WILLIAM ANDERSON'S MARRIAGE AND JOURNEY WESTWARD —HE AND HIS WIFE HEAR THE GOSPEL—VISIT NAUVOO—GATHER WITH THE SAINTS—THE BATTLE OF NAUVOO.

It was five hours less than one year later in the serene chronology of New Vineyard, when Will sent his paper heart and hand to Emeline. His trusty younger brother, Barton, was his messenger; and to escape observation, the boy was compelled to go early and return quickly. At breakfast, Will saw Barton enter the house and one glance told that the mission had been successfully performed.

Some hours later, at the regular Christmas services in the meeting-house, Will saw Emeline. His look was an anxious question, and hers was a gentle affirmative answer; and this was Will's formal proposition of marriage and Emeline's formal acceptance.

William Anderson and Emeline T. Stewart were wedded in their little town of New Vineyard, September 6, 1831.

Is this too abrupt? It might be if marriage were the end of the story; but unlike fiction, in real life the most uneventful period of human existence is from engagement to marriage; and unlike fiction, in real life the importance of existence comes after marriage.

Not long did they remain in their little village home. For William had decided to seek a greater measure of prosperity in the wide lands lying far beyond New Vineyard in the mysterious West.

Happy indeed was the fortune which carried them away from Maine. Their long journey across half a continent was a revelation of Divinity to their souls. Mountain, forest, lake, cataract, valley—breathed with beauty and grandeur. Two ardent beings, viewing all things under the radiance of their mutual love, saw the majesty of the land, the water and the arching cloud space above, with reverent eyes—for beyond these tangible evidences of sublime power, they sensed the Eternal Cause.

It was in the days and weeks of lonely journeying that they learned how to pray; they felt that never again would supplication and song of praise to Almighty God be formal lip-service given only at stated intervals — rather it would be an hourly and often silent communion with the Creator. In the day, they felt the Holy Presence in every glory which adorned the earth; at night, in the quiet of the woods, they gazed through swaying tree-tops, and saw the stars shedding earthward a serene beauty: and they knew that the God who, from His far-off seat of power, could unfold the swamp-pink flowers by the side of their lonely path, and could send through unfathomed space the light of countless spheres to cheer the silent watches of the night—could also lend His special care to the sentient worshiping creatures of His love.

Far away upon the prairie they at last decided to make their home. They settled in Bureau County, Illinois; and William became a sturdy western farmer. In the ten years following their marriage three children came to make their domestic happiness complete. The eldest was a son, Augustus; the others were daughters, Caroline and Martha.

Each season of the year brought its allotted toil, and the reward of perseverance and thrift was earthly prosperity.

Occasionally they heard rumors of a strange sect of religious believers, with a prophet, who dwelt in a wonderful city on the banks of the Mississippi, far to the south-west of their home. And one Summer day in 1841, four strange men, plain but pleasing in appearance, stopped at their door. These men were missionaries of the Church of Jesus Christ, journeying from the city of Nauvoo to proclaim His words to the honest-in-heart throughout the land. They left their marvelous message with William and Emeline, with the admonition to pray to God who would reveal whether the doctrine was true or false; and one of them in leaving prophesied in these words:

"You will yet see the time when you will regret having let this hour pass unheeded—this hour wherein you have the opportunity to accept, through baptism, the gospel of our Lord."

The prophecy was fulfilled. Before many days had elapsed the truth was plain to the minds of William and Emeline; and they awaited anxiously the visit of an Elder who might give them membership in the Church of their Savior. When weeks passed without the appearance of missionaries William regretted his obduracy at the time when he was first pressed to accept the truth.

Later, another opportunity came, and on the 15th day of August of that year, 1841, in the waters of Bureau Creek, William was immersed in sacred baptism. Afterward, Emeline rendered similar reverence to the requirement of the gospel.

As soon as he could garner his crops, William felt that he must hasten to the beautiful city of the Father of Waters. He carried with him on the eventful journey to Nauvoo his wife and their three little ones; and they reached the city on Thursday, September 30th, 1841.

On the day following, the great conference of the Church was to have opened; but the storm prevented the assembling of the Saints. And after learning that the meetings were postponed for one day, William left his wife and children comfortably shielded in their wagon from the blast while he wandered about regardless of the storm. He looked with awestruck vision upon the temple which was rearing its majestic presence toward heaven; and he gazed with curiosity at the place which was being excavated for the foundation of the Nauvoo House.

The next day, Saturday, October 2nd, the people crowded to the meeting ground and organized themselves into their quorums in order. The corner stone of the Nauvoo House was laid that morning; but in the afternoon services in the conference meeting were held.

The Sabbath came—a bleak day; but William and Emeline, with their little ones, were at the meeting grounds, and they saw and heard that day the Prophet of God.

