Miss Carmichael's Parting Words.--San Francisco.--Orson Pratt's
Prophecy. Sail for Hawaii.--Delivered From the Hands of a Wicked
Man.--Visit Walter M. Gibson.--View Kawaimanu.
Wednesday, April 27, 1864. I spent the day visiting my dear mother,
and passed the night beneath my father's hospitable roof. Miss S. E.
Carmichael wrote "A Parting Word to my Friend John R. Young:"
My words are seldom strong, or bright,
A woman's tones are low,
And 'tis not much a hand so slight
Can offer thee, I know,
'Tis like the quivering breath that wakes
Where forest leaves are stirred,
Yet from a friend's true heart it takes
To thee, a parting word,
REMEMBER.
Remember--hope in thy sorrow,
Remember--faith in thy prayer,
Remember--the bright tomorrow
That dawns on the night's despair,
Remember--the hearts that love thee
Are with thee--everywhere.
Remember--the path of duty
When other paths seem fair,
Remember--the truth's white beauty
When weak illusions glare.
And should the world defy thee
Alone its strength to dare,
Remember--Heaven is nigh thee,
Remember--God is there.
A friend's kind thoughts attend thy way
Where e'er that way may be,
And so I make remember,
A parting word to thee.
On April 28, in company with Elder Benjamin Cluff, I took stage for
Sacramento. We were six days and nights, jolting across the dusty,
rut cut deserts. At Austin and Egan mining camps, Nevada, hay was two
hundred dollars per ton and flour 18 cents per pound.
On May 4th we reached San Francisco, where we met Apostles Lorenzo Snow
and Ezra T. Benson, returning from the islands. They had cut Walter M.
Gibson off the Church, and appointed Joseph F. Smith president of the
mission.
I also met and spent six days with Apostle Orson Pratt. He was on his
way to Austria to introduce the Gospel to that nation. He telegraphed
to President Young to see if my mission could be changed, so that I
could accompany him. It was thought best, however, for me to continue
on to the islands.
Sunday, May 22, 1864, I accompanied Brother Pratt in a walk to the
summit of the high cliff west of the city. We found a secluded crevice
and knelt in prayer. He seemed oppressed in spirit, grieving perhaps,
over the infidelity of his son Orson. While he was talking, the
Spirit of the Lord came upon him; and he upbraided the inhabitants of
San Francisco, and prophesied that the city should be destroyed by
earthquake.
On Tuesday, May 24, 1864, we sailed second cabin on the bark Onward,
Hempstead, captain. Brother Cluff and I occupied one room with a
Missourian named McCarty, said to be suffering with consumption. He was
a large, raw-boned man, of a quarrelsome disposition.
One day Captain Hempstead invited us three to have seats on the upper
deck with the first-cabin passengers. The reason for this courtesy was
soon apparent. Among the cabin passengers were several ministers; and
they wanted a little diversion at the expense of the Mormon Elders.
A warm discussion ensued. It was asserted that the Mormons were driven
from Missouri and Illinois on account of their thieving and lawless
acts. In my defense I challenged the proof of a single dishonest deed,
and testified that Joseph and Hyrum were innocent, and that they were
murdered in cold blood.
Mr. McCarty became angry, and boasted that he helped kill Joseph and
Hyrum Smith. I told him then that by his own confession he was a
murderer, and that the curse of God was upon him. He would have struck
me, but the captain interfered, and made him behave.
About midnight of the 30th of May, I was awakened by McCarty. He was
sitting on a stool, in front of his bunk; the full moon shining through
the window giving him a white, ghastly appearance. He told me to get
up and get him a drink. I replied that the guard passed the door every
five minutes and would wait upon him.
He seized a butcher knife, sprang to his feet, and swore he would cut
the heart out of me. I was lying in the middle bunk, and had but little
room in which to move, and nothing with which to defend myself; but I
felt I would rather die than do his bidding. I therefore silently asked
God to deliver me from his power.
He took one step forward, threw up both hands, and fell backwards.
I sprang from the bunk, and raised his head, but the man was dead.
