John Stevens' Courtship

"Look here, John Stevens, there's no sense in your getting angry. You know well enough that President Young has said repeatedly that there should be no blood spilt in these times, and you know, too, that this gentleman is not to blame if a girl chooses to accept his invitation to spend an hour in his company. Just calm yourself, for neither Ellen nor I have committed any sin, and we are old enough to have some rights of our own. And I am not going to be dictated to by any creature on this earth, man or woman! Whatever you want to say to me must not be said in anger."

John looked into the eyes of the woman beside him, and with such a look! He was muttering under his breath: "Oh, God help me!" And the anguish and love and anger and struggle for self-control which were shown in that look shook even Dian's heart with a vague trembling which she could not understand.

"Dian, you take Ellen and go home. I shall do nothing rash, God help me, and you need have no fear; but I beg you to go quietly home, and take good care of Ellen."

Moved by some inexplicable impulse, Dian drew herself close to him and in a low whisper she said:

"Don't be harsh, John," and then lower still, "if you love me, John."

XXIII

DOWN BY THE RIVERSIDE

Diantha turned away, and putting her arm around her friend, they sped through the late afternoon sunshine to their home with flying feet, silent tongues and an unspoken prayer in both hearts for John Stevens that he might not be overcome.

As for John, he strode up to the soldier, as soon as the girls were out of hearing, and with the low roar of an angry lion, he growled:

"What is to hinder my choking the dastard life out of your lustful body?" As he spoke, quick as a flash, he had pinioned the man's arms, and with the grip of an infuriated animal, he had his hands around the white, gentlemanly throat, and for a moment his passion so blinded him that he knew nothing, saw nothing, but a huge, black cloud which overspread all nature and his own heart.

This murderous impulse passed, and with another awful groan, he released his hold, and with a fling, threw the stranger away from him, and quickly turning his back, buried his face in his hands, while one hot, silent tear scalded his repentant eyes.

The soldier, after a few moments of insensibility, came to himself, and with a profound effort, he dragged himself up, and shaking his body together, he stood upon his feet, and said, quietly and sneeringly, though somewhat hoarsely:

"You asked me a very queer question, my good fellow, and if I had not more regard for law and decency than you seem to have, I would answer it like this" – with the words, John felt the muzzle of a revolver at his ear. Again, with the flash of a tiger, John seized the other's arm, twisted the pistol out of his hand, and with a quick, backward spring, he had thrown the weapon into the brawling river beside them, while with a deep sneer in his voice, he answered:

"Do you think, you soldiers, that you are out here with nothing but squaws to oppose you? Men who have wives and homes to protect are not afraid of popguns." And then, as if mastered anew with the terrible emotions surging in his breast, John asked, slowly: "What is to hinder my sending your soul to hell, where it rightfully belongs?"

This time the soldier looked into the hot, angry eyes close to his own, and perhaps his own bravery had some effect in calming John, for after a few minutes, the soldier folded his own arms, and with a light touch indicating the epaulets upon his shoulders, he said, almost airily:

"Oh, I dare say that even you have some respect for this Government of ours. And perhaps, too, your wholesome fear of displeasing the notorious Brigham would hinder you from disgracing yourself."

John said nothing, and the other quietly went to the tree where his horse was fastened, and untying and mounting his steed, said lightly:

"Have you any messages to send to our fort? If so, I shall be pleased to carry them."

"Yes, you may tell your commander-in-chief that if he wishes to keep the heads of his men on their shoulders, he would do well to keep them away from our towns. We will defend our homes and our virtue with our lives."

The soldier was now on his horse, and comparatively safe, so he ventured to reply tauntingly:

"Ah, my dear fellow, don't trouble yourself; the women will hunt us up. I know the dear creatures better than you do. You are very unsophisticated, depend upon it. We shall soon have hard work to keep out of the way of them. Ta, ta!" And before John could move, he had dashed away in the trees, and was soon out of sight and hearing.

John Stevens was left behind with all the agonized load of fear and dread which swept over him like a mountain cloud-burst. He leaned against a tree and with arms folded across his breast and head dropped, he heaved many a sigh and shed some scalding tears. The thing he had most dreaded in the onslaught upon his people had come to pass. And to think that the two women he loved best upon the earth should be in the greatest danger from this scourge. Death for the men; hunger, cold, war, pain, all these were slight things compared with the danger which had been ever present. The temptation which would assail the youth of both sexes, but more particularly the young women, to forsake the simple, honest lives of their people, and to become involved in the sins and corruptions of the outside world; this had been his constant dread. Was this not Zion? Was God not coming from His hiding place to keep Babylon from our midst? With all the strength of his soul he loved chastity and purity. He had, at what cost no one but a strong man may tell, kept his own nature as sweet and pure as that of any woman, and he knew that in strictest chastity only there was safety and peace for either man or woman in this life or the life to come. Why was he so sensitive to all these impressions and fears? Why could he not be like Tom Allen, careless and unthinking as to past, present and future, unless it affected his own pleasure? But he knew he could not. Gifted with a peculiarly sensitive and keenly perceptive nature, he saw far beyond the present action; he saw the end to which such action tended, in a measure, and he suffered with the intensity of such a soul, when he or any he loved turned aside from the narrow, straight path of chastity and right.

