CHAPTER VI.
_The Lute of the Holy Ghost Is Further Chastened_
Listening to Keaton's tale, he had dimly seen the caravan of huntedcreatures crawl past him over the fading green of the prairie; thewagons with their bowed white covers; a heavy cart, jolting, creaking,lumbering mysteriously along, a sick driver hidden somewhere back underits makeshift cover of torn counterpanes; a battered carriage,reminiscent of past luxury, drawn by oxen; more wagons, some withoutcovers; a two-wheeled cart, designed in the ingenuity of desperation,laden with meal-sacks, a bundle of bedding, a sleeping child, and drawnby a little dry-dugged heifer; then more wagons with stooping figurestrudging doggedly beside them, here a man, there a woman leading achild. He saw them as shapes floating by in a dream, blurred andinconsequent. But between himself and the train, more clearly outlinedto his gaze, he saw the worn face of his father tossed on the cold, darkwaters, being swept down by the stream, the weak old hands clutching forsome support in the muddy current, the white head with the chin held upsinking lower at each failure, then at last going under, gulping, toleave a little row of bubbles down the stream.
In a craze of rage and grief he turned toward the river, when he heardthe sharp voice of the Bishop calling him back.
"It ain't any use, Joel."
"Couldn't we find his body?"
"Not a chance in a thousand. It was carried down by the current. Itwould mean days and mebbe weeks. Besides, we need you here. Here's yourduty. Sakes alive! If we only had about twenty minutes with them cusseslike it was in the old days! When you're ready to be a Son of Dan you'llknow what I mean. But never mind, we'll see the day yet when Israel willbe the head and not the tail."
"My mother? Has any one told her?"
"Wal, now, I'm right sorry about that, but it got out before you comeover. Tarlton McKenny's boy, Nephi, rowed over in a skiff and broughtthe news, and some of the women went and tattled it to your ma. I guessit upset her considerable. You go up and see her."
He ran forward toward the head of the train, hearing as he went words ofsympathy hurried to him by those he passed. Mounting the wagon, heclimbed over the seat to where his mother lay. She seemed to sleep inspite of the jolting. The driver called back to him:
"She took on terrible for a spell, Brother Rae. She's only jest now gotherself pacified."
He put his hand on her forehead and found it burning. She stirred andmoaned and muttered disjointed sentences. He heard his father's name,his sister's, and his own, and he knew she was delirious. He eased herbed as well as he could, and made a place for himself beside her wherehe could sit and take one of the pale, thin hands between his own andtry to endow her with some of his abundant life. He stayed by her untiltheir camping-place was reached.
Once for a moment she opened her eyes with what seemed to him a morethan normal clearness and understanding and memory in them. Though shelooked at him long without speaking, she seemed to say all there was tosay, so that the brief span was full of anguish for him. He sighed withrelief when the consciousness faded again from her look, and she fell tobabbling once more of some long gone day in her girlhood.
When the wagon halted he was called outside by the driver, who wishedinstructions regarding the camp to be made. A few moments later he wasback, and raised the side of the wagon cover to let in the light. Thelook on her face alarmed him. It seemed to tell unmistakably that thegreat change was near. Already she looked moribund. An irregular gaspingfor breath, an occasional delirious mutter, were the only signs of life.She was too weak to show restlessness. Her pinched and faded face wascovered with tiny cold beads. The pupils of her eyes were strangelydilated, and the eyes themselves were glazed. There was no pulse at herwrist, and from her heart only the faintest beating could be heard. Inquick terror he called to a boy working at a wagon near by.
"Go for Bishop Wright and tell him to bring that apothecary with him."
The two came up briskly a few moments later, and he stood aside for themin an agony of suspense. The Bishop turned toward him after a long lookinto the wagon.
"She's gone to be with your pa, Joel. You can't do anything--onlyremember they're both happy now for bein' together."
It made little stir in the busy encampment. There had been other deathswhile they lay out on the marshy river flats. Others of the sorry bandwere now sick unto death, and many more would die on the long marchacross the Iowa prairie, dropping out one by one of fever, starvation,exposure. He stood helpless in this chaos of woe, shut up withinhimself, knowing not where to turn.
Some women came presently from the other wagons to prepare the body forburial. He watched them dumbly, from a maze of incredulity, feeling thatsome wretched pretense was being acted before him.
The Bishop and Keaton came up. They brought with them the makeshiftcoffin. They had cut a log, split it, and stripped off its bark in twohalf-cylinders. They led him to the other side of the wagon, out ofsight. Then they placed the strips of bark around the body, bound themwith hickory withes, and over the rough surface the women made a littleshow of black cloth.
