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<SPAN name="chap101"></SPAN> <h3>Chapter One Hundred One.</h3> <h4>A Caravan Ball.</h4> <p>As if to favour our design, the night descended dusk as the wing of a vulture. The summits of San Juan were no longer visible—their outlines becoming blended with the dark background of sky; while the more sombre slopes of the Sierra Mojada had long since faded from the view. Even light-coloured objects could be but dimly traced through the profound obscurity—such as the white covers of the waggons, our own weather-bleached buffalo-tents, the metallic sheen of the stream, and the speckled oxen browsing along its banks. Between these objects the atmosphere was filled with a uniform and amorphous darkness; and dusky forms like ours could be seen only under the light of the blazing fires. A few of these had been kindled outside the enclosure—near the avenue entrance; but most were inside, surrounded by groups of emigrants—the flames casting their ruddy light upon the bright cheerful faces of women and children, or on the ruder and more careworn countenances of the men. Underneath the waggon-bodies, the red light, broken by the radiating spokes of the wheels, gleamed outward in a thousand jets; and men walking outside, flung gigantic shadows over the plain. Nearer to the line of barricade, only the shadows of their limbs were projected, the upper part of their persons being shrouded from the glare by the tilts and boxing of the waggons. Under this friendly cover we were enabled to approach close up to the vehicles, without much risk of attracting observation. But few persons were straying outside—only the cattle-guards and other routine-officers of the caravan, all equally negligent of their duties. They knew they were in Utah territory, and had no enemy to fear.</p> <p>It was, moreover, the hour of most interest in the daily routine of a travelling-train: when forms cluster around the bivouac fire, and bright faces shine cheerfully in the blaze; when the song succeeds the supper, the tale is told, and the merry laugh rings on the air; when the pipe sends up its aromatic wreaths of blue curling smoke; and sturdy limbs, already rested from the toils of the day, feel an impulse to spring upward on the “light fantastic toe.” On that eve, such an impulse had inspired the limbs of the Mormon emigrants. Scarcely had the <i>débris</i> of the supper been removed, ere a space was cleared midway between the blazing fires; music swelled upon the air—the sounds of fiddle, horn, and clarionet—and half a score of couples, setting themselves <i>en quadrille</i>, commence treading time to the tune. Sufficiently <i>bizarre</i> was the exhibition—a dance of the true “broad-horn” breed; but we had no thought of criticising an entertainment so opportune to our purpose. The swelling sound of the instruments drowning low conversation—the confusion of many voices—the attraction of the saltatory performance—were all circumstances that had suddenly and unexpectedly arisen in our favour. My companion and I had no longer a fear that our movements would be noted. Indeed, only those who might be in the waggons, and looking through the draw-string aperture in the rear of the tilts, would be likely to see us at all. But most of these apertures were closed, some with curtains of common canvas—others with an old counterpane, a blanket, or such rag as was fitted for the service.</p> <p>We saw no face looking outwards. All were turned upon the attractive circle of Terpsichoreans, that, under the brilliant light of the fires, were bounding through the mazy figures, of the dance. The waggons forming the sides of the enclosure were in <i>echellon</i>; and their tilts lapping on each other, it was impossible to see between them. With the two, however, that closed the end of the <i>corral</i>, the case was different. These had been drawn up side by side, and parallel to each other; and though their wheels touched, there still remained a space above the tires, through which we could command a view of the ground within the enclosure. At this point we had placed, ourselves. It proved the very vantage-ground we desired. We could view the enclosed ellipse longitudinally, and note nearly every movement made by those inside. Even should we be detected in our espionage, it would pass without suspicion as to our real object. What more natural than that we should desire to witness the spectacle of the dance? The act would be construed as springing from mere savage curiosity?</p> <p>Our eyes, wandering over the different figures, soon became fixed upon two. They were men, and seated—near each other, and some paces apart from the crowd of dancers. They were Holt and Stebbins. Both were by the side of a large fire, that threw its red light in full glare over them—so that not only their figures, but even the expression upon their features we could distinctly trace. The squatter, pipe in mouth, and with head drooping down almost to his knees, looked grimly into the fire. He was paying no attention to what was passing around him. His thoughts were not there? Stebbins, on the other hand, appeared eagerly to watch the dancers. He was dressed with a degree of adornment; and exhibited a certain patronising attitude, as if master of the sports and ceremonies! Men and women went and came, as if paying court to him; and each was kept for a moment in courtly converse, and then graciously dismissed, with all the ludicrous etiquette of mock ceremonial!