Part 1

SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES

_A Tale of Salt Lake City_

With A Bibliographical Note

By Robert Buchanan

_First Cheap Edition_

London

1896

TO OLD DAN CHAUCER.

Maypole dance and Whitsun ale,

Sports of peasants in the dale,

Harvest mirth and junketting,

Fireside play and kiss-in-ring,

Ancient fun and wit and ease, --

Gone are one and all of these;

All the pleasant pastime planned

In the green old Mother-land:

Gone are these and gone the time

Of the breezy English rhyme,

Sung to make men glad and wise

By great Bards with twinkling eyes:

Gone the tale and gone the song

Sound as nut-brown ale and strong,

Freshening the sultry sense

Out of idle impotence,

Sowing features dull or bright

With deep dimples of delight!

Thro' the Motherland I went

Seeking these, half indolent:

Up and down, saw them not:

Only found them, half forgot.

Buried in long-darken'd nooks

With thy barrels of old books,

Where the light and love and mirth

Of the morning days of earth

Sleeps, like light of sunken suns

Brooding deep in cob-webb'd tuns!

Everywhere I found instead,

Hanging her dejected head,

Barbing shafts of bitter wit,

The pale Modern Spirit sit--

While her shadow, great as Gog's

Cast upon the island fogs,

In the midst of all things dim

Loom'd, gigantically grim.

Honest Chaucer, thee I greet

In a verse with blithesomefeet.

And ino' modern bards may stare,

Crack a passing joke with Care!

Take a merry song and true

Fraught with inner meanings too!

Goodman Dull may croak and scowl:--

Leave him hooting to the owl!

Tight-laced Prudery may turn

Angry back with eyes that burn,

Reading on from page to page

Scrofulous novels of the age!

Fools may frown and humbugs rail,

Not for them I tell the Tale;

Not for them,, but souls like thee.

Wise old English Jollity!

Newport, October, 1872

ST. ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES

Art thou unto a helpmate bound?

Then stick to her, my brother!

But hast thou laid her in the ground?

Don't go to seek another!

Thou hast not sin'd, if thou hast wed,

Like many of our number,

But thou hast spread a thorny bed,

And there alas! must slumber!

St. Paul, Cor. I., 7, 27-28.

O let thy fount of love be blest

And let thy wife rejoice,

Contented rest upon her breast

And listen to her voice;

Yea, be not ravish'd from her side

Whom thou at first has chosen,

Nor having tried one earthly bride

Go sighing for a Dozen!

Sol. Prov. V., 18-20.

APPROACHING UTAH.--THE BOSS'S TALE.

I--PASSING THE HANCHE.

"Grrr!" shrieked the boss, with teeth clench'd

tight,

Just as the lone ranche hove in sight,

And with a face of ghastly hue

He flogg'd the horses till they flew,

As if the devil were at their back,

Along the wild and stony track.

From side to side the waggon swung,

While to the quaking seat I clung.

Dogs bark'd; on each side of the pass

The cattle grazing on the grass

Raised heads and stared; and with a cry

Out the men rush'd as we roll'd by.

"Grrr!" shriek'd the boss; and o'er and o'er

He flogg'd the foaming steeds and swore;

Harder and harder grew his face

As by the rançhe we swept apace,

And faced the hill, and past the pond,

And gallop'd up the height beyond,

Nor tighten'd rein till field and farm

Were hidden by the mountain's arm

A mile behind; when, hot and spent,

The horses paused on the ascent,

And mopping from his brow the sweat.

The boy glanced round with teeth still set,

And panting, with his eyes on me,

Smil'd with a look of savage glee.

Joe Wilson is the boss's name,

A Western boy well known to fame.

He goes about the dangerous land

His life for ever in his hand;

Has lost three fingers in a fray,

Has scalp'd his Indian too they say;

Between the white man and the red

Four times he hath been left for dead;

Can drink, and swear, and laugh, and brawl,

And keeps his big heart thro' it all

Tender for babes and women.