For the burial they could do no more than consign the body to one of thewaves in the great billowy land sea about them. They had no tombstone,nor were there even rocks to make a simple cairn. He saw them bury her,and thought there was little to choose between hers and the grave of hisfather, whose body was being now carried noiselessly down in the bed ofthe river. The general locality would be kept by landmarks, by thebearing of valley bends, headlands, or the fork and angles of constantstreams. But the spot itself would in a few weeks be lost.
When the last office had been performed, the prayer said, a psalm sung,and the black dirt thrown in, they waited by him in sympathy. Hisfeeling was that they had done a monstrous thing; that the mother he hadknown was somewhere alive and well. He stood a moment so, watching thesun sink below the far rim of the prairie while the white moon swunginto sight in the east. Then the Bishop led him gently by the arm to hisown camp.
There cheer abounded. They had a huge camp-fire tended by the Bishop'snumerous children. Near by was a smaller fire over which the good man'sfour wives, able-bodied, glowing, and cordial, cooked the supper. Inlittle ways they sought to lighten his sorrow or to put his mind awayfrom it. To this end the Bishop contributed by pouring him drink from alarge brown jug.
"Not that I approve of it, boy, but it'll hearten you,--some of the bestpeach brandy I ever sniffed. I got it at the still-house last week foruse in time of trouble,--and this here time is _it_."
He drank the fiery stuff from the gourd in which it was given him, andchoked until they brought him water. But presently the warmth stolealong his cold, dead nerves so that he became intensely alive from headto foot, and strangely exalted. And when they offered him food he ateeagerly and talked. It seemed to him there had been a thousand mattersthat he had long wished to speak of; matters of moment in which he feltdeeply; yet on which he had strangely neglected to touch till now.
He talked long with the Bishop when the women had climbed into theirwagon for the night. He amazed that good man by asking him if the Lordwould not be pleased to have them, now, as they were, go back to Nauvooand descend upon the Gentiles to smite them. The Bishop counselled himto have patience.
"What could we do how with these few old fusees and cheap arms that wemanaged to smuggle across--to say nothing of half of us being downsick?"
"But we are Israel, and surely Israel's God--"
"The Lord had His chance the other day if He'd wanted it, when theytook the town. No, Joel, He means us to gether out and become strongenough to beat 'em in our own might. But you _wait_; our day will come,and all the more credit to us then for doin' it ourselves. Then we'llconsecrate the herds and flocks of the Gentile and his store and basket,his gold and silver, and his myrrh and frankincense. But for thepresent--well, we got to be politic and kind of modest about suchdoin's. The big Fan, the Sons of Dan, done good work in Missouri andbetter in Nauvoo, and it'll do still better where we're goin'. But wemust be pa
tient. Only next time we'll get to work quicker. If theGentiles had been seen to quicker in Nauvoo, Joseph would be with usnow. We learned our lesson there. Now the Lord has unfurled a Standardof Zion for the gathering of Israel, and this time we'll fix theGentiles early."
"Amen! Brother Seth."
A look of deep hatred had clouded the older man's face as he spoke. Hecontinued.
"Let the wrath of God abide upon 'em, and remember that we're bein'tried and proved for a purpose. And we got to be more practical. Youbeen too theoretical yourself and too high-flyin' in your notions. TheKingdom ain't to be set up on earth by faith alone. The Lord has got tohave _works_, like I told you about the other day."
"You were right, Bishop, I need to be more practical. The olive-branchand not the sword would Ephraim extend to Japheth, but if--"
"If Japheth don't toe the mark the Lord's will must be worked uponhim."
"So be it, Brother Seth! I am ready now to be a Son of Dan."
The Bishop rose from in front of their fire and looked about. No one wasnear. Here and there a fire blazed, and the embers of many more could beseen dying out in the distance. The nearest camp was that of thefever-stricken man who had fled on to the boat that morning with hischild in his arms. They could see his shaven head in the firelight, anda woman hovering over him as he lay on the ground with a tattered quiltfixed over him in lieu of a tent. From another group came the strains ofan accordion and the chorus of a hymn.
"That's right," said the Bishop. "I knew you'd come to it. I saw thatlong ago. Brother Brigham saw it, too. We knew you could be relied on.You want the oath, do you?"
"Yes, yes, Brother Seth. I was ready for it this morning when they toldme about father."
"Hold up your right hand and repeat after me:
"'In the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, I do covenant and agreeto support the first Presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ ofLatter-day Saints, in all things right or wrong; I will faithfully guardthem and report to them the acts of all men as far as in my power lies;I will assist in executing all the decrees of the first President,Patriarch, or President of the Twelve, and I will cause all who speakevil of the Presidency or Heads of the Church to die the death ofdissenters or apostates, unless they speedily confess and repent, forpestilence, persecution, and death shall follow the enemies of Zion. Iwill be a swift herald of salvation and messenger of peace to theSaints, and I will never make known the secret purposes of this Societycalled the Sons of Dan, my life being the forfeiture in a fire ofburning tar and brimstone. So help me God and keep me steadfast.'"
