EPISODES OF THE PERSECUTIONS--CONTINUATION OF ELIZA R. SNOW'S
NARRATIVE--BATHSHEBA W. SMITH'S STORY--LOUISA F. WELLS INTRODUCED TO
THE READER--EXPERIENCE OF ABIGAIL LEONARD--MARGARET FOUTZ.
The prophet and his brother Hyrum were in prison and in chains in
Missouri; Sidney Rigdon, Parley Pratt and others were also in prison
and in chains, for the gospel's sake.
The St. Peter of Mormondom was engaged in removing the saints from
Missouri to Illinois. He had made a covenant with them that none of
the faithful should be left. Faithfully he kept that covenant. It was
then, in fact, that Brigham rose as a great leader of a people, giving
promise of what he has been since the martyrdom of the prophet.
While Joseph is in chains, and Brigham is accomplishing the exodus from
Missouri, the sisters shall relate some episodes of those days.
Sister Snow, continuing the thread of her narrative already given, says:
In Kirtland the persecution increased until many had to flee for their
lives, and in the spring of 1838, in company with my father, mother,
three brothers, one sister and her two daughters, I left Kirtland, and
arrived in Far West, Caldwell county, Mo., on the 16th of July, where
I stopped at the house of Sidney Rigdon, with my brother Lorenzo, who
was very sick, while the rest of the family went farther, and settled
in Adam-Ondi-Ahman, in Davies county. In two weeks, my brother being
sufficiently recovered, my father sent for us and we joined the family
group. My father purchased the premises of two of the "old settlers,"
and paid their demands in full. I mention this, because subsequent
events proved that, at the time of the purchase, although those men
ostensibly were our warm friends, they had, in connection with others
of the same stripe, concocted plans to mob and drive us from our newly
acquired homes, and repossess them. In this brief biographical sketch,
I shall not attempt a review of the scenes that followed. Sufficient
to say, while we were busy in making preparations for the approaching
winter, to our great surprise, those neighbors fled from the place, as
if driven by a mob, leaving their clocks ticking, dishes spread for
their meal, coffee-pots boiling, etc., etc., and, as they went, spread
the report in every direction that the "Mormons" had driven them from
their homes, arousing the inhabitants of the surrounding country, which
resulted in the disgraceful, notorious "exterminating order" from the
Governor of the State; in accordance therewith, we left Davies county
for that of Caldwell, preparatory to fulfilling the injunction of
leaving the State "before grass grows" in the spring.
The clemency of our law-abiding, citizen-expelling Governor allowed us
ten days to leave our county, and, till the expiration of that term,
a posse of militia was to guard us against mobs; but it would be very
difficult to tell which was better, the militia or the mob--nothing was
too mean for the militia to perform--no property was safe within the
reach of those men.
One morning, while we were hard at work, preparing for our exit, the
former occupant of our house entered, and in an impudent and arrogant
manner inquired how soon we should be out of it. My American blood
warmed to the temperature of an insulted, free-born citizen, as I
looked at him, and thought, poor man, you little think with whom you
have to deal--God lives! He certainly overruled in that instance, for
those wicked men never got possession of that property, although my
father sacrificed it to American mobocracy.
In assisting widows and others who required help, my father's time
was so occupied that we did not start until the morning of the 10th,
and last day of the allotted grace. The weather was very cold and the
ground covered with snow. After assisting in the arrangements for the
journey, and shivering with cold, in order to warm my aching feet, I
walked until the teams overtook me. In the mean time, I met one of
the so-called militia, who accosted me with, "Well, I think this will
cure you of your faith!" Looking him steadily in the eye, I replied,
"No, sir; it will take more than _this_ to cure me of my faith." His
countenance suddenly fell, and he responded, "I must confess, you are
a better soldier than I am." I passed on, thinking that, unless he was
above the average of his fellows in that section, I was not highly
complimented by his confession. It is true our hardships and privations
were sufficient to have disheartened any but the saints of the living
God--those who were prompted by higher than earthly motives, and
trusting in the arm of Jehovah.
We were two days on our way to Far West, and stopped over night at
what was called the Half-way House, a log building perhaps twenty feet
square, with the chinkings between the logs, minus--they probably
having been burned for firewood--the owner of the house, Brother
Littlefield, having left with his family to escape being robbed; and
the north wind had free ingress through the openings, wide enough for
cats to crawl through. This had been the lodging place of the hundreds
who had preceded us, and on the present occasion proved the almost
shelterless shelter of seventy-five or eighty souls. To say lodging,
would be a hoax, although places were allotted to a few aged and
feeble, to lie down, while the rest of us either sat or stood, or both,
all night. My sister and I managed so that mother lay down, and we sat
by (on the floor, of course), to prevent her being trampled on, for the
crowd was such that people were hardly responsible for their movements.
