After a few months in the Mormon Capital, under the most favorable circumstances for observation of their peculiar institutions, it must be admitted that Hagar was thinking much more of how and whither she might escape than of permanently linking her fate with theirs.
In the Spencer family she had been a favorite from the first. So far from being a burden she endeavored to repay them for shelter and food by assisting with the housework, and by plying the needle continually for some member of the household. But before she had been with them two months the scarlet fever broke out among the children, and she was induced by her friends to move temporarily to Bishop Langley’s house.
The Bishop had been several times to call at the Spencer’s for the express purpose of seeing her, and had generously offered her a home on the condition that she would open an elementary school for the young children in his ward, especially some ten or twelve of his own, and teach one or two of his girls music; as he had been urging for some time Hagar now decided to accept his offer.
Bishop Langley’s house was at that time one of the best and most spacious in Salt Lake City. It was a plain quadrangular structure two stories high, with wings of one story added on three sides, and all built of sun-dried brick, or adobes. Three of his wives and their children dwelt in this mansion. It was comfortably furnished, time and place considered, and at least four rooms, the parlor and three bed-rooms, had carpets on the floors. In the parlor, which was used in common by all, besides a variety of imported easy chairs and the inevitable ‘lounge,’ stood a fine square piano that was brought from the East by the very train with which Hagar crossed the plains. This was a mark of distinction which was not then enjoyed by half a dozen families in Utah, and the Bishop’s sons and daughters, thirteen in this house, ranging in age from two months to eighteen years, made that piano a constant topic of boastful conversation among their envious playfellows.
The rooms were large and numerous and were divided into three distinct suites, the parlor and entrance hall being the only neutral ground. In each suite was a sitting-room, dining-room, kitchen and several bed-rooms.
Hagar had become accustomed to the etiquette of polygamy during her sojourn at the Spencers, where two wives lived under the same roof and took their meals at the same table. She had there heard of the perfection of Brother Langley’s domestic arrangements. During her stay she had also discerned that the real Mrs. Spencer was a woman of considerable culture and talent, while the other was much her inferior, and looked upon drudgery as her lot. The elder wife had acquainted Hagar with the fact that “Sister Amanda,” as she called the other, had been given by her to her husband as Sarah had given Hagar, her handmaid, to Abraham, and the young girl, hearing so much of these Biblical comparisons became more and more ashamed of her own name and prayed devoutly that these people might never find it out.
As soon as she made known her determination to accept the Bishop’s hospitality on the terms he had named, he came for her in his handsome sleigh with bells jingling merrily, and moved her to his home which stood in the most pleasant part of the town. The house was surrounded by a grove of sweet locusts the bare branches of which were swarming with little brown snow birds that left the ground with whirring and chirping, and seemed to be gossiping about the Bishop and his companion as the sleigh dashed up the icy road to the front door.
The Bishop gallantly helped his visitor to alight and led her to the drawing room. Nobody met them at the door; nobody was visible.
“I must present you to my wives, Sister Miles,” he said, nervously. “Brother Brigham says I’m one of the best specimens of a patriarch of old, in the church. I’ve got three wives and thirteen children in this house, and yet you could hear a pin drop. But you’ll soon see how it is. Ah! Sister Miles, allow me to introduce you to my wife, Sister Eliza,” he said, as a pale and haggard looking woman, attired in a threadbare alpaca dress, came into the room gazing awkwardly about, and stretching out her neck in a strange manner as she extended her clammy hand to the visitor.
“How do ye do,” said Sister Eliza in a high pitched drawling voice, while eyeing Hagar from head to foot.
“So they’ve got scarlet fever at Sister Spencer’s, eh? Well I allus said as they wa’n’t very healthy lookin’, an’ I don’t think they be.”
Hagar was trying to say something in reply when the Bishop interrupted good naturedly:
“I was going to tell you that Sister Eliza, though an excellent woman, is a leetle bit deef—caused by the privations she went through coming out of Nauvoo in ’46. But she’s an own cousin of the Prophet Joseph, and a true latter-day saint. As the best spare room we’ve got is in her part of the house, you will make your home with her, and I’m sure you’ll like her when you’re better acquainted.” Then laying his hand affectionately on his wife’s shoulder, and putting his lips close to the ear she turned towards him, “Sister Miles,” he said, “will be in presently; just tell Sister Hulda to step here a moment.”
But the Prophet’s cousin only looked puzzled and said “Hey?” and he was obliged to lead her out and call “Hulda” himself.
Hagar began to wonder how she was going to like her new home; and however much she feared that it must possess unpleasant features, she rightly guessed that it possessed a novelty from which she might derive some benefit, since she had thrown off dread and timidity and adopted interest in their stead.
After a brief pause during which she inspected the scanty contents of the parlor, the Bishop came back followed by a stout woman with very fat red hands and ruddy features, whom he introduced as “Sister Hulda.” She appeared to be about thirty, and had a very square head thinly covered with short, sandy hair. An unsaintly observer would have been more likely to have taken her for the family washerwoman, than for a belle of the Harem. She was, in fact, an ordinary sample of the Scandinavian peasants who join the Mormons, a plain, coarse, but good natured and tractable being, not only useful but indispensable in the settlement of a new country. Her redeeming point was that she lacked the boldness which Hagar had remarked in others resembling her; her face was red with blushes, and she was palpably embarrassed.
Sister Hulda merely said “good day” in a faint voice, and seemed glad to return to her kitchen work, in which Hagar’s arrival had interrupted her.
