rifles. On reaching the base of the bluff they halted, and held a
short council among themselves.
"The wells are to the right, my brothers," said one, a hard-lipped,
clean-shaven man with grizzly hair.
"To the right of the Sierra Blanco--so we shall reach the Rio
Grande," said another.
"Fear not for water," cried a third. "He who could draw it from the
rocks will not now abandon His own chosen people."
"Amen! Amen!" responded the whole party.
They were about to resume their journey when one of the youngest and
keenest-eyed uttered an exclamation and pointed up at the rugged crag
above them. From its summit there fluttered a little wisp of pink,
showing up hard and bright against the grey rocks behind. At the
sight there was a general reining up of horses and unslinging of
guns, while fresh horsemen came galloping up to reinforce the
vanguard. The word "Redskins" was on every lip.
"There can't be any number of Injuns here," said the elderly man who
appeared to be in command. "We have passed the Pawnees, and there are
no other tribes until we cross the great mountains."
"Shall I go forward and see, Brother Stangerson," asked one of the
band.
"And I," "and I," cried a dozen voices.
"Leave your horses below and we will await you here," the Elder
answered. In a moment the young fellows had dismounted, fastened
their horses, and were ascending the precipitous slope which led up
to the object which had excited their curiosity. They advanced
rapidly and noiselessly, with the confidence and dexterity of
practised scouts. The watchers from the plain below could see them
flit from rock to rock until their figures stood out against the
skyline. The young man who had first given the alarm was leading
them. Suddenly his followers saw him throw up his hands, as though
overcome with astonishment, and on joining him they were affected in
the same way by the sight which met their eyes.
On the little plateau which crowned the barren hill there stood a
single giant boulder, and against this boulder there lay a tall man,
long-bearded and hard-featured, but of an excessive thinness. His
placid face and regular breathing showed that he was fast asleep.
Beside him lay a little child, with her round white arms encircling
his brown sinewy neck, and her golden haired head resting upon the
breast of his velveteen tunic. Her rosy lips were parted, showing the
regular line of snow-white teeth within, and a playful smile played
over her infantile features. Her plump little white legs terminating
in white socks and neat shoes with shining buckles, offered a strange
contrast to the long shrivelled members of her companion. On the
ledge of rock above this strange couple there stood three solemn
buzzards, who, at the sight of the new comers uttered raucous screams
of disappointment and flapped sullenly away.
The cries of the foul birds awoke the two sleepers who stared about
them in bewilderment. The man staggered to his feet and looked down
upon the plain which had been so desolate when sleep had overtaken
him, and which was now traversed by this enormous body of men and of
beasts. His face assumed an expression of incredulity as he gazed,
and he passed his boney hand over his eyes. "This is what they call
delirium, I guess," he muttered. The child stood beside him, holding
on to the skirt of his coat, and said nothing but looked all round
her with the wondering questioning gaze of childhood.
The rescuing party were speedily able to convince the two castaways
that their appearance was no delusion. One of them seized the little
girl, and hoisted her upon his shoulder, while two others supported
her gaunt companion, and assisted him towards the waggons.
"My name is John Ferrier," the wanderer explained; "me and that
little un are all that's left o' twenty-one people. The rest is all
dead o' thirst and hunger away down in the south."
"Is she your child?" asked someone.
"I guess she is now," the other cried, defiantly; "she's mine 'cause
I saved her. No man will take her from me. She's Lucy Ferrier from
this day on. Who are you, though?" he continued, glancing with
curiosity at his stalwart, sunburned rescuers; "there seems to be a
powerful lot of ye."
"Nigh upon ten thousand," said one of the young men; "we are the
persecuted children of God--the chosen of the Angel Merona."
"I never heard tell on him," said the wanderer. "He appears to have
chosen a fair crowd of ye."
"Do not jest at that which is sacred," said the other sternly. "We
are of those who believe in those sacred writings, drawn in Egyptian
letters on plates of beaten gold, which were handed unto the holy
Joseph Smith at Palmyra. We have come from Nauvoo, in the State of
Illinois, where we had founded our temple. We have come to seek a
refuge from the violent man and from the godless, even though it be
the heart of the desert."
The name of Nauvoo evidently recalled recollections to John Ferrier.
"I see," he said, "you are the Mormons."
"We are the Mormons," answered his companions with one voice.
"And where are you going?"
"We do not know. The hand of God is leading us under the person of
our Prophet. You must come before him. He shall say what is to be
done with you."
They had reached the base of the hill by this time, and were
surrounded by crowds of the pilgrims--pale-faced meek-looking women,
strong laughing children, and anxious earnest-eyed men. Many were the
cries of astonishment and of commiseration which arose from them when
they perceived the youth of one of the strangers and the destitution
of the other. Their escort did not halt, however, but pushed on,
followed by a great crowd of Mormons, until they reached a waggon,
which was conspicuous for its great size and for the gaudiness and
smartness of its appearance. Six horses were yoked to it, whereas the
others were furnished with two, or, at most, four a-piece. Beside the
driver there sat a man who could not have been more than thirty years
of age, but whose massive head and resolute expression marked him as
a leader. He was reading a brown-backed volume, but as the crowd
approached he laid it aside, and listened attentively to an account
of the episode. Then he turned to the two castaways.
"If we take you with us," he said, in solemn words, "it can only be
as believers in our own creed. We shall have no wolves in our fold.