It was past the middle of December, and the cold was so intense that,
in spite of well packing, our food was frozen hard, bread and all,
and although a blazing fire was burning on one side of the room, we
could not get to it to thaw our suppers, and had to resort to the next
expediency, which was this: The boys milked, and while one strained
the milk, another held the pan (for there was no chance for putting
anything down); then, while one held a bowl of the warm milk, another
would, as expeditiously as possible, thinly slice the frozen bread
into it, and thus we managed for supper. In the morning, we were less
crowded, as some started very early, and we toasted our bread and
thawed our meat before the fire. But, withal, that was a very merry
night. None but saints can be happy under every circumstance. About
twenty feet from the house was a shed, in the centre of which the
brethren built a roaring fire, around which some of them stood and
sang songs and hymns all night, while others parched corn and roasted
frosted potatoes, etc. Not a complaint was heard--all were cheerful,
and judging from appearances, strangers would have taken us to be
pleasure excursionists rather than a band of gubernatorial exiles.
After the mobbing commenced, although my father had purchased, and
had on hand, plenty of wheat, he could get none ground, and we were
under the necessity of grating corn for our bread on graters made of
tin-pails and stove-pipe. I will here insert a few extracts from a long
poem I wrote while in Davies county, as follows:
'Twas autumn--Summer's melting breath was gone,
And Winter's gelid blast was stealing on;
To meet its dread approach, with anxious care
The houseless saints were struggling to prepare;
When round about a desperate mob arose,
Like tigers waking from a night's repose;
They came like hordes from nether shades let loose--
Men without hearts, just fit for Satan's use!
With wild, demoniac rage they sallied forth,
Resolved to drive the saints of God from earth.
Hemm'd in by foes--deprived the use of mill,
Necessity inspires their patient skill;
Tin-pails and stove-pipe, from their service torn,
Are changed to graters to prepare the corn,
That Nature's wants may barely be supplied--
They ask no treat, no luxury beside.
But, where their shelter? Winter hastens fast;
Can tents and wagons stem this northern blast?
The scene presented in the city of Far West, as we stopped over night
on our way to our temporary location, was too important to be omitted,
and too sad to narrate. Joseph Smith, and many other prominent men,
had been dragged to prison. Their families, having been plundered,
were nearly or quite destitute--some living on parched corn, others on
boiled wheat; and desolation seemed inscribed on everything but the
hearts of the faithful saints. In the midst of affliction, they trusted
in God.
After spending the remainder of the winter in the vicinity of Far West,
on the 5th of March, 1839, leaving much of our property behind, we
started for Illinois.
From the commencement of hostilities against us, in the State of
Missouri, till our expulsion, no sympathy in our behalf was ever, to
my knowledge, expressed by any of the former citizens, with one single
exception, and that was so strikingly in contrast with the morbid
state of feeling generally manifested that it made a deep impression
on my mind, and I think it worthy of record. I will here relate the
circumstance. It occurred on our outward journey.
After a night of rain which turned to snow and covered the ground in
the morning, we thawed our tent, which was stiffly frozen, by holding
and turning it alternately before a blazing fire until it could be
folded for packing; and, all things put in order, while we all shook
with the cold, we started on. As the sun mounted upwards, the snow
melted, and increased the depth of the mud with which the road before
us had been amply stocked, and rendered travel almost impossible.
The teams were puffing, and the wagons dragging so heavily that we
were all on foot, tugging along as best we could, when an elderly
gentleman, on horseback, overtook us, and, after riding alongside for
some time, apparently absorbed in deep thought, as he (after inquiring
who we were) watched the women and girls, men and boys, teams and
wagons, slowly wending our way up a long hill, _en route_ from our
only earthly homes, and, not knowing where we should find one, he said
emphatically, "If I were in your places, I should want the Governor of
the State hitched at the head of my teams." I afterwards remarked to my
father that I had not heard as sensible a speech from a stranger since
entering the State. I never saw that gentleman afterwards, but have
from that time cherished a filial respect for him, and fancy I see his
resemblance in the portrait of Sir Von Humboldt, now hanging on the
wall before me.
We arrived in Quincy, Ill., where many of the exiled saints had
preceded us, and all were received with generous hospitality.
My father moved to one of the northern counties. I stopped in Quincy,
and, while there, wrote for the press, "An Appeal to the Citizens of
the United States," "An Address to the Citizens of Quincy," and several
other articles, for which I received some very flattering encomiums,
with solicitations for effusions, which, probably, were elicited by the
fact that they were from the pen of a "Mormon girl."
