FROM GLENWOOD TO MONROE.
From Glenwood to Salina--Deceptiveness of appearances--An apostate
Mormon's friendly testimony---Reminiscences of the Prophet Joseph
Smith--Rabbit-hunting in a waggon--Lost in the sagebrush--A day
at Monroe--Girls riding pillion--The Sunday drum--Waiting for the
right man: "And what if he is married?"--The truth about apostasy:
not always voluntary.
SOON after leaving Glenwood, cultivation dies out, and for twelve miles
or so the rabbit-brush and grease-wood--the "atriplex" of disagreeably
scientific travellers, who always speak of sage-brush as "artemisia,"
and disguise the gentle chipmunk as "spermophilus"--divide the land
between them. The few flowers, and these all dwarfed varieties, attest
the poverty of the soil. The mountains, however, do their best to
redeem the landscape, and the scenery, as desolate scenery, is very
fine. The ranges that have on either hand rolled along an unbroken
series of monotonous contour, now break up into every conceivable
variety of form, mimicking architecture or rather multiplying its
types, and piling bluffs, pierced with caves, upon terraces, and
pinnacles upon battlements. Causeways, like that in Echo Canyon, slant
down their slopes, and other vestiges of a terrific aqueous action
abound. Next to this riot of rock comes a long series of low hills,
grey, red, and yellow, utterly destitute of vegetation, and so smooth
that it looks as if the place were a mountain-yard, where Nature
made her mountains, and had collected all her materials about her in
separate convenient mounds before beginning to mix up and fuse. In
places they were richly spangled with mica, giving an appearance of
sparkling, trickling water to the barren slopes.
On the other side of the valley, the mountains, discountenancing such
frivolities, had settled down into solid-bottomed masses of immense
bulk, the largest mountains, in superficial acreage, I had seen all the
journey, and densely cedared.
With Gunnison in sight across the valley, we reached Willow Creek,
a pleasant diversion of water and foliage in the dreary landscape,
and an eventful spot in the last Indian war, for among these willows
here Black Hawk made a stand to dispute the Mormons' pursuit of their
plundered stock, and held the creek, too, all the day. And so out on to
the monotonous grease-wood levels again--an Indians' camp fire among
the cedars, the only sign of a living thing--and over another "divide,"
and so into the Sevier Valley. The river is seen flowing along the
central depression, with the Red-Mound settlement on the other side of
the stream, and Salina on this side of it, lying on ahead.
Salina is one of those places it is very hard to catch. You see it
first "about seven" miles off, and after travelling towards it for
an hour and a half, find you have still "eight miles or so" to go.
"Appearances are very deceptive in this country," as these people
delight in saying to new-comers, and the following story is punctually
told, at every opportunity, to illustrate it.
A couple of Britishers (of course "Britishers") started off from their
hotel "to walk over to that mountain there," just to get an appetite
for breakfast. About dinner-time one of them gave up and came back,
leaving his obstinate friend to hunt the mountain by himself. After
dining, however, he took a couple of horses and rode out after his
friend, and towards evening came up with him just as he was taking off
his shoes and stockings by the side of a two-foot ditch.
"Hallo!" said the horseman, "what on earth are you doing, Jack?"
"Doing!" replied the other sulkily. "Can't you see? I am taking off my
boots to wade this infernal river."
"River!" exclaimed his friend; "what river? That thing's only a
two-foot ditch!"
"Daresay," was the dogged response. "It looks only a two-foot ditch.
But you can't trust anything in this beastly country. Appearances are
so deceptive."
But we caught Salina at last, for we managed to head it up into a
cul-de-sac of the mountains, and overtook it about sundown. A few
years ago the settlement was depopulated; for Black Hawk made a swoop
at it from his eyrie among the cedars on the overlooking hill, and
after killing a few of the people, compelled the survivors to fly
northward, where the militia was mustering for the defence of the
valley. It was in this war that the Federal officer commanding the post
at Salt Lake City, acting under the orders of General Sherman, refused
to help the settlers, telling them in a telegram of twenty words to
help themselves. The country, therefore, remembers with considerable
bitterness that three years' campaign against a most formidable
combination of Indians; when they lost so many lives, when two counties
had to be entirely abandoned, many scattered settlements broken up, and
an immense loss in property and stock suffered.
At Salina I met an apostate Mormon who had deserted the religion
because he had grown to disbelieve in it, but who had retained,
nevertheless, all his respect for the leaders of the Church and the
general body of Mormons. He is still a polygamist; that is to say,
having married two wives, he has continued to treat them honourably
as wives. With me was an apostle, one of the most deservedly popular
elders of the Church, and it was capital entertainment to hear the
apostate and the apostle exchanging their jokes at each other's
expense. I was shown at this house, by the way, an emigration loan
receipt. The emigrant, his wife, and three children, had been brought
out in the old waggon days at $50 a head. Some fifteen years later,
when the man had become well-to-do and after he had apostatized, he
repaid the $250, and some $50 extra as "interest." The loan ticket
stipulated for "ten per cent per annum," but as he said, it was "only
Mormons who would have let him run on so long, and then have let him
off so much of the interest."
