The Rescue

THE RESCUE* A One-Act Drama of Early Utah Days (Prize winner in the Improvement Era Short-Play Contest, 1926) By Annie D. Palmer CHARACTERS (In order of their appearance) Julia Harris A modest "Mormon" Maiden Mrs. Amanda Harris Julia's mother Uncle Mose An old Pioneer Tabby An Indian Percy Boyle A sturdy Pioneer son Clifford Stetson A young stranger on his way to California Mr. Harris Julia's father I, f The Harris children Harry -Julia's "big brother" Katherine Jensen A recent convert Costumes of Pioneer time. Scene : — Interior of a pioneer home — bare floor, home-made furniture. A door, left center, opening into the front yard. Window, center back. An old piece of lace curtain partly covers window. A door, upper deft, leading into sleeping room. A door, right, leading to the wood pile. A fire- place, lower left; a small rocker in front of it, and a stool down at left corner. Table at center back, in front of window; two chairs, cowhide bottom, at each end of table. A box cupboard, made in two divisions, one for dishes and the other for materials, in upper right corner. A faded' piece of cloth serves as doors for upper division. A big armchair is down right; an old washstand at right second entrance, below the door, on which is a wash basin. A water bucket sits on a stool at the right of the stand ;t a dipper hangs on a nail above the bucket. (At rise of curtain, Mrs. Harris is discovered seated in small rocker (L.) , mending Ned's jeans trousers, Julia, engaged in finishing the breakfast dishes, is humming, "Hard Times Come Again No More.") Mrs. H. I wish you would not hum that song, dear. It makes me so sad. Julia. Does it, Mother? It, makes me feel hopeful and cheery; as if 1 might sing trouble away. But I won't sing it any more, if you don't like it. (Wiping the last of the dishes and putting them into cupboard.) Mrs. H. Dear girl! I wish you could sing trouble away — ■ always. Such hearts as yours were made for happiness, not for worry and care. And, yet, worry and care are what come, day after day, day after day. *Copyright, 1927, by General Board Y. M. M. I. A. for The Improve- ment Era. All rights reserved.

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THE RESCUE 495 Uncle Mose. (Enters, door L., wipes perspiration off face as he enters and sits on bench in front of table.) Whew! Mebby they're right, but I can't see a darn bit of use in fightin' against sich heavy odds. Whew! They're forty thousand to the square inch, an' doublin' their number every minit. I knowed very well this place wasn't fit for the Saints. The very day we drove in here I seen three big rattle snakes, an' every one facin' the risin' sun. I told old lady Swanberg about it, an' she said it was a sure sign of some- thin'. Ef I'd knowed it was a sign of these blasted crickets, I'd a walked all the way back to the Missouri barefoot, afore I'd a stayed to see the day. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Ike Jones has got a big log rigged up for a roller, an' he's sure makin' mincemeat out of some of 'em. Julia. (Wiping and putting away the iron knives and forks.) Why don't they make more rollers, Uncle Mose? Mose. Waal, some folks think they can do more with the flail, an' some are tryin' fire. It's all the same. They're as thick as the flies in the pest of Egypt, an' they won't be stayed until they've got every green thing in the valley. I seen a "F" on six out of a dozen oak leaves I examined last night; and that's the first letter of "Famine," as I remember. Julia. (Throws the dishwater out, door R., and hangs the dish- pan on nail at end of cupboard.) Mrs. H. The Lord can send deliverance, Mose. Mose. Yes, he can; but if the rest of the folks is as cussed mean as I be, they haint no big reason why he should. It seems like when I look at the black pests out yonder, I jest nachelly forgit about the Lord, an' remember only the devil. Let's see. (Rising.) I most fergot what I come after. Hev you got a cup you can let me take to dip up a pail of Water for the men to drink? I only fetched the buckets, and the water's so scarce I can't dip 'em half full. Seems like Peter Brown must a watered his oxen jest afore I got down. Julia. (Handing dipper which she got from nail above the water bucket at right second entrance.) Here is a cup, Uncle Mose. Mose. Thank you. Comin' out purty soon? Mrs. H. I am coming, Mose. (Putting -away her sewing.) Mose. Waal, I wouldn't ef I was you. (Going to door, upper L. C.) It ain't a bit of use. (Exit.) Julia. Mother, you are weary. You watch the baby, and let me go out to the field. I am stronger than you. Mrs. H. Your father will give up if I do not stand by to en- courage him. I must go for that, if for no other reason. I think baby will sleep. (Goes into room, L.) Julia. Mother looks so tired. I wish she would let me go. Mrs. H. (Enters, putting on sunbonnet.) Things can't go on like this forever. The crickets must be killed, or there will be nothing left worth fighting for. It's a case of life or death for the whole community; and no one can give up because of being tired. My