From Quincy, my sister, her two daughters and I, went to Lima, Hancock
county, where we found a temporary home under the roof of an old
veteran of the Revolution, who, with his family, treated us with much
kindness, although, through ignorance of the character of the saints,
their feelings were like gall towards them as a people, which we knew
to be the result of misrepresentation. It was very annoying to our
feelings to hear bitter aspersions against those whom we knew to be the
best people on earth; but, occupying, as we did, an upper room with a
slight flooring between us and those below, we were obliged to hear.
Frequently, after our host had traduced our people, of whom he knew
nothing, he would suddenly change his tone and boast of the "noble
women" he had in his house; "no better women ever lived," etc., which
he would have said of the Mormon people generally, had he known them
as well. We were pilgrims, and for the time being had to submit to
circumstances. Almost anything is preferable to dependence--with these
people we would earn our support at the tailoring business, thanks to
my mother's industrial training, for which I even now bless her dear
memory.
In May the saints commenced gathering in Commerce (afterwards Nauvoo),
and on the 16th of July I left our kind host and hostess, much to their
regret, Elder Rigdon having sent for me to teach his family school in
Commerce, and, although I regretted to part with my sister, I was truly
thankful to be again associated with the body of the church, with those
whose minds, freed from the fetters of sectarian creeds, and man-made
theology, launch forth in the divine path of investigation into the
glorious fields of celestial knowledge and intelligence.
--
Concerning these times, Sister Bathsheba W. Smith says: "When I
was in my sixteenth year, some Latter-day Saint elders visited our
neighborhood. I heard them preach and believed what they taught; I
believed the Book of Mormon to be a divine record, and that Joseph
Smith was a prophet of God. I knew by the spirit of the Lord, which
I received in answer to prayer, that these things were true. On the
21st of August, 1837, I was baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ
of Latter-day Saints, by Elder Samuel James, in Jones' Run, on the
farm and near the residence of Augustus Burgess, and was confirmed
by Elder Francis G. Bishop. The spirit of the Lord rested upon me,
and I knew that he accepted of me as a member in his kingdom. My
mother was baptized this same day. My sister Sarah, next older than
me, was baptized three days previously. My father, and my two oldest
sisters, Matilda and Nancy, together with their husbands, Col. John S.
Martin and Josiah W. Fleming, were baptized into the same church soon
afterwards. My uncle, Jacob Bigler, and his family had been baptized
a few weeks before. A part of my first experience as a member of the
church was, that most of my young acquaintances and companions began to
ridicule us. The spirit of gathering with the saints in Missouri came
upon me, and I became very anxious indeed to go there that fall with my
sister Nancy and family, as they had sold out and were getting ready
to go. I was told I could not go. This caused me to retire to bed one
night feeling very sorrowful. While pondering upon what had been said
to me about not going, a voice said to me,'Weep not, you will go this
fall' I was satisfied and comforted. The next morning I felt contented
and happy, on observing which my sister Sarah said, 'You have got over
feeling badly about not going to Zion this fall, have you?' I quietly,
but firmly, replied, 'I am going--you will see.'
"My brother, Jacob G. Bigler, having gone to Far West, Mo., joined the
church there and bought a farm for my father, and then returned. About
this time my father sold his farm in West Virginia, and fitted out my
mother, my brother, and my sister Sarah, Melissa and myself, and we
started for Far West, in company with my two brothers-in-law and my
uncle and their families. Father stayed to settle up his business,
intending to join us at Far West in the spring, bringing with him, by
water, farming implements, house furniture, etc. On our journey the
young folks of our party had much enjoyment; it seemed so novel and
romantic to travel in wagons over hill and dale, through dense forests
and over extensive prairies, and occasionally passing through towns
and cities, and camping in tents at night. On arriving in Missouri we
found the State preparing to wage war against the Latter-day Saints.
The nearer we got to our destination, the more hostile the people were.
As we were traveling along, numbers of men would sometimes gather
around our wagons and stop us. They would inquire who we were, where we
were from, and where we were going to. On receiving answers to their
questions, they would debate among themselves whether to let us go or
not; their debate would result generally in a statement to the effect
of, 'As you are Virginians, we will let you go on, but we believe you
will soon return, for you will quickly become convinced of your folly.'
Just before we crossed Grand River, we camped over night with a company
of Eastern saints. We had a meeting, and rejoiced together. In the
morning it was thought best for the companies to separate and cross the
river by two different ferries, as this arrangement would enable all
to cross in less time. Our company arrived at Far West in safety. But
not so with the other company; they were overtaken at Haun's Mill by an
armed mob--nineteen were killed, many others were wounded, and some of
them maimed for life.
"Three nights after we had arrived at the farm which my brother had
bought, and which was four miles south of the city of Far West, word
came that a mob was gathering on Crooked River, and a call was made for
men to go out in command of Captain David W. Patten, for the purpose
of trying to stop the depredations of the men, who were whipping
and otherwise maltreating our brethren, and who were destroying and
burning property. Captain Patten's company went, and a battle ensued.