He

Turned, smiled, and nodded savagely;

Then, with a dark look in his eyes

In answer to my dumb surprise,

Pointed with jerk of the whip's heft

Back to the place that we had left,

And cried aloud,

"I guess you think

I'm mad, or vicious, or in drink.

But theer you're wrong. I never pass

The ranche down theer and bit of grass,

I never pass 'em, night nor day,

But the fit takes me jest that way!

The hosses know as well as me

What's coming, miles afore we see

The dem'd old corner of a place,

And they git ready for the race!

Lord! if I _didn't_ lash and sweer,

And ease my rage out passing theer,

Guess I should go clean mad, that's all.

And thet's the reason why I call

This turn of road where I am took

Jest Old Nick's Gallop!"

Then his look

Grew more subdued yet darker still;

And as the horses up the hill

With loosen'd rein toil'd slowly, he

Went on in half soliloquy,

Indifferent almost if I heard,

And grimly grinding out each word.

II--JOE WILSON GOES A-COURTING.

"There was a time, and no mistake,

When thet same ranche down in the brake

Was pleasanter a heap to me

Than any sight on land or sea.

The hosses knew it like their master,

Smelt it miles orf, and spank'd the faster!

Ay, bent to reach thet very spot,

Flew till they halted steaming hot

Sharp opposite the door, among

The chicks and children old and young;

And down I'd jump, and all the go

Was 'Fortune, boss!' and 'Welcome, Joe!'

And Cissy with her shining face,

Tho' she was missus of the place,

Stood larfing, hands upon her hips;

And when upon her rosy lips

I put my mouth and gave her one,

She'd cuff me, and enjy the fun!

She was a widow young and tight,

Her chap had died in a free fight,

And here she lived, and round her had

Two chicks, three brothers, and her dad,

All making money fast as hay,

And doing better every day.

Waal! guess tho' I was peart and swift,

Spooning was never much my gift;

But Cissy was a gal so sweet,

So fresh, so spicy, and so neat,

It put your wits all out o' place,

Only to star' into her face.

Skin whiter than a new-laid egg,

Lips full of juice, and sech a leg!

A smell about her, morn and e'en,

Like fresh-bleach'd linen on a green;

And from her hand when she took mine,

The warmth ran up like sherry wine;

And if in liquor I made free

To pull her larfing on my knee,

Why, there she'd sit, and feel so nice,

Her heer all scent, her breath all spice!

See! women hate, both young and old,

A chap that's over shy and cold,

And fire of all sorts kitches quick,

And Cissy seem'd to feel full slick

The same fond feelings, and at last

Grew kinder every time I passed;

And all her face, from eyes to chin,

Said *'Bravo, Joe! You're safe to win!'

And tho' we didn't fix, d'ye see,

In downright _words_ that it should be,

Ciss and her fam'ly understood

That she and me would jine for good.

Guess I was like a thirsty hoss

Dead beat for days, who comes across

A fresh clear beck, and on the brink

Scoops out his shaky hand to drink;

Or like a gal or boy of three,

With eyes upon a pippin-tree;

Or like some Injin cuss who sees

A bottle of rum among the trees,

And by the bit of smouldering log,

Where squatters camp'd and took their grog

The night afore. Waal!" (here he ground

His teeth again with savage sound)

"Waal, stranger, fancy, jest for fun,

The feelings of the thirsty one,

If, jest as he scoop'd out his hand,

The water turn'd to dust and sand!

Or fancy how the lad would scream

To see thet fruit-tree jest a dream!

Or guess how thet poor Injin cuss,

Would dance and swear, and screech and fuss,

If when he'd drawn the cork and tried

To get a gulp of rum inside,

'Twarn't anything in thet theer style,

But physic stuff or stinking ile!

Ah! you've a notion now, I guess,

Of how all ended in a mess,

And how when I was putting in

My biggest card and thought to win,

The Old One taught her how to cheat,

And yer I found myself, clean beat!"

III--SAINT AND DISCIPLE.