For a moment after her exit, the Bishop himself seemed rather confused. He had given notice to “Sister Amelia,” of his arrival, but she had not yet appeared, and he foresaw trouble in that quarter. After making a few commonplace remarks to fill in the time, he said:—
“Well, Sister Amelia is certainly detained. I must see what keeps her, if you will kindly excuse me a moment.”
Hagar was interested in her experience, and surveyed the room complacently during her host’s absence.
The Bishop found Sister Amelia in her bed-room in a hostile frame of mind.
“No, Edwin, I won’t. I sha’n’t come down,” she said emphatically, in the midst of her tears. “It is very cruel of you to bring that strange widow here—she’s been the talk ever since she came to the Valley. And then for you, after telling me, as you did the other day, that she ‘reminded you of an old sweet-heart,’ to fetch her into the house and ask me to receive her! I say it’s very cruel:—and I sha’n’t do it, no, never.”
It was quite evident that Sister Amelia was not as meek as the partners of the Bishop’s joys to whom Hagar had been introduced. Her mode of objecting was rather persuasive than declaratory, but none the less effective on that account; indeed, the Bishop thought it more so, as he could readily overcome pronounced obstreperousness, but was balked by Sister Amelia’s tearful tactics.
In spite of all his arts he could not induce her to come down to welcome his guest. So long as he merely urged her in a kindly voice and by friendly arguments she kept repeating that she knew very well what it would come to, and that she could not have believed her dear Edwin would be so cruel to her. Though the Bishop had three other wives at the farm, a few miles from the city, nothing that he said concerning his disinterested motives could convince Sister Amelia that he had not formed a nice little scheme for adding the “strange widow” as No. 7 to his already moderately numerous family. At last he became angry, with the usual result that Sister Amelia fell into a speechless sulk, and became as immovable as if she had grown to the spot where she sat. As he was taking his leave after mumbling something about her having a temper like a mule, she said between her sobs:
“Don’t you remember that you promised never to take another wife if I would have you? We are not two years married, and yet——”
“Never mind,” said the Bishop, angrily, “your bad conduct and jealousy have long since absolved me from that promise, and I am now free to do as I please. You needn’t expect me to get over your stubborn disobedience for some time!” She called to him as he went out, but he shut the door with emphasis, and descended to the parlor where Hagar was beginning to feel impatient.
“I guess you’ll have to excuse Sister Amelia to-day, but of course you’ll meet later on. She has been rather spoilt by the rest of us, especially by Hulda; but she’s a nice girl and has a first-rate education—plays the piano too—not so well as you do, but right well, considering. You’ll like her, I think, and as she’s a strong dislike to house-work, I want to have her help you in the school.”
He moved about restlessly as he spoke, but finally took a chair facing Hagar, leaned back with his hands clasped over his head, and continued:—
“Well, Sister Miles, what do you think of the great Latter-day work by this time?”
Many of the Saints had asked her the same question, and this was not the first time the Bishop had broached the subject; she was not, therefore, wholly unprepared to reply.
“I am much impressed with all I have seen; but, you know, I have only been here about two months. It is certainly wonderful to see what the Saints have done in a perfectly wild country in fifteen years, it proves that God has blessed them,” she said earnestly.
“You are quite right, quite right, but how do you like the institution of celestial or plural marriage? Of course, as you have not yet received the gift of the holy ghost, you will not understand its awful mysteries—but, I mean simply regarding it with worldly eyes, as yet only partly opened by the first reception of the gospel?”
“I fear,” said Hagar, after a momentary hesitation, “that I am not yet prepared to answer as to that.”
“But, for yourself; you can tell whether your faith is sufficiently strong to warrant you, to enable you, to enter the celestial estate.”
“You forget, Bishop Langley,” she said, sadly, with her eyes cast down, “that being so lately bereaved, I could not think of—of marriage.”
“Oh! forgive me,” he replied, lowering his voice, and speaking apologetically. “I was over-zealous; the fact is we see very few women here like you, Sister Miles, and as for myself, I know how to appreciate a fine woman. You might not think it, but it’s quite true, that my family, the Langleys of Ohio, is one of the highest-toned families in the West. Of course they’re down on me for joining the Saints, but as I expect to repay their spite by aiding in their final salvation in the world to come, I don’t much mind what they think of me now. I’m only forty-three, pretty well off, and I expect to be at the head of the church some day (this, in confidence, of course.) I don’t suppose I’m quite perfect, but you can ask my wives, and see for yourself what kind of a man I am. When you learn how this house is managed, I want to take you out to my farm; it’s a sight worth seeing in summer: all my little tow-heads helping with the crops, and picking mulberry leaves for the silkworms. I sent twenty bushels of cocoons East last year.”
The Bishop continued in this strain for some time, making his companion fully conversant with all the details he wished her to know at that period, about himself and his worldly affairs. She was then resigned to the care of Sister Eliza, in whose house she was to reside.
Hagar evinced considerable tact in her singular position; she made a success of the school, and not only became a great favorite among the forty odd children who were placed under her care, but also won the friendship of Amelia, who was far from being a disagreeable companion. While the first Mrs. Langley was endeavoring to coach her for the celestial bliss of polygamy, with all the eloquence and credulity of a “cousin of the prophet,” Amelia was giving her a version of the matter much more in keeping with her own preconceived opinions. She was really becoming quite contented in the consciousness that she was making her own way successfully, when an incident occurred which startled her from her sense of security.
