A Study in Scarlet - Part 2, Chapter 1: On the Great Alkali Plain

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Part two, Chapter one of a Study in Scarlet. This
is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the
public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit
LibriVox dot org. Recorded by Lauriannwalden. A Study in Scarlet
by Sir Arthur cunnand Oil, Part two, The Country of

(00:20):
the Saints. Chapter one. On the Great Alkali Plain. In
the central portion of the Great North American continent, there
lies an arid and repulsive desert which, for many a
long year served as a barrier against the advance of civilization.
From the Sierra Nevada to Nebraska, and from the Yellowstone

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River in the north to the Colorado upon the south,
is a region of desolation and silence. Nor is nature
always in one mood Throughout this grim district. It comprises
snow capped and lofty mountains and dark and gloomy valleys.
There are swift flowing rivers which dash through jagged canyons,
and there are enormous plains which in winter are white

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with snow, and in summer are gray with the saline
alkali dust. They all preserve, however, the common characteristics of barrenness,
inhospitality and misery. There are no inhabitants of this land
of despair. A band of pawnees or of black feet
may occasionally traverse it in order to reach other hunting grounds,

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But the hardiest of the braves are glad to lose
sight of these awesome plains and to find themselves once
more upon their prairies. The coyote skulks among the scrub,
the buzzard flaps heavily through the air, and the clumsy
grizzly bear lumbers through the dark ravines and picks up
such sustenance as it can amongst the rocks. These are
the sole dwellers in the wilderness. In the whole world,

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there can be no more dreary view than that from
the northern slope of the Thierra Blanco. As far as
the eye can reach, stretches the great flat plain land,
all dusted over with patches of alkali and intersected by
clumps of the dwarfish chaparral bushes. On the extreme verge
of the horizon lie a long chain of mountain peaks,

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with their rugged summits flecked with snow. In this great
stretch of country, there is no sign of life, nor
of anything appertaining to life. There is no bird in
the steel blue heaven, no movement upon the dull, gray earth.
Above all, there is absolute silence. Listen as one may.
There is no shadow of a sound in all that

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mighty wilderness, nothing but silence, complete and heart subduing silence.
It has been said there is nothing appertaining to life
upon the broad plain. That is hardly true. Looking down
from the Sierra Blanco, one sees a pathway traced out
across the desert, which winds away and is lost in

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the extreme distance. It is rudded with wheels and trodden
down by the feet of many adventurers. Here and there
there are scattered white objects which glisten in the sun
and stand out against the dull deposit of alkali. Approach
and examine them. They are bones, some large and coarse,
others smaller and more delicate. The former have belonged to Oxen,

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and the latter to men. For fifteen hundred miles one
may trace this ghastly caravan root by the scattered remains
of those who had fallen by the wayside. Looking down
on this very scene, there stood upon the fourth of
May eighteen hundred and forty seven, a solitary traveler. His
appearance was such that he might have been the very

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genius or demon of the region. An observer would have
found it difficult to say whether he was nearer to
forty or to sixty. His face was lean and haggard,
and the brown parchment like skin was drawn tightly over
the projecting bones. His long brown hair and beard were
all flecked and dashed with white. His eyes were sunken

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in his head and burned with an unnatural luster, while
the hand which grasped his rifle was hardly more fleshy
than that of a skeleton. As he stood, he leaned
upon his weapon for support. And yet his tall figure
in the massive framework of his bones, suggested a wiry
and vigorous constitution. His gaunt face, however, and his clothes,

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which hung so baggily over his shriveled limbs, proclaimed what
it was that gave him that senile and decrepit appearance.
The man was dying, dying from hunger and from thirst.
He had toiled painfully down the ravine and on to
this little elevation in the vain hope of seeing some
signs of water. Now the great salt plain stretched before

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his eyes, and the distant belt of savage mountains without
a sign anywhere of plant or tree which might indicate
the presence of moisture. In all that broad landscape, there
was no gleam of hope north, in east and west.
He looked with wild, questioning eyes, and then he realized
that his wanderings had come to an end, and that

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there on that barren crag he was about to die?
Why not here as well as in a feather bed
twenty years? Hence, he muttered, as he seated himself in
the shelter of a bowlder. Before sitting down, he had
deposited upon the ground his useless rifle, and also a
large bundle tied up in a gray shawl, which he
had carried slung over his right shoulder. It appeared to