Joe Wilson paused, and gazed straight down,

With gritting teeth and bitter frown,

And not till I entreated him

Did he continue,--fierce and grim,

With knitted brow and teeth clench'd tight.

"Along this way one summer night,

Jest as I meant to take the prize,

Passed an _Apostle_--dern his eyes!

On his old pony, gravel-eyed,

His legs a-dangling down each side,

With twinkling eyes and wheedling smile,

Grinning beneath his broad-brimm'd tile,

With heer all scent and shaven face.

He came a-trotting to the place.

My luck was bad, I wasn't near,

But busy many a mile from yer;

And what I tell was told to me

By them as were at hand to see.

'Twam't every day, I reckon, they

Saw an Apostle pass their way!

And Cissy, being kind o' soft,

And empty in the upper loft,

Was full of downright joy and pride

To hev thet saint at her fireside--

One of the seventy they call

The holiest holy--dern 'em all!

O he was 'cute and no mistake,

Deep as Salt Lake, and wide awake!

Theer at the ranche three days he stayed,

And well he knew his lying trade.

'Twarn't long afore he heard full free

About her larks and thet with me,

And how 'twas quite the fam'ly plan

To hev me for her second man.

At fust thet old Apostle said

Little, but only shook his head;

But you may bet he'd no intent

To let things go as things had went.

Three nights he stayed, and every night

He squeezed her hand a bit more tight;

And every night he didn't miss

To give a loving kiss to Ciss;

And tho' his fust was on her brow,

He ended with her mouth, somehow.

O, but he was a knowing one,

The Apostle Hiram Higginson!

Grey as a badger's was his heer,

His age was over sixty year

(Her grandfather was little older),

So short, his head just touch'd her shoulder;

His face all grease, his voice all puff,

His eyes two currants stuck in duff;--

Call thet a man!--then look at _me!_

Thretty year old and six foot three,

Afear'd o' nothing morn nor night,

The man don't walk I wouldn't fight!

Women is women! Thet's their style--

Talk _reason_ to them and they'll bile;

But baste'em soft as any pigeon,

With lies and rubbish and religion;

Don't talk of flesh and blood and feeling,

But Holy Ghost and blessed healing;

Don't name things in too plain a way.

Look a heap warmer than you say,

Make'em believe they're serving true

The Holy Spirit and not you,

Prove all the world but you's damnation,

And call your kisses jest salvation;

Do this, and press'em on the sly,

You're safe to win'em. Jest you try!

"Fust thing I heerd of all this game,

One night when to the ranche I came,

Jump'd down, ran in, saw Cissy theer,

And thought her kind o' cool and queer;

For when I caught her with a kiss,

Twarn't that she took the thing amiss,

But kept stone cool and gev a sigh,

And wiped her mouth upon the sly

On her white milkin'-apron. 'Waal,'

Says I, 'you're out o' sorts, my gel!'

And with a squeamish smile for me,

Like folks hev when they're sick at sea,

Says she, 'O, Joseph, ere too late,

I am awaken'd to my state--

How pleasant and how sweet it is

To be in sech a state of bliss!'

I stared and gaped, and turned to Jim

Her brother, and cried out to him,

'Hullo, mate, what's the matter here?

What's come to Cissy? Is she _queer?_'

Jim gev a grin and answered 'Yes,

A trifle out o' sorts, I guess.'

But Cissy here spoke up and said,

'It ain't my stomach, nor my head,

It ain't my flesh, it ain't my skin,

It's holy _spirits_ here within!'

'Waal,' says I, meanin' to be kind,

'I must be off, for I'm behind;

But next time that I pass this way

We'll fix ourselves without delay.

I know what your complaint is, Ciss,

I've seen the same in many a miss,

Keep up your spirits, thet's your plan.

You're lonely here without a man,

And you shall hev as good a one

As e'er druv hoss beneath the sun!'

At that I buss'd her with a smack.

Turn'd out, jump'd up, and took the track,

And larfing druv along the pass.

"Theer! Guess I was as green as grass!"

IV--THE BOOK OF MORMON.