After hours of silent suffering and struggle, he arose to find the stars shining above his head in a shimmering peace, and with a heavy, but quieted heart, he made his way home to the village beyond. He resolved that he would seek Bishop Winthrop the next day, and perhaps even go to President Young for some counsel in this terrible situation.

The bishop was much moved and excited over the events which had involved his own sister, as well as the step-daughter of his friend, Clara Tyler. The bishop suggested at once that they should go to see President Young, and lay the whole affair before him for counsel. They found President Young full of business cares and anxieties concerning the fate of his people, but when the two men entered, the President asked them to go with him to his inner room, and they could then present their business before him.

John Stevens told the whole story, not adding one detail, nor seeking in the least to exaggerate the danger or the wrong attempted. But his brief, quiet statement did more to lay the true state of the case before the President than a torrent of language could have conveyed. Bishop Winthrop was very much wrought up, and begged the President to take steps to prevent any such meetings in the future. He was for threatening to kill any soldier who was found outside of his own barracks.

The President listened to the wild talk and plans of his excited companion as he had to the quieter, yet intenser recital of John Stevens. After each had said all he cared to say on the matter, the President, who had been twirling his thumbs, as was his custom when in deep thought, turned his piercing eyes upon the two men so anxiously regarding him, and said slowly:

"It's no use, brethren, to try to force people to do right. You can't keep people virtuous by shutting them up in prisons. The only way that I know of to get men or women to walk in the path of virtue and righteousness, is to teach them correct principles, and then let each one govern himself. If our daughters want to do wrong, if they can't find any of our boys who will help them, they will find plenty of men in the world ready to ruin them. After such girls have learned their lessons they will be glad to creep back to father's hearthstone, and to sit under the shelter they once despised. Teach all to do right and to live their religion, and give them their agency. Let parents live their religion and go quietly along, and some day their children will all come back to them."

This was hard counsel for these two men to follow; they were so anxious, so full of loving solicitude for the two beautiful girls in question. After a moment the President looked searchingly at John Stevens, and said inquiringly:

"Brother Stevens, why don't you court one of those girls and marry her yourself? The best way to drive out evil is by introducing good in its place. Women and men both desire to love and be loved; and I sometimes think our Elders will be held responsible for the loss of our girls, if they make no effort to give them a love worthy and pure."

The conference was ended, and John felt the whole burden had been flung back on his shoulders. Well, he was strong and willing; he was no coward, either. But how could he do the impossible?

XXIV

ELLIE'S SECOND WARNING

The two girls avoided John all the next day, for with feminine instinct they divined their case would come up for grave consideration, and neither cared to be questioned or chastised.

When this startling incident came to the ears of Aunt Clara Tyler, she buckled on her aggressive armor of righteousness, but like the tactful soul she was, she drew over her steel coat the soft velvet robe of tender sympathy and bided her time.

Two nights after Dian's encounter, the girls were out at a neighboring party. Returning somewhat late, Aunt Clara's watchful ears heard them call out their merry good-nights to their companions, and the psychological moment was upon them.

The girls found her busy at their own wagon-box bedroom, and they were glad for a pair of sympathetic ears in which to pour out the story of "what he said" and "she said" with the evening's trivial happenings, all of such moment to young, fresh hearts.

"How good it is to get a word with you, Auntie," cooed Ellen, "you are off so much with the sick that I don't get a chance to hug you once a week."

Joining in their merry chatter, the two girls sitting cross-legged on their narrow bed, their mentor sat on the stool at the front end of the box, and gently led them into deep conversational waters.

"These brilliant men of the world do know how to say pretty things, don't they?" said Ellen, after Dian had related the river incident, in her own candid fashion.

"And he never said a rude word or did an offensive thing," finished Dian.

"Good manners, my dear, are only the real or the assumed expression of a truly unselfish soul. Tact is like charity – it sometimes covers a multitude of sins."

Ellen sat silent while this talk went on; Aunt Clara noted it and drew her own shrewd conclusions.

"Well, why must this sweet and gentle courtesy belong only to men who are not good, Aunt Clara?" continued Dian.

"It mustn't, and yet it too often does. Pioneer life in every country leaves very little time for young men especially to cultivate the amenities of life. Aren't our leaders courteous, and can you find lovelier ladies than Sister Eliza R. Snow and Zina D. Young? Our girls are as crude in much of their behavior as are our boys. First the marble must be hewn out, then comes the polish."