The school house was a small adobe building of one room that had been Hulda’s residence in early days, before the present mansion was built. It was in a lot adjoining the mansion, but was almost concealed (entirely so in summer) by the orchard that lay between.
Spencer had called a few times at the Bishop’s house to see “Sister Miles” but had been coldly received, and at last was told flatly by the Bishop, who on each occasion had met him in the hall, that he was not a welcome visitor. He at first thought of asking Hagar as to that; but on reflection decided to ask her simply if he might call now and then to have a word with her at the school-house, as he believed the Langleys, especially the Bishop, did not like him. She granted him permission and he called once or twice during the afternoon recess, which lasted from three to half past, and enjoyed a friendly chat with her while the children were at play. One of Bishop Langley’s boys told him of these visits; he was very angry and at once concluded that Hagar, while having put him off on the plea of bereavement was giving a more favorable hearing to the young Elder. A crisis in Hagar’s Mormon experience, was drawing near.
“Ed. Langley,” as the bishop had been familiarly called by the “prophet,” and the Elders with whom he had associated in early days, was not a man to be trifled with. He had already gained a reputation as a dangerous rival in his pursuit of Amelia, that was sufficient to prevent those acquainted with him from entering the lists against him when female charms were the prize. The Spencers and others considered that they might as well change Sister Miles’ name to Langley from the moment she entered the Bishop’s house, for it never occurred to them that any woman in the world would be such a fool as to refuse a man so rich and handsome, and one who stood so well with Brigham Young.
The immediate neighbors, and even the school children already addressed Hagar, by accident, of course, as “Sister Langley,” and yet it had never seriously occurred to her that the Bishop would be an applicant for her hand.
On the evening of the day that the Bishop learned of Spencer’s visits, he determined to speak plainly to Sister Miles concerning his intentions. But Amelia was watching him as she had done ever since Hagar had been a resident with “Sister Eliza.” She had thus far prevented any tete-a-tete in that part of the house which would give her “dear Edwin” an opportunity of making love to one who would probably supplant her in the rank of favorite. Hulda and her children had been aiding her in her artful plans. Her custom was to give Hagar a pressing invitation to come to supper with her, and at about nine o’clock to go with her to the door of her own apartment after she said “good night” to the Bishop. Langley noted the cunning thus displayed by his latest and youngest wife, but his desire to possess the ‘pretty widow’ became stronger every day. He finally found it difficult to delay his declaration. Amelia was a good looking young woman, possessing personal attractions far above the average of the Mormon women; at their balls and other festivities she had always been an acknowledged belle for whose hand Brigham Young himself was at one time a candidate. But the Bishop being an earnest Saint, was no doubt anxious to show his zeal for ‘building up the Kingdom,’ and was at this time manifesting such symptoms of restlessness and precipitation, as are usually supposed to characterize a lover in pursuit of an object not yet possessed. Amelia was evidently eclipsed, and to the Bishop’s mind was sinking deeper and deeper into the shade, while the young widow was not only dazzling his fancy, but tearing at his heart’s strings. He must see her that night in spite of Amelia’s caprices and all other considerations, and before she came home from calling at the Spencer’s, after school, he had everything arranged to facilitate a lengthy interview.
Amelia was very fond of the theatre; much more fond, indeed, than had hitherto been agreeable to her spouse. The local company, which was composed of leading young elders and good Mormon maids and matrons of more or less talent, were giving that night a second performance of Macbeth at the church Theatre, with the Tabernacle choir as the witches, a subsequent apostle as Hecate, and a pet of the President’s as the aspiring thane. Thither the Bishop proposed to conduct Amelia, much to her satisfaction. Meanwhile “Sister Eliza” was duly instructed to inform her lodger that the Bishop wished to speak with her, and to detain her in her sitting-room until he arrived.
The ruse fully met his expectations: Amelia was duly ensconced in a cushioned seat in the parquette beside one of Hulda’s boys; the Bishop was conveniently reminded by one of the brethren of an important “priesthood meeting,” and reluctantly tore himself away from his darling’s side, and returned home as fast as a good horse hitched to a light sleigh could take him.
Though he had taken off the bells and driven quietly into the barnyard, which was some distance from the house, his return was promptly known to Hulda. Her chief news-bearer was at the theatre, but her son “Billy,” a roguish little blonde of ten years, was used to aiding his elder brother in all sorts of domestic conspiracies, and was delighted with the opportunity to act alone. He was in his stocking feet romping with the other small children in Hulda’s sitting room preparatory to going to bed, but was prompt to station himself at the head of the stairs at his mother’s bidding, whence he could reconnoitre the entrance hall below, and the door to “Sister Eliza’s” apartment which opened off the hall to the right of the front door. The play of the children went on without interruption, and the Bishop, as he paused on the threshold, never felt more tolerant of their boisterousness. He was well aware that Hulda was no less opposed than Amelia, to his having any more wives, and was very anxious to keep them both in ignorance of his present affair until he had arranged the details.
He stepped inside and closed the door softly; threw off his over-coat which was covered with snow, brushed the icy flakes from his beard, and completed his preparations by taking off his heavy boots, and putting on a pair of warm red carpet slippers that were kept on a chair behind the door. Then, supposing the coast to be clear, he stepped lightly to the door of Sister Eliza’s sitting room, and entered without delay.