"'Twas jest a week after thet day

When down I druv again this way.

My heart was light; and 'neath the box

I'd got a shawl and two fine frocks

For Cissy. On in spanking style

The hosses went mile arter mile;

The sun was blazing golden bright,

The sunflowers burning in the light,

The cattle in the golden gleer

Wading for coolness everywheer

Among the shinin' ponds, with flies

As thick as pepper round their eyes

And on their heads. See! as I went

Whistling like mad and waal content,

Altho' 'twas broad bright day all round,

A cock crow'd, and I thought the sound

Seem'd pleasant. Twice or thrice he

crow'd,'

And then up to the ranche I rode.

Since then I've often heerd folk say

When a cock crows in open day

It's a _bad sign_, announcin' clear

Black luck or death to those thet hear.

"When I drew up, all things were still.

I saw the boys far up the hill

Tossin' the hay; but at the door

No Cissy stood as oft afore.

No, not a soul there, left nor right,

Her very chicks were out o' sight.

So down I jump'd, and 'Ciss!' I cried,

But not a sign of her outside.

With thet into the house I ran,

But found no sight of gel or man--

All empty. Thinks I, 'this is queer!'--

Look'd in the dairy--no one theer;

Then loiter'd round the kitchen' track

Into the orchard at the back:

Under the fruit-trees' shade I pass'd,...

Thro' the green bushes,... and at last

Found, as the furthest path I trode,

The gel I wanted. Ye... s! by----!

The gel I wanted--ay, I found

More than I wanted, you'll be bound!

Theer, seated on a wooden cheer,

With bows and ribbons in her heer,

Her hat a-swinging on a twig

Close by, sat Ciss in her best rig,

And at her feet that knowing one,

The Apostle Hiram Higginson!

They were too keen to notice me,

So I held back behind a tree

And watch'd'em. Never night nor day

Did I see Cissy look so gay,

Her eyes all sparkling blue and bright,

Her face all sanctified delight.

She hed her gown tuck'd up to show

Embrider'd petticoat below,

And jest a glimpse, below the white,

Of dainty leg in stocking tight

With crimson clocks; and on her knee

She held an open book, which he,

Thet dem'd Apostle at her feet,

With her low milking stool for seat,

Was reading out all clear and pat,

Keeping the place with finger fat;

Creeping more close to book and letter

To feel the warmth of his text better,

His crimson face like a cock's head

With his emotion as he read,

And now and then his eyes he'd close

Jest like a cock does when he crows!

Above the heads of thet strange two

The shade was deep, the sky was blue,

The place was full of warmth and smell,

All round the fruit and fruit-leaves fell,

And that Saint's voice, when all was

still,

Was like the groanin' of a mill.

"At last he stops for lack of wind,

And smiled with sarcy double-chinn'd

Fat face at Cissy, while she cried,

Rocking herself from side to side,

'O Bishop, them are words of bliss!'

And then he gev a long fat kiss

On her warm hand, and edged his stool

Still closer. Could a man keep cool

And see it? Trembling thro' and thro'

I walked right up to thet theer two,

And caught the dem'd old lump of duff

Jest by the breeches and the scruff.

And chuck'd him off, and with one kick

Sent his stool arter him right slick--

While Cissy scream'd with frighten'd face,

'Spare him! O spare that man of grace!'

"'Spare him!' I cried, and gev a shout,

'What's this yer shine you air about--

What cuss is this that I jest see

With that big book upon your knee,

Cuddling up close and making sham

To read a heap of holy flam?'

Then Cissy clasp'd her hands, and said,

While that dem'd Saint sat fierce and

red,

Mopping his brow with a black frown,

And squatting where I chuck'd him down,

'Joe Wilson, stay your hand so bold,

Come not a wolf into the fold;

Forbear to touch that holy one--

The Apostle Hiram Higginson.'

'Touch him,' said I, 'for half a pin

I'd flay and quarter him and skin!

Waal may he look so white and skeer'd

For of his doings I have heerd;

Five wives he hev already done,

And him--not half the man for one!'

