_How the Souls of Apostates Were Saved_
The Wild Ram of the Mountains had spoken truly; there was work at hand
for the Sons of Dan. When his Witness at last came to Joel Rae, he tried
vainly to recall the working of his mind at this time; to remember where
he had made the great turn--where he had faced about. For, once, he
knew, he had been headed the way he wished to go, a long, plain road,
reaching straight toward the point whither all the aspirations of his
soul urged him.
And then, all in a day or in a night, though he had seen never a turn in
the road, though he had gone a true and straight course, suddenly he had
looked up to find he was headed the opposite way. After facing his goal
so long, he was now going from it--and never a turn! It was the wretched
paradox of a dream.
The day after Brigham's sermon on blood-atonement, there had been a
meeting in the Historian's office, presided over by Brigham. And here
for the first time Joel Rae found he was no longer looked upon as one
too radical. Somewhat dazedly, too, he realised at this close range the
severely practical aspects of much that he had taught in theory. It was
strange, almost unnerving, to behold his own teachings naked of their
pulpit rhetoric; to find his long-cherished ideals materialised by
literal-minded, practiced men.
He heard again the oath he had sworn, back on the river-flat: "_I will
assist in executing all the decrees of the First President, Patriarch,
or President of the Twelve, and I will cause all who speak evil of the
Presidency or Heads of the Church to die the death of dissenters or
apostates_--" And then he had heard the business of the meeting
discussed. Decisions were reached swiftly, and orders given in words
that were few and plain. Even had these orders been repugnant to him,
they were not to be questioned; they came from an infallible priesthood,
obedience to which was the first essential to his soul's salvation; and
they came again from the head of an organisation to which he was bound
by every oath he had been taught to hold sacred. But, while they left
him dazed, disconcerted, and puzzled, he was by no means certain that
they were repugnant. They were but the legitimate extension of his
teachings since childhood, and of his own preaching.
In custody at Kayesville, twenty-five miles north of Salt Lake City,
were six men who had been arrested by church authority while on their
way east from California. They were suspected of being federal spies.
The night following the meeting which Joel Rae had attended, these
prisoners were attacked while they slept. Two were killed at once; two
more after a brief struggle; and the remaining two the following day,
after they had been pursued through the night. The capable Bishop Wright
declared in confidence to Joel Rae that it reminded him of old days at
Nauvoo.
The same week was saved Rosmas Anderson, who had incurred rejection from
Israel and eternal wrath by his misbehaviour. Becoming submissive to the
decree of the Church, when it was made known to him by certain men who
came in the night, it was believed that his atonement would suffice to
place him once more in the household of faith. He had asked but half a
day to prepare for the solemn ceremony. His wife, regretful but firm in
the faith, had provided clean garments for her sinful husband, and the
appointed executioners dug his grave. They went for him at midnight. By
the side of the grave they had let him kneel and pray. His throat had
then been cut by a deft hand, and he was held so that his blood ran into
the grave, thus consummating the sacrifice to the God of Israel. The
widow, obeying priestly instructions, announced that her husband had
gone to California.
Then the soul of William Parrish at Springville was saved to eternal
glory; also the soul of his son, Beason. For both of these sinful ones
were on the verge of apostasy; had plotted, indeed, and made secret
preparations to leave the valley, all of which were discovered by
church emissaries, fortunately for the eternal welfare of the two most
concerned. Yet a few years later, when the hated Gentiles had gained
some shadow of authority in the new Zion, their minions were especially
bitter as to this feat of mercy, seeking, indeed, to indict the
performers of it.
As to various persons who met death while leaving the valley, opinion
was divided on the question of their ultimate salvation. For it was
announced concerning these, as their bodies were discovered from time to
time, that the Indians had killed them. This being true, they had died
in apostasy, and their rejection from the Kingdom was assured. Yet after
awhile the Saints at large took hope touching the souls of these; for
Bishop Wright, the excellent and able Wild Ram of the Mountains, took
occasion to remark one Sabbath in the course of an address delivered in
the tabernacle: "And it amazes me, brethren, to note how the spirit has
been poured out on the Lamanites. It really does seem as if an Injun
jest naturally hates an apostate, and it beats me how they can tell 'em
the minute they try to sneak out of this valley of the Lord. They must
lie out in them hills jest a-waiting for apostates; and they won't have
anything else; they never touch the faithful. You wouldn't think they
had so much fine feeling to look at 'em. You wouldn't suspect they was
so sensitive, and almost bigoted, you might say. But there it is--and I
don't believe the critters will let many of these vile apostates get
beyond the rocky walls of Zion." Those who could listen between the
words began to suspect that the souls of such apostates had been duly
saved.
Yet one apostate the very next day was rash enough to controvert the
Bishop's views. To a group of men in the public street at high noon and
in a loud voice he declared his intention of leaving for California, and
he spoke evil of the Church.