</p> <p>I looked among the dancers—scrutinising each face as it came round to the light. There were girls and women—some of all ages. Even the gross <i>mulatto</i> was “on the floor,” hobbling through the figures of a quadrille. But Lilian? I was disappointed in not seeing her—a disappointment that gratified me. Where was she? Among the spectators? I made a hurried examination of the circle. There were faces fair and young—white teeth and rose-hued cheeks—but not hers. She was not among them! I turned to her sister to make a conjectural inquiry. I saw that the eyes of Marian were fixed upon her father. She was regarding him with a singular expression. I could fancy that some strange reflection was passing through her mind—some wild emotion swelling within her bosom. I refrained from interrupting the current of her thoughts.</p> <p>Up to this time, the waggon beside which we stood had been dark inside. Suddenly, and, as if by magic, a light flashed within, gleaming through the translucent canvas. A candle had been lighted under the tilt; and now continued to burn steadily. I could not resist the temptation to look under the canvas. Perhaps a presentiment guided me? It needed no disarrangement of the cover. I had only to step a pace to one side and opposite the curtain in the rear of the vehicle. The slight rude hanging had been negligently closed. An interstice left open between the two flaps permitted a fall view of the interior. A number of large boxes and articles of household use filled up the bed of the waggon. Over these had been thrown some coarse garments, and pieces of bed-clothing—blankets, counterpanes, and a bolster or two. Near the forward end, a chest of large dimensions stood higher than the rest; and upon the lid of this a piece of tallow-candle was burning, in the neck of an old bottle! Between the flame of the candle and my eyes a figure intervened, shadowing the rearward part of the waggon. It was a female figure; and, dim as was the light, I could trace the outlines of a lovely <i>silhouette</i>, that could be no other than that of Lilian Holt. A slight movement of the head brought the gleam of golden-hair under the flickering flame; and the features were seen <i>en profile</i>. They were hers. It was Lilian who occupied the waggon. She was alone—though in front of the vehicle, I could see forms not distant from where she sat. Young men were loitering there. Ardent glances were directed towards her. She appeared desirous of shunning them. She held in her hands a book. One might have fancied she was reading it: for it was open. But the light fell sparingly on the page; and her stealthy glances towards it told, something else than the book was occupying her attention. A piece of detached paper that gleamed whiter between the leaves, was evidently the object of her solicitude. It was the writing upon that she was trying to decipher. I watched with eager glance. I noted every movement of the fair reader. Marian had joined me. We both watched together.</p> <p>It required an effort to restrain ourselves from speech. A word would have been worth all this writing; but it might also have ruined everything. They who stood in front of the waggon might hear that word. It was not spoken. Lilian was evidently embarrassed by the presence of these young men; and cast uneasy glances towards them as she read. Perhaps the restraint thus placed upon her hindered any violent show of emotion, which the writing on the paper might have called forth. A short suppressed sigh, as she finished reading; a quick searching glance among the groups in front—another, shot stealthily towards the rear of the waggon—this was all in her manner that might have appeared unusual. I waited till her eyes were again turned rearward; and then, gently parting the canvas flaps, I held Marian’s note between my fingers inside the curtain. The apparition of my red-hand did not cause an alarm. The poem had paved the way for the more prosaic epistle: and neither scream nor start was occasioned by its delivery. As soon as I saw that the piece of paper was observed, I dropped it among the boxes, and withdrew my hand. The fear that we might have been noticed standing too long in one place, influenced us to move away. If fortune should favour the reading of that note, on our return we might find our scheme much more ripe for execution. With this reflection, we glided silently from the spot.</p> <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />

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