496 IMPROVEMENT ERA constant prayer is that we may get rid of the pest so that we may not starve. (Exit, door L. C.) Julia. (Following mother to door.) Don't stay too long, Mother. (Commences to sing chorus of "Hard Times." Goes to cup- board and gets checker-board tablecloth and is spreading it on table, when Indian appears at window. Julia shows fear, then checks herself; goes on humming, while she gets a crocheted tidy, puts it on table, gets a tallow candle in tin stand and places it on tidy in center of table.) Indian. (Enters, and stands just inside of door, which he closes, and stealthily watches Julia as she finishes with the candle:) Biscuit! Julia. (Indicating chair.) Sit down. Indian. (Sitting on floor.) White squaw heap good. Me heap hungry. Biscuit! Julia. White squaw heap hungry, too. White pappoose heap hungry. Bye an' bye biscuit all gone. Cricket eat wheat. You savey? Indian. Me savey. Bye bye white man all gone. Dead. White squaw dead. White pappoose — all dead. White wickeup — me habe 'em. Me big chief. Biscuit! Julia. No. White pappoose eat biscuit. All gone. Indian. (Angrily rises.) You lie! Biscuit! Me heap hungry! Julia. Look! My father — my mother — kill crickets. (Indicat- ing flaying pf crickets.) You help. You kill 'em. Purty soon come back — have dinner. I give you dinner — biscuit. Indian. No good kill clickets — all same — come back, heap more. Injun no kill 'em. No good. Injun hungry — heap hungry, heap sick, heap mad — want bread! Julia. We have no bread. Indian. You lie! Me steal 'em — pappoose. (He starts toward door where baby is. Julia screams and places herself before the door. Indian stands back, \grunting triumphantly . Percy enters, from side door, right, with bag of greens.) Percy. Hello, Tabby. Not gone yet? Indian. No; not gone. Maybe tomorrow go. Hungry. Percy. Sure. Have you any bread, Julia? Julia. No; and very little flour. Indian. Give me flour. Percy. Better divide, Julia. Julia. (Coming to Percy.) We shall all go hungry as it is. Percy. It is the policy of President Young, you know. Better to feed the Indians than to fight them. Julia. I guess President Young is right, too. (Goes to cup- board, gets flour from an Indian jar, and divides it with the Indian, putting his portion in an old buckskin bag which he hands to her.) Indian. More. Me like more; heap more. Percy. No! Goodbye, Tabby. (Julia puts jar back in cup- board.)

THE RESCUE 497 Indian. Goodbye. Me go. Maybe so come back. (Exit, door L. C.) Percy. That's mustard greens. (Pointing to sack on floor, R.) I heard your mother say she was tired of pig-weeds. Julia. (Taking a handful from sack.) How fine! Will you stay for dinner? Percy. I should say not! Not after giving your flour away. Besides they'll count me a shirker, even now, for coming late. I shall not stop for dinner. Julia (coming close to her), if you'll only promise to be my wife, some day, I could go without flood till harvest time. (Clifford is seen at window.) Julia. Will there be a harvest, Percy? Percy. Surely. God brought his people to this land, away from those who sought to destroy us. He did not bring us here to starve. Julia. Your faith is like mother's. If I could feel that way! (Slowly crosses to left.) Percy. I am quite willing to stake my happiness on the out- come. Dearest, (going to her*) will you marry me at harvest time, if there is a harvest? Julia. (Slowly turns to him; places her hands tenderly on his shoulders.) Yes, Percy; at harvest time, if there IS a harvest. Percy. (Taking her in his arms and kissing her.) Then my happiness is assured. Now, I must go and help MAKE the harvest. (Turns to go; almost runs into Uncle Mose.) Uncle Mose. (Entering.) Ha! ha! I knowed you'd be here, Percy boy. (Hands \dipper to Julia.) Thanks for the dipper. Ha! ha! Cap'n Jim got to cussin' because Joe Slocum hit me across the legs an' knocked me down instead of killin' about forty crickets with the same stroke. Ha! ha! If Cap had counted the critters I set down on I reckon he wouldn't a been out much. Ha! ha! Gittin' mad seems to be Jim's main business this mornin' — hunger sort o' gittin' on his spine, I guess — so he sent me out after recruits to get me out of the way. Percy. I was coming, Uncle Mose. (Starting towards door.) Mose. Yes; an' so's barley harvest. But not jest now. (Sitting on bench; business of sitting down favoring his lame leg. Julia goes to him and helps him.) They's got to be some settlin' up — ort down, mebby — afore either one takes place. I sure knowed you'd be here. Julia. How did you know that, Uncle Mose? (Sitting with him on bench.) Mose. Waal, ye see, I'd seen yer pa an' ma, Ian' the balance of yer family at the killin' an' I figured that would leave you here alone. An' then purty soon — waal — I seen Percy cut across the lower field an' come down. So I just reasoned that seein' as how Percy was not yet out there in the field, more'n likely he was here.

