Twenty-fourth of July Musings, Sent to President Joseph F.
Smith.--Twenty-fourth of July Toast,--Utah--Thrilling Eruption of
Kilauea.
Sitting 'neath the pines, in the cold mountain air,
Inhaling the inspiration of the chaplain's prayer;
Breathing the spirit of the orator's theme,
Memory sweeps backward o'er the troubled stream
Of my people's lives.
Wild, vivid scenes of frontier life burst like a meteor on the mind.
I see the broad prairie lands of our dear Far West, with a hundred
new-built, New England fashioned cottages. I hear the ring of the
workman's ax, and the noisy laughter of many children,--the evidence of
virtuous, happy homes. But the scene changes.
A cloud of dust rises on the horizon, and soon the tramping and
neighing of a thousand horses is heard. And the cohorts of Clark's mob
militia burst into view. They encircle the village, kindle their camp
fires, and place their sentinels. Then commences a raid of pillage and
rapine.
Homes are plundered, cows shot down, maidens insulted. Our leading
Elders are treacherously arrested and driven at the point of the
bayonet, with demoniac yells, into their camp. A court martial is
convened. A sentence of death is passed upon the captives--"General
Doniphan was to have the honor of shooting them at sunrise the next
morning," for they, like the Hebrew children of old, must die for
worshiping Israel's God. But when General Doniphan looked into the
faces of those youthful, noble-looking men, his heart was touched, and
the unjust, cruel sentence was never carried out.
Then followed a less severe, yet heart-rending scene. On the morrow,
the prisoners were allowed to take a silent parting with their wives,
children and parents; with the added solemn warning that they would
never see them again. One clasp of the hand, and a tender look into the
eyes of the loved ones, and they were torn away; and like murderous
criminals, they were chained together, and driven to "Liberty." Not to
Freedom, but to a dungeon, while their unprotected families were driven
from their homes, to wander in the cold, biting blasts of winter.
While fleeing from the state of Missouri, among the fleeing exiles I
see a woman of majestic appearance. Her firm step and compressed lips
denote great will power; while the calm expression of the countenance
evidences faith and trust in God. In her arms nestles a two weeks'
old baby boy, born since the silent parting with her treacherously
arrested husband. That woman was Mary Fielding Smith! That baby boy
was our beloved president, Joseph Fielding Smith! Could we follow that
mother and child, and their suffering companions, in their winter
flight from Missouri to Illinois, and from Nauvoo to Salt Lake Valley;
through the perils of mob violence--the burning of homes, the exposure
to pitiless storms, the crossing of mighty rivers on treacherous ice,
the traversing of unexplored deserts without guides, the bridging of
long periods with little food--it would make a story of sacrifice and
suffering, of perseverance, and thrilling adventure unparalleled in the
history of civilized life.
All these trials our fathers and mothers passed heroically through,
marking the pioneer trail with the unlettered graves of their bravest
and dearest loved ones. The hands that first scourged them never left
their trail, nor ceased applying the fire-brand to their homes and
the lash to their naked backs, until the hunted fugitives, with a
courage born of despair, (yet mixed with unyielding faith), crossed
the Mississippi and plunged fearlessly into the unknown west. And as
the hunted deer, with beating heart, flees long after the hounds have
given up the chase, so these nationally banished exiles followed their
intrepid leaders on, on, and still on, until the glistening sands of
the "inland sea" greeted them. Oh, how they loved the rugged mountains,
and the deep chasm-scarred canyons that surrounded them, and shielded
them from their foes! No mobbings, no house burnings, no tar and
feathering here; but peace and freedom, blessed freedom.
Salt Lake City, Utah,
July 31, 1918.
Elder John R. Young,
Blanding, Utah.
My Dear Brother John: It was with a great deal of pleasure that I read
your letter which was written from Blanding on the 4th of the present
month and reached me on the 11th, and which contained so many
reminiscences of our earlier days and recalled old memories and scenes
of my childhood and early youth.