Billy went back and told his mother, who was fully conscious that the Bishop’s unwonted devotion was bestowed on the “pretty widow,” for he had not been known to seek a tete-a-tete with Eliza for several years. When the other children were out of hearing she said to Billy:
“Your father’s going to marry the school-ma’am, Billy, so you can just play any trick on him you like—only be careful you’re not caught.” Then she continued to herself—“I’ll tell Amelia of this: there’s just no use of talkin’—Edwin never knows when to stop!”
Billy was not the boy to obtain a license to do mischief without availing himself of its privileges. Like most of the Bishop’s children he regarded his father with a distant awe not altogether unmixed with dislike, and though he had once been convicted of putting a toad in the pocket of the prelate’s overcoat, for which he was severely punished, and on another occasion implicated with an older brother in mixing some coarse grains of gun-powder among the old gentleman’s smoking tobacco, from which charge he escaped with a scolding, he was always ready for a lark, especially if his mother put him up to it, and torture could not have induced him to inculpate that parent.
In a Mormon family the boys of each wife frequently regard her as their especial charge, whom they are to defend from the other women and from the liege lord of all. The children are bound to hear and to notice the complaints and griefs of their mother no matter how quietly or resignedly they are borne, and Hulda had a candid way of telling her children what she thought, which had the effect of stripping the Bishop of much of his majesty in their sight. Beyond their shy “yes sir,” and “no sir,” when he spoke to them, there was nothing they could say to him, for he showed them no fatherly affection that would draw them to him and make them feel they had a place in his heart. So long as they had plain food and clothes and a place to sleep, he thought he fulfilled his duty towards them; and for the rest, they were as strangers.
Billy slipped down the stairs as stealthily as a cat, and after listening a moment at Eliza’s door, and satisfying himself the Bishop was engaged in conversation, he stood looking at his coat, hat, and boots, thinking what most troublesome sport he could indulge in. As if waiting for a better idea he took one of the boots and set it to catch a stream of water that was trickling down from the snow on the coat. He watched it drip for a few seconds, and then, placing the other boot over a small puddle that had formed on the floor, suddenly began to shake with laughter, and made a most hideous grimace in his endeavor to keep from laughing aloud.
He knew that his father must return to the theatre with the sleigh to bring Amelia home, and it had occurred to him that he might render that enterprise extremely troublesome, by simply hiding the key of the barn-yard gate. He no sooner thought of it than he gave an amused look towards the boots congratulating himself that they would keep the floor from getting wet, and went up the stairs almost bursting with merriment. Quickly putting on his shoes he hurried out by a back door, assured himself that the heavy gates were locked, and then took the key from the peg on which it was kept in the stable and hid it near by. He soon after crept upstairs to bed without saying a word to his mother, though he found a piece of bread and molasses lying on the table as the reward of his ingenuity.
Though the Bishop could hardly be accused of over-sensibility, it was some little time before he could bring himself to speak to Hagar on the subject that was troubling him. Sister Eliza sat by the fire, knitting, and apparently oblivious of Edwin’s purpose, though she was as fully aware of it as himself. Hagar was sewing, but for some unknown reason felt rather uneasy. She noted that the Bishop spoke in a lower voice than usual, and that he seemed to have come to spend the evening, a thing he had not previously done since she came to his house.
When she had answered his queries about the school, she got up with the intention of withdrawing to her own chamber; but he told her plainly he had come to talk with her and begged her to remain. She resumed her seat with the unpleasant consciousness that she was his only auditor for Eliza’s “deefness” prevented her from hearing a word he said.
“It’s something more important than schools, Sister Miles, that’s brought me here this evening,” he began, with considerably more embarrassment than usually characterized his matter-of-fact speech. Hagar was slightly discomposed by this, but went on with her work, hoping it might not lead to the subject foreshadowed by her fears. He continued after a pause:
“It’s nothing short of the eternal welfare of your soul as well as my own. I’m in solemn earnest, and I hope you’ll give me a fair hearing.” There was a slight tremor in his voice, and he moved nervously on his chair.
“I hope,” said Hagar, “that I have always listened attentively when you spoke to me about religion.”
“Passably, Sister, only passably. You have not embraced the full meaning of the everlasting covenant—you have not tasted of the sweet mysteries of the Endowment House. You cannot know the Celestial state until you enter the Celestial life, and you not only keep aloof yourself, but I am sorry to say that you sort with others whose fidelity is not above suspicion.”
Hagar felt her face grow pale; but the Bishop did not look at her. Keeping his eyes turned towards the hearth, he went on:
“I know nothing about this young Spencer except that he is a pauper, and the slight standing he has obtained in the priesthood will not avail to make the house of Israel a pleasant place for him if he persists in his present course. He is criticising things here in Zion, and giving too loud a vent to what he thinks. It may cost him dear.”
“You know that it was he who saved our train from the Indians?” said Hagar, taking advantage of a pause.
“I heard the tale—but it’s nothing more:—the explosion that saved the train was a thunderbolt. Many of the saints saw it fall from the clouds upon the stockade. Surely he has not made you believe that yarn about the bake-kettle?” said Langley, with a sneer.
“Yes, I believe it, because he came to me in the darkness that night, and said he was going to blow up the savages. I know also that he exposed his own life to great peril when he approached that fort, and he told me the details of how he threw the improvised bombshell among them.”
“And you like him, then, because you think he is a great hero? And do you want to marry a man on that account without asking whether he can keep you or not?”
“No, Bishop Langley, I do not mean to marry at all,” she replied firmly. “But I thought you came to talk to me about the eternal welfare of my soul?”
