At last, in the middle of April, the signs were seen to be right.  Grass grew and water ran, and their part, allotted by the Lord, was to brave the dangers of that forbidding land that lay under the western sun.  Then came a day of farewells and merry-making.  In the afternoon, the day being mild and sunny, there was a dance in the bowery,—­a great arbour made of poles and brush and wattling.  Here, where the ground had been trodden firm, the age and maturity as well as the youth and beauty of Israel gathered in such poor festal array as they had been able to save from their ravaged stores.

The Twelve Apostles led off in a double cotillion, to the moving strains of a violin and horn, the lively jingle of a string of sleigh-bells, and the genial snoring of a tambourine.  Then came dextrous displays in the dances of our forbears, who followed the fiddle to the Fox-chase Inn or Garden of Gray’s Ferry.  There were French Fours, Copenhagen jigs, Virginia reels,—­spirited figures blithely stepped.  And the grave-faced, square-jawed Elders seemed as eager as the unthinking youths and maidens to throw off for the moment the burden of their cares.

From midday until the April sun dipped below the sharp skyline of the Omaha hills, the modest revel endured.  Then silence was called by a grim-faced, hard-voiced Elder, who announced: 

“The Lute of the Holy Ghost will now say a word of farewell from our pioneers to those who must stay behind.”

He stood before them erect, brave, confident; and the fire of his faith warmed his voice into their hearts.

“Children of Israel, we are going into the wilderness to lay the foundations of a temple to the most high God, so that when his Son, our elder Brother, shall come on earth again, He may have a place where He can lay His head and spend, not only a night or a day, but rest until He can say, ’I am satisfied!’—­a place, too, where you can obtain the ordinances of salvation for yourselves, your living, and your dead.  Let your prayers go with us.  We have been thrust out of Babylon, but to our eternal salvation.  We care no more for persecution than for the whistle of the north wind, the croaking of the crane that flies over our heads, or the crackling of thorns under a pot.  True, some of our dearest, our best-loved, have dropped by the way; they have fallen asleep, but what of that?—­and who cares?  It is as well to live as to die, or to die as to live—­as well to sleep as to be awake.  It is all one.  They have only gone a little before us; and we shall soon strike hands with them across those poor, mean, empty graves back there on the forlorn prairies of Iowa.  For you must let me clench this God’s truth into your minds; that you stand now in your last lot, in the end of your days when the Son of Man cometh again.  Afflictions shall be sent to humble and to prove you, but oh! stand fast to your teachings so that not one of you may be lost.  May sinners in Zion become afraid henceforth, and fearfulness surprise the hypocrite from this hour!  And now may the favour and blessing of God be manifest upon you while we are absent from one another!”