I did not attempt to make any answer to your letter before this because
I have been for a long time under the weather and have neglected a
great many matters which did not require immediate attention. While
I have been confined to a very great extent to my room, I have had a
great deal of time to devote to reflection and musing over earlier
scenes and missionary experiences of my younger days. Your letter
brought back very vividly the days of our missionary labors in the
islands, where I was sent when only a boy, inexperienced in many
things, and yet, through force of circumstances caused by the loss
of both father and mother whose counsels I very sorely needed, with
a training beyond my years caused by contact with hard necessity in
those early pioneer days in a new country where but a few years before
scarcely a white man had placed his foot. I recalled my travels across
the desert and our journeyings to southern California and from there
up to San Francisco; the dangers through which we passed because of
hostile bands of Indians; laboring in California in order to get means
to make the passage over the ocean to the appointed field of labor
and the difficulties encountered after arriving there. I recalled the
promises made to me by Brother Parley P. Pratt that I should receive
the knowledge of the native language by the gift of God, and how it was
fulfilled. I thought of the arrival of our boat and when the natives
surrounded us as they came out in the harbor talking what appeared to
me as an unintelligible gibberish, how it would be possible for me, or
any one else, to learn to speak such a language and preach the Gospel
to them in such a tongue. But the Lord blessed me and it was not many
days before I was able to converse in the Hawaiian language and preach
in my missionary journeyings among that dark, benighted but kind
hearted people. I recalled not only the companionship of my friends,
John R. Young, Silas Smith, my kinsman, Smith B. Thurston, Washington
B. Rodgers, William W. Cluff, Francis A. Hammond and many others, but
the many dark skinned natives whose friendship and brotherly love
could not be surpassed. How my love went out to them! For are they not
also the children of God, and of the seed of Abraham with a right to
the promises made by the Lord to Israel? And did they not prove to us
their worthiness and integrity even though they had not been taught and
trained as we and were filled with the superstitions of their people
which had come down for many generations.
And farther back to the days of my childhood in these valleys, my
reflections carried me, to the time when as a herd boy I tended my
mother's cows and those of others in this Salt Lake Valley where many
prosperous farms are now located, to my early school days which were
sadly limited because of necessity and then my early departure for the
Islands of the Sea.
Yet farther back I went in my wandering to the days of Nauvoo where
for so short a time the Saints were happy and I played, amused myself
in the home of the Prophet and with his sons as well as in my father's
house. Well do I remember the return of my father with the Prophet
after they had crossed the river and had started on their journey west,
because the false cry was raised that they were deserting the flock and
how they went to Carthage never again to return in mortal life, cut
down because of the testimony of Jesus in the prime of life and sealing
their testimonies with their blood. Then followed the feverish days in
which the Saints continued the labor on the Nauvoo Temple until it was
complete and endowments were given therein and the wicked expulsion of
thousands of innocent people from their homes. I recall the departure
of the first companies over the frozen river on the ice in the depths
of winter and how, shortly afterwards my mother and her family were
forced also to take their departure in poverty and wend their way
westward with the rest. My Brother John had gone at an earlier day and
we overtook him on the journey. Then came the struggle on the banks of
the Mississippi where we tried to save means to continue the journey
to the valleys of the mountains and my employment as herdboy while we
there sojourned. It was here that I had one of the most thrilling and
exciting adventures of my life when the Indians made a raid on our
cattle and, although but a child, I remember how the thought came to me
that if our cattle were taken our journey to the Salt Lake Valley could
not be taken. With more than human effort--for I know the Lord was with
me--I turned the cattle and started them for home where they escaped
although I was taken captive by the savage redmen, but considered so
insignificant that they dropped me on the ground where I was left to
survive or perish as chance it may and the horse on which I rode was
stolen. Then came the journeying across the plains and after many
difficulties the arrival in the valley--the promised land--where we
were promised rest at least from enemies thirsting for our blood. We
moved out on the Mill Creek and started to farm, but before many years
had passed away my beloved mother was called home and I was sent out
when but fifteen years of age to perform a man's duty in the world--a
duty that was not, however, new to me--for had I not done the like when
we crossed the plains?
