“All Is Well! All Is Well!”

ALL IS WELL! ALL IS WELL! BY SUSA YOUNG GATES. [Author's Note.—y^hen the Latter-day Saints started their pilgrimage across the Westfrn plains, in 1847, one of their poets put his sorrows and longings into song; and this hymn was sung around their camp-fires, at their merry-makings, and at the open graves on the lonely Platte. It is often still a part of the Sabbath service of the Saints, and its words bring memories to the old and reflections to the young. Its title, "All is well," expresses their resignation and supreme trust in the providences of God.] was in the early fifties. It The heated breath of the August sun pressed hotly upon the parched surface of the unnamed west- ern plains. The baked earth stretched away from the distant, sluggish waters of the Platte river. Not even the stubble of grass rose up from the earth's crust, for summer and drouth had buried, without requiem, every tiny blade and spear. The long train of smoke-draped wagons had been moving slowly since long before the eastern sun had arisen above the flat horizon. Two by two they shambled along, the wagons lolling to and fro under the strain of the lumbering feet of the oxen. The beasts were thin-flanked, and hollow with sparse food and scant water. But on they trudged; not one step faster nor slower for the whistle of the lithe and long-lashed whip which occasion- ally flecked their toughened hides. "Haw" they knew, and "gee" they knew, as the stinging lash flew to right or left of ear; but speed was to their strong and steady muscles a callous mystery. As the train gradually rose on the undulating crest of an- other swale, the eye of the leader saw in the clear distance a faint promise of a stream of water, silhouetted against the horizon by

: — "ALL IS WELL! ALL LS WELL!'' 697 scraggy "cotton woods," themselves little more than a fringe in the line where grey sky met grey earth. "Rut it was surely water; and from his throat there sprung a cry of joy, which vibrated swiftly from point to point until the hindmost vehicle had received the cheering news. And then, as hope flooded both eye and heart of all in the dusty train, the lips of a woman, with shrill but pleasing vigor, sent forth the notes of a song. A hundred voices caught up the melody, and the undulating music floated back, reaching the last poor wagon with its two lonely occupants: Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear, But with joy wend your way; Though hard to you, this journey may appear, Grace shall be as your day. 'Tis better far for us to strive, Our useless cares from us to drive Do this, and joy your hearts will swell All is well! All is well! The toiling feet of the man behind the rear wagon, tingled faintly in response to the rhythmic suggestion of the broken music. But his throat was too dry, the strength of his limbs too far spent for his voice to rise above his heart. Yet even his fevered eyes misted with sudden springs of hope renewed as the boy beside him sang out the refrain lustily: All is well! All is well! "I jest b'leave our old oxen know that song, daddy, for when it's sung they pick up their old feet and try to keep up with the other wagons." The man smiled faintly in response to the boy's enthusiasm, and said quietly, "Ay, ay, lad. So 'tis, I'm sure. More'n one poor dying soul has kept spirit in body by the chord that song fastens between them. 'Tis a good song, lad, a good song. But they should sing it all. Sing it all." Only the three verses floated back to them fitfully, as the wagons turned a long curve in the faintly marked road. "I love the last verse best," said the man feebly, as he struggled to keep pace with the quicker step of the boy.

698 IMPROVEMENT ERA. "Why do you like that verse so well, daddy? It makes me cry. It jest brings up my mammy's face to me, and I see her buried beside that muddy Missouri river, and the choir a-singing that last verse, until I can't stand it no longer, I jest can't." The boy dropped his whip while trying to rub the flowing tears with his rough sleeve. The man beside him whispered huskily, "Never mind. Tommy, lad; don't 'ee mind. I don't feel it so. BuJ; it'll not hurt ye any more, if I can help it. Mammy was glad to lay down and rest. Tommy, even if the river is far from 'us, and furder from home in bonny England. But there, lad, sometimes pappy gets tired, too, and then I loves to hear some one tune up thet there song; it mellers me to the bone, it does." The faint, quavering voice of the invalid began its own inter- pretation of the hymn, but the tone was far more lively than it would otherwise have been, because of the tiny mourner beside him, and although the first three verses were trolled out pretty bravely, the fourth was left unsung. The boy joined lustily in the hymn with his father, and to- gether they so inspired the weary feet of their animals, as well as their own weaker bodies, that the green cottonwoods of the tiny stream on the horizon was reached by the foremost wagons before the song was ended. The merry company were all anxious to help each other, and a dozen sprang towards the stream with cups eager to offer each other a drink of the insipid, but gratefully accepted water, flowing by the cottonwoods. The oxen drank thirstily and long, the minutes stretching out into an hour, were consumed in satisfying the slow appetites of the patient carriers. Men threw themselves down upon the bank for a short rest in the cooling shade, and women climbed out of the vehicles, while the children swarmed over the wagon tonguris. A patient, but quick search gave no promise of grow- ing wild berries: and the hunters reported few signs of wild ani- mals. But the grateful shade and the refreshing water were delightful enjoyments in the morning's travel. "When do we reach the tops of the rocky mountains?" quer- ied a brown-eyed, dimpled-cheeked lassie, for the hundredth time that morning.