"And then I stoop'd and took a peep

At what they'd studied at so deep,

And read, for I can read a bit,

'The Book of Mormon '--what was writ

By the first Saint of all the lot,

Mad Joseph, him the Yankees shot.

'What's the contents of this yer book?'

Says I, and fixed her with a look.

O Joe,' she answered, 'read aright,

It is a book of blessed light--

Thet holy man expounds it clear \

Edification great is theer!'

Then, for my blood was up, I took

One kick at thet infernal book,

And tho' the Apostle guv a cry,

Into the well I made it fly,

And turning to the Apostle cried,

Tho' thet theer Scriptur' is your guide,

You'd best depart without delay,

Afore you sink in the same way!

And sure as fate you'll wet your skin

If you come courting yer agin!'

"At first he stared and puff'd and blew,--

Git out!' I cried, and off he flew,

And not till he was out o' reach

Shook his fat fist and found his speech.

I turned to Cissy. 'Cicely Dunn,'

Ses I, 'is this a bit of fun

Or eernest?' Reckon 'twas a sight

To see the way she stood upright,

Rolled her blue eyes up, tried to speak,

Made fust a giggle, then a squeak,

And said half crying, 'I despise

Your wicked calumnies and lies,

And what you would insinuate

Won't move me from my blessed state.

Now I perceive in time, thank hiven,

You are a man to anger given,

Jealous and vi'lent. Go away!

And when you recollect this day,

And those bad words you've said to me,

Blush if you kin. Tehee! tehee!'

And then she sobbed, and in her cheer

Fell crying: so I felt quite queer,

And stood like a dern'd fool, and star'd

Watchin' the pump a going hard;

And then at last, I couldn't stand

The sight no more, but slipt my hand

Sharp into hers, and said quite kind,

Say no more, Cissy--never mind;

I know how queer you women's ways is--

Let the Apostle go to blazes!'

Now thet was plain and fair. With this

I would have put my arm round Ciss.

But Lord! you should have seen her face,

When I attempted to embrace;

Sprang to her feet and gev a cry,

Her back up like a cat's, her eye

All blazing, and cried fierce and clear,

You villain, touch me if you deer!'

And jest then in the distance, fur

From danger, a voice echoed her,--

The dem'd Apostle's, from some place

Where he had hid his ugly face,--

Crying out faint and thick and clear,

Yes, villain, touch her if you deer!'

So riled I was, to be so beat,

I could have Struck her to my feet

I didn't tho', tho' sore beset--

I never struck a woman yet.

"But off I walked right up the pass,

And found the men among the grass,

And when I came in sight said flat,

What's this yer game Cissy is at?

She's thrown me off, and taken pity

On an Apostle from the City.

Five wives already, too, has he--

Poor cussed things as e'er I see--

Does she mean _mischief_ or a _lark?_'

Waal, all the men at thet look'd dark,

And scratch'd their heads and seem'd in

doubt.

At last her brother Jim spoke out--

Joe, don't blame _us_--by George, it's true,

We're chawed by this as much as you;

We've done our best and tried and tried,

But Ciss is off her head with pride,

And all her thoughts, both night and day,

Are with the Apostles fur away.

"O that I were in bliss with them

Theer in the new Jerusalem!"

She says; and when we laugh and sneer,

Ses we're jest raging wolves down here.

She's a bit dull at home d'ye see,

Allays liked heaps of company,

And now the foolish critter paints

A life of larks among the Saints.

We've done our best, don't hev a doubt,

To keep the old Apostle out:

We've trained the dogs to seize and bite him,

We've got up ghosts at night to fright him,

Doctor'd his hoss and so upset him,

Put tickle-grass in bed to fret him,

Jalap'd his beer and snuffed his tea too,

Gunpowder in his pipe put free too;

A dozen times we've well-nigh kill'd him,

We've skeer'd him, shaken him, and spiff'd

him;

In fact, done all we deer,' said Jim,

Against a powerful man like him;

But all in vain we've hed our sport;

Jest like a cat that _can't_ be hurt,

With nine good lives if he hev one.