Some of the Latter-day Saints were killed, and several were wounded.
I saw Brother James Hendrix, one of the wounded, as he was being
carried home; he was entirely helpless and nearly speechless. Soon
afterwards Captain David W. Patten, who was one of the twelve apostles,
was brought wounded into the house where we were. I heard him bear
testimony to the truth of Mormonism. He exhorted his wife and all
present to abide in the faith. His wife asked him if he had anything
against any one. He answered, 'No.' Elder Heber C. Kimball asked him if
he would remember him when he got home. He said he would. Soon after
this he died, without a struggle.
"In this State I saw thousands of mobbers arrayed against the saints,
and I heard their shouts and savage yells when our prophet Joseph and
his brethren were taken into their camp. I saw much, very much, of the
sufferings that were brought upon our people by those lawless men.
The saints were forced to sign away their property, and to agree to
leave the State before it was time to put in spring crops. In these
distressing times, the spirit of the Lord was with us to comfort and
sustain us, and we had a sure testimony that we were being persecuted
for the gospel's sake, and that the Lord was angry with none save those
who acknowledged not his hand in all things.
"My father had to lose what he had paid on his farm; and in February,
1839, in the depth of winter, our family, and thousands of the saints,
were on the way to the State of Illinois. On this journey I walked many
a mile, to let some poor sick or weary soul ride. At night we would
meet around the camp-fire and take pleasure in singing the songs of
Zion, trusting in the Lord that all would yet be well, and that Zion
would eventually be redeemed.
"In the spring, father joined us at Quincy, Ill. We also had the joy of
having our prophet, Joseph Smith, and his brethren, restored to us from
their imprisonment in Missouri. Many, however, had died from want and
exposure during our journey. I was sick for a long time with ague and
fever, during which time my father was taken severely sick, and died
after suffering seven weeks. It was the first sickness that either of
us ever had.
"In the spring of 1840 our family moved to Nauvoo, in Illinois.
Here I continued my punctuality in attending meetings, had many
opportunities of hearing Joseph Smith preach, and tried to profit
by his instructions, and received many testimonials to the truth of
the doctrines he taught. Meetings were held out of doors in pleasant
weather, and in private houses when it was unfavorable. I was present
at the laying of the cornerstones of the foundation of the Nauvoo
temple, and had become acquainted with the prophet Joseph and his
family.
"On the 25th of July, 1841, I was united in holy marriage to George
Albert Smith, the then youngest member of the quorum of the twelve
apostles, and first cousin of the prophet (Elder Don Carlos Smith
officiating at our marriage). My husband was born June 26th, 1817, at
Potsdam. St. Lawrence county, N. Y. When I became acquainted with him
in Virginia, in 1837, he was the junior member of the first quorum of
seventy. On the 26th day of June, 1838, he was ordained a member of
the High Council of Adam-Ondi-Ahman, Davies county, Missouri. Just
about the break of day, on the 26th of April, 1839, while kneeling on
the corner-stone of the foundation of the Lord's house in the city of
Far West, Caldwell county, Missouri, he was ordained one of the twelve
apostles. Two days after we were married, we started, carpet bag in
hand, to go to his father's, who lived at Zarahemla, Iowa Territory,
about a mile from the Mississippi. There we found a feast prepared for
us, in partaking of which my husband's father, John Smith, drank our
health, pronouncing the blessings of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob upon us.
I did not understand the import of this blessing as well then as I do
now."
--
Here we meet another of these Spartan women of Mormondom in the person
of Louisa F. Wells, the senior wife of Lieutenant-General Daniel H.
Wells.
In July, 1837, her father, Absalom Free, who had embraced Mormonism in
Fayetteville, St. Clair county, Ill., in the year 1835, emigrated with
his family to Caldwell county, Mo.
In Caldwell, Brother Free purchased a farm and built a good house.
He was of the well-to-do farmer class. With his ample means he soon
collected a fine farming outfit, and before him was the promise of
great prosperity.
The saints had been driven out of Jackson county, and mobs were
ravaging in Davies county, but there was peace in Caldwell until the
Fourth of July, in 1838, when the anti-Mormons, who were waiting and
watching for a pretext, took occasion, from some remarks made by
Elder Sidney Rigdon, in a commemorative speech at the celebration, to
commence a crusade against the city of Far West.
When the father of Louisa joined the organization for defence of the
city of Far West, he left a sick son at home, with the women folks of
his own and five other families, who had gathered there. These were
left to defend their homes.
Louisa and her sister Emeline, with their cousin, Eliza Free, stood
guard, on a ridge near the house, for three weeks, night and day, to
warn the families of the approach of the mob. This sister Emeline
is the same who was afterwards so well known in Utah as the wife of
Brigham Young.