My host was himself an interesting man, for he had been with the
Saints ever since the stormy days of Kirtland, and had known Joseph
Smith personally. "Ah, sir, he was a noble man!" said the old fellow.
Among other out-of-the-way items which he told me about the founder
of the faith, was his predilection for athletic exercises and games
of all kinds; how he used to challenge strangers to wrestle, and be
very wroth when, as happened once, the stranger threw him over the
counter of a shop; and how he used to play baseball with the boys in
the streets of Nauvoo. This trait of Joseph Smith's character I have
never seen noticed by his biographers, but it is quite noteworthy, as
also, I think, is the extraordinary fascination which his personal
appearance--for he was a very handsome man of the Sir Robert Peel
type--seems to have exercised over his contemporaries. When speaking to
them, I find that one and all will glance from the other aspects of his
life to this--that he was "a noble man."
Rabbit-hunting across country in a two-horse waggon is not a sport
I shall often indulge in again. The rabbit has things too much its
own way. It does not seem to be a suitable animal for pursuing in a
vehicle. It is too evasive.
Indeed, but for an accident, I should probably never have indulged in
it at all. But it happened that on our way from Salina to Monroe we
lost our way. Our teamster, for inscrutable reasons of his own, turned
off from the main road into a bye-track, which proved to have been made
by some one prospecting for clay, and the hole which he had excavated
was its terminus. I tried to think out his reason for choosing this
particular road, the least and most unpromising of the three that
offered themselves to him. It was probably this. Two out of the three
roads, being wrong ones, were evils. One of these was larger than the
other, and so of the two evils he chose the less. Q.E.D.
To get back into the road we struck across the sage-brush, and in so
doing started a jack-rabbit. As it ran in the direction we wanted to
go, we naturally followed it. But the jack-rabbit thought we were in
murderous pursuit, and performed prodigies of agility and strategy in
order to escape us. But the one thing that it ought to have done, got
out of our road, it did not do. We did not gain on the lively animal,
I confess, for it was all we could do to retain our seats, but we gave
it enough to prose about all the days of its life. What stories the
younger generation of jack-rabbits will hear of "the old days" when
desperate men used to come out thousands of miles in two-horse waggons
with canvas hoods to try and catch their ancestors! And what a hero
that particular jack-rabbit which we did not hunt will be!
The road southwards leads along hillsides, both up and down, but on the
whole gradually ascending, till the summit of the spur is reached. Here
one of the most enchanting landscapes possible is suddenly found spread
out beneath you. A vast expanse of green meadow-land with pools Of blue
water here and there, herds of horses grazing, flocks of wild fowl in
the air, and on the right the settlement of Richfield among its trees
and red-soiled corn-fields!
Crossing this we found that a spur, running down on it, divides it
really into two, or rather conceals a second plain from sight. But
in the second, sage-brush, "the damnable absinthe," that standard of
desolation, waves rampant, and the telegraph wire that goes straddling
across it seems as if it must have been laid solely for the convenience
of larks. Every post has its lark, as punctually as its insulator, and
every lark lets off its three delicious notes of song as we go by, just
as if the birds were sentries passing on a "friend" from picket to
picket. And here it was that we adventured with the jack-rabbit, much
to our own discomfiture. But while we were casting about for our lost
road, we came upon a desolate little building, all alone in the middle
of the waste, which we had supposed to be a deserted ranch-house, and
were surprised to find several waggons standing about. Just as we
reached it, the owners of the waggons came out, and then we discovered
that it was the "meeting-house" for the scattered ranches round, and
seeing the several parties packing themselves into the different
waggons remembered (from a certain Sabbatical smartness of apparel)
that it was Sunday. We were soon on our right road again, and passing
the hamlets of Inverary and Elsinore on the right, came in sight of
Monroe, and through a long prelude of cultivation reached that quaint
little village just apparently at the fashionable hour for girls to go
out riding with their beaux.
Couple after couple passed us, the girls riding pillion behind their
sweethearts, and very well contented they all seemed to be, with their
arms round the object of their affections. Except in France once or
twice, I do not recollect ever having seen this picturesque old custom
in practice; but judging from the superior placidity of his countenance
and the merriment on hers, I should say it was an enjoyable one, and
perhaps worth reviving.
