DIANTHA WEARS CHARLIE'S RING

The mission of Colonel Haines was of immediate effect. The fear of desperate warfare was over. But there yet remained much for the people of Utah to do and suffer.

John Stevens was constantly in the saddle during the few months of the Spring of 1858, though this did not prevent him from keeping a pretty close watch on Miss Diantha Winthrop. He was quite familiar with the tenor of her recent encouragement to Charlie Rose. He was also aware of the quiet yet effective snubs she had administered to that resplendent young Englishman, Henry Boyle. In a way known only to himself, John Stevens contrived to be aware of most things in which he himself was interested.

It was early in the evening of the first week of April that he rode down from the northern camps into the valley; as he passed the first farm-houses outside the city, he caught sight of a wagon-load of young people, evidently just returning from some merry-making, and he was conscious of the glory of Dian's hair and the flash of her bright eyes, even before he heard the silvery peal of laughter with which she was adding to the stings of a taunt administered to some luckless wight of the party. The music of her laughter was at once the charm and the despair of all Dian's lovers. The notes of that peal always reminded John of a chime of Swiss silver bells, with which a strolling musician had once delighted the city. They rippled and trilled along the waves of ether with enchanting melody. Her friends will remember many youthful graces of this well-known Dian, but none which were more charming than her ready, irresistible, musical laughter. It was never forced nor insincere, but was always the expression of the truth-loving and buoyant soul within. It did not add to John's own merriment to see the girl enjoying herself so heartily while under the gallant protection of Charlie Rose; as his horse lingered some distance behind the wagon, he could pick out the "crowd" even in the cool dusk of the early evening, and locate all the incipient flirtations. It may be that the tired man felt the incongruousness of laughter when his own heart was hot and sore because of the events just now transpiring; but he was too just not to recognize the further fact that youth is a time for joy and forgetful laughter; and, furthermore, all possible excitement and fear had been wisely suppressed by Brigham Young. As soon as he reached a side street, John turned away, and cantered into the city to deliver his messages.

The next evening, as he was striding down the State Road he met the "crowd" face to face. They were returning from singing practice.

"Oh, John," called Ellen, "do tell us all the news. Here's Tom Allen trying to make us believe that the President is for deserting our good homes and leading us into the wilderness. It isn't true, is it?"

"Would you rather stay here under the rule of an army, or follow your leaders into another place of safety and peace?" asked John, gently and seriously.

"John," said Charlie Rose, now sober and earnest, "I am trying to get these girls to understand that they are about to have a chance to be brave and womanly. It's stiff work trying to make a girl see that there is anything but fun ahead."

"Some girls," corrected Diantha, with lofty emphasis.

"Come into Aunt Clara's sitting-room and let me get a word with her; then, maybe, you shall get another," said John, quietly.

Sobered and awed, the little group of young people filed, almost silently, into the familiar gathering place. Dian refused to sit down; her quick thought had followed the serious mood of John Stevens and instantly her whole attention was fixed on one idea; what could she do in this crisis—a girl—and yet so full of devotion to that cause her friends were defending?

"Aunt Clara, you can tell the crowd how very serious our condition is at present. They seem to have forgotten Nauvoo," said John, possibly glad to sober these young people. Charlie Rose, whose face was quite flushed with the news he had just heard on the streets, walked over to the loom in the corner and waited impatiently for Aunt Clara to finish tearing off her last thread.

It was impossible for John Stevens to be unconscious of the fact that Charlie Rose was standing very near to Dian, as she leaned against the loom, so near that almost the loose flying tendrils of her yellow hair were against his shoulder. But with stern grip on his own nerves, he sat carelessly on the bench and bent his head slightly as he examined the pattern of his braided buckskin pantaloons.

Aunt Clara felt the tense atmosphere surrounding her, and she waited in silence for John to speak, for she was sure he had something serious to tell them. That he had something to say was sufficient for others to remain quiet.