Is this same Hiram Higginson!'"

V--JOE ENDS HIS STORY.--FIRST GLIMPSE OF UTAH.

Joe paused, for down the mountain's brow

His hastening horses trotted now.

Into a canyon green and light,

Thro' which a beck was sparkling light,

Quickly we wound. Joe Wilson lit

His cutty pipe, and suck'd at it

In silence grim; and when it drew,

Puff after puff of smoke he blew,

With blank eye fixed on vacancy.

At last he turned again to me,

And spoke with bitter indignation

The epilogue of his narration.

"Waal, stranger, guess my story's told,

The Apostle beat and I was bowl'd.

Reckon I might have won if I

Had allays been at hand to _try_;

But I was busy out of sight,

And he was theer, morn, noon, and night,

Playing his cards, and waal it weer

For him I never caught him theer.

To cut the story short, I guess

He got the Prophet to say 'yes,'

And Cissy without much ado

Gev her consent to hev him too;

And one fine morning off they druv

To what he called the Abode of Love--

A dem'd old place, it seems to me,

Jest like a dove-box on a tree,

Where every lonesome woman-soul

Sits shivering in her own hole,

And on the outside, free to choose,

The old cock-pigeon struts and coos.

I've heard from many a one that Ciss

Has found her blunder out by this,

And she'd prefer for company

A brisk young chap, tho' poor, like me,

Than the sixth part of him she's won--

The holy Hiram Iligginson.

I've got a peep at her since then,

When she's crawl'd out of thet theer den,

But she's so pale and thin and tame

I shouldn't know her for the same,

No flesh to pinch upon her cheek,

Her legs gone thin, no voice to speak,

Dabby and crush'd, and sad and flabby,

Sucking a wretched squeaking baby;

And all the fun and all the light

Gone from her face, and left it white.

Her cheek 'll take 'feeble flush,

But hesn't blood enough to blush;

Tries to seem modest, peart and sly,

And brighten up if I go by,

But from the corner of her eyes

Peeps at me quietly, and sighs.

Reckon her luck has been a stinger!

She'd bolt if I held up my finger;

But tho' I'm rough, and wild, and free,

Take a _Saint's_ leavings--no not me!

You've heerd of Vampires--them that rise

At dead o' night with flaming eyes,

And into women's beds'll creep

To suck their blood when they're asleep.

I guess these Saints are jest the same,

Sucking the life out is their game;

And tho' it ain't in the broad sun

Or in the open streets it's done,

There ain't a woman they clap eyes on

Their teeth don't touch, their touch don't pison;

Thet's their dem'd way in this yer spot--

Grrr! git along, hoss! dem you, trot!"

From pool to pool the wild beck sped

Beside us, dwindled to a thread.

With mellow verdure fringed around

It sang along with summer sound:

Here gliding into a green glade;

Here darting from a nest of shade

With sudden sparkle and quick cry,

As glad again to meet the sky;

Here whirling off with eager will

And quickening tread to turn a mill;

Then stealing from the busy place

With duskier depths and wearier pace

In the blue void above the beck

Sailed with us, dwindled to a speck,

The hen-hawk; and from pools below

The blue-wing'd heron oft rose slow,

And upward pass'd with measured beat

Of wing to seek some new retreat.

Blue was the heaven and darkly bright,

Suffused with throbbing golden light,

And in the burning Indian ray

A million insects hummed at play.

Soon, by the margin of the stream,

We passed a driver with his team

Bound for the City; then a hound

Afar off made a dreamy sound;

And suddenly the sultry track

Left the green canyon at our back,

And sweeping round a curve, behold!

We came into the yellow gold

Of perfect sunlight on the plain;

And Joe, abruptly drawing rein,

Said quick and sharp, shading his eyes

With sunburnt hand, "See, theer it

lies--

Theer's _Sodom!_"

And even as he cried,

The mighty Valley we espied,