While thus standing guard, one day, the girls saw a troop of horsemen
near, marching with a red flag and the beating of drums. They had with
them a prisoner, on foot, whom they were thus triumphantly marching to
their camp. They were a troop of the mob. The prisoner was grandfather
Andrew Free, though at the time the sisters knew it not.
It was almost night. The horsemen made direct for their camp with their
"prisoner of war," whom they had taken, not in arms, for he was aged,
yet was he a soldier of the cross, ready to die for his faith.
Already had the veteran disciple been doomed by his captors. He was to
be shot; one escape only had they reserved for him.
Before the mob tribunal stood the old man, calm and upright in his
integrity, and resolved in his faith. No one was near to succor him.
He stood alone, face to face with death, with those stern, cruel men,
whose class had shown so little mercy in Missouri, massacring men,
women and children, at Haun's Mill, and elsewhere about the same time.
Then the captain and his band demanded of the old man that he should
swear there and then to renounce Jo. Smith and his d--d religion, or
they would shoot him on the spot.
Drawing himself up with a lofty mien, and the invincible courage that
the Mormons have always shown in their persecutions, the veteran
answered: "I have not long to live. At the worst you cannot deprive
me of many days. I will never betray or deny my faith which I know to
be of God. Here is my breast, shoot away, I am ready to die for my
religion!"
At this he bared his bosom and calmly waited for the mob to fire.
But the band was abashed at his fearless bearing and answer. For a time
the captain and his men consulted, and then they told their prisoner
that they had decided to give him till the morning to reconsider
whether he would retract his faith or die.
Morning came. Again the old man was before the tribunal, fearless in
the cause of his religion as he had been the previous night. Again came
from him a similar answer, and then he looked for death, indeed, the
next moment.
But he had conquered his captors, and the leader declared, with an
oath: "Any man who can be so d--d true to any d--d religion, deserves
to live!"
Thereupon the mob released the heroic disciple of Mormonism, and he
returned to his home in safety.
During the three weeks the girls stood on guard, their father, who was
desirous to get tidings of his sick son, came frequently to a thicket
of underbrush, where the girls would bring his food and communicate
with him concerning affairs at the house.
One evening during this season of guard duty, the girls discovered five
armed men approaching. Running to the house, they gave the alarm. In a
few moments every woman and child of the six families were hiding in
the neighboring corn-field, excepting Louisa, her mother and her sick
brother.
"Mother," said the boy, "you and Louisa run and hide. The mob will be
sure to kill me. They will see how tall I am by the bed-clothes, and
will think I am a man. You and sister Louisa escape or they will kill
you too."
But the mother resolved to share the fate of her son, unless she could
protect him by her presence, and soften the hearts of savage mobocrats
by a mother's prayers for mercy; but she bade her daughter fly with
the baby. Louisa, however, also determined to stay to defend both her
brother and her mother. So they armed themselves--the mother with an
axe, and Louisa with a formidable pair of old-fashioned fire-tongs, and
stationed themselves at either door.
But it turned out that the men were a squad of friends, whom the father
had sent to inquire after his family; yet the incident illustrates
those days of universal terror for the Mormons in the State of
Missouri. Worse, even, than the horrors of ordinary war must it have
been, when thus women, children and the sick, when not a Mormon man
was present to provoke the mob to bloodshed, looked for massacre upon
massacre as daily scenes which all in turn might expect to overtake
them.
After the fall of the city of Far West, it being decided that the
Mormons should make a grand exodus from Missouri in the spring, Mr.
Free determined to anticipate it. Gathering up what property he could
save from the sacrifice, he started with his family for Illinois,
abandoning the beautiful farm he had purchased and paid for, along with
the improvements he had made.
In their flight to Illinois they were frequently overtaken and
threatened by mobs, but fortunately escaped personal violence, as it
was evident they were hastening from the inhospitable State. But the
inhumanity of the Missourians in those times is well illustrated in the
following incident:
Along with Brother Free's party were William Duncan and Solomon Allen,
whose feet were so badly frozen one day that they were unable to
proceed. At every house on the route the exiles called, soliciting
permission to shelter and care for the disabled men; but at every place
they were turned away, until at last, at eleven o'clock at night, they
were graciously permitted to occupy some negro quarters. The grace,
however, of Missouri was redeemed by a codicil that "No d--d Mormon
should stop among white folks!"
This was mercy, indeed, for Missouri, and it is written in the book of
remembrance.
The party stopped and occupied the negro quarters, nursing the men
during the night, and so far restored them that they were enabled to go
on the next day.
Arriving at the Mississippi river, above St. Charles, it was found that
the ice was running so fiercely that it was well-nigh impossible to
cross, but the mobbers insisted that they should cross at once.