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be somewhat too heavy for his strength, for in lowering
it it came down on the ground with some little violence.
Instantly there broke from the gray parcel a little moaning cry,
and from it there protruded a small, scared face with
very bright brown eyes and two little speckled, dimpled fists.
You've hurt me, said a childish voice, reproachfully, have I

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though the man answered penitently, I didn't go for to
do it. As he spoke, he unwrapped the gray shawl
and extricated a pretty little girl of about five years
of age, whose dainty shoes and smart pink frock with
its little linen apron all bespoke a mother's care. The
child was pale and wan, but her healthy arms and

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legs showed that she had suffered less than her companion.
How is it now, he answered anxiously, for she was
still rubbing the tousy golden curls which covered the back
of her head. Kiss it and make it well, she said,
with perfect gravity, showing the injured part up to him.
That's what mother used to do. Where's mother? Mother's gone?

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I guess you'll see her before long gone, eh, said
the little girl. Funny she didn't say good bye. She
most always did if she was just goin over to
Auntie's for tea, And now she's been away three days.
Say it's awful dry, ain't it? A'ther? No water nor
nothin to eat? No, there ain't nothin, dearie. You'll just

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need to be patient awhile and then you'll be all right.
Put your head up again, me like that, and then
you'll feel bullier. It ain't easy to talk when your
lips is like leather. But I guess i'd best let
ye know how the cards lie. What's that? You've got
pretty things, fine things, cried the little girl, enthusiastically, holding
up two glittering fragments of Micah. When we goes back

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to home, I'll give them to brother Bob. You'll see
prettier things than them soon, said the man, confidently. You
just wait a bit. I was going to tell you though.
You remember when we left the river? Oh, yes, well
we reckoned. We'd strike another river soon, d'ye see. But
there was something wrong compasses or map or somethin. And

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it didn't turn up. Water ran out just except a
little drop for the likes of you. And and and
you couldn't wash yourself, interrupted his companion, gravely, staring up
at his grimy visage. No nor drink, and mister bender,
he was the fuss to go. And then Indian Pete,
and then Missus mc gregor, and then Johnny Holmes, and

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then Dearie, your mother. Then mother's a dead or too,
cried the little girl, dropping her face in her pinafore
and sobbing bitterly. Yes, they all went except you and me.
Then I thought there was some chance of water in
this direction, so I heaved you over my shoulder and
we tramped it together. It don't seem as though we've

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improved matters. There's an almighty small chance for us. Now,
do you mean that we're gonna die too? Asked the child,
checking her sobs and raising her tear stained face. I
guess that's about the size of it. Why didn't you
say so before, she said, laughing gleefully. You gave me

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such a fright. Why of course? Now, as long as
we die, we'll be with mother again. Yes you will, deary,
and you too. I'll tell her how awful good you've been.
I'll bet she meets us at the door of heaven
with a big pitcher of water and a lot of
buckwheat cakes, hot and toasted on both sides, like Bob
and me. Was fond of How long will it be? First?

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I don't know, not very long. The man's eyes were
fixed upon the northern horizon. In the blue vault of
the heaven, there had appeared three little specks which increased
in size every moment, So rapidly did they approach. They
speedily resolved themselves into three large brown birds, which circled
over the heads of the two wanderers, and then settled

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upon some rocks which overlooked them. They were buzzards, the
vultures of the west, whose coming is the forerunner of death.
Cox and hens, cried the little girl, gleefully, pointing at
their ill omened forms and clapping her hands to make
them rise. Say did God make this country? Of course

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he did, said her companion, rather startled by this unexpected question.
He made the country down in Illinois, and he made
the Missouri. The little girl continued, I guess somebody else
made the country in these parts. It's not nearly so
well done. They forgot the water and the tree. What
would you think of offering up prayer, the man asked, diffidently.