All these thoughts and a thousand more have coursed through my mind,
and I have reflected on many scenes of the days of Missouri, when I was
too young to remember the persecutions of the Saints, and on scenes of
more recent years, not all of which have been sad, for there have been
many bright days in the years that have followed and companionships
that have been formed that shall be everlasting. And I remember my
old friends, many of whom are now laboring in the great beyond and a
few who are still left and scattered throughout Zion. And among these
friends I recall my beloved brother and true friend John R. Young. May
his days be increased and made happy in his declining years, and may
we all meet in the Kingdom of our God when our work is done, there to
dwell in joy and happiness forever. This is the prayer of your friend
and brother, who greets you in love and remembrance of former days.
Respectfully yours,
JOSEPH F. SMITH
IN MEMORY OF PRESIDENT JOSEPH F. SMITH.
_By John R. Young_.
I thank the Mutual Improvement Association of Blanding for the
invitation to speak a few words in memory of my boyhood's friend,
Joseph F. Smith. I shall not attempt to speak of the activities of his
matured life, his splendid manhood and noble, spotless character. It
has been well told by his bosom friend, Bishop Charles W. Nibley.
It was my lot, however, to know Joseph in his boyhood. I was with him
on his first mission in 1854. We were numbered with the twenty young
Elders called to the Sandwich Islands. Joseph was the youngest, (when
called he was in his fifteenth year) of the company, but of the thirty
men who crossed the desert to southern California together, there were
but five who were believed to be his equals in athletic exercises.
As I am limited to time, I shall speak only of the most marked events,
delineating his character when a boy. Upon reaching San Francisco,
President Parley P. Pratt gave Joseph, William W. Cluff and myself a
mission to tract the city. At the close of the first day's tracting
Joseph asked to be released. He said, "I can not offer a Book of Mormon
without having to listen to a burst of blasphemy and a tirade of
falsehood and abuse to my Uncle Joseph, and I cannot be peaceable and
hear it." He was released from tracting.
At that time he was lodging at the home of his Aunt Agnes. She was the
wife of his Uncle Don Carlos Smith, who died at Nauvoo. After his death
she married a man by the name of William Pickett, a man whose heart was
full of bitterness toward President Brigham Young and the Utah Mormons,
and he seemed to delight in slurring them to annoy Joseph. Pickett's
home was on a sandy hillside. One day a man came with a load of wood.
In passing through the gate the hind wheels slid down so the hub struck
the gate post. Mr. Pickett asked Joseph and the teamster to lift the
upper wheel, while he would lift the lower one and slough the wagon
back. The upper wheel was lifted, but the lower one was too heavy.
Joseph proposed that he try the lower one. Pickett replied, "Young man,
if you think you are a better man than I, take hold, and maybe you'll
learn something." The wagon passed in, and when the man had unloaded
and was gone, Joseph faced his uncle and said, "Uncle, you seem to
enjoy making slurring remarks about Brigham Young and the Utah Mormons.
I wish you would not do so any more in my presence, and Mr. Pickett
remembered the request.
After working two months in the harvest field to earn his passage
money, Joseph with other elders, sailed steerage passage, on the bark
Yankee, for the islands. As soon as the ship was clear from the wharf,
the passengers were lined up on the deck and their names read off to
see if there were any stowaways. When the purser called, "Joseph Smith"
the captain asked, "Any relation to old Joe Smith?" "No, sir," was the
prompt answer, "I never had a relative by that name; but if you had
reference to the Prophet Joseph Smith, I am proud to say, he was my
uncle." "Oh, I see," said the captain, and he did see a man who had the
nerve and manhood to demand that proper respect be shown to the name of
the Prophet, whom he loved and honored.
Within one hundred days after landing on the islands, he was preaching
the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ in the Hawaiian language. After
six months' labor on Maui, he was called to be the President of the
Molokai Island Conference. Here he made the acquaintance and won the
friendship of a wealthy gentleman by the name of Meyers. Stopping, by
invitation, a few days with him, he met Jules Remy, a French savant
and author, who was making a circuit of the world. With six companions
he visited the wild wonderland of Molokai, the Reverend Mr. Dwight,
Presbyterian pastor of the islands, acting as guide and interpreter.