The crossing was made on a scow ferry-boat, common in those times; and
as the boat was near being swamped in the current, to add to the horror
of the incident, it was seriously proposed by the boatmen to throw some
of the "d--d Mormons overboard," to lighten the load! The proposition,
however, was abandoned, and the party landed safely on the opposite
shore.
Having escaped all the perils of that flight from Missouri, Father
Free and his family made their home in the more hospitable State of
Illinois, where the Mormons for a season found their "second Zion."
Here we leave "Sister Louisa" for awhile, to meet her again in the
grand exodus of her people from "civilization."
--
The following experience of Abigail Leonard, a venerable and respected
lady, now in her eighty-second year of life, will also be of interest
in this connection. She says:
"In 1829 Eleazer Miller came to my house, for the purpose of holding
up to us the light of the gospel, and to teach us the necessity of a
change of heart. He did not teach creedism, for he did not believe
therein. That night was a sleepless one to me, for all night long I
saw before me our Saviour nailed to the cross. I had not yet received
remission of my sins, and, in consequence thereof, was much distressed.
These feelings continued for several days, till one day, while walking
alone in the street, I received the light of the spirit.
"Not long after this, several associated Methodists stopped at our
house, and in the morning, while I was preparing breakfast, they were
conversing upon the subject of church matters, and the best places for
church organization. From the jottings of their conversation, which I
caught from time to time, I saw that they cared more for the fleece
than the flock. The Bible lay on the table near by, and as I passed I
occasionally read a few words until I was impressed with the question:
'What is it that separates two Christians?'
"For two or three weeks this question was constantly on my mind, and I
read the Bible and prayed that this question might be answered to me.
"One morning I took my Bible and went to the woods, when I fell upon
my knees, and exclaimed: 'Now, Lord, I pray for the answer of this
question, and I shall _never_ rise till you reveal to me what it is
that separates two Christians.' Immediately a vision passed before
my eyes, and the different sects passed one after another by me, and
a voice called to me, saying: 'These are built up for gain.' Then,
beyond, I could see a great light, and a voice from above called out:
'I shall raise up a people, whom I shall delight to own and bless.' I
was then fully satisfied, and returned to the house.
"Not long after this a meeting was held at our house, during which
every one was invited to speak; and when opportunity presented, I arose
and said: 'To-day I come out from all names, sects and parties, and
take upon myself the name of Christ, resolved to wear it to the end of
my days.'
"For several days afterward, many people came from different
denominations and endeavored to persuade me to join their respective
churches. At length the associated Methodists sent their presiding
elder to our house to preach, in the hope that I might be converted.
While the elder was discoursing I beheld a vision in which I saw a
great multitude of people in the distance, and over their heads hung a
thick, dark cloud. Now and then one of the multitude would struggle,
and rise up through the gloomy cloud; but the moment his head rose into
the light above, the minister would strike him a blow, which would
compel him to retire; and I said in my heart, 'They will never serve
_me_ so.'
"Not long after this, I heard of the 'Book of Mormon,' and when a
few of us were gathered at a neighbor's we asked that we might have
manifestations in proof of the truth and divine origin of this book,
although we had not yet seen it. Our neighbor, a lady, was quite sick
and in much distress. It was asked that she be healed, and immediately
her pain ceased, and health was restored. Brother Bowen defiantly asked
that he might be slain, and in an instant he was prostrated upon the
floor. I requested that I might know of the truth of this book, by the
gift and power of the Holy Ghost, and I immediately felt its presence.
Then, when the Book of Mormon came, we were ready to receive it and its
truths. The brethren gathered at our house to read it, and such days
of rejoicing and thanksgiving I never saw before nor since. We were
now ready for baptism, and on or about the 20th of August, 1831, were
baptized.
"When we heard of the 'gathering,' we were ready for that also, and
began preparations for the journey. On the 3d of July, 1832, we started
for Jackson county, Mo., where we arrived some time in the latter part
of December of the same year.
"Here we lived in peace, and enjoyed the blessings of our religion till
the spring of 1833, when the mob came upon us, and shed its terror in
our midst. The first attack was made upon Independence, about twelve
miles from our place. The printing press was destroyed, and the type
scattered in the streets. Other buildings, and their furniture, were
destroyed; and Bishop Partridge was tarred and feathered. Next, we
heard that the enemy had attacked our brethren in the woods about
six miles distant. Then my husband was called upon to go and assist
his brethren. He arrived on the field in the heat of the battle, and
received fourteen bullet-holes in his garments, but received no wounds,
save two very slight marks, one on the hip, the other on the arm.
"The mob was defeated, and my husband returned home for food. I gave
it him, and bade him secrete himself immediately. He did so, and none
too soon; for scarcely was he hidden, when the mob appeared. As soon
as my husband was secreted I took my children and went to a neighbor's
house, where the sisters were gathering for safety. About this time
Sister Parley Pratt was being helped from a sick bed to this place
of security, and the mob, seeing the sisters laboring to carry her,
gave their assistance and carried her in. The mob then searched for
fire-arms, but could find none.