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It ain't night yet, She answered, it don't matter. It
ain't quite regular, But he won't mind that. You bet
you say over them ones that you used to say
every night in the wagon when we was on the plains.
Why don't you say some yourself, the child asked, with
wondering eyes. I disremember them. He answered, I ain't said

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none since I was half the height o that gun.
I guess it's never too late. You say them out,
and I'll stand by and come in on the choruses.
Then you'll need to kneel down, and me too, she said,
laying the shawl out for that purpose. You've got to
put your hands up like this. It makes you feel
kind of good. It was a strange side had there

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been anything but the buzzards to see it. Side by
side on the narrow shawl knelt the two wanderers, the
little prattling child and the reckless, hardened injurer. Her chubby
face and his haggard angular visage were both turned up
to the cloudless heaven and heartfelt entreaty to that dread
being with whom they were face to face, while the
two voices, the one thin and clear, the other deep

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and harsh, united in the entreaty for mercy and forgiveness.
The prayer finished, they resumed their seat in the shadow
of the boulder, until the child fell asleep, nestling upon
the broad breast of her protector. He watched over her
slumber for some time, but nature proved to be too
strong for him. For three days and three nights, he
had allowed himself neither rest nor repose. Slowly, the eyelids

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drooped over the tired eyes, and the head sunk lower
and lower upon the breast, until the man's grizzled beard
was mixed with the gold tresses of his companion, and
both slept the same deep and dreamless slumber. Had the
wanderer remained awake for another half hour, a strange sight
would have met his eyes. Far away, on the extreme

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verge of the Alkalin plane, there rose up a little
spray of dust, very slight at first and hardly to
be distinguished from the mists of the distance, but gradually
growing higher and broader until it formed a solid, well
defined cloud. This cloud continued to increase in size until
it became evident that it could only be raised by
a great multitude of moving creatures. In more fertile spots,

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the observer would have come to the conclusion that one
of those great herds of bisons which graze upon the
prairie land was approaching him. This was obviously impossible in
these arid wilds. As the whirl of dust drew nearer
to the solitary bluff upon which the two castaways were
reposing the canvas covered tilts of wagons, and the figures
of armed horsemen began to show up through the haze,

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and the apparition revealed itself as being a great caravan
upon its journey for the west. But what a caravan.
When the head of it had reached the base of
the mountains, the rear was not yet visible on the horizon.
Right across the enormous plain stretched the straggling array wagons
and carts, men on horseback and men on foot, innumerable

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women who staggered along under burdens, and children who toddled
beside the wagons or peeped out from under the white coverings.
This was evidently no ordinary party of emigrants, but rather
some nomad people who had been compelled from stress of
circumstances to seek themselves a new country. There rose through
the clear air a confused clattering and rumbling from this

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great mass of humanity, With the creaking of wheels and
the neighing of horses. Loud as it was, it was
not sufficient to rouse the two tired wayfarers above them.
At the head of the column there rode a score
or more of grave, iron faced men clad in somber
homespun garments and armed with rifles. On reaching the base

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of the bluff, they halted and held a short council
among themselves. The wells are to the right, my brothers,
said one, a hard lipped, clean shaven man with grisly hair,
to the right of the Sierra Blanco. So shall we
reach the Rio Grande? Said another. Fear not for water,
cried a third. He who could draw it from the rocks,

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will not now abandon his own chosen people. Amen. Amen,
responded the whole party. They were about to resume their
journey when one of the youngest and keenest eyed uttered
an exclamation and pointed up at the rugged crag above them.
From its summit there fluttered a little wisp of pink,
showing up hard and bright against the gray rocks behind.

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At the sight, there was a general reining up of
horses and unslinging of guns, while fresh horsemen came galloping
up to reinforce the vanguard. The word redskins was on
every lip. There can't be any number of engines here,
said the elderly man who appeared to be in command.
We have passed the pawnees and there are no other

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tribes until we crossed the great mountains. Shall I go
forward and see? Brother Stangerson, asked one of the band,
and I and I cried a dozen voices. Leave your
horses below, and we will await you here. The elder answered.
In a moment. The young fellows had dismounted, fastened their horses,

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and were ascending the precipitous slope which led up to
the object which had excited their curiosity. They advanced rapidly
and noiselessly, with the confidence and dexterity of practiced scouts.
The watchers from the plain below could see them flit
from rock to rock until their figures stood out against
the sky line. The young man who had first given

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the alarm was leading them. Suddenly his followers saw him
throw up his hands as though overcome with astonishment, and
on joining him, they were affected in the same way
by the sight which met their eyes. On the little
plateau which crowned the barren hill, there stood a single
giant boulder, and against this boulder there lay a tall man,

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long bearded and hard featured, but of an excessive thinness.
His placid face and regular breathing showed that he was
fast asleep. Beside him lay a child, with her round
white arms encircling his brown, sinewy neck, and her golden
haired head resting upon the breast of his velveteen tunic.
Her rosy lips were parted, showing the regular line of

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snow white teeth within, and a playful smile played over
her infantile features. Her plump, little white legs terminating in
white socks and neat shoes with shining buckles, offered a
strange contrast to the long, shriveled members of her companion.
On the ledge of rock. Above this strange couple there
stood three solemn buzzards, who, at the sight of the newcomers,

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uttered raucous screams of disappointment and flat sulemnly away. The
cries of the foul birds awoke the two sleepers, who
stared about them in bewilderment. The man staggered to his
feet and looked down upon the plain which had been
so desolate when sleep had overtaken him, and which was
now traversed by this enormous body of men and of beasts.