498 IMPROVEMENT ERA Percy. Shall we go, Uncle Mose? (At door.) Mose. I'll go, boy. (Rises.) But ef I was you I wouldn't leave the most interestin' moment of my life for the sake of a few hundred crickets more or less. Julia. Will there be a harvest, Uncle Mose? Mose. There's at least a threshin,' the way them infernal pests is being flailed — ha. Julia. But I mean a harvest of grain. Mose. Only Providence can answer that. Old lady Swanberg was sayin' this mornin' that fer every hundred crickets killed, they's ten thousand bred and born. So it don't look very promisin' for the wheat crop. Percy. But there MUST be a wheat crop, Uncle Mose. Come on, let's join the fray. (Puts hand on Mose's shoulder and urges him out. Exit, both, door U. L.) Julia. (Follows them to door; stands in doorway, leaning against door, her hands back of her head.) How pitifully hard they labor! O Father in heaven, save us from this pest, and grant to us our harvest! Clifford. (Appears at door, right; partly enters.) I began to think they would never go. May I come in? Julia. Why — yes. I thought you had gone to California. (Comes to center.) Clifford. (Enters.) And were you glad? Julia. Well, no. But — Clifford. I dare not ask if you were sorry. (Comes to center.) You must pardon the rudeness of listening at your window. I heard your promise to Percy Boyle. Julia. You heard my promise, and yet you — Clifford. There is yet a chance for me. You promised to become his wife at harvest. Miss Harris, there will be no harvest in this God-forsaken place. Nothing awaits you here but starvation. Why, even before this black pest appeared, the ground was so parched and dry that no crop could mature; and now — why, I crossed the lower fields where the crickets have been, and every vestige of plant life is destroyed as completely as if it had been swept by fire. Julia. But there are still many acres untouched. The crickets are burned and driven into the water and beaten down by thousands. Clifford. And they are increasing by millions. Nothing could be more hopeless. Come with me — on to the . gold fields — or, if you prefer, back to the comfort and luxury of civilization. There will be no harvest. Julia. But my parents! Oh, there must be a harvest! Think of their hard and ceaseless toil. What father has accomplished in the few months since we came here is marvelous. This entire field he has cleared of sage brush. Every tree on the place he has planted. Every canal he has dug. Every log in the house he has brought from