"I tell you," he said, in tones of some excitement, "men are murdered
here. Their murder is planned by Bishops, Priests, Elders, and Apostles,
by the President and his Counsellors, and then it is done by men they
send to do it. Their laying it on to the Indians don't fool me a minute.
That's the kind of a church this is, and you don't ketch me staying in
it any longer!"
Trees had been early planted in the new settlement, and owing to the
care bestowed upon them by the thrifty colonists, many were now matured.
From a stout limb of one of these the speaker was found hanging the
following morning. A coroner's jury hastily summoned from among the
Saints found that he had committed suicide.
Another whose soul was irrevocably lost was Frederick Loba, who had
refused to take more than one wife in spite of the most explicit advice
from his superiors that he could attain to but little glory either in
this world or that to come with less than three. He crowned his offense
by speaking disrespectfully of Brigham Young. Orders were issued to save
his soul; but before his tabernacle could be seized by those who would
have saved him, the wretched man had taken his one wife and fled to the
mountains. There they wandered many days in the most inclement weather,
lost, famished, and several times but narrowly escaping the little band
that had been sent in pursuit of them; whose members would, had they
been permitted, not only have terminated their bodily suffering, but
saved their souls to a worthy place in the life to come. As it was, they
wandered a distance of three hundred miles, and three days after their
last food was eaten, the man carrying the woman in his arms the last six
miles, they reached a camp of the Snake Indians. These, not sharing with
their Utah brethren the prejudice against apostates, gave them a
friendly welcome, and guided them to Fort Laramie, thereby destroying
for the unhappy man and his wife their last chance of coming forth in
the final resurrection. But few at this time were so unlucky as this
pair; for judgment had begun at the house of the Lord, and Israel was
attentively at work.
It was now that Joel Rae became conscious that he was facing directly
away from the glory he had so long sought and suffered for. Though as
yet no blood for Israel had been shed in his actual presence, he had
attended the meetings of the Sons of Dan, and was kept aware of their
operations. It seemed to him in after years that his faculties had at
this time been in trance.
He was seized at length with an impulse to be away from it all. As the
days went by with their tragedies, he became half wild with restlessness
and a strange fear of himself. In spite of his lifelong training, he
knew there was wrong in the air. He could not question the decrees of
the priesthood, but this much became clear to him,--that only one thing
could carry with it more possibilities of evil than this course of the
Church toward dissenters--and that was to doubt that Brigham Young's
voice was as the voice of God. Not yet could he bring himself to this.
But the unreasoning desire to be away became so strong that he knew he
must yield to it.
Turning this in his mind one day he met a brother Elder, a man full of
zeal who had lately returned from a mission abroad. There had been, he
said, a great outpouring of the spirit in Wales.
"And what a glorious day has dawned here," he continued. "Thank God,
there is a way to save the souls of the blind! That reminds me--have you
heard of the saving work Brother Pixley was obliged to do?"
"Brother Pixley?--no." He heard his own voice tremble, in spite of his
effort at self-control. The other became more confidential, stepping
closer and speaking low.
"Of course, it ain't to be talked of freely, but you have a right to
know, for was it not your own preaching that led to this glorious
reformation? You see, Brother Pixley came back with me, after doing
great works abroad. Naturally, he came full of love for his wives. But
he had been here only a few days when he became convinced that one of
them had forgotten him; something in her manner made him suspect it, for
she was a woman of singularly open, almost recklessly open, nature. Then
a good neighbour came and told him that one night, while on his way for
the doctor, he had seen this woman take leave of her lover--had seen the
man, whom he could not recognise, embrace her at parting. He taxed her
with this, and she at once confessed, though protesting that she had not
sinned, save in spirit. You can imagine his grief, Brother Rae, for he
had loved the woman. Well, after taking counsel from Brigham, he talked
the matter over with her very calmly, telling her that unless her blood
smoked upon the ground, she would be cast aside in eternity. She really
had spiritual aspirations, it seems, for she consented to meet the
ordeal. Then, of course, it was necessary to learn from her the name of
the man--and when all was ready for the sacrifice, Brother Pixley
commanded her to make it known."
"Tell me which of Brother Pixley's wives it was." He could feel the
little cool beads of sweat upon his forehead.
"The fifth, did I not say? But to his amazement and chagrin, she refused
to give him the name of the man, and he had no way of learning it
otherwise, since there was no one he could suspect. He pointed out to
her that not even her blood could save her should she die shielding him.
But she declared that he was a good man, and that rather than bring
disgrace upon him she would die--would even lose her soul; that in truth
she did not care to live, since she loved him so that living away from
him was worse than death. I have said she was a woman of a large nature,
somewhat reckless and generous, and her mistaken notion of loyalty led
her to persist in spite of all the threats and entreaties of her
distressed husband. She even smiled when she told him that she would
rather die than live away from this unknown man, smiled in a way that
must have enraged him--since he had never won that kind of love from her
for himself--for then he let her meet the sacrifice without further
talk. He drew her on to his knee, kissed her for the last time, then
held her head back--and the thing was done. How sad it is that she did
not make a full confession. Then, by her willing sacrifice, she would
have gone direct to the circle of the Gods and Goddesses; but now, dying
as she did, her soul must be lost--"
"Which wife did you say--"
"The fifth--she that was Mara Cavan--but, dear me, Brother Rae! you
should not be out so soon! Why, man, you're weak as a cat! Come, I'll
walk with you as far as your house, and you must lie abed again until
you are stronger. I can understand how you wished to be up as soon as
possible; how proud you must feel that your preaching has led to this
glorious awakening and made it possible to save the souls of many sinful
ones--but you must be careful not to overtax yourself."
