In the spring of 1895 the const.i.tutional convention at Salt Lake City formulated a provisional const.i.tution for the new Utah; and, in the Fall of the year, a general election was held to adopt this const.i.tution and to elect officers who should enter upon their duties as soon as Utah became a state. The election was marked by a most significant and important incident.
The Democrats, in their convention, nominated for Congress, Brigham H.
Roberts, one of the first seven "presidents of the seventy," and for the United States Senate, Joseph L. Rawlins and Apostle Moses Thatcher.
Immediately, at a priesthood meeting of the hierarchy, Joseph F. Smith denounced the candidacies of Roberts and Thatcher; and the grounds for the denunciation were subsequently stated in the "political manifesto"
of April, 1896, in which the First Presidency announced, as a rule of the Church, that no official of the Church should accept a political nomination until he had obtained the permission of the Church authorities and had learned from them whether he could "consistently with the obligations already entered into with the Church, take upon himself the added duties and labors and responsibilities of the new position."
This action, I knew, was the result of the old jealousy of Thatcher which the Smiths had so long nursed. But it was also in line with the Church"s pledge, to keep its leaders out of politics. By it, the hierarchy bound themselves and set the people free. The leaders, thereafter, according to their own "manifesto," could not enter politics without the consent of their quorums; and, therefore, by any American doctrine, they could not enter politics at all. Thatcher and Roberts revolted against the inhibition as an infringement of their rights as citizens, and it was so construed by the whole Democratic party; but everyone knew that a Mormon apostle had no rights as a citizen that were not second to his Church allegiance, and the political manifesto simply made public the fact of such subservience, authoritatively. We Republicans welcomed it, with our eyes on the future freedom of politics in Utah; Thatcher and Roberts refused to accept the dictation of their quorums, and what was practically an "edict of apostasy" went out against them. They were defeated. The Republican candidates (Heber M.
Wells, as governor, and Clarence B. Allen, as member of Congress) were elected. Thatcher, subsequently refusing to accept the "political manifesto," was deposed from his apostolic authority, and deprived of all priesthood in the Church. Roberts recanted and was reconciled with the hierarchy.
[FOOTNOTE: He was afterwards elected to the House of Representatives and was refused his seat as a polygamist.]
The Republicans elected forty-three out of sixty-three members of the legislature, and everyone of these had been pledged to support me, for the United States Senate, either by his convention, or by letter to me, or by a promise conveyed to me by friends; and none of these pledges had I solicited.
The rumors of my father"s candidacy now became more general--although he was a Democrat, although the new "political manifesto" bound him, although it was doubtful whether the Senate would allow him to be seated. Two influences were urging his election. One was the desire of the Smith faction to have the First Councillor break the ice at Washington for Apostle John Henry Smith, who was ambitious to be a Senator and was disqualified by the fact that he was a Church leader and a polygamist. The other was the desire of some Eastern capitalists to have my father"s vote in the Senate to aid them in the promotion of a railroad from Salt Lake City to Los Angeles. A preliminary agreement for the construction of the road had already been signed by men who represented that they had close affiliations with large steel interests in the East, as one party, and my father as business representative of a group of a.s.sociates, including the Presidency of the Church. The Church"s interest in the project was communistic, and so was my father"s. But his vote and influence in the Senate would be valuable to the promotion of the undertaking, and he had received written a.s.surances from Republican leaders, senators and politicians, that if he were elected he would be allowed his seat.
As a result of our Republican success in the two political campaigns that had just ended, I felt that I represented the independent votes of both Mormons and Gentiles; and I decided to confront the First Presidency (as such a representative) and try to make them declare themselves in the matter of my father"s candidacy. Not that I thought his candidacy would be so vitally important for I did not then believe the Church authorities had power to sway the legislature away from its pledges. But every day, at home or abroad, I was being asked: "Are you sure that the Church"s retirement from politics is sincere?" My friends were accepting my word, and I wished to add certainty to a.s.surance that the Church leaders intended to fulfill the covenant of their personal honor and respect the const.i.tution of the state by keeping out of politics.