THE RESCUE 499 the canyon. Every article of its furniture he has made or gotten in exchange for labor. And besides he has guarded Indians by night and worked at making roads and bridges by day. Clifford. And to what avail? This is no place to make a home. A man is crazy even to think of spending his life in a place so desolate and barren. These mountains will prove an eternal barrier to civiliza- tion. The salt of that inland sea will keep the entire valley as waste as the Sahara Desert. The canyons and ravines will always be the abode of savages, coyotes, and rattle snakes. Julia. Mr. Stetson, I beg of you, spare me from listening to more — Clifford. Pardon me; but I know this country. I have ridden over miles of its desert soil. It is a hopeless waste. And nothing but starvation awaits those who are foolish enough to remain here. I love you, Julia; and I cannot go away and leave you here to perish. Julia. From your viewpoint, Mr. Stetson, I know you are right. But my people came to this valley guided by the inspiration of heaven. Our prophet leader recognized this place as soon as he saw it as the one he had seen in vision, and with firm decision and prophetic voice he designated the spot where our temple shall be built. Clifford. Those are fairy tales, Julia. Other people have come here without heavenly guidance. Julia. And other people have gone on their way. We are here to stay, Mr. Stetson; and God will preserve us. He sent manna to feed the children of Israel in the wilderness; and I feel assured that he will help us to save the grain fields. Clifford. It can be only by miracle; and the days of miracles are past. Julia. Mr. Stetson, I beg of you to go. The faith of my par- ents is very dear to me, and any man is unwelcome who seeks to destroy it. Clifford. At least you might be as generous to me as you were to Percy Boyle. For the happiness of your parents as well as yours, promise me that you will go with me in case there IS NO HARVEST. (Going close to her and leaning over her.) Let me save you and your family from starvation. Julia. (Hesitates.) I — I — oh, what should I say! Clifford. (Pulling her toward him tenderly.) Say, yes, I beg of you! I love you, Julia. I cannot go without you. I have wealth. Let me take you away from all this, back to a land of comfort and plenty! Will you go with me if there is no harvest? Julia. (Slowly looking into his eyes.) If there is no harvest — yes! (Gently pulling away from him.) Now go, please. (Crosses and stands in front of arm chair, R.) Clifford. I know you will keep your word. In one more week the devouring pest will have finished the job. (Goes to door, U. L.) Look: Already the older men, weary of the fight, are giving up in despair and leaving the fields!

500 IMPROVEMENT ERA Julia. (Folds her hands, looks up.) Oh, Father in heaven, preserve us! (Sinks into chait.) Clifford. Your parents are coming. Your father looks ill. Julia. (Rushes to door.) Oh, what can be the matter? Please go. Your presence here would annoy father. (Urging him toward door, right.) Clifford. (Going.) I shall arrange for our departure and return in time to save you. (Eixts, door R.) (Enter Mr. and Mrs. H. Julia brings chair for Mr. H., who sinks wearily upon it. Julia fans him with his hat.) Julia. What is the matter, father? Mr. H. Some water, child. (Julia brings water in tin cup.) Mrs. H. It is the heat, and the long hours of hard work- Besides, your father has eaten so little of late since he began to fear for the crop. Julia. Mother, do you think there will be — a — harvest? Mrs. H. God will preserve us, my daughter. Julia. But how, mother? Surely — give me your bonnet, I must help to fight the pest. We must win! The harvest must come! (Takes bonnet.) Mr. H. There is no use. The more we kill, the thicker they get. Julia. And yet, somehow, Father, I feel that something will happen — that deliverance will surely come. (Starts for door.) Mose. (Exhibits a very large cricket as he enters.) Ha! ha! ha! ha! Look at that! Nearly three inches from tip to tip, an' had the gall to hop right into my shirt bosom. Ef it hadn't ben fer a good wad of terbacker 'at blocked the way, he'd a jumped right into my mouth. Julia. (Shocked.) You chewing tobacco? Uncle Mos'e! Mose. The Lord sure preserved me by the hand of mine enemies that time. The old lady Swanberg says she cooked a couple of the darn things — Julia. On purpose, Uncle Mose? Mose. Accidently got mixed up with the greens. Julia. Oh, Mother, Percy brought you some mustard greens. (Points to sack. Mrs. H. takes sack and exits, door at right!) Mose. About this here terbacker. I ain't chawed none since I left the Missouri, till the other day I seed that young itnfidel that's ben hangin' around here chawin', an' my mouth got to waterin' so dern baid, I up and ast him for a chew, an' he jest handed me the plug an' said, "Here, keep the change," an' so I had a mouthful when this specimen blowed in. Julia. Why, Uncle Mose! You should have helped "the in- fidel" to see the light, instead of yielding to wrong with him. Mose. Yes, I know, honey. The blind lead the blind and both fall into the ditch. But these gol derned weaknesses of the flesh, they — Julia. NO MORE TOBACCO, Uncle Mose.