While all were seated around the supper table, Mr. Remy asked Joseph if
the report was true "that the Mormon people were in rebellion against
the United States?" Before Joseph could reply, the parson chipped in,
"Yes, Brigham Young has always been a traitor, and now he has not only
rebelled, but he has ordered his people to massacre all the Gentiles in
the Territory. Already they have murdered over a hundred innocent men,
women and children at a place called Mountain Meadows." Joseph sprang
from his chair, and seizing Mr. Dwight by his collar, lifted him to his
feet and said, "Brigham Young is not a traitor, the Mormon people are
not in rebellion, but you are a liar, and you will take back what you
have said, or I will drive your teeth down your throat." Mr. Remy acted
the man and came to Joseph's assistance by affirming the question was
to Mr. Smith, and that Mr. Dwight was out of place, and that he should
apologize, which he did, and from that time on there was at least one
Mormon elder that Mr. Dwight treated with respect.
In relating these incidents where Joseph resented insults and
untruthful accusations, I do not want any one to infer that he was of
a quarrelsome disposition, for he was not. In all of my acquaintance
with him, I never knew him to be the aggressor nor to be tantalizing
in the least degree, but he was plain and positive. To me, from a boy,
he lived in harmony with the Spirit of God, and I have good reason
for believing that his father and his Uncle Joseph watched over him
continuously, and when Joseph was nigh to death with typhoid fever at
President Hammond's on the island of Maui, I feel sure that those two
exalted brothers, walking hand in hand, visited and ministered unto
him, whereby his life was preserved and he was enabled to complete his
earth life mission, leaving on record a testimony of one of the purest
lives ever lived by man.
Bishop Nibley told of a railroad incident where Joseph, by listening
to an invincible warning, was kept out of danger. I want to recall
the scene at Lahaina. In 1864 Apostles Ezra T. Benson, Lorenzo Snow,
and Elders Joseph F. Smith, William W. Cluff and Alma L. Smith were
sent to the islands to put a stop to Walter M. Gibson's mischief
making among the Hawaiian Saints. When the ship reached Lahaina, (an
unsafe harbor) the incoming wave swells were so heavy that the ship
had to anchor nearly a mile from the land. In going ashore the captain
invited the elders to ride with him in his boat, but Joseph declined,
he was so strongly impressed with a feeling of danger that he pleaded
with his brethren to wait until the native boats should come; but the
brethren were anxious to be ashore and went. The result, the boat was
capsized and Apostle Snow was drowned, and it was a miracle that he was
resuscitated and his life saved.
In the early days of the Hawaiian mission our elders met with much
opposition and with several severe mobbings. At one time in Honolulu,
a crowd of ruffians mobbed the aged President, Philip B. Lewis. The
harmless old man was knocked down and dragged by the heels, his head
bumping on the cobble rock pavement until the ruffians thought he
was dead; then they flung him into the gutter, while they went to a
saloon to celebrate the achievement. A carpenter, a new convert to the
faith by the name of Burnham, from the roof of a house that he was
shingling, saw the last brutal act of the mob and gave the leader a
severe thrashing. He whipped the brute so thoroughly that it put an end
to the mobbing in Honolulu. The manly fight put up by Burnham endeared
him to us, and when we returned to the islands in 1864 we found that
Brother Burnham had died leaving the family, (Sister Burnham and three
children) in poverty, homeless. After the Apostles had cut Mr. Gibson
off the Church, Joseph was appointed President of the mission. With
the assistance of Elders William W. Cluff, Alma L. Smith, Benjamin
Cluff and John R. Young, all the islands were visited and the branches
reorganized; then Joseph F. Smith, William W. Cluff and John R. Young
were released to return home. At that time it cost $108.00 for a
ticket from San Francisco to Salt Lake. President Young sent the money
necessary to pay our passage home, but Joseph said, "I will not go and
leave Sister Burnham. It was finally decided to go the southern route
as our money would take us to San Bernardino; from there we could in
all probability, work our way home as teamsters, while Sister Burnham
could find a home with the Saints of that place.