“So I have. There is no welfare for a woman’s soul unless she marries—marries in the everlasting covenant. You must fully realize this fact before I can tell you all I have to say. Woman’s soul must be saved by her husband through the holy covenant of celestial marriage; there’s no other way, as you must know if you have learned the alphabet of the gospel of the last days. I can save and exalt you. By your sharing my kingdom in the heavens, I can obtain for you a bright immortal crown, and you will become a queen of the highest glory and exaltation, the dazzling star of my celestial bliss—”
“Do you believe all that, Bishop Langley?” The Bishop was reiterating with a more or less genuine enthusiasm, some of the pyrotechnical imagery of the “Prophet Joseph” whom he had often heard dilating in a similar style for hours at a time. But Hagar was already fully acquainted with that portion of the Mormon doctrine, the elder Mrs. Spencer having especially pointed out its beauties to her. Her question rather staggered him, coming as it did during a momentary pause in his most effective speech; but he replied after a slight hesitation:
“Maybe that’s the trouble—I believe it and you don’t? Is that so? You don’t believe that Celestial marriage is a true doctrine?” The Bishop spoke in a tone which seemed to indicate a suspicion that he had been taking too much for granted.
“So far as I have seen,” said Hagar, quietly, “marriages seem about as much of a terrestrial affair among the saints as anywhere else. Your wives work for you and stay at home to attend the house and the children. I may appear narrow, but I can discern nothing celestial in the lot of woman here among the saints—they are mere drudges like other women but unlike their poor sisters in other communities, have not the undivided love and devotion of a husband to comfort them in the midst of their hardships—”
Hagar knew that while she had made her meaning but partially clear, she had made what was rather a venturesome speech in the ears of a Mormon bishop. But she was determined to venture so much if only to see what would come of it.
“The celestial life,” replied the Mormon, deliberately, “is as the word implies, to begin in the celestial world. We are only preparing for it here. Every true latter-day saint will be the King over a separate world, and the family of his offspring here will form the groundwork of his Kingdom there. The spirit world is full of spirits that are waiting for earthly tabernacles; but the select of these can only be accommodated by bodies that are formed under the celestial covenant. The mystery of this great doctrine requires more time than I have at my disposal now, for proper explanation. But you have listened to the discourses of the prophets and apostles of these latter-days, and you, Sister, surely have not come to Zion with the deliberate purpose of shunning all the blessings and privileges they have promised you?”
Hagar was uncertain how to reply and hesitated so long that the Bishop was beginning to think she could not answer him. She had seen a good deal of her host, and had formed a clear judgment as to his character, to the effect that he was not a man of high principle even according to his own code. That was why she brought forward the question of belief. And now she was thinking of two other points in the same connection, the first was his promise to Amelia that he would marry no more wives, and the other, the new law of Congress prohibiting polygamy. She had no desire either to displease him or to render him her enemy, for she knew he was venomous towards those he disliked, and she wished to ask him some day to assist her to get away from Zion.
“Surely,” he continued, with a certain satisfaction that she did not reply at once, “it ought to be our highest pleasure to seize the benefits extended to us by the Gospel.”
“That is doubtless true, Bishop Langley,” said Hagar, dropping her work in her lap and raising her pensive eyes towards him, “but there are two difficulties in connection with what you have been saying, which I would thank you to explain. I have heard a great deal about the law that Congress recently passed forbidding any further practice of plural marriage—”
“Yes,” he said, interrupting her impatiently. “But that’s an unconstitutional law; Congress has no right to interfere with our religious practices. That’s what has caused the great war that is now ruining the country and that has divided it into two nations. Congress wanted to interfere with the constitutional rights of the South, to deny them the rights of property guaranteed to them by the founders of the Government; but you see the South is powerful, and will not submit to the wrong. It is true that we cannot now resist by force; but we can go on practicing celestial marriage in spite of their unjust laws. Our law is from God, and we shall not ask human law-makers if we may follow it.
“When the South establishes its independence, we shall become a member of that confederacy which is now shaking the corrupt Union to its center. The South will recognize that the Bible which shows slavery to be a divine institution, also shows plural marriage in the same light, and we shall triumph when the Union which seeks to oppress, and has so long persecuted us, is shattered all to pieces!”
The Bishop spoke with vehemence towards the last, and sawed the air with his arms as if he were addressing a ward meeting.
“You think, then, that the Rebels will conquer?” Hagar asked with a pathetic anxiety in her voice.
“The Southerners? yes, they will conquer. You should not say Rebels. People are not rebels when they fight for their rights. Oh, yes, they will conquer; the Union armies can never recover from their recent disasters; the North is discouraged, indeed there is every reason to believe that before this, a treaty of peace has been signed granting the South a separate existence, and indemnity for the cruel injury done her.”
Hagar felt like uttering a cry of pain; but she controlled her feelings and resumed her work, listening as he went on:
“God is on the side of the South, because he is on ours, and our prayers go up to him in their behalf. The Constitution was inspired by God, and granted religious freedom no less plainly and unequivocally than it legalized the sacred institution of slavery.”
Hagar had heard many of the saints make remarks intimating that their sympathies leaned towards the cause of the South, but she had not known for certain that the Mormon Church placed so much reliance on the success of the Confederacy. The discovery of that fact in connection with so much else that was disagreeable added to her anxiety, and she was unable to see her way out of a decidedly uncomfortable dilemma. Why had she ever been so foolish as to come to Utah?