Without letting them know why I wished to see them, I procured an appointment for the interview. When we were all seated at the table I explained: "I"m going to Washington to attend to my duties as delegate in Congress. Before I return, Utah will be admitted to statehood, and the legislature will have to elect two United States Senators. As you all know, I"ve been a candidate for one of these places. It has been a.s.sured to me by the probably unanimous vote of the Republican caucus when it shall convene." I laid my clenched hand on the table, knuckles down, with a calculated abruptness. "The first senatorship from Utah is there," I said.
"If it"s to be disturbed by any ecclesiastical direction, I want to know it now, so that the men who are supporting me may be aware of what they must encounter if they persist in their support. I ask you, as the Presidency of the Church: what are you going to do about the Senatorship?" And I opened my hand and left it lying open before them, for their decision.
It was evident enough, from their expressions, that this was a degree of boldness to which they were unaccustomed. It was, evident also that they were unprepared to reply to me. My father remained silent, with his usual placidity, waiting for the others to fail to take the initiative.
President Woodruff blinked, somewhat bewildered, looking at my hand as if the sight of its emptiness and the a.s.sumption of what it held, confused him. Joseph F. Smith, frowning, eyed it askance with a darting glance, apparently annoyed by the mute insolence of its demand for a decision which he was not prepared to make.
My father, at length, looking at me imperturbably, asked: "Are you inquiring of our personal view in this matter, Frank?"
The question contained, of course, a tacit allusion to my refusal to consult the Church leaders about politics. I answered: "No, sir. I already have your personal view. That is the only personal view I have ever asked concerning the Senatorship. And I have purposely refrained from any allusions to it of late, with you, because I wished to lay it before the Presidency, as a body, formally, in order that there might be no possible misunderstanding."
"In that case," he said, "the matter rests with President Woodruff."
The President, thus forced to an explanation, made a very characteristic one. Several of the Church"s friends in the East, he said, had urged father"s name for the Senatorship, but it was impossible to see how he could be spared from the affairs of the priesthood. Zion needed him--and so forth.
Apparently, to President Woodruff, the question of the Senatorship was resolvable wholly upon Church considerations. His mind was so filled with zealous hope for the advancement of "the Kingdom of G.o.d on Earth,"
that he seemed quite unaware of the political aspects of the case, the violation of the Church"s pledge, and the difficulties in the Senate that would surely attend upon my father"s election.
In the general discussion that ensued, both Joseph F. Smith and my father spoke of the appeal that had been made to them on behalf of the business interests of the community, with which the financial interests of the East were now eager to co-operate. But both followed the President"s example in dismissing the possibility of the First Councillor"s candidacy as infringing upon his duties in the Church. I pointed out to them that such a candidacy would be considered a breach of faith, that it would raise a storm of protest. They accepted the warning without comment, as if, having decided against the candidacy, they did not need to consider such aspects of it. I kept my hand open before them until my father said, with some trace of amus.e.m.e.nt: "You"d better take up that senatorship, Frank. I think you"re ent.i.tled to it."
I took it up, satisfied that there would be no more Church interference in the matter. The decision seemed to me final and momentous. I felt that the new Utah had faced the old and had been a.s.sured of independence.
About this same time (although I cannot place it accurately in my recollection), President Woodruff, speaking from the pulpit, declared that it was the right of the priesthood of G.o.d to rule in all things on earth, and that they had in no wise relinquished any of their authority.
The sermon raised a dangerous alarm in Salt Lake City, and I was immediately summoned from Ogden (by a messenger from Church headquarters) to see the proprietor and the editor of the Salt Lake Tribune--which paper, it was feared, might oppose Utah"s admission to statehood, construing President Woodruff"s remarks to mean that the Church"s political covenants were to be broken.