For a change we sailed for home cabin passage. Upon arrival at San
Francisco we found a telegram awaiting Joseph, requesting him to come
home as soon as possible. Bear in mind Joseph was an elder, and a
financially poor one at that, as his whole life had been in the mission
field and he was the last man on earth to ask for help. What could we
do? In council it was thought best for Joseph and William to go by
stage, while I with the Burnham family would go by San Bernardino.
And now comes the tempter. There were living in San Francisco quite a
number of relatives by marriage to the Smith family, and some of them
were wealthy. They held a family reunion and invited Joseph to attend.
He asked me to accompany him, which I did. We met them at Mr.--'s;
some twenty all told; six or eight strong, healthy looking men. A
few stories were told, then the conversation drifted into personal
experiences and present home conditions. They pitied Joseph and offered
to deed him a good home if he would cut loose from the "Utah Mormons"
and stay with them, _his true friends_. He declined, and said if they
would excuse him he would bid them good night. All rose up, and then
the storm broke. Their spokesman said in substance, "Joseph, we are
disappointed in you; we thought you were a Smith, but any man who will
come and go at the command of Brigham Young, the man who connived at
the murder of your father and Uncle Joseph, has not a drop of Smith's
blood in his veins." Joseph: "Do I understand you to say that Brigham
Young connived at the murder of the Prophet Joseph Smith?" "Yes, and
I can prove the assertion." Then there leaped from Joseph's lips
the strongest expression that ever I heard come from them. "You are
a damned infernal liar! Joseph Smith never had a truer friend than
Brigham Young." To me, how grand he looked. He seemed to expand until
he towered head and shoulders above his opponents. While their faces
scowled with anger, yet like the tempest tossed waves of the ocean,
whose fury had been spent at the foot of the boulder, they recede,
leaving the beach cleaner and whiter than before the storm.
How I loved that man's manliness; he not a Smith? The very tension of
the rigid muscles proclaimed him the embodiment of the chivalrous Macks
and Smiths.
Over forty years ago, while laboring as a missionary in the London
Conference, I wrote in my journal:
I knew Joseph F. Smith in life's rosy morn,
When herding cows and hoeing corn;
And though he worked early and late,
Yet he never murmured at his fate,
But smiled to think that his strong arm
Brought wheat and corn to his mother's barn.
His first mark made I remember well;
'Twas when he flogged Philander Bell.
A champion then, for innocence and youth,
As he is now for liberty and truth.
If plain his speech, and strong in boyish strife,
I doubt if he could mend the history of his life.
The years of trial on Hawaii's land
Were more than wiser heads would stand.
Poi, paakia, poverty and shame
Were all endured for the blessed Savior's name.
The crime and faith, and ulcerated sores
Opened to view, bleeding at every pore,
Tried the metal, proved one's pride.
Then was the day of choosing sides.
Then was the hour to begin, and he
Pulled off his coat and waded in.
We need not urge him to improve,
He seeks, as Joseph did, light from above,
And God has given strength to Hyrum's son,
Speeding him on the race so well begun;
For unto him a charge is truly given
To lead erring men from sin to heaven;
To realms of glory, where truth divine
Enlightens life with joy sublime.
But I will leave to pens abler than mine
To paint the beauties of that heavenly clime.
I choose to feast on more substantial food.
One to be great, must first be truly good.
The precious clouds that bless our vales with rain
Descend from lofty peaks and kiss the plains,
So God, Himself, in plainness said to man,
"Blessed are the meek," "I am the great I Am,"
And while His voice echoed from Sinai's peak,
He talked with Moses, the meekest of the meek.
Then look to Christ, and note the keywords given
To lead men back to God and Heaven.
Brother nobly and well thou hast begun,
Now hold the fort until the victory's won,
And when the smoke and din of war is past
Your works and name on history's page shall last.
And I feel in all my being that Joseph F. Smith held the fort and won
the victory, giving him a seat with his Prophet Uncle and his martyred
father in the mansions of our Heavenly Father.