Brother Cluff called the guard, who soon brought the captain and the
doctor. The latter said he died of heart failure.
In the morning they sewed him up in a canvas, a cannon ball at his
feet. I stood by the taff rail, and saw the body slide off the plank;
and as I watched it sink into the depths of the ocean, I rejoiced that
I had borne a faithful testimony of God's martyred prophets, and was
truly grateful that I had been delivered from the hands of a wicked man.
At Honolulu, where we arrived June 10th, we were warmly welcomed by
Elders Joseph F. Smith, William W. Cluff, and the native Saints. In
council it was decided that I should visit Mr. Gibson on Lanai, and
if possible, recover some Church property that he had possession of,
then join Elder A. L. Smith on Maui, and with him visit the Saints and
reorganize the branches of the Church on Maui and Hawaii.
On the 14th of June, I wrote my Brother Franklin W., as follows: "I am
waiting for a vessel to Lahaina. My first labor will be to visit Mr.
Gibson, and try to get back several hundred Books of Mormon that he
got possession of when he first came. He has proved to be a deceitful
though shrewd and capable man, possessed of one absorbing idea, that of
founding an empire of the Pacific Islands. For that purpose he joined
the Church, asked for a mission, and commenced at once his empire
building.
"To raise money, he made merchandise of the Priesthood. Under his
"dispensation," he ordained all the Saints, both men and women. To be
an apostle cost one hundred dollars, a deacon, five dollars. He sold
our meetinghouses, making Lanai the only place where the word of the
Lord could be given to the people.
"Clothed in his temple robes, he publicly laid the foundation of a
temple, using for the chief corner stone, a huge boulder that had drunk
the blood of many a victim, sacrificed by the idol worshipers of Lanai.
He then covered the stone with brush and tabooed it, giving out that if
anyone uncovered it, he would be smitten with death.
"While Apostles Snow and Benson were laboring with Gibson, trying to
bring him to repentance. Elders Joseph F. and Alma L. Smith, W. W.
Cluff, and Talula, Mr. Gibson's daughter, visited the temple site; and
Brother Cluff, with impious hands, pulled the brush away, and left the
"Consecrated" slaughter rock exposed to rain and sun.
"Mr. Gibson had used the old heathen Hale Pule site for the purpose
of working upon the superstitions of the islanders. In their fear he
had enshrined himself as a god. Coming into his presence they would
prostrate themselves in the dust of the earth, and await his bidding to
arise.
"But now in a moment, all his power had been swept away. From their
doors they had seen Elder Cluff _desecrate the tabooed stone_, and
return to them unharmed. The charm was broken. Mr. Gibson was cut off
the Church, and his Polynesian empire soon dissolved. From this on, he
will be a crownless king, without a kingdom."
From Lahaina I crossed to Lanai in a whale boat. I stayed a week
with Mr. Gibson. He surrendered to me five hundred Books of Mormon,
his temple clothes, and a watch that my father had given to him. I
recrossed the channel to Maui--as usual in a whale boat--and found
Elder A. L. Smith anxious to learn the success of my mission.
While waiting for dinner, I wrote:
Lines to Albina.
This little card on which is traced
The image of a lovely rose,
Was given me, by one who shared
My brightest joys, my deepest woes.
It is to me a priceless gem,
A token dearly prized,
As emblematic of the life
Of one I idolize.
I'll place it with my choicest books,
There shall it linger long
To mark the place where I may look
On a favorite author's song.
And when bright words and noble thoughts
Kindle my soul aglow,
I'll think of my wife, as I gaze on the rose
That is traced on the card below.
Very dear to me, are the little gifts
That richer men oft spurn.
They speak to me of the honest love
A humble life may earn.
I will gather them up as flowers that bloom
Beside the pathway of life;
Leaves of affection, wafted from home,
And kissed by the breath of a wife.