The Bishop looked at her a moment as if expecting her to say something, but she plied her needle in silence, devoutly hoping that he would soon withdraw. Presently he moved his chair a little nearer, and leaning towards her, said entreatingly:
“But what are the other difficulties, dear Sister?”
“I have heard that you made a promise to Sister Amelia when you married her two years ago, that you would never take another wife. They said at the Spencer’s that she would not marry you until you did so.”
“That was simply a temporary matter to please her vanity. I never meant it seriously, and she knew very well that my religion would not permit me to make any such foolish pledge. Perhaps, so far as I am personally concerned, I might prefer to have only one wife; but we must obey the Lord’s laws, not make laws unto ourselves where we have His to guide us. If God requires me to take another wife I am at once absolved from a promise like that, and Amelia herself would be the first to admit it.”
There was an almost irresistible desire in Hagar’s mind to ask him how he became so conveniently aware of the requirements of the Divinity with relation to such minor details of his life; but she had become accustomed to that species of cant, and now felt a loathing for the hypocrite before her, whom she believed to be as insincere to his supposed religion as he was false in his private life.
Hagar had been conscious from the first that Amelia regarded her as a possible rival, and that she had exhausted every artifice in trying to prevent the Bishop from seeing her alone. She knew also that he had obtained the present interview through a cunning trick. But she could not lose sight of the fact that her situation demanded prudence. She therefore determined that whatever he might say she would neither speak a rash word nor give him a decisive answer at present. While she had made no strong professions of religion, nor entered into any of the ‘mysteries’ she was taught to regard as a necessity, she had been careful not to define her attitude; but tried to content herself with doing her present duty, and leaving the future to Providence, for whose help she humbly prayed.
“I think you are mistaken about Sister Amelia. She will not consent to your taking another wife.”
As Hagar spoke the Bishop seemed to devour her with his eyes. He rose and almost sprang towards her in his eagerness. Grasping her hand passionately, he exclaimed with a kind of fiendish rapture:
“Are you so sure of that, dear Sister, that you will agree to say ‘yes’ if she does?”
His look had chilled her, but his touch seemed to create a horrid sickness in her heart—a nauseous disgust that made her shudder. She could not speak. He held her hand fast and went on:
“Only pronounce that little word and make me the happiest man on earth. For I love you—have loved you from the moment I first saw you. I have never felt towards any woman as I do towards you—you have inspired me with a kind of infatuation never before known to my heart. My tongue’s loose, now, and I must tell you all. You are my sunlight, the air I breathe, the hope that makes me love life. God has sent you to me to crown with bliss what I have done for duty. You are mine by right, by the very gift of Heaven!” He spoke rapidly, but in a subdued tone. Sister Eliza must have caught the sound of his voice, however, for she turned round and took a sly glance over her spectacles, then indulged in a pinch of snuff, and resumed her knitting. She was soothed by the pleasant conviction that Edwin was teaching her young guest some of the mysteries of the latter day gospel.
Hagar drew away her hand as soon as she could without exhibiting too much of her real feelings towards her polygamous suitor.
“You doubt that Amelia will agree? Why, she will come to you and plead my cause if I ask her to. You do not answer, Sister.” Hagar had resumed her seat, and he had stepped back a pace or two well aware that he had met with a check though there was no marked outward token of it.
When she felt that she could speak without betraying the anger she was keeping back, Hagar replied, while looking at him calmly:
“I am too selfish, and jealous, to occupy the position of a plural wife. Besides, Bishop Langley, I am in no way suited for the honor you offer me, of becoming your seventh wife, and I trust you will let the matter rest where it is. What you propose is impossible.”
“One moment. Do you realize that you are rejecting the man who worships you?” He spoke in a soft, pleading voice. Hagar was more startled than she would have been if he had begun to threaten her. “I do not believe,” he continued earnestly, “that you are suited to be a polygamous wife. You would be my only one, in all except the fulfillment of my religious duties to the rest. You shall be my only wife. I am rich, I will pension off the others, provide for them and their children, and live alone for you. I never loved a woman till I saw you, and I believed I never should. But I deceived myself—it has come at last—it devours my heart—it seems to take possession of my soul; and you, you, dear Sister, are the cause—” The clock in a large wooden case on the mantel struck eleven, and a new agitation began to disturb the Bishop’s mind. He must go to the theatre at once with the sleigh to bring Amelia home.
Sister Eliza also noted the time and said:
“If yer goin’ to fetch ’Meelie, Edwin, ye’d better be startin; the theayter must be nearly out, I guess.”
Hagar would have been glad to thank Sister Eliza for that speech.
“Yes,” replied the Bishop, “that is true. But we can resume our conversation at another time, Sister Miles. I will say good night; and may I not trust that we shall understand each other?”
“Good night: I hope we may,” Hagar rejoined.
Immediately after his exit she went to her chamber, where she fell on her knees at the bedside and wept as she had not done for some time.
The hall-lamp had been turned low and was burning dimly, giving the Bishop a decidedly crestfallen appearance as he seated himself near the hat-rack and took off his blood-red slippers. He pulled on the left boot with some difficulty, and ejaculated a phrase or two which would have been very like profanity coming from any other than a Bishop, when his foot came in contact with the water at the bottom. Seizing the other he turned it up and poured its liquid contents on the floor, blaming himself for his stupidity in placing them where they would catch the melting snow from his coat. That came from falling in love! Quite twenty minutes were lost in procuring a dry pair of socks and boots, as he was not certain in which wife’s apartment he could lay his hands on them. But he was presently ready, and hurried to the barn where the man had the sleigh in waiting.