Four days later, a white-faced young Elder applied to Brigham for
permission to go to the settlements on the south. He professed to be
sick, to have suffered a relapse owing to incautious exposure so soon
after his long illness. He seemed, indeed, not only to be weak, but to
be much distressed and torn in his mind.
Brigham was gracious enough to accord the desired permission, adding
that the young Elder could preach the revived gospel and rebaptise on
his way south, thus combining work with recreation. He was also good
enough to volunteer some advice.
"What ails you mostly, Brother Joel, is your single state. What you need
is wives. You've been here ten years now, and it's high time. You're
given to brooding over things that are other people's to brood on, and
then, you're naturally soul-proud. Now, a few wives will humble you and
make you more reasonable, like the rest of us. I don't want to be too
downright with you, like I am with some of the others, because I've
always had a special kind of feeling for you, and so I've let you go on.
But you think it over, and talk to me about it when you come back. It's
high time you was building up your thrones and dominions in the
Kingdom."
He started south the next day, riding down between the two mountain
ranges that bordered the valley, stopping at each settlement, breathing
more freely, resting more easily, as each day took him farther away.
Yet, when he closed his eyes, there, like an echo, was the vision of a
woman's face with shining eyes and lips,--a vision that after a few
seconds was washed away by a great wave of blood.
But after a few days, certain bits of news caught up with him that
happily drove this thing from his sight for a time by stirring within
him all his old dread of Gentile persecution.
First he heard that Parley Pratt, the Archer of Paradise and one of the
Twelve Apostles, had been foully murdered back in Arkansas while seeking
to carry to their mother the children of his ninth wife. The father of
these children, so his informant reported, had waylaid and shot him.
Then came rumours of a large wagon-train going south through Utah on its
way to California. Reports said it was composed chiefly of Missourians,
some of whom were said to be boasting that they had helped to expel the
Saints from Jackson County in that State. Also in this train were
reported to be several men from Arkansas who had been implicated in the
assassination of Apostle Pratt.
But news of the crowning infamy reached him the following day,--news
that had put out all thought of his great sin and his bloody secret,
news of a thing so monstrous that he was unable to give it credence
until it had been confirmed by other comers from the north. President
Buchanan, inspired by tales that had reached him of various deeds
growing out of the reformation, and by the treatment which various
Federal officers were said to have received, had decided that rebellion
existed in the Territory of Utah. He had appointed a successor to
Brigham Young as governor, so the report ran, and ordered an army to
march to Salt Lake City for the alleged purpose of installing the new
executive.
Three days later all doubt of the truth of this story was banished. Word
then came that Brigham was about to declare martial law, and that he had
promised that Buchanan's army should never enter the valley.
Now his heart beat high again, with something of the old swift fervour.
The Gentile yoke was at last to be thrown off. War would come, and the
Lord would surely hold them safe while they melted away the Gentile
hosts.
He reached the settlement of Parowan that night, and when they told him
there that the wagon-train coming south--their ancient enemies who had
plundered and butchered them in Jackson County--was to be cut off before
it left the basin, it seemed but right to him, the just vengeance of
Heaven upon their one-time despoilers, and a fitting first act in the
war-drama that was now to be played.
Once more the mob was marching upon them to despoil and murder and put
them into the wilderness. But now God had nerved and strengthened them
to defend the walls of Zion, even against a mighty nation. And as a
token of His favour and His wish, here was a company of their bitterest
foes delivered into their hands. Beside the picture was another; he saw
his sister, the slight, fair girl, in the grasp of the fiends at Haun's
Mill; the face of his father tossing on the muddy current and sucked
under to the river-bottom; and the rough bark cylinder, festooned with
black cloth, holding the worn form of the mother whose breast had nursed
him.
When he started he had felt that he could never again preach while that
secret lay upon him,--that he could no longer rebuke sinners
honestly,--but this matter of war was different.
He preached a moving sermon that day from a text of Samuel: "As thy
sword hath made women childless, so shall thy mother be childless among
women." And when he was done the congregation had made the little dimly
lighted meeting-house at Parowan ring with a favourite hymn:--
"Up, awake, ye defenders of Zion!
The foe's at the door of your homes;
Let each heart be the heart of a lion,
Unyielding and proud as he roams.
Remember the wrongs of Missouri,
Remember the fate of Nauvoo!
When the God-hating foe is before ye,
Stand firm and be faithful and true."