. : ''ALL IS WELL! ALL IS WELL!" 699 "Ah girl, ye have plagued me enough wi' that question," responded her father. "It may be a week, it may be two; it depends altogether upon teams and weather." The girl turned swiftly away, the eagerness in her face giv- ing slow place to quiet resignation. The large company of emigrants, for such they were, looked very tired, and some were illy fitted to bear the long and arduous journey. They were fleeing from the outposts of civilization to the unexplored West to find religious freedom. The leader of the company saw the disappointment in the face of the girl who had questioned, as he also detected the growing spirit of discourage- ment in his half -nourished party. But he was a born leader, and he knew the one sure and innocent remedy for their ills "Maggie," he called to the girl, "we are going to have a dancing party tonight, for we will camp beside a better stream than this, and there's grass there, enough to be used as a carpet to dance upon. For we shall reach the Sweetwater tonight. So engage you, Miss Maggie, to dance the first quadrille. Shall it be Dan Tucker?" The girl shot a merry glance at a young man near by, who was putting the yoke upon his oxen, with always an eye in her direction, and she answered gaily, "Indeed, and it's me you can have for your first partner. Elder Snow;" so saying, she gaily flung the leader a short courtesy and then danced out to a group of girls coming down the road to tellthem the good news of the night. The boy driving the rear wagon, just then came up with grateful eyes fastened upon the somewhat sluggish stream, which trickled its muddy way between the cottonwoods. "Here, Tommy," called Maggie, hurrying to them with her cup, "here's a drink of water for your father; its wet, and 'deed, that's about all ye may say for it." The man drank eagerly and much. But the warm liquid did not cool nor satisfy the fevered thirst "Daddy," called the boy from the wagon, "I'm bringing ye down a bit, and rest ye while I the big quilt; and ye shall lay get the oxen 'tended." The sick man slid along the grateful comfort of the im-

700 IMPROVEMENT ERA. provised couch and laid his burning brow beneath the shelter of the scanty cottonwoods. He had no complaints to offer, he was filled with great waves of thanksgiving and unsung praises to that Providence which had given him shelter in the heated desert. Emigrant Camp at Wood River. (From Liverpool to Salt Lake.) About him surged the chatter and council of the camp; and then presently, at the word from the leader, these travelers quickly gathered up their scattered forces, and lumbering as swiftly as might be into the regular order of march, they were soon wind- ing out upon the dry and burning plain once more. "Tommy," said the sick man, as the wagons were leaving, "you yoke right up, and f oiler along wi' the train. Let daddy lie here and rest a bit. 'Twill do me good, lad, and I will get into camp tonight .all right. So don't worry about me, lad, but jest be glad daddy can have so joyful a place to rest in. Eh, lad?" "Ah, bu.t daddy, ye must have yer dinner." "Ye can leave a bite, and a cup to drink the water. But I am not much in the way o' eatin', lad." "Oh, daddy, I wish ye'd jest let me tell Elder Snow that we have nought left to put i' our mouths save a bit of corn," whim- pered the boy. "Now Tommy, after you've been the brave lad to drive the

''ALL IS WELL! ALL IS WELL!'' 701 oxen, and to learn all these new American ways, and now ye give up in the very sight o' the hills o' Zion. Do ye not know that very few i' the company hev any more nor we to eat? Jest a bit o' American corn, and a cup to drink the cooling water. Give me the last drink before ye go, and hurry on, lad, lest ye get too far behind the train. Ye know the oxen be very slow, lad, very slow." The boy looked the uneasiness he felt, but his father assured him, and reassured him. "I can walk the ten or twelve miles of yer day's journey, in a very short time, Tommy; ye mind how good on the walkin' daddy always was. Tommy. Go on, lad, now go." The boy hurried away at last, for he also feared to get too far behind the train. His father had sometimes lingered like this, and he knew the day's journey, as traveled by the heavy oxen, was not much of a tramp for a well taught Englishman. And so he drove on. The sun burned the boy's flesh through his coarse shirt; and the parched air soon drank up the moisture he had imbibed so eagerly at the halting place. He was very lonely, and he was also farther behind than usual, because of his parley with his father. But he told himself again and again, as the moulten hours rolled away, that he was very glad that daddy was resting beside the shady stream, and he knew he could catch the camp in good bed-time, and still rest through the worst of the hot day. Chimney Rock, Wyoming. (From Liverpool to Salt Lake.)