"Boys, how many of you can be ready to start at midnight for the army of the United States camped now at Fort Scott?" There was a breathless silence for an instant, and then:

"All of us," quietly answered Charlie Rose.

"We shall leave the Eagle Gate, then, at twelve o'clock, boys; I shall expect you to be there. Bring your usual outfit."

"John," said Aunt Clara, with a note of anxiety in her voice, "what is it now?"

"We are to meet and escort Governor Cumming into the Territory."

"Governor Cumming? Is Brigham Young no longer Governor of Utah then?" asked Charlie.

"I have this day delivered the official information that the President of the United States has appointed a new Governor for our unhappy Territory. It is for this reason, ostensibly, that the flower of the American army has come out into the wilderness of the West. Thousands of trained soldiers have been sent to install one man in a Territory of a few hundred pioneers." John spoke bitterly, but it was not his to question. He was but to obey.

"What is the name of this new Governor?" asked Dian with quick sarcasm in her tones.

"His name is Cumming, and so far as I am able to judge, he is not to blame for this blunder of Buchanan's. But, boys, meet me at the Eagle Gate at midnight."

"Oh, John, will the soldiers kill us all, or drive us from our homes?" asked Ellen, tearfully.

"Only God can answer that," replied John, solemnly.

The heart of every girl was thrilled with the sense of personal and communal danger. Yet, there mingled with it all a paradoxical and feminine joy in the intrepid character of the men who would protect them and their homes in life or in death.

Ellen ran up to Dian, and with her arms around her neck, begged her friend to "stay all night." Ellen felt suddenly a sense of coming disaster; her very heart was choking in her throat, and she felt that she must have many people near her. Dian was glad to stay; although her own thoughts were not busy with herself, but dwelt upon the larger interests of the starving army beyond the mountains, who were all human beings, even if enemies. Her soul bowed in prayer for Brigham Young and the other leaders of her people, whose judgment and wisdom must be supreme in this the people's most trying hour.

The days that followed were filled with vague rumors of coming disaster. Women clung to their little children; men gazed upon their innocent daughters and wondered what the future held in store for all. They had seen their dear ones mobbed, driven and plundered, time and again in the past; what would this new disaster bring forth?

Fear and suspense—are they not man's most dreaded foes? Anything which comes is better than the undefinable things which are so feared but which rarely happen. And thus the days and weeks of that month of suspense which followed John Stevens' expedition into the eastern mountains were far more unendurable to Diantha and her girl-friends than the simple events which followed. For, after all, when the day came for the entrance of Governor Cumming into the Territory, the sun shone, the meadow-larks piped out their usual notes of musical inquiry into the state of the worm and bug market, the crickets hopped nimbly out of the way of the oncoming posse of mountaineer soldiers who acted as the gubernatorial escort, and the whole party drew up to the Salt Lake House, clattered under the broad eaves of its western porches, and debouched quietly within. The first great act of the expected sensation was over, while the second act was quite small and inadequate to the tremendous overture of dread which had been pounding at the ears of the small inland city for so long. Governor Cumming proved to be a very generous, whole-souled man, and in the historic interview which followed between the new and the old Governors of the then distracted Territory of Utah, both men discovered the elements of candor, truth and sincerity in the other, and the bond of mutual understanding was not long in forming. The days of adjustment and readjustment which followed were not days of unmixed confusion and disturbance, for time was taken in which to dispel fears and to form new ties.

Diantha Winthrop was conscious, in those uncertain and troublous days, of a certain dissatisfaction regarding the outcome of the dramatic beginnings which her quick intelligence had discovered in this appalling incident. Like most noble if youthful minds, her thoughts had been busy with the high purpose and exalted ideals of the people. Unlike her volatile friend Ellen, Dian's gloomy fears at this period settled around the leaders of her people; while to little laughing Ellie the one important feature of it all was little Ellie's own connection with each and every happening. It was therefore somewhat of a disappointment to both girls that there was such a tame ending to so tragic a beginning. Governor Cumming was in the city, he had been properly received by Governor Young, and the whole incident was closed, apparently, without even the hoisting of the flag. The girls mentioned the matter to Aunt Clara, and that good lady only answered:

"None but poets and prophets know the difference between tragedy and comedy. What you feel is going to be tragedy turns out to be comedy, and what starts as comedy too often turns into tragedy."