He repeated the words without hesitation, with fervour in his voice, andthe light of a holy and implacable zeal in his face.
"Now I'll give you the blessing, too. Wait till I get my bottle of oil."
He stepped to the nearest wagon, felt under the cover, and came backwith a small bottle in his hand.
"Stand jest here--so--now!"
They stood at the edge of the wavering firelight, and he put his hand onthe other's head.
"'In the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and by the authority ofthe Holy Priesthood, the first President, Patriarch, and High Priest ofthe Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, representing the first,second, and third Gods in Heaven, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, I donow anoint you with holy consecrated oil, and by the imposition of myhands do ordain and set you apart for the holy calling whereunto you arecalled; that you may consecrate the riches of the Gentiles to the Houseof Israel, bring swift destruction upon apostate sinners, and executethe decrees of Heaven without fear of what man can do with you. So moteit be. Amen.'
"There, boy, if I ain't mistaken, that's the best work for Zion that Idone for some time. Now be off to your rest!"
"Good night, Bishop, and thank you for being kind to me! The Church Poetcalled me the Lute of the Holy Ghost, but I feel to-night, that I mustbe another Lion of the Lord. Good night!"
He went out of the firelight and stumbled through the dark to his ownwagons. But when he came to them he could not stop. Under all theexhilaration he had been conscious of the great pain within him, druggedfor the moment, but never wholly stifled. Now the stimulus of the drinkhad gone, and the pain had awakened to be his master.
He went past the wagons and out on to the prairie that stretched away, asea of silvery gray in the moonlight. As he walked, the whole stupendousload of sorrow settled upon him. His breath caught and his eyes burnedwith the tears that lay behind them. He walked faster to flee from it,but it came upon him more heavily until it made a breaking load,--theloss of his sister by worse than death, his father and mother driven outat night and their home burned, his father killed by a mob whose aim hadlacked even the dignity of the murderer's--for they had seeminglyintended but a brutal piece of horse-play; his mother dead fromexposure due to Gentile persecutions; the girl he had loved taken fromhim by Gentile persuasions. If only she had been left him so that now hecould put his head down upon her shoulder, slight as that shoulder was,and feel the supreme soothing of a woman's touch; if only the hurts hadnot all come at once! The pain sickened him. He was far out on theprairie now, away from the sleeping encampment, and he threw himselfdown to give way to his grief. Almost silently he wept, yet with sobsthat choked him and cramped him from head to foot. He called to hismother and to his father and to the sister who had gone before them,crying their names over and over in the night. But under all his sorrowhe felt as great a rage against the Gentile nation that had driven theminto the wilderness.
When the spasm of grief had passed, he still lay there a long time. Thenbecoming chilled he walked again over the prairie, watching the moon godown and darkness come to make the stars brighter, and then the day showgray in the east. And as he walked against his sorrow, the burden of histhought came to be: "God has tried me more than most men; therefore heexpects more of me; and my reward shall be greater. New visions shall begiven to me, and a new power, and this poor, hunted, plundered remnantof Israel shall find me their staff. Much has been taken from me, butmuch will be given unto me."
And under this ran a minor strain born of the rage that still burnedwithin him:
"But, oh, the day of wrath that shall dawn on yonder Gentiles!"
So did he chasten himself through the night; and when the morning camehe took his place in the train, strangely exalted by this new sense ofthe singular favour that was to be conferred upon him.
For seven weeks the little caravan crept over the prairies of Iowa, andday after day his conviction strengthened that he had been chosen forlarge works. In this fervour he cheered the sick and the weak of theparty by picturing for them a great day to come when the Lord shouldexalt the valleys of humility and abase the mountains of Gentile pride;when the Saints should have their reward, and retribution should descendupon the wicked nation they were leaving behind. Scourges, afflictions,and depredations by fire, famine, and the tyrant's hand he besought themto regard as marks of Heaven's especial favour.
The company came to look upon him as its cloud by day and its pillar offire by night. Old women--mothers in Israel--lavished attentions uponhim as a motherless boy; young women smiled at him with soft pity, andwere meek and hushed when he spoke. And the men believed that the thingshe told them concerning their great day to come were true revelationsfrom God. They did not hesitate to agree with the good Bishop Wright,who declared in words of pointed admiration, "When that young man getsall het up with the Holy Ghost, the Angel of the Lord jest _has_ to givedown!"
The Lions of the Lord: A Tale of the Old West Page 8