I found Mr. P. H. Lannan, the proprietor of the paper, anxious, indignant and ready to denounce the Church and fight against the admission to statehood. "When I heard of that sermon," he said, "my heart went into my boots. We Gentiles have trusted everything to the promises that have been made by the leaders of the Church. If the Tribune had not supported the movement for statehood, the Gentiles would never have taken the risk. I feel like a man who has sold his brethren into slavery."
I a.s.sured him (as I was authorized to do) that President Woodruff was not speaking for our generation of the Mormon people nor for his a.s.sociates in the leadership of the Church. I pleaded that it was the privilege of an old man (and President Woodruff was nearly ninety) to dream again the visions of his youth; his early life had been spent in the belief that a Kingdom of G.o.d was to be set up in the valleys of the mountains, governed by the priesthood and destined to rule all the nations of the earth; he had planted the first flag of the country over the Salt Lake Valley; he was still living in days that had pa.s.sed for all but him, and cherishing hopes that he alone had not abandoned. But if the Tribune and the Gentiles would be magnanimous in this matter, they would add to the grat.i.tude that already bound the younger generations of the Church to the fulfillment of its political promises.
Mr. Lannan responded instantly to the appeal to his generosity, and after consultation with the editor-in-chief (Judge C. C. Goodwin) and the managing editor (Colonel Wm. Nelson) the Tribune continued to trust in Mormon good faith.
I reported the result of my conference to Church headquarters. The news was received with relief and grat.i.tude. And, in a long conversation with the authorities, I was told that it would be inc.u.mbent on us of the younger generation to see that all the Church"s covenants to the nation should be scrupulously observed.
I accepted my part of the charge with a light heart, and late in November, 1895, I took train for Washington for convening of Congress.
Of the incidents of my brief services as delegate I shall write nothing here, since those incidents were merely introductory to matters which I shall have to consider later. But I was greeted with a great deal of cordiality by the Republicans who credited me with having brought a state and its national representation into the Republican party, and they a.s.sured me that my own political future would be as bright as that of my native state!
President Cleveland, on January 4, 1896, proclaimed Utah a sovereign state of the Union, and its admission to statehood ended, of course, my service as a territorial delegate. I stood beside his desk in the White House to see him sign the proclamation--the same desk at which he had received me, some eight years before, when I came beseeching him to be merciful to the proscribed people whose freedom he was now announcing.
Perhaps the manumission that he was granting, gave a benignity to his face. Perhaps the emotion in my own mind transfigured him to me. But I saw smiles and pathos in the ruggedness of his expression of congratulation as he said a few words of hope that Utah would fulfill every promise made, on her behalf, by her own people, and every happy expectation that had been entertained for her by her friends. His enormous rigid bulk, a little bowed now by years of service, seemed softened, as his face was, to the graciousness of clement power. He gave me the pen with which he had signed the paper, and dismissed me to some of the happiest hours of my life.
I walked out of the White House dispossessed of office, but now, at last, a citizen of the Republic. I stood on the steps of the White House, to look at the city through whose streets I had so many times wandered in a worried despair, and I saw them with an emotion I would not dare transcribe. I do not know that the sun was really shining, but in my memory the scene has taken on all the acc.u.mulated brightnesses of all the radiant days I ever knew in Washington. And I remember that I saw the Washington Monument and the Capitol with a sense of almost affectionate personal possession!
In an excited exultation I went to thank the men who had helped us in the House and the Senate--to wire jubilant messages home--to send Governor Wells the pen with which the President had signed his proclamation, and to procure from friends in the War Department the first two flags that had been made with forty-five stars--the star of Utah the forty-fifth. Wherever I went, some sinister aspect seemed to have gone out of things; and I remember that I enjoyed so much the sense of their new inhostility, that I planned to delay my return to Utah until I had made a pilgrimage to every spot in Washington where I had despaired of our future.