And thus life poured its turbulent stream down into the channels of Utah's history and the evening and the morning made up the scintillating days of that trying season.

Suffice it to say, Governor Cumming was duly escorted into the city, and he and his gentle lady-wife were suitably quartered. To him Brigham Young turned over all the Territorial records, the great seal and all insignia of his exalted office; all were delivered over safely and formally by the maligned "Mormon" leader. But our friend John, with his companions Charlie Rose and Tom Allen, was kept long weeks in active service out in Echo Canyon. The city seemed very lonely to Ellen and Dian during those long spring weeks.

One day in the early spring, some weeks after Governor Cumming's entrance into the Valley, Dian sought a quiet interview with Aunt Clara, hoping to ascertain something definite as to the real nature of all the rumors and forebodings again quivering in the very air of Great Salt Lake City.

"Dear Aunt Clara," said Dian, when they were seated and busily knitting—oh, those active, flying hands of women which never rested, scarce night or day, during those trying months—"I am so troubled; my nights are full of unhappy dreams and my days are so restless that I cannot accomplish anything worth while. What is all this about? Please confide in Ellie and me, dear Aunt Clara. I know you enjoy the confidence of the leading brethren, and I long to know if it is true that the soldiers are going to be allowed to enter our beloved Territory? And is Governor Cumming really our friend?"

"Governor Cumming is a very liberal and humane man, my dear. But it is apparently true that we shall have to bow to the will of the government of this great nation which we all love so well, and allow these soldiers, this terrible army, to come into the Territory and quarter themselves here, for how long no one can tell. Ostensibly the army came to install Governor Cumming; but as you know, Governor Cumming has been peaceably installed, yet General Johnston insists on coming into the Valley. President Young has turned over the records and great seal of our Territory which our wicked enemies swore to President Buchanan we had destroyed, and now Governor Cumming has notified Brother Brigham that a Peace Commission may be sent out to this Territory to hand us out a Proclamation of Amnesty. And there is the full story."

"What's a Peace Commission and what is amnesty?" asked Ellen.

"Surely, my dear! What is amnesty? It is forgiveness. And why the United States should deem it necessary to send an army out here to crush us into submission, when we had never revolted, and then think it necessary to send us a proclamation of amnesty, when we have done nothing to be forgiven for, is more than a poor woman can understand. However, the plain English of it is that someone wanted the army out of the way in Washington, others wanted the money that comes to contractors, and still others don't know anything about it, except someone has raised another cry of 'Down with the Mormons.' Governor Cumming hopes to clear everything up with the aid of this Peace Commission. But, girls, I have something very serious to confide to you; next Monday we are to pack up everything that can be loaded into wagons, leaving the rest piled up with kindlings ready to burn, and then we are to start for the South."

"For the South? Where?" asked the two girls in one breath.

"I cannot tell. Some have already gone quietly ahead. We shall pack up everything that we can pile in our wagons, and with sufficient provisions to last us a year, we shall once more go out into the wilderness. This time we shall take to the mountains."

"Oh, Aunt Clara, surely you are not in earnest?"

"Girls, this is no time for any of us to be in jest. We know not what a day may bring forth. Do you get to work at once. And then, when all is ready, we shall fill this house with sufficient kindling to burn every stick and log within twenty-four hours of the time when the word is given."

"Aunt Clara! Burn this house which you love so well? With this dear green door? It's the only green door in the city. And all this comfort which you have worked so hard to secure? Oh, I can't bear the thought. And the lettuce and radishes which you sowed on the snow and which are just now ready to eat? What about everybody else?" asked Ellen, incoherently.