THE RESCUE 501 Mose. All right, honey; here goes. (Throws it out of door.) Hop onto that, you dern cricket, an' I recken that'll put an end to you. Mrs. H. (Enters, door R., with pan of greens. Sits in chair, L., and prepares them.) Julia. Good! Come on now. Father will be better when he has rested. I must take his place in the ranks. (Exit Julia and Mose.) . Mr. H. I must try to get back to the field. I am ashamed of my weakness. Mrs. H. But you are so faint and weary. Mr. H. It was mostly fear — fear of seeing my children hungry. (Wipes his eyes.) God forgive me — I know too well what it means. I have tried it. Mrs. H. Yes, dear; and you are trying it now, again. I think you have scarcely tasted bread since the crickets came. But we must have courage yet. The darkest hour is sometimes just before the dawn. Mr. H. Do you think, Amanda, that Julia is in love? Mrs. H. Yes, she told me so. Mr. H. There may be deliverance for her through her mar- riage— I see no other way. Mrs. H. I do not understand. Mr. H. The young man could take us all back home — to where there are no pests — like crickets. Mrs. H. How could he do that? He is as poor as the rest of us, and if I am not mistaken his faith is as dear. I think Percy would die for his religion. Mr. H. Percy? Percy? I was not thinking of Percy. I was thinking of that other young man — someone who can help us. Mrs. H. (Rising.) Do you mean that you are ready to sell our daughter to a man outside the Church? Tha,t after leaving your parents, your home, your friends, and everything you hold dear, and coming here to live your religion unmolested, that you would turn your back on it all, and go back to the land of your persecutors? Banish the thought! The faith that gave me strength to walk these weary stretches across the plains and brought me to Zion will help me to endure famine and privation, if necessary; but I would rather starve than to see a child depart from the way of eternal life. (Puts greens on table.) Mr. H. But if God forsakes us! (Rises; goes to door, L.) Mrs. H. (Follows him to door; puts her arm around him.) He never will, unless we forsake Him! Look! What are those white- winged birds flying over the fields?" Mr. H. Ah, me! Ah, me! Still another source of destruction. Those monstrous birds will make short work of what the crickets have not already destroyed. Why, they are as big as chickens, and as numerous as the crickets! There is no use in prolonging the fight. (Comes down to arm chair.) Colonel Bridger was right. Nothing

502 IMPROVEMENT ERA will grow. Nothing can ever grow. (He sinks into chair and buries face in hands.) Mrs. H. (In door, looking upwards.) O Father in heaven, hear our prayers — preserve the grain our children need for sustenance! (Comes down; sits in chair, L., weeps.) Mose. (Entering dejectedly.) I knowed it! I jest knowed some gol durned thing would happen! Them birds is sure agoin' to do things to a finish! They're gobblin' up the grain as fast as our old gray gobbler used to gobble up bran mash. We might as well take life easy — what's left of it. (Takes chair from end of table; brings it to center.) They ain't no use fightin' birds an' crickets too — not to mention Injuns. I guess we come here at the wrong time of the moon. With that ole owl a hootin' every night, too, we ought to a had more sense. An' to cap it all, Percy Boyle come in at your back door, not more'n half an hour ago, an' like a durn fool went out the front. Old lady Swanberg says that always brings bad luck. I thought mebby his bringing' in somethin' to eat 'ud break the spell; but I guess greens is different. Seems like nothin' makes any difference, anyhow. Mrs. H. Are the birds still coming? Mose. Yeh. Still comin'. An', by gum, they're comin' so fast that in a couple of hours they'll be robbin' your children in you're own dooryard. This all comes of my crazy temper — gettin' mad after a warty toad crossed my path last week. Old lady Swan- berg told me that sumpthin' would happen. Seems like I never will learn to hold my cussed temper. Mrs. H. You are not to blame for the calamity, Uncle Mose. Those old superstitions are not in line with the teachings of the Church. Heaven has sent this to test our faith. Mose. Well, it would'nt a ben necessary, ef it hadn't a ben fer my cussedness. Old lady Swanberg says I ort to be ashamed to dwell among the Saints — an' I guess mebby she's right. (Ned and Mary enter and take places at their father's side.) Mary. Daddy, the field is just covered with big birds; and they're eatin' things up a lot faster' n the crickets did. They jest gobble, gobble, gobble. Ned. We can't kill half the birds, daddy. We can't kill 'em in a million years. Mr. H. (Putting his arms around the children.) Dear little ones! Dear, dear little ones! (Weeps.) Mary. Don't feel bad, daddy. Maybe the ravens will bring us bread, like they did Elijah. Ned. There ain't any ravens in this country; is there, daddy? Mary. Well, there's magpies, anyway. An' them big birds in the field, too. Ned. Yes; but where could they get any bread? (Enter Katherine with Julia. Julia goes to her mother.)

