Читать книгу John Stevens' Courtship - Gates Susa Young - Страница 4

It was barely five o'clock the next morning, and long before the lazy sun would climb the high eastern hill, when Brother Duzett's drums rattled and rolled their startling reveille, echoing from peak to peak. In a moment, the quick bustle of camp life broke the stillness of dawn, and the neigh of the tethered horses, and the low of the oxen in the meadow, added a note of surprised domesticity to that wild scene. Then, before these sounds were fairly through echoing and re-echoing across the silver sheeted lake, two rounds from Uncle Dimick Huntington's cannon ware answered by two others across the vale fired from Elisha Everett's fieldpiece. The booming volleys were swept from crag to crag, and went rolling and tumbling in wild confusion down the canyon's winding glens, and were just losing themselves in silence, when the three brass bands united in one great glowing tribute to liberty, in the entrancing melody of the loved "Yankee Doodle." After this even the children could sleep no longer, but dressed as best they could with half-frozen fingers in the dim dawn of the snow-cooled air.

Out from tent and wagon-box they poured at eight o'clock, these merry, happy revellers, filled to the brim with joyous anticipations of all that the day and the years would bring to them.

As Dian and Ellen met each other, both with cheeks of rosy hue from their hastened toilet, and ready to go to the bowery for morning prayers, they heard that shrill call, now muffled by the busy morning noises —

"Come and kiss yoo papa," and Dian knew that the young avengers were again hot on the Englishman's trail.

"What's that?" asked Ellen.

Dian explained her midnight adventure, but she asked no question of Ellen as to her own whereabouts the night before, as she really was indifferent on that subject. She had known and loved Ellen a good part of her life, and she did not propose to let a silly thing like John Steven's diverted attentions come between her and her friend. Dian was much too sensible for jealousy as a pastime; it might do in real love; but jealousy in the abstract had never been a part of her character. Dian was surely sensible.

The girls were that moment joined by Charlie Rose, fresh, dapper, and full of morning "poesy."

he began, when Dian interrupted saucily, "Well, I'll declare!" then he finished —

"Well, Charlie, you are at least impartial with your ridiculous compliments," laughed Dian, "but I wish you wouldn't go on about my blowzy cheek."

"I said beauteous," corrected Charlie.

"Where's Tom Allen?" asked Ellen.

"Oh, he's fishing, as usual. Did you folks have plenty of fish this morning?" and then Charlie told absurd Munchhausen fish stories till the girls were convulsed with girlish laughter.

"What became of Boyle, the elegant?" asked Charlie. "Me thinks I see not his fringed pantaloons, nor his gay, red shirt. Hast seen his ludship this bright morning?"

There was a wicked echo in the back regions of the Winthrop tent as Charlie asked this, and a chorus of childish voices piped up, "Come and kiss yoo papa," and Dian and Ellen were again too overcome with successive peals of cruel, heartless merriment even to reply to Charlie.

"Dian," called Rachel, from the tent door, "come here a moment. I want you to find that flat-iron you laid away somewhere."

"Why, Rachel, the bugle has sounded for us to gather for morning exercises in the bowery. What do you want of the flat-iron?"

"I want the tub, too; Harvey, you carry that tub right down to the creek this minute, and if I catch you up to any more of your monkeyshines, I will have your father punish you. Do you hear, sir?"

"Why, Rachel, Rachel," protested Dian, "don't get angry with Harvey up here. Surely he is not up to mischief in this lovely place?"

"Do you know what he did?" exclaimed his mother, more inclined to laugh after all than to scold, "he took Henry Boyle's new red shirt out of his tent and then soused it in the creek and left it soaking there all night. He dragged it this morning through the black mud of this horrid valley until you can't tell what it is. Brother Boyle can't get up, I tell you, till I wash and iron his shirt. I am almost inclined to whip Harvey myself."

But she refrained; and the two women dragged the shirt out amid smothered peals of laughter, and sent Harvey to his duty in the crack juvenile regiment of Rifles, while Dian herself was not unwilling to be urged by Rachel to go on with Ellen to the exercises, permitting her kind-hearted sister-in-law to prepare the shirt for future service.

And still there floated at mysterious intervals that jeering cry about the tent of the fallen hero, as he lay ruminating within the inner sanctuary of his own tent on the mischances of fickle fortune.

"Come and kiss yoo papa," wailed the children, as they, too, departed for the exercises in the bowery.

The scene in the central pavilion was impressive! After prayers had been offered by Apostle Amasa Lyman, the great silken flag, taken down through the dewy shades of night, was unfurled from the tallest tree in the vicinity, by the youthful John Smith, son of the murdered patriarch, and once more the bands broke into crashing melody, and again the cannon roared across the affrighted silence, while the people shouted as the emblem of Liberty was unfurled to the morning breeze.

The regiments of the Utah militia which had been drawn up in rigid lines before the central pavilion, now saluted the Governor of the Territory, Brigham Young, and then began a series of brilliant evolutions. The marching and counter-marching of this tried and trusty band of mountaineer soldiers made a gallant display which was eminently fitting to time and scene, in its evidence of loyal devotion to freedom's rights.

"Dian," whispered Ellen, as the two sat watching the maneuvers, "don't you just love a soldier? The sight of those brass buttons is just thrilling to me."

Dian's answer was more moderate, but she would have been less than human if she had not been thrilled by the sight of the so-called "Hope of Israel," the Juvenile Rifle Company which was now led out by the handsome young son of the President himself, John W. Young; for all those youngsters were less than sixteen years old. Her nephew, Harvey Winthrop, was in that gay company, as she noted triumphantly. And their marching and counter-marching, their saluting and drilling was a sight to touch the most sluggish heart into warmth of admiration.

"Oh, Dian, isn't that the cutest thing you ever saw in your life?" again asked happy Ellen, as they watched the youthful soldiers finally trot off to the silence of the trees beyond.

"Let us go, Dian, now that the military exercises are over. I have just been longing to climb those peaks, and see the lakes above us. Come quick; let us go now," and the restless girl pulled at her friend's sleeve.

"Why, dear, you must be one of the reckless spirits the President was talking about last night. We ought to stay and listen to all the program in the Bowery. Let us go with the crowd and not sneak off alone."

But Ellen could not wait, so eager were her feet to press the forbidden slopes of the hills above. She longed to fly, so vital were her pulses. The girls compromised as usual and finally walked over to the swings on the north side of the lake, and both swung themselves into happy weariness in half an hour's time.

"Where are the boys?" asked Willie Howe, as the two girls strolled about.

"John is doing guard duty; Charlie is down the canyon with the horses; Tom declares he will bring us a whole wheelbarrow of fish for dinner, so I suppose he is somewhere on the lakes fishing."

"And where is Henry Boyle?"

At that Dian remembered his plight and her ready laughter bubbled up to eyes and lips. She told the shirt story midst peals of wicked laughter. Youth is so cruel!