But no amount of grief on the part of the girls could change the condition of things, and after awhile the prudent counsels of their good friend calmed undue excitement, and they resigned themselves to the common fate, willing to share in the general affliction as they had shared in the common good. Here was tragedy, surely! When least expected, here it was! Nightfall found them all tired out with the day's labor and excitement.

Evening brought Charlie Rose to the door of the quiet sitting-room, and even if they were tired, they were glad to see his welcome face.

"Oh, Charlie, will we all have to go South?" asked Ellen, unable to restrain her excitement.

"Yes, Ellie, I bring word to Aunt Clara that she and you must be ready to start tomorrow morning for the South. Dian, your folks are to go tomorrow also. We didn't expect to go for another week, but the government is going to send some peace commissioners out to the Territory, and they may be as dangerous to our welfare as the peacemakers at Carthage. So we shall get away tomorrow, as many as can, and as fast as we can. 'Boil and bubble; toil and trouble,'" quoted Charlie, mournfully.

"Aunt Clara, if that is the case, I must hurry home and help Rachel; she may need me; and you and Ellen can get along without me," said Diantha.

"Oh, I shall be frightened, Dian. Just Aunt Clara and me here all this dreadful night," cried out Ellen.

"Hush, child! Why should we be frightened? No one wants anything of us. Go right on, Dian; you are needed at home. No doubt my sister will be here before long," expostulated Aunt Clara.

Ellen was fain to be comforted; her heart yearned for the presence of her dear friend Dian in this hour of common peril and distress. Yet she had Aunt Clara, and she must be content.

As Dian left the door, Charlie stood beside her and she whispered:

"Go back, Charlie, and stay with Aunt Clara awhile. I am not a bit afraid to run over home alone."

"Dian, let me come with you. I will come back to Aunt Clara; but I can't bear to see you or any of our girls out alone on the streets."

"Why, we always go out on the streets alone, when we have any occasion to; why should we be afraid now?"

But the young man was walking by her side even as she protested. As they reached Dian's gate he put a detaining hand upon her arm and said, earnestly:

"I have to go back to camp in Echo Canyon tomorrow; Dian, will you miss me?"

The dim darkened new moon was shining down upon the young people with the tender radiance of spring folly; they were young; Dian's heart was very sore with the quivering emotions wrought up in the last twenty-four hours. She liked Charlie Rose, for he was as wholesome and pure as he was honest, and he was always bright and gay. The night was very lonely.

"Of course, we shall miss you, Charlie. All the boys, even to Tom Allen, are out in the canyons. It is very lonely."

"You have Henry Boyle left," said her companion, somewhat maliciously.

"Pooh!" contemptuously. "He is almost ready to apostatize; he is scared to death over this army business. He has asked Governor Cumming to let him go out of the Territory under the protection of the soldiers."

"Can that be true, Dian? I would not have thought him a traitor as well as a coward."

"Are not all cowards traitors?"

"Hardly, Dian. That's too sweeping. But I am surprised about Henry. He cut quite a shine here for months."

The girl began to open her gate; she knew that her brother did not approve of young people standing at the gate in the late evenings.

"Dian, listen just one moment; here, wear this ring for me while I am gone; won't you?" As he spoke he drew a pretty ring from his finger, evidently an heirloom in his family. Rings were rare in those days, and Dian's eyes sparkled. She knew that she was not in love with Charlie; but neither was she with anyone else. Why should she not wear a ring?

"I will wear it awhile, Charlie, but I won't keep it. You must give it to the girl you are going to marry."

"That's what I'm doing, Dian."

The tone of his voice startled her with its intensity; she drew away from him, half frightened.

"Here, Charlie, take your ring; I do not want to wear it."

But with instant comprehension of his rashness, the young man said with a light laugh:

"Oh, pshaw, Dian! Oblige me by wearing my ring until I find the girl I am to marry. Then I will come to you for it."

Pacified, the girl pushed the ring back on her finger, and then at once turned into the gate, saying as she did so:

"I shall not forget you nor any of the boys in my prayers, Charlie. Goodnight and goodby."

And the young man was fain to be content with this general parting wish.