THE RESCUE 503 Julia. There will be no harvest! (Kisses her, they embrace and weep.) Mose. > I knowed it! (Dashes tears away with the back of his hand. Rises, takes out an old bandanna kerchief and blows his nose with a trumpet sound. Goes over to bucket at R, and gets a drink to cover his emotion. Katherine sits on stool at fire place, lower L., with her hands in her lap looking down dejectedly. Mrs. H. sits in rocking chair, L., and wipes her eyes with her apron. Julia goes to bench in front of table, center back, and sits with her head buried in her arms and weeps. Mary has her arm around her father's neck and leans upon his shoulder. Ned sits upon the floor and leans against his father's knee. Pause — All is gloom.) Clifford. (Enters L. C, goes to Julia unobserved by Julia and others.) Why wait longer? The fight is over. Come! There will be no harvest! (He lifts her gently to her feet, she yields, half dazed.) Katherine. (Rises. To Mrs. H.) I tink we should still keep de courage up. (Begins to quote, and then, unconsciously, starts to sing.) "Why should we mourn or tink our lot is hard? 'Tis not so, all is right. (Breaks into singing.) Why should ve tink to earn a great revard, If we now shun de fight? (All but Julia, Clifford and Mr. H. join with her now in singing) "Gird up your loins, fresh courage take, Our God will never us forsake. (Julia disengages herself from Clifford and comes falteringly down center, and stands tearfully and pleadingly looking upward as they sing) : And soon we'll have this tale to tell, All is well, all is well." (Harry and Percy come rushing in.) Harry. Hurrah! Hurrah! The birds are eatin' the crickets! We win! Dad, you ought to see 'em! Mrs. H. The Lord be praised! Mose. I knowed it! I jest knowed it meant sumpthin' good when I seen all them birds fly over the grain fields. Old lady Swanberg — Mr. H. I hope it's as good as you think; but at the rate the crickets come, a million birds would not clean them up in all Summer. Percy. But these birds will, Brother Harris. Harry and I have watched them. At first everybody thought they were eating the grain. But we soon saw they were eating crickets. And they don't just eat and get full and leave the field. They eat all they can, and then in a few minutes they disgorge it all and begin again. They will clear off the crickets without a doubt. Some of the men say they

504 IMPROVEMENT ERA are gulls. (Turns to Julia, who is at his left.) There will be a harvest, Julia! Julia. Percy! I am so happy! Father, mother, Percy and I will be married at harvest time. The gulls have decided for us! (Clifford, who stands unnoticed when Julia left him, goes slowly and dejectedly out.) Harry. (Going to Katherine.) We may make it a double wedding. Mose. Well, I knowed it all along. Them there frogs a croakin' every night last week didn't croak for nothin', as I was tellin' old lady Swanberg. It was a good sign in disguise; it sure was. Mr. H. Blest, if I don't feel like celebratin. (He stands up.) Ned, run and get my accordian, or fiddle, from the box under the bed. (Ned exits, door L.) Ye hain't asked me yet, boy; but you're perfectly welcome to marry my little girl, and may you be happy. (Ned returns with instrument.) Come on, all. Take partners fer a Virginia reel. (They take partners and all dance. Percy and Julia have prominent position front: then Harry and Katherine: then Ned and Mary: and then Mose and Mrs. H. When they reach the march figure of the first change the curtain falls. The End The Silent Places Out in the silent places, Where there is never heard Aught save the voice of nature, The carol of the bird ; Out where earth's naive graces Are in pristine beauty seen. Where the glint of sunlit spaces Glorifies the limpid stream, — ■ There is where I fain would linger To live my life's own dream. Far from the silent places, Where are sorrow, moil and strife, Where clouds all lower darkly, I am called to spend my life; Where there are barren spaces To till and sow with seeds Of patience, hope and courage For another's daily needs, — There is where m> soul must labor, That it may develop strength, To walk close by the Master, In the silences at length. Provo, Utah GRACE INGLES FROST