7 02 IMPRO VEMENT ERA. The night was almost as sultry as the day had been. But when the wagons at the Sweetwater drew slowly around the cir- cular space for their camp— each wagon-tongue pointed outward, while the front wheel of the hind wagon grappled the back wheel of the one in front, thus making an almost impervious corral for the cattle— the evening star was already bright in the west. The tents were soon up, surrounding the wagon-circle, and the scant supper was not long in preparing, nor in being disposed of. Then out came the fiddle belonging to the slender little man with dark, artistically mellowed eyes; and, hugging it lovingly, he climbed up. on the central wagon. Holding it to his knee, he softly tried the vibrant strings. The small, red-brown .instru- ment had been to this English artist a singing violin, with sigh and laughter hidden in its rotund body; but now, out on the long untrodden plains of America, surrounded with a band of heart- weary, body-weak religious pilgrims, who required the occasional re- freshment of innocent pleasure, he made of his darling instrument a common fiddle, with an uncommon tone, however, running through the jangling strains of "Arkansas Traveler," or the Scotch Reel. His fingers twanged and swirled, in and out, the notes dancing on the ear with such sympathetic inspiration that feet were tingling and bodies were swaying, almost before the caller could shout into the startled ears of the desert night: "Choose your partners for the first quadrille!" And hearts forgot to sigh, hunger was lost in merriment, and around that grassy ring there flew three score of happy, pounding feet. "Balance to the right," and the girl— Maggie turned her — coquetish shoulders upon her first partner while she courtesied to the gentleman on her left. "And now with the left," shouted the caller, and again the "cool shoulder" was given, as a quick turn brought another swain to sue for circling favor. "Hal' a mon left, " calls the prompter, with sharp American idiom, and the rosy- cheeked girl can now scarcely tear her hand from the vice-like grasp of the young fellow she has thrown over, to dance the first "set'* witli the leader of the company. But no response she gives the youth, but a dimpling, up-tossed cheek, as the sprite "All romenades" with her first partner.

: ''ALL LS WELL! ALL LS WELL!'' 703 That "set" and another, and still another, does the rosy Maggie dance, for she trips about upon the difficult sward with feather-like grace, and all the lads are eager for her partnership, to tread the merry changes. At last the stern-eyed youth swings up to claim her as his own, when a childish voice calls out of the darkness "Miss Maggie! Miss Maggie!" The girl turns quickly. "That is Tommy," she breathed, with half frightened accent. "I wonder if there's anything wrong at his wagon." The girl reached out and drew the ten-year-old child into the light of the unclouded moon, and putting her arms closely about him she asked, "Now, Tommy dear, speak up, and tell me all thy business." ''Me father is not come into camp yet, Miss Maggie; and I do be worrin' about 'im." The girl called to the leader, "Elder Snow, Tommy says his father has not yet come into camp." The man addressed gave instant attention. The dance was not altogether stopped, but a small posse of men were swiftly detailed to go back and find the missing man . Brandy and some food were also taken, as it was not uncommon for the invalid to linger in the evening camping- time. Maggie was bent on accompanying the party, and her lover, albeit somewhat sore and silent, because of her treatment of the day, was filled with joy at this decision. For he was chosen by Elder Snow to head the searching party. Maggie's mother and two other women joined the party, for sometimes the women were glad to have the change, and the quiet evening stroll. They were very quiet and subdued, as they trailed their way rapidly back. But when they came upon their invalid companion, not very far from camp, his own simple gratitude and trust dis- pelled their forebodings, and they broke once more into song and story as they trudged back to camp. The dance was over, however, when they returned, and most of the people had disappeared within the shelter of the sagging wagon covers.