The very sight of Joseph, graceful, erect, commanding; with flashing eyes and animated gesture, was enough to thrill these humble believers with joy. But when they heard his voice, with its wonderful impressive sweetness, they shed tears of happiness.

Joseph's sermon was upon the glorious principle of redemption for the dead; and he portrayed the greatness of Divine compassion and benevolence in this plan of human salvation. He said:

"View two brothers—equally intelligent, learned, virtuous and lovely—walking in uprightness and all good conscience, so far as they are able to discern duty from the muddy stream of tradition or from the blotted page of the book of nature. One dies and is buried, never having heard the gospel of reconciliation. To the other the message of salvation is sent; he hears and embraces it and is made the heir of eternal life.

"Shall the one become the partaker of glory and the other be consigned to hopeless perdition? Is there no chance for his escape? Sectarianism answers, `None, none!' Such an idea is worse than atheism. The truth shall break down and dash in pieces all such bigoted Pharisaism. The sects shall be sifted, the honest-in-heart brought out and the priests left in the midst of their corruption."

Such was the new and exalted nature of the instruction; and when the conference was ended William and Emeline had determined to sacrifice their distant possessions and gather with the Saints in the beautiful city. But their desire was not immediately fulfilled; for William was called to preach and discuss through the States; and in his absence Emeline nobly and cheerfully toiled for her children and their dear father.

Nearly three years of missionary labor, broken by intervals of farm toil, had passed when, on the darkest day of the darkest June ever seen by the summers of this great land, a treasonable massacre took place at the little stone jail in Carthage. The appalling news of this great national crime reached out with sudden horror to all the abiding places of the scattered Saints.

William heard the dread story and hastened home. His property was fairly given away, and soon he was with his encompassed and persecuted brethren in Nauvoo.

Immediately he was enrolled in the Legion; later he was appointed sergeant; and still later, captain.

I have here the original certificate of his rank as sergeant. The paper is old and the ink is faded; but every letter is legible. It reads:

"May 12th, 1845.

"GREETING:

"This is to certify that William Anderson is appointed first sergeant in the second company, fifth regiment, second cohort of the Nauvoo Legion. And he is therefore to obey all orders and commands of his superior officers with fidelity according to law and military rule and discipline.

"Given under my hand May 12th, 1845.

"ISAAC ALLRED, Capt."

William Anderson and Emeline were faithful; and they received the blessings of the temple. And on "Tuesday of the first week in February, 1846, I [William Anderson] received in marriage in God's Holy House, Drusilla Sargent."

In all the tragic history of the ensuing two years, William was a staunch actor. It was a piteous time! History shows no greater brutality than that which was perpetrated against the city and the Saints, by officially protected mobs; and in the trying days every man was compelled to show his mettle. William Anderson's journal is filled with the record of this awful period. Its simple, unaffected words show how closely allied were the people of Nauvoo to the sublime martyrs of other centuries.

The history of that brief time should be read by every youth in Utah.

On the 10th day of September, 1846—after the cruelly-enforced migration of many of the people of Nauvoo—there were left to guard the city and its remaining population of women and babes, sick and tottering old men—only 123 citizens who were capable to bear arms.

And this was the hour selected by the fiends incarnate for their descent upon Nauvoo. The city was surrounded by an efficiently-armed mob, nearly 2,000 strong; and a bombardment was begun by the besiegers.

When the thunder of the mob's traitorous guns shook the air of Nauvoo, William sprang up to answer the call of duty.

Emeline and Drusilla clung to him—a fearful foreboding of personal evil seemed to take sound and volume with every reverberation of the artillery discharges. But he was firm. He pressed his fond and faithful wives—his helpmeets given him of God—to his martial bosom; and then he left them to solace themselves by prayer while he rushed to the encounter.

Then these two good women—sisters, nay dearer to each other than sisters—knelt down, with arms clasped about each others waists and prayed to the All-Merciful to bring their good husband home in safety from the battle.

One day, two days passed. It was the morning of the 12th day of September, 1846. William was bidding farewell to his wives and his children; when Emeline sobbed anew:

"Oh, my beloved! Let not Augustus go to the battle today. He is but a child: think, William! he is only fourteen. Each day he has followed you, taking his gun on his shoulder to fight the wicked enemy and to brave a dreadful death. Let him stay with me!"

Even as she spoke, the thunder of the cannonade shook the city; and William sprang away to hasten to his post, while Augustus gave a ringing cry and fled from the house.

The two women and the little girls were left alone—Emeline and her younger sister wife, the loving Drusilla, and Caroline and Martha— white and trembling.

Hours elapsed, during which these good women were praying as they toiled.

The sounds of the battle waging around the city neither distracted them from devotion nor domestic duty.

Gradually there came a lull; and a momentary hope sprang up in their hearts. But even while the precious thought was taking form, a rattle of musketry shook the window panes; and a moment later the deep boom of a siege gun—shaking the houses from chimney to cellar—told that the struggle was renewed in all its fierceness.