"I love the polish," murmured Ellen. And Dian added frankly:

"So do I! The rocks in the hillside are ugly!"

"Not ugly – their rough beauty appeals to an educated mind. And polish is so deceptive. You could enamel any cheap and poor surface, but heat or power would crush the false substance into powder. Ah no, my dear motherless girls, it is my duty to warn you! I see what your youthful eyes could not perceive. The allurements of bad men and corrupt worldliness, have ever been and ever will be present with us in this world. 'Take away the devil's fascination, and you would cut off his right arm at the shoulder,' is an old proverb. The only safety for youth and inexperience is to take the counsel of their parents and guardians. I am a widow, and earn my living by nursing the sick. So I am obliged to leave you girls to watch yourselves much of the time."

"But taking counsel always means to do the thing you don't want to do," pouted Dian, "and to leave undone the things you would like to do."

"That pretty nearly sums up life's best discipline. And now let me warn you, my dear, precious girls, let that soldier alone, and every other man whose life and character is unknown to your guardians; have fun, enjoy yourselves, but don't go outside your own safe circle for pleasure or for peace."

"Oh, pshaw!" grumbled Diantha. But Aunt Clara knew that the temporary resistance of Diantha's frank nature would yield in time, and that above all, she could never quite bring herself to disobey any given counsel. That was the rock upon which the girl's character was builded. As for Ellen:

"Ellie," said her aunt, solemnly, "let me warn you and forewarn you against any evil temptation such as has just assailed Diantha. I'm sure I don't know how you would come out from such a test, my dear, for you do love admiration so well."

"Of course Diantha's the perfect one," replied Ellen, sharply; "I am never quite safe or quite right," but she was very glad Dian had kept her secret. For there was surely no need of Aunt Clara knowing all that!

Alack! The loyalty of youth to youth sometimes works them grave disaster. If Diantha had only been a little less loyal, Aunt Clara would have been set upon the watch tower; for she, with her riper years, knew the weakness as well as the charm of her pretty niece as inexperienced Dian could not then know. But both girls had now been rightly taught and cautioned, and so the elder woman kissed them good-night and left them to the deep slumber of youth and health.

XXV

"DO YOU CARE FOR JOHN STEVENS?"

Several evenings later, at supper, Tom Allen remarked that the Snows were coming over to spend the evening, and he wondered if they could have some games in the front yard, as it was a bright, moonlight night. Both Diantha and Ellen were waiting upon the table, and no one for the moment seemed anxious to answer Tom's remark. Sister Winthrop, as well as Aunt Clara, had evidently heard something of recent events, and both were very serious and quiet. But the others of this large and oddly assorted family assemblage had heard nothing, and accordingly the idea of having some games to help pass away the brief summer evening with plenty of music of concertina and accordion was received with general favor.

It was a little puzzling to Diantha to see the lover-like attention of John Stevens to her friend Ellen that evening. They sat together, they chose each other for every game, they talked together in the most confidential manner, and at last ended by going off together for a walk before the evening was half over. Of course, she had seen them act just that way before; but then she had cared nothing whatever about it; John was always very queer, and she never knew quite how to take him. In fact, that was about the only reason she had retained the slightest interest in him. A girl does so dislike a man who lets her know all there is to know about himself! A little discreet reserve is such a charm in a man.

Now, my lady Dian felt that she had been actuated by a very uncommon feeling down in the grove, and she had actually stooped to ask a man to do a favor for her own sweet sake if he loved her, forsooth. Certainly that man ought to respond by devoting himself to her at once and forever. And that man was doing the very opposite thing. Dian had forgotten that she was wearing Charlie Rose's ring; had quite forgotten all that might be involved or inferred from such a circumstance. She watched and waited for their return from the walk, feeling for the first time in her life, that somebody had slighted her.

It was not altogether an accident that she sat under the cottonwood tree on the return of the two, nor was it wholly by design that my lady looked like the very spirit of the night, with her simple white dress, her pale yellow gleaming hair breaking about her face in rings and waves, while her white arms, bared to the elbow, rested on her lap and deadened the white of her dress by their warm, creamy tints.

Charlie Rose stood at a little distance, evidently enjoying every detail of the beautiful picture as he leaned on the rude bars of the fence near Dian. Ellen came up to Dian, and as John sat down on one side of her, she slid close to her friend on the other side, and put her arms lovingly around her neck.

"Oh, Dian, isn't the night lovely?"

"Yes, dear, it is. But it is getting late and we must go in."

John sat so close to the fair-haired girl that he could see the starry shine in her soft blue eyes, and as he looked at her beautiful face the remembrance of the scene he had witnessed in the grove, and that this dear girl had been gazed at and admired by a wicked man, brought the hot tide of feeling welling up in his heart, and he was obliged to turn away his face from her dazzling beauty, while he slowly stroked his long beard, and listened to Charlie Rose exchanging poetic nonsense with the two girls.