“Did you put the gate-key in your pocket, sir?” asked the man.
“No,” the Bishop answered, sourly, “I hung it in its proper place.”
“Well, it’s not there, sir.”
Find it they could not. And after spending nearly half an hour in the fruitless search several minutes were next consumed in finding a bar to pry out the staples. It was after midnight when the Bishop drove up to the theatre to find it in darkness.
As Amelia was not waiting in the portico he concluded she had walked home so he drove there with all haste. Edwin junior, who had been with her at the theatre, had reached home and was foraging in his mother’s larder for something to eat. He said that Amelia had gone to pass the night with Miss Spencer as she could n’t walk through the snow, and that she was terribly riled about that priesthood meeting.
Charles Spencer’s views concerning the glories of Zion had undergone a remarkable evolution in the few months since his return. The ideal of a boy’s ignorance was giving place to the real of a man’s experience. Contact with the outer world, while it had taxed his endurance, had also clarified his vision. Upon subjects of which he had formerly thought nothing he now became severely critical, and the ‘Kingdom of God’ began to assume the aspect of a small trading mart. He perceived that the apostles and elders had secured to themselves the time-honored privileges that belonged to the priests of Baal and a long line of their successors; that Brigham Young had become a nabob and a despot, and that on the little scene of Mormondom was being played a new version of what a scoffer in Ohio had called the Gospel game.
Despite Bishop Langley’s open antagonism and secret enmity, Spencer succeeded in meeting Hagar from time to time, and he thought he was more benefited and impressed by his brief communion with her than by the canny wisdom of the prophets as delivered in the Tabernacle. If he had been of the kind to be flattered into submission the spirit of revolt that was rising in him would surely have been checked, for, even after he had given unmistakable evidence of defection of which Brigham Young was fully informed, the President entrusted him with weighty confidences, and even invited him to ‘bear testimony’ before the assembled people. He was willing to parley with the young malcontent while a hope of retaining him in the church harness remained; for he saw that Spencer’s course was undefined, while he miscalculated the force of his character and the depth of his discontent. It was the prophet’s custom to condone symptoms of rebellion so long as they were not made visibly manifest; and thus a practiced hypocrite might count upon his favor, while an honest man who dared to differ and to tell him so, was quickly consigned to the rack of his scorn.
Haunted by the image of Hagar, goaded by his sense of poverty and dependence, and conscious that he was growing more and more out of touch with the priesthood and his church, Spencer was far from happy. He was pathetically warned by his mother to beware of the deceit and craft of the devil, but the gloomy, vacillating and meditative mood which now became habitual to him, enabled him to discern only the craft and deceit of the priesthood. He saw the tithing of the people pouring in. It was marvellous in volume and in the regularity of its current. Into the great maw of Bel went the produce of the land and the priests were there with their baskets to catch all that the Dragon could not dispose of. The magnates built great houses, surrounded themselves with high walls, and lived in luxury, waited upon by foreign menials. They drew a bounteous sustenance from the busy hive they held under tribute, while the toilers themselves dwelt patiently in the small log cabin or the adobe cottage, and won their daily bread by rugged conflict with the earth.
Before he went away and during his absence, if he had thought at all about these things, it was merely to regard them in the common way, as essential conditions to the building up of “the Kingdom.” But he now said:
“Alas! The Kingdom is a despotism. We take the name of ‘Israel’ and go to work to realize the picture; set up a Solomon without his wisdom, and the temples, palaces, concubines and oppression naturally follow. What is common to all systems, the aggrandizement of the few at the cost of the many, was the condition we were to escape, but is the one most vital here.”
He regarded with keen distaste the hereditary possibilities he knew to be his own: high Sacerdotal rank, and a hand at the money bags of Israel. He had seen sons and grandsons succeed their sires in civil and religious offices, and knew that the hierarchy of Church and State which was one and inseparable, had adopted this effete principle solely for the promotion of its own ends whether good or bad. He deliberately made up his mind never to become a pensioner on such a system.
But, for the present, whatever might be his ultimate decision, he must play the part of time server. His sympathy was still with the cause of his people, but his reason said that their lot could not be his.
He had not been able to approach Hagar as to the subject that outweighed all others in his reflections; but his attentions to her had already excited gossip, and he knew that if he openly declared his discontent she would be branded as a cause of it and placed in great peril. It was for her sake and not his own that he chose the prudent course, though, as a matter of fact, the enmity of Langley alone was sufficient to make him cautious of being placed under the ban of Apostacy while winter held its impenetrable barriers between Utah and the world. He worked on patiently and with the consciousness that he was not free from suspicion and espionage. He listened to plausible priestly lies without betraying by look or word that he knew the truth; pretended to believe prophecies that were framed after the fact, and revelations that he had seen compounded by designing men.
It was some time since he had seen Hagar alone. His falling out with Langley prevented his visiting the Bishop’s house, and the brooding and unsettled state of his mind made him indifferent to social intercourse. After the long office hours of the tithing department where he was engaged, he would go home and pace his room, or make an effort to read. Sometimes he would mount an old nag that a relative in the country had given his father, and ride slowly past Hagar’s school, in the hope of getting a chance to salute her, but she was always out of sight.
Langley was among the first to suspect and circulate the story of the young man’s growing scepticism. One day after an interview on very mundane affairs with Brigham Young, he said to the prophet, in his officious way:
“Young Charles Spencer seems to be a good deal of a favorite with you, Brother Brigham?”