When this grim messenger dispelled their hope with his harsh voice, Emeline pressed her hands to her bosom and sank upon the floor. As she dropped she cried:

"Drusilla, my friend, this instant has widowed us and has taken from this house its only son. I feel the dread fact her in my heart!"

The younger wife and the two little girls hastened to the side of Emeline, and there they knelt, weeping and moaning. The premonition seemed too real to be disputed.

While the women and children were rocking back and forth in their agony of apprehension, a hurried knock was heard at the door; and, without waiting for a response, a brother soldier of William stalked into the room. He saw the piteous sight; and all his gallant hardihood gave way. Mingling his heavy tears with the rain from gentler eyes, he sobbed:

"My sister, our Savior help you! Brother Anderson is dead! God's will be done!"

The spirit of courage sustained Emeline, and she cried:

"Where is our husband? Alive he was ours—and we will have his clay now life is ended. Call my boy to bring his father's body home. God's will be done!"

While the grief-shaken soldier was replying, another breathless messenger burst in, saying between his gasps of haste and sorrow:

"Your boy is dead! Oh, Sister Anderson, he fell a martyr—brave, manly, beyond his years—he took a soldier's part: he has met a soldier's fate."

Did this last blow send Emeline swooning? No: in such a crisis a noble, religious soul is exalted beyond the reach of earthly mourning.

Calmly she spoke:

"I will go forth and find our dead—my murdered boy and our martyred husband—Drusilla. Do you prepare couches for their home-coming."

But Drusilla was herself a heroine:

"No, my sister," she said, "your duty is at home. Often your life has been threatened by this mob. They will watch our husband's body, and if you appear you too will be sacrificed. I am not known as Captain Anderson's wife. I will go out and secure the bodies of our dear ones, while you shall remain with these fatherless babes of yours—of ours."

Drusilla rushed from the house as she spoke. Emeline would have followed; but one of her husband's comrades had remained to restrain her, and besides, her little daughters clung at her skirts, determined to prevent her going forth.

So Emeline stayed at the stricken house, preparing for that last solemn home-coming of her soldier spouse and son. While she toiled to fit a bed for the dear forms—now stilled through earthly time—she recalled from her memory that the anniversary of her wedding day was but six days past; and in another fortnight she would be 34 years old— already, in her early prime, she was the widow of a martyr and the mother of a murdered patriot.

Drusilla went abroad through the smoky streets of Nauvoo, escorted by one of the heroic defenders, to the east side of the city. There, resting where he had fallen against a wall, was the bleeding body of her husband. Bravely this fair young woman took from her own shoulders a cloak and laid it across the mangled form.

She breathed a prayer, beseeching strength and courage; and then she sought the place where lay Augustus, the slain son. Tenderly, as if he had been her own boy or brother, she spread her apron over his face.

Then she followed the procession which escorted the bodies of these martyrs to their home.

Who shall speak the agony of the ensuing hours! Two bodies, beloved in life, beloved still in death, were resting in that stricken house. While Emeline and Drusilla, and the little daughters, all robbed of their defenders, wept and moaned in a torture such as seldom comes to womankind.

As she sobbed and prayed, Emeline took from the bosom of her husband a tiny, blood-stained packet. It contained a little flower of hair, Drusilla's, her own and Will's; and also those slips of paper—the hand and heart. The morning when Will first went out to battle, she and Drusilla had pressed this packet upon him and bade him wear it in his bosom.

Poor, disappointed creatures! What can the love of women avail against the hate of men? Nothing.

Emeline pressed the moist hair flower into Drusilla's hand; but the heart and hand, crimson-flecked now, she placed next her own heart. They had been the sign of love in youth and rosy life; they should be cherished to remind her of the immortality which death can bring.

This was almost the end. Emeline's brave boy, Will Anderson, who had given her his fidelity in childhood, had bestowed upon his country his fidelity in manhood. To the oppressed of his countrymen he had extended the help of his strong hand; in their defense his heart had been pierced by a bullet. He and his son, Augustus, were buried at Nauvoo.

A time of anxious toil ensued; for even through the darkest tragedy runs a thread of the commonplace. And in the midst of the anxious commotion and labor Emeline and Drusilla became separated. They never met again in this life; and from that hour Drusilla's history is to this writer unknown.

Emeline Anderson lived to emigrate to Utah and to receive the blessings of this fair land. She accepted through the remainder of this life the name of a worthy man, and she reared a third daughter. She carried with her until the hour of her death the tear-stained, blood-stained heart and hand; and when she was no more, these hallowed shreds of paper passed into the possession of her children.

This is a life sketch. Those of the characters who have gone seem now not to have been torn away by the rude hand of death, but to have faded gently into the past, leaving their looks, their love, their loyalty for their descendants.