“But for Elder Rae, our leader, we should all have perished by now.  He is at times severe and stern with those who falter, but only for their good.  He is all along the line, helping the women, who well-nigh worship him, and urging on the men.  He cheers us by prophesying that we shall soon prevail over all conditions and all our enemies.  I think he must never sleep and never eat.  At all hours of the night he is awake.  As to eating, a girl in our hundred, Fidelia, daughter of Jabez Merrismith, who has been much attracted by him and stays near him when she can, called him aside the other day, so she has told me, and gave him a biscuit—­soaked, perfectly soaked, with bacon grease.  She had saved it for many days.  He took it and thanked her, but later she saw him giving it to the wife of Henry Glines, who is hauling Henry and the two babies in the cart.  She taxed him with not eating it himself; but he told her that she had given him more than bread, which was the power to give bread.  The giving happiness, he told her, is always a little more than the taking happiness, even when we are starving.  He says the one kind of happiness always keeps a little ahead of the other.”

* * * * *

December 1st, the remnant of the caravan reached the city of the Saints.  Of six hundred setting out from the Missouri River, over one quarter had died by the way.

And to Joel Rae had now come another mission,—­one that would not let him wait, for the spirit was moving him strangely and strongly,—­a mission of reformation.

CHAPTER XIV.

How the Saints Were Brought to Repentance

He put his torch to the tinder of irreligion at the first Sunday meeting after his return.  There were no premonitions, no warnings, no signs.

A few of the Elders had preceded him to rejoice at the escape of the last hand-cart party from death in the mountains; and Brigham, after giving the newcomers some practical hints about their shelter during the winter now upon them, had invited Elder Rae to address the congregation.

He arose and came uncertainly forward, apparently weak, able hardly to stand without leaning upon the desk in front of him; his face waxen and drawn, hollowed at the cheeks and temples, his long hands thin to transparency.  Life was betrayed in him only by the eyes.  These burned darkly, far back under his brows, and flashed fiercely, as his glance darted swiftly from side to side.

At first he spoke weakly and slowly, his opening words almost inaudible, so that the throng of people before him leaned forward in sympathetic intentness, and silence became absolute in the great hall except for the high quavering of his tones.  But then came a miracle of reinvigoration.  Little by little his voice swelled until it was full, sonorous, richly warm and compelling, the words pouring from him with a fluency that enchained.  Little by little his leaning, drooping posture of weakness became one of towering strength, the head flung back, the gestures free and potent.  Little by little his burning eyes seemed to send their flash and glow through all his body, so that he became a creature of life and fire.