' ! : — ^ 704 IMPROVEMENT ERA. Tommy was so overjoyed to see his father coming back to camp, that tired as was his little aching body, his spirit rose like a winged bird, and he joked and made merry all the while his father ate sparingly of the small portion of milk and parched corn left for his share. Afterwards the father held the drooping body of his son against him for some moments in silent communion; and then, as the tired head fell against his shoulder in quick slumber, he roused the child and bade him go into the wagon to his sleep. The child sleepily obeyed; but the father sat on the wagon tongae and watched the young couple in the wagon shadows near him, as they whispered long and delicious explanations of the day's misunderstandings into each other's happy ears. He looked into the silent, brilliant heavens, through which the moon was swimming in seas of opalescent glory. Then, with- out any preamble, his weak voice began softly the singing of the hymn they all loved so well. And as he sang, the English musi- cian in the distant wagon whispered to himself, "The tone, the tone is very thin and strident; but ah, the soul! He has the soul of song. Could angels give it greater meaning?' Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear. But with joy wend your way; Though hard to you, this journey may appear, Grace shall be as your day. 'Tis better far for us to strive, Our useless cares from us to drive Do this and joy your hearts will swell All is well ! All is well As the song grew, the voice strengthened, and throbbed with hidden meaning; the young couple s^-anding absorbed in each other drew hurried hands in clasp as the heart-break in the voice smote their ears. Their voices hushed over the murmuring, as the strains grew higher and freer: Why should we mourn, or think our lot is hard? 'Tis not so; all is right! Why should we think to earn a great reward, If we now shun the fight?

! —— ;: ''ALL IS WELL! ALL IS WELLr 705 Gird up your loins, fresh courage take; Our God will never us forsake; And soon we'll have this tale to tell All is well ! All is well The boy in the wagon stirred uneasily, as if memory were parted 'twixt times when that song had cheered the weary hour and when it had been sounded as the knell above his poor mother's lonely grave. But he was very tired; and his father sang on: ^ We'll find the place which God for us prepared, Far away in the West; Where none shall come to hurt, nor make afraid; There the Saints will be blessed We'll make the air with music ring Shout praises to our God and King Above the rest these words we'll tell All is well! All is well! The leader of the company stole out of the shadows, moved by the pathos of the gentle voice, and sat down on the wagon- tongue by the singer. He was inwardly stirred by some swift and prophetic emotion. But like all strong men, he could not easily voice his thoughts. And so he sat quietly by, while the voice svrept slowly, surely on. His quick eye noted the silent, reverently listening young couple near, and he also saw the curtains of a dozen near-by wagons softly lifted, while the inmates joined in spirit with that solitary voice. Surely the invalid had known a hard and lonely day, to be so moved upon tonight; the leader resolved to exercise a more careful oversight in the future over this lonely father and son. His own burdens were many as the bearer of the whole, but he must add this particular care to his other general ones. He would speak about it in the morning. And so, each listening heart carried on its own wave of thought or response, as was nature's own indubitable way. But now, the father has paused a moment, to listen for any tiny call of protest which may come from the boy within his own long and wagon, before he begins the last verse; but the dusty, weary-day Jiad- safe-locked the doors of-slumber for Tommy's tired softly at eyes, and the man began the last verse, singing it very

. ; 706 IMPRO VEMENT ERA but letting all his worn spirit soar to God and wife, in the first, hope so sweetly couched in that closing verse: And should we die before our journey's through, Happy day! all is well! We then are free from toil and sorrow too With the just we shall dwell. But if our lives are spared again To see the Saints their rest obtain, 0, how we'll make this chorus swell — All is well! All is well! And then, with the last floating notes the shadows of the night and sleep encompassed every weary soul the invalid crept , into his wagon, and even the lovers returned, and they, too, soon forgot their new-born joy in the solemn renewal of life and slumber. When they called loudly to arouse the over- tired Tommy from his boyish sleep, because the morning sun was once more spring- ing up from the pinkish-gray horizon, they found the father and son still, and resting. And when Tommy roused and looked upon Great Salt Lake.

, — ''ALL IS WELL! ALL IS WELL!" 707 the white, still features of his father, and knew that he, too, was with God, the glory of the slightly parted lips, the peace in the softly-solemn features, hushed the frightened cry which gurgled to his throat, and he threw himself upon that quiet breast, sobbing gently, but, oh, so heart-brokenly, "Oh, daddy, daddy, all is well with you— nut, oh, daddy daddy!" Salt Lake City, Utah. WAITING. {Selected.) Serene I fold my hands and wait, Nor care for wind, or tide, or sea, I rave no more 'gainst time or fate, For lo ! my own shall come to me. I stay my haste, I make delays, For what avails this eager pace? I stand amid eternal ways And what is mine shall know my face. Asleep, awake, by night or day. The friends I seek are seeking me, No wind can drive my bark astray. Nor change the tide of destiny. What matter if I stand alone? I wait with joy the coming years; My heart shall reap where it has sown, And garner up its fruit of tears. The waters know their own and draw, The brooks that spring in yonder heights. So flows the good with equal law, Unto the soul of pure delights. The stars come nightly to the sky, The tidal wave unto the sea, high Nor time, nor space, nor deep nor Can keep my own away from me. John Burroughs.