TWENTY-FOURTH OF JULY TOAST--"UTAH."
O Utah, thou Switzerland of America,
The home of many a Tell,
For freedom's fires are burning bright,
In all thy mountain dells.
Thou art the cradle, and the home
Of freedom's struggling child;
For here beneath thy mountain domes,
Within thy canyons wild,
A band of fleeing exiles
Found first a "resting place"
From persecution's bitter blast,
That smote them in the face.
And Utah's pioneers who fled
From Missouri's wrath and flames--
Whose unshod feet so often bled,
While creeping o'er the plains--
Are grateful for the noble men
Who stand as "beacon lights,"
Who "sink or swim, in life or death;"
Stand up for equal rights.
We love our country--north and south,
Her plains, and mountain sod,
We stand for "Freedom of the soul,"
"Our country and our God."
KILAUEA ON THE WAR PATH.
In 1856 and '57, I was laboring as a missionary on the island of
Hawaii, and during that time the volcano of Kilauea gave us an
exhibition on a stupendous scale. In company with Elder Henry P.
Richards, I went through the forest several miles and met the stream
of lava that was running down the mountain, threatening to destroy the
town of Hilo. Here is an extract from my journal:
We paused to contemplate the sublimity of this vivid scene. It was one
calculated to interest the naturalist, and to please the eye of the
poet. The wonderful imagination of a Milton, or the great genius of a
Byron could here find a theme on which their minds could feast.
The lava had burst forth from its prison cell, in the bowels of the
earth, on the south side of the mountain, some thirty miles above the
town of Hilo, which is situated at the head of a beautiful bay bearing
the name of Byron. The close approximation of the town to the mountain
rendered destruction almost certain. The mountain was covered with
a dense growth of timber, and as the mighty stream of running lava
drew near, the forest seemed to catch an electric spark, and in the
twinkling of an eye, one sheet of flame burst forth, reaching from Pueo
to Puna, about three miles in width. The startled Kanaka fled for his
life, leaving his grass thatched home to the devastating fire.
I stood, with my companion, upon a craggy peak overlooking the waters
of Waikahalulu. Below us was a beautiful cascade, and over this the
lava swept with astonishing rapidity. Oh, it was a grand sight--the
burning of the forest, the crackling and falling of the trees, the
rushing of the lava, the hissing and spouting of the water, the clouds
of steam and vapor, mingled with the shrieks and shouts of the natives!
I saw a man in his frenzy try to leap a boiling stream; his foot
slipped, and he fell. A cloud of vapor hid him from view, but an
agonizing shriek told too well his fate.
Our native guide refused to stay longer with us, but the increasing
danger added to our excited fascination, and we declined to retreat.
At this moment, the wind shifted, and a strong breeze from the south
lifted the banks of smoke and steam, giving us a fair view of the town
that nestled so lovingly on the green lawn at our feet.
We could see groups of people laden with what they could carry,
hurrying from their homes to places of greater safety. A few ships were
anchored in the bay, and between them and the shore, small boats were
rapidly plying, evidently carrying the wealthier citizens to these
prepared places of safety.
While viewing this romantic picture, a low rumbling was heard. It grew
louder and louder until it seemed the heavens were rent in twain, and
the ground reeled and tottered beneath our feet. We fell prostrate to
the earth, and held our breath, through fear. A thick cloud of vapor,
or hot steam, swept over us, followed by the pattering sound of falling
stones hurled from the crater by the power of her convulsive throes,
but returning to the earth in obedience to the law of gravity.
This shock had hardly passed, when the rain began to fall in torrents,
but the flow of the volcano had spent its force. The fiery waves
rolled back as if sorry for the destruction they had done, retaining
for a moment their red glaring frown, then changed to a black, barren,
chasm-scarred waste. Hilo was saved.
Then there leaped forth, from man and maid,
A song of joy and mirth;
The most sedate could not be stayed,
From thrilling notes of worth.
It was a song of gratitude for home and lives preserved,
No sweeter gush of sympathy, by man was ever heard.