Another interesting feature of Sunday evening in Monroe was the big
drum. It appeared that the arrival of the Apostle who was with me had
been expected, and that the people, who are everywhere most curiously
on the alert for spiritual refreshment, had agreed that if the Apostle
on arriving felt equal to holding a meeting, the big drum was to be
beaten. In due course, therefore, a very little man disappeared inside
a building and shortly reappeared in custody of a very big drum, which
he proceeded to thump in a becoming Sabbatical manner. But whether the
drum or the association of old band days overcame him, or whether the
devil entered into him or into the drum, it is certain that he soon
drifted into a funereal rendering of "Yankee Doodle." He was conscious,
moreover, of his lapse into weekday profanity, and seemed to struggle
against it by beating ponderous spondees. But it was of no use. Either
the drum or the devil was too big for him, and the solemn measure
kept breaking into patriotic but frivolous trochaics. Attracted by
these proceedings, the youth of the neighbourhood had collected, and
their intelligent aversion to monopolists was soon apparent by their
detaching the little barnacle from his drum and subjecting the resonant
instrument to a most irregular bastinado. They all had a go at it, both
drumsticks at once, and the result was of a very unusual character,
as neither of the performers could hear distinctly what was going
on on the other side of the drum, and each, therefore, worked quite
independently. In the meanwhile some one had procured a concertina,
and this, with a dog that had a fine falsetto bark, constituted a very
respectable "band" in point of noise. Thus equipped, the lads started
off to beat up the village, and working with that enthusiasm which
characterizes the self-imposed missions of youth, were very successful.
Everybody came out to their doors to see what was going on, and having
got so far, they then went on to the meeting. By twos and threes and
occasional tens the whole village collected inside the meeting-house,
or round the door unable to get in, and I must confess that looking
round the room, I was surprised at the number of pretty peasant faces
that Monroe can muster.
And here for the first time I became aware of a very significant fact,
and one that well deserves notice, though I have never heard or seen
it referred to--I mean the number of handsome marriageable girls who
are unmarried in the Mormon settlements. Omitting other places, in each
of which many well-grown, comely girls can be found unmarried, I saw
in the hamlet of Monroe enough unwedded charms to make me think that
either the resident polygamist had very bad taste or very bad luck. My
host, a Mormon, was a widower (a complete widower I mean), and two very
pretty girls, neighbours, looked after his household affairs for him.
One was a blonde Scandinavian of Utah birth; the other a dark-haired
Scotch lassie emigrated three years ago--and each was just eighteen.
(And in the Western country eighteen looks three-and-twenty.) I asked
my host why he did not marry one of them, or both, and he told me that
he had a family growing up, and that he had so often seen quarrels and
separations result from the remarriage of fathers that he did not care
to risk it.
And the Apostle, who was present, said, "Quite right."
Now please remember this was in polygamous Utah, in a secluded village,
entirely Mormon, where, if anywhere, men and women might surely do as
they pleased. In any monogamous society such a reason, followed by the
approval of a Church dignitary, would not be worth commenting on, but
here among Mormons it was significant enough.
I spoke to the girls, and asked them why they had not married.
"Because the right man has not come along yet," said one.
"But perhaps when the right man does come along he will be married
already," I said.
"And why should that make any difference?" was the reply.
In the meantime each of these shapely daughters of Eve had a "beau" who
took her out riding behind him, escorted her home from meeting, and so
forth. But neither of them had found "the right man."
Of Monroe, therefore, one of those very places, retired from
civilization, "where the polygamous Mormon can carry on his beastly
practices undetected, and therefore unpunished"--as the scandalous
clique of Salt Lake City (utterly ignorant of Mormonism except what it
can pick up from apostates) is so fond of alleging--I can positively
state from personal knowledge that there are both men and women there
who are guided in matters of marriage by the very same motives and
principles that regulate the relation in monogamous society. Further, I
can positively state the same of several other settlements, and judging
from these, and from Salt Lake City, I can assure my readers that the
standard of public morality among the Mormons of Utah is such as the
Gentiles among them are either unable or unwilling to live up to.
In this connexion it is worth noting that public morality has in Utah
one safeguard, over and above all those of other countries, namely, the
strict surveillance of the Church. I have enjoyed while in Utah such
exceptional advantages for arriving at the truth, as both Gentiles and
Mormons say have never been extended to any former writer, and among
other facts with which I have become acquainted is the silent scrutiny
into personal character which the Church maintains.
Profanity, intemperance, immorality, and backbiting are taken quiet
note of, and if persisted in against advice, are punished by a gradual
withdrawal of "fellowship;" and result in what the Gentiles call
"apostasy." Among the standing instructions of the teachers of the
wards is this:--
"If persons professing to be members of the Church be guilty of
allowing drunkenness, Sabbath-breaking, profanity, defrauding or
backbiting, or any other kind of wickedness or unrighteous dealing,
they should be visited and their wrong-doing pointed out to them in the
spirit of brotherly kindness and meekness, and be exhorted to repent."
If they do not repent, they find the respect, then the friendship, and
finally the association, of their co-religionists withheld from them,
and thus tacitly ostracized by their own Church, they "apostatize" and
carry their vices into the Gentile camp, and there assist to vilify
those who have already pronounced them unfit to live with honest men or
virtuous women.