and some of the joy that warriors take in war, that I began to look
forward to the perils of our flight.

Before midnight, under an obscure and starless heaven, we had left far
behind us the plantations of the valley, and were mounting a certain
canon in the hills, narrow, encumbered with great rocks, and echoing
with the roar of a tumultuous torrent. Cascade after cascade thundered
and hung up its flag of whiteness in the night, or fanned our faces with
the wet wind of its descent. The trail was break-neck, and led to
famine-guarded deserts; it had been long since deserted for more
practicable routes; and it was now a part of the world untrod from year
to year by human footing. Judge of our dismay when, turning suddenly an
angle of the cliffs, we found a bright bonfire blazing by itself under
an impending rock; and on the face of the rock, drawn very rudely with
charred wood, the great Open Eye which is the emblem of the Mormon
faith. We looked upon each other in the firelight; my mother broke into
a passion of tears; but not a word was said. The mules were turned
about; and leaving that great eye to guard the lonely canon, we
retraced our steps in silence. Day had not yet broken ere we were once
more at home, condemned beyond reprieve.

What answer my father sent I was not told; but two days later, a little
before sundown, I saw a plain, honest-looking man ride slowly up the
road in a great pother of dust. He was clad in homespun, with a broad
straw hat; wore a patriarchal beard; and had an air of a simple rustic
farmer, that was, in my eyes, very reassuring. He was, indeed, a very
honest man and pious Mormon; with no liking for his errand, though
neither he nor any one in Utah dared to disobey; and it was with every
mark of diffidence that he had had himself announced as Mr. Aspinwall,
and entered the room where our unhappy family was gathered. My mother
and me he awkwardly enough dismissed; and as soon as he was alone with
my father laid before him a blank signature of President Young's, and
offered him a choice of services: either to set out as a missionary to
the tribes about the White Sea, or to join the next day, with a party of
Destroying Angels, in the massacre of sixty German immigrants. The last,
of course, my father could not entertain, and the first he regarded as a
pretext: even if he could consent to leave his wife defenceless, and to
collect fresh victims for the tyranny under which he was himself
oppr