, impressive sentences
he pictured the sheltered life of such girls as the one before him.
He touched upon the affectionate nature of woman, and told the Elders
of Israel that to them in part was due the blame of such awful scenes
as this. There was enough of love, plenty of safe, sheltered retreats
for all good women in the hearts and homes of the men of Zion. Women
should have as ample opportunity to select their partners as men, and
if they showed a preference for a good man, why should he not consider
her right to claim his affection, as carefully as he would expect her
to consider a like claim from him? He spoke in strong, powerful terms
of the wickedness of men who cared nothing for the virtue of womankind,
and who respected nothing on earth or in heaven.
His words stirred the already excited hearts to a fiery pitch of
indignation. As if he saw the unnecessary anger, he said in quiet
tones: "It may prove useless to try to keep our girls and boys from
running after sin, for if they have not the integrity to stand, they
will fall. Now, this young girl has had good teachings, good examples,
and she has been surrounded by love and kindness; she has not been
neglected. In her weakness she loved too well the admiration of men,
and she has herself sought and found her sin and its punishment. We
must stand or fall for ourselves, and while we are responsible in a
measure for the words we speak and the example we set, yet each must
answer for himself or herself at the bar of Justice."
At his words, so solemnly spoken, Diantha felt her very heart stand
still.
"Will this fair daughter of Zion never receive salvation?" asked the
speaker. "Yes, she certainly will. She will learn her lesson. She will
repent of her sin; and after suffering the necessary punishment will
be reunited with her parents and friends, and with them share the
blessings and privileges of the priesthood. She has already partly paid
the penalty of her sin with her life. She will be saved eventually in
the Kingdom of Heaven. I do not want the family to grieve too much, for
this poor child is far better off than she could possibly be upon earth
now; and her last words were words of repentance and affection. Some of
these spirits, though weak in the flesh, are very choice and lovely. We
love them and mourn deeply if they fall into error or are snatched away
by death.
"If this be a grievous sin for a tender and delicate girl, what must
be said of men who lead women to destruction? I would say that no
pit is deep enough for them. I do not wish to excite any undue rage
towards the vile wretch and his paramour whose work this is; for God
will avenge the innocent on their enemies. But to you Elders of Israel,
I say, beware how you treat the fair daughters of Zion! Man should
protect and preserve innocent, pure womanhood. No woman can sin as
deeply as a man, for she does not bear the same responsibility. If
men expect to stand at the head of their families, let them see to it
that they are without sin of speech or action. That which is a sin in
a woman, becomes a crime in a man. Teach your sons to protect their
virtue as they would their lives, and then there need be no fear of
their assailing any woman. God loves these weak ones as well as we do,
and He will overrule all things for the best to such as are sinned
against and are thereby brought down into sin. Only let the parents
so conduct themselves that their children will receive the benefit of
their lives of purity and holiness, and all their tears of grief will
be turned into joy in the hereafter."
Diantha felt the whole weight of this terrible lesson pressing upon
her own sad heart, and it nearly crushed her with a double burden of
grief. She wondered how she could ever for one moment have looked
lightly upon her past actions and words, wherein she had said and
thought it no wrong to turn away from the Gospel and marry out of the
Church. She asked herself bitterly whether a part of Ellen's guilt did
not lie at her own door, for had she not given some measure of idle
encouragement to this same soldier, and had she not said many foolish
things and thought many vain, silly thoughts? She felt how inadequate
were the theories of the world regarding love and its proper place in
our lives, and she saw how foolish ideals and romantic poems and plays
had rendered her conception of love fevered and unreal. She saw, while
sitting near the dead body of her friend with its pitiful lesson, that
love--that is, the romantic, unreasoning passion which is so often
called love--is nothing but a base counterfeit. She felt that if love
ruled the world, it must be the love of God and that love which is
founded on respect and built in unselfishness. She could see that
abase, vile passion which has for its only object the gratification of
bodily desire, was a thing to fear and shun.
Diantha had filled the cold, lifeless hands of her dear friend with the
sego-lilies, wreathing them about the neck, thus to hide the story told
by the bandaged throat; but she saw how useless in eternity would be
the least attempt to hide away the sins and shame of mankind.
"Oh, that I could tear away the lilies, and show to every girl in Zion
the awful consequences of disobedience and vanity," she thought, as the
strong, vivid words of President Young showed her the darkness of the
abyss into which her own eyes had for one moment looked with fascinated
gaze.
"Oh, that I could set this poor, desecrated body before every young
woman in Israel, and let it preach its own heartrending sermon! And I,
too, am I not saved as by fire? Oh, my gracious Father, forgive me and
let a lifetime of repentance and faithfulness prove to Thee how humble
and how dependent I am!" So prayed Diantha, as the benediction was
being pronounced by the Bishop in charge. While the pale sego-lilies,
with their purple stains, drooped and died on the breast of the dead
girl!