On June 28, 1864, we sailed on the schooner Kilauea for Hawaii. On
the 30th, we arrived at Kapaliuka and were warmly welcomed by Brother
Kanaha and his wife Nakiaielua. I have taken much interest in this
family, on account of their strength of character. When Gibson came,
Kanaha had no faith in him, and refused to gather to Lanai, or to deed
his home to him. For these sins he was cut off the Church. But he
continued to hold meetings and kept his little flock together until we
came.
When the old man met us, he wept with joy; and we were equally rejoiced
to see his integrity and manhood. This branch has been replete with
interesting incidents. Here, during our first coming, Elder Hawkins had
been shamefully mobbed. Here Ward E. Pack, cast the devil out of two
Catholic priests who had incited natives to mob him. The act of casting
out had greatly amused the Kanakas.
Monday, July 25, 1864, at Waipio. We started on foot for Kawaimanu
(flying water), a secluded mountain village, seldom visited by white
men, a very fertile glade fifteen miles north of Waipio. We had to
climb a pali two thousand feet in height: a solid rock wall almost
perpendicular. When about half way to the top, we stepped to the side
of the narrow trail and looked down on the sea that washed the rock
below us. The sight made my head dizzy, and I hurriedly drew back. Our
path led over the mountain, near some celebrated waterfalls. I wrote:
Our meal of poi, pakai, and shrimps,
In silence we partake,
Then with a guide to lead the way,
The mountain path we take,
Narrow and winding in its course,
And difficult to find.
The vale below is growing small,
As upward still we climb.
And now great drops of sweat appear
Upon the traveler's brow;
Reminding me of summer days
When following the plow.
Surprised, we meet a mountain maid,
Wild, Indian-like, and free;
Around her waist a shirt is tied--
The custom here, you see.
She meets us with a smiling face--
"Which way, strangers?" asked she.
"We're going to Kawaimanu,
The waterfalls to see."
Breathless we reach the mountain crest,
Where dark winged clouds oft fly;
And seldom can the traveler pass
And keep his jacket dry.
The natives call it "Pele's tears"--
Full often doth she weep,
Till torrents gushing from her eyes
Roll thundering down the steeps.
For "Pele's" home--at Kilauea,
In a burning lake of fire,
Where demons wild, in hideous form,
Are ever hovering nigh her.
But why she weeps, they cannot tell;
Unless to quench her fever,
Or else to drown the mystic yells
Of fiends who never leave her.
Through forests dense our guide doth lead,
And vales of tangled fern,
So green that Neibaur's match receipt
Would fail to make them burn.
The clouds are dark'ning o'er our heads;
And yonder on our right,
The craggy peaks in vapors black
Are hidden from our sight.
Hurrah, we see the waterfall--
Three thousand feet or more
From cliff to cliff three noble streams
Their foaming waters pour.
They're leaping from the battling clouds
That clothe in darkness now,
The storm-scarred cliffs, and snow-crowned peaks
Of Mauna Keas brow.
In foaming sheets, the cloud streams leap,
Sending back roar for roar,
In answer to the deafening crash
That peals from ocean's shore.
The music of the universe
Is never silent here--
By day or night the sea surf's song
Rings in the peasant's ear.
And when I wake, and gaze upon
The authors of that song,
I see the ocean's vast expanse;
The mountains bulwark strong.
For endless ages they have stood:
Eternities to come,
May listen to Waimanus flood,
And the ocean's ceaseless song.
After crossing twelve deep canyons and descending a pali half a mile in
height, we reached the village and were kindly entertained by the few
Saints who reside here. We held three meetings, baptized three persons,
and organized a branch of the Church. We remained one month on Hawaii,
visiting the Saints and organizing branches to the best of our ability.
On the .5th of August we sailed for Maui, and landed on the 6th at
Malia. Here we met President Joseph F. Smith, who in those days, as
now, was always active, and thoughtful for others. He met us on the
beach with horses, and a hearty welcome. A two hours' ride brought us
to Waialuku, where I received several home letters. The cheerfulness of
my family was a comfort to me. As the gentle dews of heaven give life,
beauty, and freshness to the flowers of the field, so good news from
loved ones cheers, animates, and strengthens my heart, fills my bosom
with joy, and makes me a happier, and I hope, a better man.