"The brethren and the mob formed a treaty about this time, in which
we agreed to abandon the country by a specified time. Immediately our
people commenced moving across the Missouri river, into Clay county.
The people of Clay county becoming alarmed at our numbers, and incited
to malice by the people of Jackson county, cut away the boat before
all our people had crossed, and thus compelled our family with some
others to remain in Jackson county. There were nine families in all.
And the mob came and drove us out into the prairie before the bayonet.
It was in the cold, cheerless month of November, and our first night's
camp was made the thirteenth of that month, so wide-famed as the
night of falling stars. The next day we continued our journey, over
cold, frozen, barren prairie ground, many of our party barefoot and
stockingless, feet and legs bleeding. Mine was the only family whose
feet were clothed, and that day, while alone, I asked the Lord what I
should do, and his answer was: 'Divide among the sufferers, and thou
shalt be repaid four-fold!' I then gave till I had given more than
fifteen pairs of stockings. In three and a half days from the time of
starting, we arrived at a grove of timber, near a small stream, where
we encamped for the winter. From the time of our arrival till the
following February we lived like saints.
"For awhile our men were permitted to return to the settlements in
Jackson county, and haul away the provisions which they had left
behind; but at last they would neither sell to us nor allow us any
longer to return for our own provisions left behind.
"A meeting was held, and it was decided that but one thing was left to
do, which was to return to Jackson county, to the place we had recently
left from compulsion. This we did, and on the evening of February
20, 1834, soon after our arrival in the old deserted place, we had
been to meeting and returned. It was about eleven o'clock at night,
while we were comfortably seated around a blazing fire, built in an
old-fashioned Dutch fireplace, when some one on going out discovered
a crowd of men at a little distance from the house, on the hill. This
alarmed the children, who ran out, leaving the door open. In a moment
or two five armed men pushed their way into the house and presented
their guns to my husband's breast, and demanded, 'Are you a Mormon?' My
husband replied: 'I profess to belong to the Church of Christ.' They
then asked if he had any arms, and on being told that he had not, one
of them said: 'Now, d--n you, walk out doors!' My husband was standing
up, and did not move.
"Seeing that he would not go, one of them laid down his gun, clutched
a chair, and dealt a fierce blow at my husband's head; but fortunately
the chair struck a beam overhead, which turned and partially stopped
the force of the blow, and it fell upon the side of his head and
shoulder with too little force to bring him down, yet enough to smash
the chair in pieces upon the hearth. The fiend then caught another
chair, with which he succeeded in knocking my husband down beneath the
stairway. They then struck him several blows with a chair-post, upon
the head, cutting four long gashes in the scalp. The infuriated men
then took him by the feet and dragged him from the room. They raised
him to his feet, and one of them, grasping a large boulder, hurled it
with full force at his head; but he dropped his head enough to let the
stone pass over, and it went against the house like a cannon ball.
Several of them threw him into the air, and brought him, with all their
might, at full length upon the ground. When he fell, one of them sprang
upon his breast, and stamping with all his might, broke two of his ribs.
"They then turned him upon his side, and with a chair-post dealt him
many severe blows upon the thigh, which were heard at a distance of
one hundred and twenty rods. Next they tore off his coat and shirt,
and proceeded to whip him with their gun-sticks. I had been by my
husband during this whole affray, and one of the mob seeing me, cried
out: 'Take that woman in the house, or she will overpower every devil
of you!' Four of them presented their guns to my breast, and jumping
off the ground with rage, uttering the most tremendous oaths, they
commanded me to go into the house. This order I did not obey, but
hastened to my husband's assistance, taking stick after stick from
them, till I must have thrown away twenty.
"By this time my husband felt that he could hold out no longer, and
raising his hands toward heaven, asking the Lord to receive his spirit,
he fell to the ground, helpless. Every hand was stayed, and I asked a
sister who was in the house to assist me to carry him in doors.
"We carried him in, and after washing his face and making him as
comfortable as possible, I went forth into the mob, and reasoned with
them, telling them that my husband had never harmed one of them, nor
raised his arm in defence against them. They then went calmly away, but
next day circulated a report that they had killed one Mormon.
"After the mob had gone, I sent for the elder, and he, with two or
three of the brethren, came and administered to my husband, and he was
instantly healed. The gashes on his head grew together without leaving
a scar, and he went to bed comfortable. In the morning I combed the
coagulated blood out of his hair, and he was so well that he went with
me to meeting that same day.
