tackle the desert. Maybe we can shoot some meat. And if the worst
comes to the worst, we'll keep going as long as we can, then abandon
the wagons, pack what we can on our animals, and make the last
stages on foot. We can eat our cattle as we go along. It would be
better to arrive in California without a rag to our backs than to
leave our bones here; and leave them we will if we start a ruction."
With final reiterated warnings against
violence of speech or act,
the impromptu meeting broke up. I was slow in falling asleep that
night. My rage against the Mormon had left my brain in such a
tingle that I was still awake when my father crawled into the wagon
after a last round of the night-watch. They thought I slept, but I
heard mother ask him if he thought that the Mormons would let us
depart
peacefully from their land. His face was turned aside from
her as he busied himself with pulling off a boot, while he answered
her with
hearty confidence that he was sure the Mormons would let us
go if none of our own company started trouble.
But I saw his face at that moment in the light of a small tallow
dip, and in it was none of the confidence that was in his voice. So
it was that I fell asleep, oppressed by the dire fate that seemed to
overhang us, and pondering upon Brigham Young who bulked in my child
imagination as a
fearful,
malignant being, a very devil with horns
and tail and all.
And I awoke to the old pain of the
jacket in
solitary. About me
were the
customary four: Warden Atherton, Captain Jamie, Doctor
Jackson, and Al Hutchins. I
cracked my face with my willed smile,
and struggled not to lose control under the
exquisitetorment of
returning
circulation. I drank the water they held to me, waved
aside the proffered bread, and refused to speak. I closed my eyes
and
strove to win back to the chain-locked wagon-circle at Nephi.
But so long as my visitors stood about me and talked I could not
escape.
One
snatch of conversation I could not tear myself away from
hearing.
"Just as yesterday," Doctor Jackson said. "No change one way or the
other."
"Then he can go on
standing it?" Warden Atherton queried.
"Without a
quiver. The next twenty-four hours as easy as the last.
He's a wooz, I tell you, a perfect wooz. If I didn't know it was
impossible, I'd say he was doped."
"I know his dope," said the Warden. "It's that cursed will of his.
I'd bet, if he made up his mind, that he could walk
barefoot across
red-hot stones, like those Kanaka priests from the South Seas."
Now perhaps it was the word "priests" that I carried away with me
through the darkness of another
flight in time. Perhaps it was the
cue. More probably it was a mere
coincidence. At any rate I awoke,
lying upon a rough rocky floor, and found myself on my back, my arms
crossed in such fashion that each elbow rested in the palm of the
opposite hand. As I lay there, eyes closed, half awake, I rubbed my
elbows with my palms and found that I was rubbing prodigious
calluses. There was no surprise in this. I accepted the calluses
as of long time and a matter of course.
I opened my eyes. My shelter was a small cave, no more than three
feet in
height and a dozen in length. It was very hot in the cave.
Perspiration noduled the entire surface of my body. Now and again
several nodules coalesced and formed tiny rivulets. I wore no
clothing save a
filthy rag about the middle. My skin was burned to
a
mahogany brown. I was very thin, and I contemplated my thinness
with a strange sort of pride, as if it were an
achievement to be so
thin. Especially was I enamoured of my
painfullyprominent ribs.
The very sight of the hollows between them gave me a sense of solemn
elation, or, rather, to use a better word, of sanctification.
My knees were callused like my elbows. I was very dirty. My beard,
evidently once blond, but now a dirt-stained and streaky brown,
swept my midriff in a tangled mass. My long hair,
similarly stained
and tangled, was all about my shoulders, while wisps of it
continually strayed in the way of my
vision so that sometimes I was
compelled to brush it aside with my hands. For the most part,
however, I
contented myself with peering through it like a wild
animal from a thicket.
Just at the tunnel-like mouth of my dim cave the day reared itself
in a wall of blinding
sunshine. After a time I crawled to the
entrance, and, for the sake of greater
discomfort, lay down in the
burning
sunshine on a narrow ledge of rock. It
positively baked me,
that terrible sun, and the more it hurt me the more I
delighted in
it, or in myself rather, in that I was thus the master of my flesh
and superior to its claims and remonstrances. When I found under me
a particularly sharp, but not too sharp, rock-projection, I ground
my body upon the point of it, rowelled my flesh in a very
ecstasy of
mastery and of purification.
It was a
stagnant day of heat. Not a
breath of air moved over the
river
valley on which I sometimes gazed. Hundreds of feet beneath
me the wide river ran sluggishly. The farther shore was flat and
sandy and stretched away to the
horizon. Above the water were
scattered clumps of palm-trees.
On my side, eaten into a curve by the river, were lofty, crumbling
cliffs. Farther along the curve, in plain view from my eyrie,
carved out of the living rock, were four
colossal figures. It was
the
stature of a man to their ankle joints. The four colossi sat,
with hands resting on knees, with arms crumbled quite away, and
gazed out upon the river. At least three of them so gazed. Of the
fourth all that remained were the lower limbs to the knees and the
huge hands resting on the knees. At the feet of this one,
ridiculously small, crouched a sphinx; yet this sphinx was taller
than I.
I looked upon these carven images with
contempt, and spat as I
looked. I knew not what they were, whether forgotten gods or
unremembered kings. But to me they were representative of the
vanity of earth-men and earth-aspirations.
And over all this curve of river and sweep of water and wide sands
beyond
arched a sky of aching brass unflecked by the tiniest cloud.
The hours passed while I roasted in the sun. Often, for quite
decent intervals, I forgot my heat and pain in dreams and
visions
and in memories. All this I knew--crumbling colossi and river and
sand and sun and
brazen sky--was to pass away in the twinkling of an
eye. At any moment the trumps of the archangels might sound, the
stars fall out of the sky, the heavens roll up as a
scroll, and the
Lord God of all come with his hosts for the final judgment.
Ah, I knew it so
profoundly that I was ready for such
sublime event.
That was why I was here in rags and filth and wretchedness. I was
meek and lowly, and I despised the frail needs and passions of the
flesh. And I thought with
contempt, and with a certain
satisfaction, of the far cities of the plain I had known, all
unheeding, in their pomp and lust, of the last day so near at hand.
Well, they would see soon enough, but too late for them. And I
should see. But I was ready. And to their cries and lamentations
would I arise, reborn and
glorious, and take my well-earned and
rightful place in the City of God.
At times, between dreams and
visions in which I was
verily and
before my time in the City of God, I conned over in my mind old
discussions and controversies. Yes, Novatus was right in his
contention that
penitent apostates should never again be received
into the churches. Also, there was no doubt that Sabellianism was
conceived of the devil. So was Constantine, the arch-fiend, the
devil's right hand.
Continually I returned to
contemplation of the nature of the unity
of God, and went over and over the contentions of Noetus, the
Syrian. Better, however, did I like the contentions of my beloved
teacher, Arius. Truly, if human reason could determine anything at
all, there must have been a time, in the very nature of sonship,