"TO YOUR TENTS, O ISRAEL."

"To your tents, O Israel!"

What a picture of quiet despair melting into calm resignation those spring months presented! In April there had begun that wondrous move into the unknown which had been the inspiration and yet the dread of President Brigham Young. Only a patriot such as he could appreciate the love of home and country which had forced this people ten years before into a trackless wilderness; no one but a patriot could guess what these new sacrifices must mean to the hunted and driven people. Ten years of peace! Ten years of hardest labor ever performed by any people, at any period; and now to start out into the wilderness again! Who could tell the suffering, the anguish of a people whose hearthstones were their altars, and whose religion was a home!

As the wagon driven by Aunt Clara's own delicate hands turned into the State Road on the morning of the 12th of May, 1858, she saw a long, straggling trail of wagons ahead of her; old and weather-worn most of them were, having crossed the plains many times in the last twelve years. There were crowds of little children packed in many of the wagons, and in some there groaned and writhed the sick and helpless. But all faces wore the expression of exalted determination borne only by a people whose devotion could help them to bid adieu to comfort and ease when duty or inspiration gave the ringing cry:

"To your tents, O Israel!"

Ah, how often in their broken and turbulent history as a people had that clarion cry sounded in their ears!

And now, once again, Israel was on the march!

The usual chatter of women, the laugh of children, the merry exchange of field and farm gossip from the men, these common features of their communal life were almost hushed in the common sorrow which gripped the vitals of every wanderer in that straggling train which was conveying twenty thousand souls from Great Salt Lake City alone, and thousands more from the northern towns, to the mountains! From the Eagle Gate clear to the "Point of the Mountain"—that longest straight street in all the world—the whole length of that twenty miles of road, straight as engineering skill could plant—was one moving mass of wagons, with and without covers; some with quilts over the wagon boxes, and some without boxes or covers; driven by men, by women, and by little boys. Great oxen on some of them lumbered heavily along; horses, mules, and even patient cows were harnessed in the procession. The dust was blinding; the day began to be hot. Out in the western horizon shone the silvered edge of the Great Salt Lake, glistening, diamond-bright, under the ardent sun.

At Dr. Dunyon's place at the Point of the Mountain the wagons of the Winthrop family drew alongside the slower mule team driven by Aunt Clara's slender but capable hands; and the voice of Ellen Tyler called out from under the dusty wagon cover:

"Rachel, where's Dian? I have been looking for her all the morning."

"She is just behind in the last wagon. She thought she could help grandmother if she stayed in that wagon. You get out and ride with her; there's plenty of room in there;" and Rachel halted to chat awhile with Aunt Clara.

Ellen quickly accepted this welcome invitation, and hurried back to her friend.

She found Diantha sitting uncomfortably on a high box, leaving the spring seat to be occupied by the old lady who was showing signs of great weariness.

"Oh, Ellie, I am so glad you have come. Help me to unroll this bedding and get a place fixed for grandma to lie down. I was sure she could not ride on the spring seat, but she wanted to try it to save trouble."

The girls quickly unfastened the huge roll of bedding, and with the aid of the lad who was driving the team, they made a fairly comfortable bed on the boxes inside the wagon.

"Now, grandma, you try to sleep a little; you have not slept a wink all night."

"Who could sleep, dearie?" answered the plaintive voice of the old lady.

The girls covered her feet with her shawl, and then both of them crowded into the spring seat with the driver.

"Say, Dian, whose ring are you wearing? It looks like Charlie's," said the quick voice of Ellen.

"Whose ring but my own, silly? Should I be wearing other people's rings?"

Ellen was abashed with the little rebuff. She was too proud to ask for confidence not willingly shared, yet she was sure the ring belonged to her friend Charlie; she hastily turned the talk into safe, impersonal channels.

"Don't you wonder where we are going, Dian?"

"My brother Appleton says we are to stop in Provo for awhile, until we know what the army is going to do."

"And where do you think we will go after that?"

"No one seems to know. I guess President Young knows; he knows everything. But he is too wise to tell anybody what he thinks, till the time comes for action."

"I have heard Aunt Clara speak as if we were bound for a place in Mexico, called Sonora."

"Well, I am sure I don't care where we go. We have had to pick up and leave our beloved homes again, driven by those who hate us for our religion. Aunt Clara says that not all of these men in Washington are so cruel; Col. Haines told her that Captain Van Arden was our true friend. And there are doubtless others."

"Did he say that of Captain Van Arden?" asked Ellie, her eyes aflame with some pleasant recollection of the gallant captain's visit.

"Indeed he did. And he, together with Colonel Haines has persuaded President Buchanan to send some peace commissioners out here to try and fix up this awful blunder made by Buchanan himself. I wonder how it is that men are so easily prejudiced against our people?"

Ellen was not given to general reflections; to her, life was an extremely personal affair. So she began a running chatter about the news they had received of John Stevens.

"Did you know that John is now one of the chief officers in the Utah militia?"

Dian turned the ring round and round on her finger and said nothing in reply to Ellen's chatter. She was not a bit interested in John Stevens, nor was she prepared to open her own thoughts for the keen eyes of her loving friend. There are some things that are too hazy in a girl's mind for analysis; and Dian was content to listen while she idly dreamed of Charlie Rose and what he would do about the ring, when he really fell in love with a girl. And what would John Stevens think about her wearing Charlie's ring? But the hours dragged along, night came, and the weary travelers camped wherever water and wood could be found. Next morning's sun found most of the mighty host once more on the dusty highway, faces to the South, and with uplifted hearts to a Providence that had never forgotten Zion.

"To your tents, O Israel!"

Israel was on the march! The high road of Destiny might be dusty with blinding prejudice, and hot with men's hate and scorn. But Israel was just a band of loyal men and women who trusted God and feared no man. And so they went forth, this modern Israel, singing hymns while the issues of life and death wove themselves into intricate patterns on the web and woof of the mysterious future!

The evening shades of the second day found our friends halted on the Provo river bottoms, a part of that temporary encampment which made the small city a veritable summer pioneer metropolis.

The long, tiresome journey was at last completed, and the Winthrops and Tylers could find no better place in all Provo than a low adobe hut, which was then used as a bear den by the family who had built themselves a new house further up the street. Mr. Bruin was taken summarily out of his quarters, the boys and children spent several hours cleaning out the hut, while the women cooked their frugal supper over the campfire, and then all retired at a late hour, weary with the long two days' travel.