Better far that your bones should bleach in this wilderness than that
you should prove to be that little speck of decay which in time
corrupts the whole fruit. Will you come with us on these terms?"
"Guess I'll come with you on any terms," said Ferrier, with such
emphasis that the grave Elders could not restrain a smile. The leader
alone retained his stern, impressive expression.
"Take him, Brother Stangerson," he said, "give him food and drink,
and the child likewise. Let it be your task also to teach him our
holy creed. We have delayed long enough. Forward! On, on to Zion!"
"On, on to Zion!" cried the crowd of Mormons, and the words rippled
down the long caravan, passing from mouth to mouth until they died
away in a dull murmur in the far distance. With a cracking of whips
and a creaking of wheels the great waggons got into motion, and soon
the whole caravan was winding along once more. The Elder to whose
care the two waifs had been committed, led them to his waggon, where
a meal was already awaiting them.
"You shall remain here," he said. "In a few days you will have
recovered from your fatigues. In the meantime, remember that now and
forever you are of our religion. Brigham Young has said it, and he
has spoken with the voice of Joseph Smith, which is the voice of
God."
CHAPTER II
The Flower Of Utah
This is not the place to commemorate the trials and privations
endured by the immigrant Mormons before they came to their final
haven. From the shores of the Mississippi to the western slopes of
the Rocky Mountains they had struggled on with a constancy almost
unparalleled in history. The savage man, and the savage beast,
hunger, thirst, fatigue, and disease--every impediment which Nature
could place in the way--had all been overcome with Anglo-Saxon
tenacity. Yet the long journey and the accumulated terrors had shaken
the hearts of the stoutest among them. There was not one who did not
sink upon his knees in heartfelt prayer when they saw the broad
valley of Utah bathed in the sunlight beneath them, and learned from
the lips of their leader that this was the promised land, and that
these virgin acres were to be theirs for evermore.
Young speedily proved himself to be a skilful administrator as well
as a resolute chief. Maps were drawn and charts prepared, in which
the future city was sketched out. All around farms were apportioned
and allotted in proportion to the standing of each individual. The
tradesman was put to his trade and the artisan to his calling. In the
town streets and squares sprang up, as if by magic. In the country
there was draining and hedging, planting and clearing, until the next
summer saw the whole country golden with the wheat crop. Everything
prospered in the strange settlement. Above all, the great temple
which they had erected in the centre of the city grew ever taller and
larger. From the first blush of dawn until the closing of the
twilight, the clatter of the hammer and the rasp of the saw was never
absent from the monument which the immigrants erected to Him who had
led them safe through many dangers.
The two castaways, John Ferrier and the little girl who had shared
his fortunes and had been adopted as his daughter, accompanied the
Mormons to the end of their great pilgrimage. Little Lucy Ferrier was
borne along pleasantly enough in Elder Stangerson's waggon, a retreat
which she shared with the Mormon's three wives and with his son, a
headstrong forward boy of twelve. Having rallied, with the elasticity
of childhood, from the shock caused by her mother's death, she soon
became a pet with the women, and reconciled herself to this new life
in her moving canvas-covered home. In the meantime Ferrier having
recovered from his privations, distinguished himself as a useful
guide and an indefatigable hunter. So rapidly did he gain the esteem
of his new companions, that when they reached the end of their
wanderings, it was unanimously agreed that he should be provided with
as large and as fertile a tract of land as any of the settlers, with
the exception of Young himself, and of Stangerson, Kemball, Johnston,
and Drebber, who were the four principal Elders.
On the farm thus acquired John Ferrier built himself a substantial
log-house, which received so many additions in succeeding years that
it grew into a roomy villa. He was a man of a practical turn of mind,
keen in his dealings and skilful with his hands. His iron
constitution enabled him to work morning and evening at improving and
tilling his lands. Hence it came about that his farm and all that
belonged to him prospered exceedingly. In three years he was better
off than his neighbours, in six he was well-to-do, in nine he was
rich, and in twelve there were not half a dozen men in the whole of
Salt Lake City who could compare with him. From the great inland sea
to the distant Wahsatch Mountains there was no name better known than
that of John Ferrier.
There was one way and only one in which he offended the
susceptibilities of his co-religionists. No argument or persuasion
could ever induce him to set up a female establishment after the
manner of his companions. He never gave reasons for this persistent
refusal, but contented himself by resolutely and inflexibly adhering
to his determination. There were some who accused him of lukewarmness
in his adopted religion, and others who put it down to greed of
wealth and reluctance to incur expense. Others, again, spoke of some
early love affair, and of a fair-haired girl who had pined away on
the shores of the Atlantic. Whatever the reason, Ferrier remained
strictly celibate. In every other respect he conformed to the
religion of the young settlement, and gained the name of being an
orthodox and straight-walking man.
Lucy Ferrier grew up within the log-house, and assisted her adopted
father in all his undertakings. The keen air of the mountains and the
balsamic odour of the pine trees took the place of nurse and mother
to the young girl. As year succeeded to year she grew taller and
stronger, her cheek more rudy, and her step more elastic. Many a
wayfarer upon the high road which ran by Ferrier's farm felt
long-forgotten thoughts revive in their mind as they watched her
lithe girlish figure tripping through the wheatfields, or met her
mounted upon her father's mustang, and managing it with all the ease