"Two stars agleam in the silent nightTwo girls a-dream in the soft moonlight,"

improvised Charlie.

"The girls have a dread of a cool evening breezeFor they catch a stray cough, two colds and a sneeze,"

jeered Dian in response. And she took Charlie's arm as she allowed him to escort her into the house.

Ah, John Stevens, John Stevens, your lesson is not learned yet!

As the two girls said good-night to their friends they instinctively sat down on their wagon-box bed for a long talk, something neither had enjoyed for weeks; and they felt all the joy of recovered confidence. What if Dian did feel a little half jealous of Ellen, and Ellen was more than a little jealous of Dian! They were girls, and were sincere friends. Jealousy could not rob them of their real affection for each other; they were both too noble for that.

In the long and confidential talk which followed, Dian learned far more of the young soldier's visits than had been told John Stevens. And while Dian could see that her friend had been in a very dangerous position, her own foolish action of the afternoon before closed her lips against giving the good advice with which she was generally so ready.

"But, you know, Dian, that it is all over now, and I am going to behave myself after this. Say, Dian, do you care anything about John Stevens?"

The question was a frank one, and Diantha was not the person to evade any sort of a question. But she was also honest, and she sat some minutes before giving her answer. She wanted to tell the exact truth.

"No, I don't care about John, in the sense of the word that you imply; I don't know whether I ever could or not. I can't tell; maybe, if he really loved me, and tried awfully hard to make me love him, well, I don't know, I'm sure. But one thing I am sure of, I don't care anything about him now, only as a friend. Why?"

"Oh, I just wanted to know, dear; for I believe I could love him better than any man on earth, if he would let me."

"Well, my dear, just you go on loving him, for I am sure he loves you, and I hope you will be happy with him."

It would not be the truth to say that dignified Dian felt no inner pang of jealousy as she uttered these generous sentiments. There stirred in her heart a very indistinct wish to know the exact condition of her friend John Stevens' affections. Curiosity in a woman is not always a common thing, but if once roused, it is apt to be a very strong motive.

That night there rode into Provo the Governor of Utah, accompanied by a strong posse of Utah militia. He had come to expostulate with Brigham Young, and to induce him to return to Salt Lake City. John Stevens was on his way from the evening frolic to the President's home, to take up his guard duty, when he met the party just riding into town. Governor Cumming hailed John with hearty friendship.

"Captain Stevens, I am happy to see you here. Will you kindly inform President Young that I wish to see him as soon as possible?"

John at once complied with this somewhat hurried and informal request, and was on hand at the conference which, late as was the hour, proved not very long, but certainly full of interest.

The anxious and wearied Governor laid before the "Mormon" leader all the conditions through which the Territory had just passed; he rehearsed in no measured terms his contempt for the actions of some of the Federal authorities; he assured the "Mormon" leaders that Gen. Johnston, who was now safely camped in the Cedar Valley, would do all in his power to bring about peace and harmony in the unhappy and distracted Territory. He told Brigham Young of the furore that the Southern Move, made by the whole population of Utah, had created in the East and in Europe. He laid before that leader of a hunted band of religionists copies of the "New York Times" and the "London Times," which contained bitter comments on this political blunder of the President of the United States. In closing his speech, he gave utterance to a manly appeal to Brigham Young to accept his pledges of security, and at once to take up his return march for Great Salt Lake City, saying:

"There is no longer any danger, sir. General Johnston and the army will keep faith with the 'Mormons.' Every one concerned with this happy settlement will keep faith and hold sacred the pardon and amnesty of the President of the United States. By – , sir, yes."

"We know all about it, Governor. Our memories are long. But we feel assured of your own integrity in this matter, and for that we grant you our fullest confidence and friendship."

"Then, sir," said the kindly-disposed official, "tomorrow, being the birthday of our glorious country, the Fourth of July, I shall publish a proclamation to the 'Mormons' for them to return to their homes."

"Do as you please, Governor Cumming," replied Brigham Young, with his quiet, shrewd smile. "Tomorrow I shall get upon the tongue of my wagon, and tell the people that I am going home, and that they can do as they please."

And it was so. The next morning in the cool daybreak, the leader of the hosts of that modern Israel stood upon his wagon seat, and in the clarion tones so familiar to his people, he called:

"To your tents, O Israel!"

And once more, but this time with paeans of mingled sorrow and rejoicing and songs of praise not unmixed with anxious future forebodings, the people prepared to take up the line of march backward to the deserted homes, to the grass-grown streets of Salt Lake City and to the sun-dried farms and fields of the northern Valley. The Southern Move was passing into the annals of a deeply engraved history.

XXVI

COL. SAXEY EXPOSTULATES

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.