All this may seem almost sentimental to you, who perhaps accept your citizenship as an unregarded commonplace of natural right. But, for me, the freeing of our people was an emanc.i.p.ation to be compared only to the enfranchis.e.m.e.nt of the Southern slaves and greater even than that, for we had come from citizenship in the older states, and we could appreciate our deprivation, smart under our ostracism, and resent the rejection that set us apart from the rest of the nation as an inferior people unfit for equal rights.
I sat down to my dinner, that evening, with the appet.i.te that comes from a day of fasting and emotional excitement; and I recall that I was planning a visit of self-congratulation to Arlington, for the morrow, when one of the hotel bell-boys brought me a telegram. I opened it eagerly--to enjoy the expected message of felicitation from home.
It was in cipher, and that fact gave me a pause of doubt, since the days of political mysteries and their cipher telegrams were over for us, thank G.o.d! It was signed with President Woodruff"s cipher name.
I went to my room to translate it, and I did not return to my dinner.
The message read: "It is the will of the Lord that your father shall be elected Senator from Utah."
I do not need to explain all the treacherous implications of that announcement. As soon as I had recovered my breath, I wired back, for such interpretation as they should choose to give: "G.o.d bless Utah. I am coming home,"--and packed my trunk, for trouble.
Chapter VII. The First Betrayals
Before I reached Utah, my friends, Ben Rich and James Devine, met me, on the train. The news of President Woodruff"s "revelation" had percolated through the whole community. The Gentiles were alarmed for themselves.
My friends were anxious for me. All the old enmities that had so long divided Utah were arranging themselves for a new conflict. And Rich and Devine had come to urge me to remember my promise that I would hold to my candidacy no matter who should appear in the field against me.
Of my father"s stand in the crisis Rich could give me only one indication: after a conference in the offices of the Presidency, Rich had said to President Woodruff: "Then I suppose I may as well close up Frank"s rooms at the Templeton"--the hotel in which my friends had opened political headquarters for me--and my father, accompanying him to an anteroom, had hinted significantly: "I think you should not close Frank"s rooms just yet. He may need them."
Rich brought me word, too, that the Church authorities were expecting to see me; and soon as I arrived in Salt Lake City, I hastened to the little plastered house in which the Presidency had its offices.
President Woodruff, my father, and Joseph F. Smith were there, in the large room of their official apartments. We withdrew, for private conference, into the small retiring room in which I had consulted with "Brother Joseph Mack" when he was on the underground--in 1888--and had consulted with President Woodruff about his "manifesto," in 1890. The change in their circ.u.mstances, since those unhappy days, was in my mind as I sat down.
President Woodruff sat at the head of a bare walnut table in a chair so large that it rather dwarfed him; and he sank down in it, to an att.i.tude of nervous reluctance to speak, occupied with his hands. Smith took his place at the opposite end of the board, with dropped eyes, his chair tilted back, silent, but (as I soon saw) unusually alert and attentive.
My father a.s.sumed his inevitable composure--firmly and almost unmovingly seated--and looked at me squarely with a not unkind premonition of a smile.
President Woodruff continued silent. Ordinarily, anything that came from the Lord was quite convincing to him and needed no argument (in his mind) to make it convincing to others. I could not suppose that the look of determination on my face troubled him. It was more likely that something unusual in the mental att.i.tudes of his councillors was the cause of his hesitation; and with this suspicion to arouse me I became increasingly aware (as the conference proceeded) of two rival watchfulnesses upon me.
"Well?" I said. "What was it you wanted of me?"
Smith looked up at the President. And Smith had always, hitherto, seemed so unseeing of consequences, and, therefore, unappreciative of means, that his betrayal of interest was indicative of purpose. I thought I could detect, in the communication which his manner made, the plan of my father"s ecclesiastical rivals to remove him from the scene of his supreme influence over the President, and the plan of ambitious church politicians to remove me from their path by the invocation of G.o.d"s word appointing father to the Senate.
"Frank," the President announced, "it is the will of the Lord that your father should go to the Senate from Utah."