“Yes, so long as he lives his religion and obeys counsel. But why did you ask that? By your tone I judge there is something back of the question.”
“You have noticed nothing?”
“Well,” said the President, raising his eye brows and taking off his spectacles to rub them with a cotton bandanna, “Well, may be I have—but what have you noticed?”
“For one thing, that he is associating with the vile apostate, Doctor Robinson.”
“What? You don’t mean that, do you? He has not gone so far as that!”
“Yes, he has. They were always fast friends as you know, but Spencer went back on him when he apostatized. The change in his own heart now makes the apostate congenial to him, and they have been seen walking together at night on the hill by the arsenal, and along the road to the Hot Springs. I told you long ago that Robinson ought to be dealt with, and offered to take the matter in hand. He never was really devoted to the church. The pretence served to gain him a foothold, and he has lived in open defiance of authority for nearly four years. Many of the women are going to him for his nostrums, and his influence for evil is increasing every day.”
“I will see about this at once. You might have an eye kept on Spencer and also on the pill-maker. I have noticed Brother Charles’ uneasiness, but thought it grew out of his sickly infatuation over the pretty widow. But if he thinks he can hoodwink me, and loll into apostasy under my very nose, he shall have plenty of rope I can promise him.”
The prophet made no effort to conceal his irritation, and the Bishop, seeing that he had achieved his purpose, soon after withdrew. Directly he had gone a boy was summoned to tell Spencer that President Young wished to see him. The answer came that he was out and would not be back before five o’clock.
President Young struck a small gong on the desk in front of him, and a tall straight man with broad shoulders and a generally raw-boned appearance, entered by a small side-door. He looked, at first glance, like an American Indian, but was a proselyte from the Sandwich Islands. He was a messenger and assistant body-guard to the President. Having received his orders in a few words he backed out through the narrow door with a deferential salute. The president awaited his return. He was not absent more than twenty minutes, and came back quite out of breath.
“Well?” demanded President Young.
“He was there, sir. When I was block away I see the old pinto mare tie to post in front of Robinson house, but ’fore I git there I seen him come out, git on horse, and go down road like he goin’ to Jordan bridge.”
The Kanaka made a faithful report: from Dr. Robinson’s Spencer went direct to Hagar’s school, driven on by a wild desire to tell her of the heavy woes that were oppressing him.
“I know not what to say to her, but it will out if I can but find her alone. I will tell her my misery, and lay my heart at her feet.”
The small one-roomed building in which the school was held, was located in an orchard near the Langley mansion. The snow was trampled down by the children around the house, and huge balls had been rolled up from among the trees where it lay deepest, and formed into high banks for breastworks from behind which the urchins pelted each other in mimic warfare. They were engaged in this diversion when Spencer rode up, and he knew it was within a minute of the time to call them in. Tying his horse to the gate post he knocked at the school-house door, and was admitted by Hagar. As he entered, a tow-headed boy of about fifteen years might have been seen to quit his play and go post-haste towards the Bishop’s house. There was a standing reward of a quarter of a dollar in silver, for the bearer of news of Spencer’s appearance at the school, and the Bishop’s son Tobias, though not over quick at his studies, was alert to win the spy’s reward on the first opportunity.
Hagar extended her hand in a friendly manner, saying with singular earnestness:
“I am very glad to see you, Mr. Spencer, but I am sorry you have come here.”
“I will go away at once, then,” he replied, a little hurt.
“It will be best for us both. We are watched, and I do not think you are free from danger. I was foolish to have come here, but I must now submit, as there is no escape.”
To his imagination her words meant more than she intended.
“Submit! you surely will not submit to this Blue Beard? You can leave here in the spring and return to your people.”
“We are in danger, I tell you. I must consult my present safety. Consult yours by going at once. I must call in the school.” She already had the small bell in her hand when he came in, and she now threw the door open that he might depart before she rang. He was stepping back from the door, raising his hat in salute, when he was seized by the shoulders and hurled to the ground. The Bishop had come through the garden, and darted around the corner of the school-house like a lion that had been crouching for his prey. Spencer sprang to his feet in an instant, and leveled his revolver, one of heavy calibre he had that day borrowed from Dr. Robinson, at the Bishop’s head. The children had run in screaming with fright, and Hagar shut the door in dread of an impending tragedy. Hearing the voices of the men outside, she listened.
“The only reason I don’t put day-light through you, Bishop Langley,” said Spencer, with dangerous composure, “is because I know that it would bring harm to that helpless woman in there—worse harm than you can do her if I let you live. I know that if I killed you here now as you intended to kill me had you found me unprepared, I should be lynched as if I had been an assassin. I’ll spare you, but you shall make me a promise, and further, you shall swear to it; you are not famous for veracity. It’s a wonder to me that a hypocrite like you doesn’t make apostates of half the community. Raise your right hand and repeat after me: “In the name of Almighty God, I swear that I will not harm or permit others to harm by word or act the woman known as Sister Miles; and that I will use my influence to prevent the cut-throats of Zion from doing bodily injury to the man known as Charles Spencer.”
The Bishop paused and looked around to see if help was not near before he would comply. But as there was no relief at hand, and Spencer made his weapon click impatiently, the redoubtable ecclesiastic swallowed his resentment, or rather choked it down, and repeated the oath with sonorous though unwilling accents. The young man then compelled him to turn his face to the wall, and leisurely resumed his journey towards home.