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His face assumed an expression of incredulity as he gazed,
and he passed his bonny hand over his eyes. This
is what they call delirium, I guess, he muttered. The
child stood beside him, holding on to the skirt of
his coat, and said nothing, but looked all round her
with the wondering, questioning gaze of childhood. The rescuing party

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were speedily able to convince the two castaways that their
appearance was no delusion. One of them seized the little
girl and hoisted her upon his shoulder, while two others
supported her gaunt companion and assisted him towards the wagons.
My name is John Ferrier, the wanderer, explained. Me and
that little un are all that's left a twenty one people.

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The rest is all dead a Thurston hunger away down
in the south. Is she your child? Asked some one.
I guess she is now now. The other cried defiantly,
she's mine cause I saved her. No man will take
her from me. She's Lucy Ferrier from this day on.
Who were you? Though he continued glancing with curiosity at

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his stalwart, sunburned rescuers. There seems to be a powerful
lot of ya. Nigh unto ten thousand, said one of
the young men. We are the persecuted children of God,
the chosen of the Angel Moroney. I never heard tell
on him, said the wanderer. He appears to have chosen
a fair crowd of ya. Do not jest at that

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which is sacred, said the other sternly. We are of
those who believe in those sacred writings drawn in Egyptian
letters on plates of beaten gold, which were handed unto
the Holy Joseph Smith at Palmyra. We have come from Nauvu,
in the state of Illinois, where we had founded our temple.
We have come to seek a refuge from the violent
man and from the godless, even though it be the

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heart of the desert. The name of nau evidently recalled
recollections to John Ferrier. I see, he said, you are
the Mormons. We are the Mormons, answered his companions with
one voice. And where are you going? We do not know.
The hand of God is leading us under the person

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of our prophet. You must come before him. He shall
say what is to be done with you. They had
reached the base of the hill by this time and
were surrounded by crowds of the pilgrims, pale faced, meek
looking women, strong laughing children, and anxious, earnest eyed men.
Many were the cries of astonishment and of commiseration which
arose from them when they perceived the youth of one

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of the strangers and the destitution of the other. Their
escort did not halt, however, but pushed on, followed by
a great crowd of Mormons, until they reached a wagon
which was conspicuous for its great size and for the
gaudiness and smartness of its appearance. Six horses were yoked
to it, whereas the others were furnished with two or

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at most for a piece. Beside the driver there sat
a man who could not have been more than thirty
years of age, but whose massive head and resolute expression
marked him as a leader. He was reading a brown
backed volume, but as the crowd approached, he laid it
aside and listened attentively to an account of the episode.
Then he turned to the two castaways. If we take

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you with us, he said, in solemn words, it can
only be as believers in our own creed, we shall
have no wolves in our fold. Better far that your
bones should bleach in this wilderness than that you should
prove to be that little speck of decay which in
time corrupts the whole fruit. Will you come with us
on these terms? Guess I'll come with you on any terms,

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said Ferrier, with such emphasis that the grave elders could
not restrain a smile. The leader alone retained his stern,
impressive expression. Take him, brother, Stangerson, he said, give him
food and drink. And the child likewise, let it be
your task also to teach him our holy creed. We
have delayed long enough. Forward own own to Zion, Own

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Own to Zion, cried the crowd of Mormons, and the
words rippled down the long caravan, passing from mouth to mouth,
until they died away in a dull murmur in the
far distance. With a cracking of whips and a creaking
of wheels, the great wagons got into motion, and soon
the whole caravan was winding along once more. The elder,
to whose care the two waves had been committed, led

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them to his wagon, where a meal was already awaiting them.
You shall remain here, he said, in a few days,
you will have recovered from your fatigues. In the meantime,
remember that now and forever you are of our religion.
Brigham Young has said it, and he has spoken with
the voice of Joseph Smith, which is the voice of God.

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End of Part two, Chapter one, No.