"The mob immediately held a meeting and informed us that we were to
have only three days to leave in, and if we were not off by that time
the whole party would be massacred. We accordingly prepared to leave,
and by the time appointed were on our way to Clay county. Soon after
our arrival in Clay county, the 'Camp of Zion' came, and located about
twenty miles from us. The cholera broke out in the camp, and many died.
Three of the party started to where we lived, but two died on the way,
leaving Mr. Martin Harris to accomplish the journey alone. The first
thing, when he saw me, he exclaimed: 'Sister Leonard, I came to your
house to save my life.' For eight days my husband and I worked with him
before he began to show signs of recovery, scarcely lying down to take
our rest. While Mr. Harris was lying sick, the prophet Joseph Smith
came, with eleven others, to visit him. This was the first time I had
ever seen the prophet.
"The prophet advised us to scatter out over the county, and not
congregate too much together, so that the people would have no cause
for alarm.
"While we were yet living in this place, the ague came upon my family,
and my husband lay sick for five months, and the children for three.
During the whole time I procured my own wood, and never asked any one
for assistance. On the recovery of my husband he bought a beautiful
little farm near by, where we lived long enough to raise one crop,
when the mob again came against us, and we were compelled to move into
Caldwell county.
"When we arrived there we moved into a log cabin, without door, window,
or fireplace, where my husband left the children and me, and returned
to Clay county, for some of the brethren who were left behind. During
his absence a heavy snowstorm came, and we were without wood or fire.
My little boy and I, by turns, cut wood enough to keep us warm till my
husband returned.
"Here my husband entered eighty acres of land, and subsequently bought
an additional twenty acres. Here, too, we stayed long enough to raise
one crop, and then moved to Nauvoo, Hancock county, Illinois.
"As soon as we were located, we were all seized with sickness, and
scarcely had I recovered, when there came into our midst some brethren
from England, who were homeless, and our people took them in with their
own families. One of the families we took to live with us. The woman
was sick, and we sent for the elders to heal her, but their endeavors
were not successful, and I told the husband of the sick woman that but
one thing was left to be done, which was to send for the sisters. The
sisters came, washed, anointed, and administered to her. The patient's
extremities were cold, her eyes set, a spot in the back apparently
mortified, and every indication that death was upon her. But before the
sisters had ceased to administer, the blood went coursing through her
system, and to her extremities, and she was sensibly better. Before
night her appetite returned, and became almost insatiable, so much so
at least that, after I had given her to eat all I dared, she became
quite angry because I would not give her more. In three days she sat up
and had her hair combed, and soon recovered."
The following portion of Margaret Foutz's narrative will also be of
interest in this connection. She says:
"I am the daughter of David and Mary Munn, and was born December 11th,
1801, in Franklin county, Pa. I was married to Jacob Foutz, July 22d,
1822. In the year 1827 we emigrated to Richland county, Ohio. After
living here a few years, an elder by the name of David Evans came into
the neighborhood, preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ, commonly called
Mormonism. We united ourselves with the church, being baptized by
Brother Evans, in the year 1834. Subsequently we took our departure for
Missouri, to gather with the saints. We purchased some land, to make a
permanent home, on Crooked River, where a small branch of the church
was organized, David Evans being the president. We enjoyed ourselves
exceedingly well, and everything seemed to prosper; but the spirit
of persecution soon began to make itself manifest. Falsehoods were
circulated about the Mormon population that were settling about that
region, and there soon began to be signs of trouble. The brethren, in
order to protect their families, organized themselves together.
"Threats being made by the mob to destroy a mill belonging to Brother
Haun, it was considered best to have a few men continually at the mill
to protect it. One day Brother Evans went and had an interview with
a Mr. Comstock, said to be the head man of the mob. All things were
amicably adjusted. Brother Evans then went to inform the brethren (my
husband being among them) that all was well. This was about the middle
of the afternoon, when Brother Evans returned from Mr. Comstock's. On
a sudden, without any warning whatever, sixty or seventy men, with
blackened faces, came riding their horses at full speed. The brethren
ran, for protection, into an old blacksmith shop, they being without
arms. The mob rode up to the shop, and without any explanation or
apparent cause, began a wholesale butchery, by firing round after
round through the cracks between the logs of the shop. I was at home
with my family of five little children, and could hear the firing. In
a moment I knew the mob was upon us. Soon a runner came, telling the
women and children to hasten into the timber and secrete themselves,
which we did, without taking anything to keep us warm; and had we been
fleeing from the scalping knife of the Indian we would not have made
greater haste. And as we ran from house to house, gathering as we went,
we finally numbered about forty or fifty women and children. We ran
about three miles into the woods, and there huddled together, spreading
what few blankets or shawls we chanced to have on the ground for the
children; and here we remained until two o'clock the next morning,
before we heard anything of the result of the firing at the mill. Who
can imagine our feelings during this dreadful suspense? And when the
news did come, oh! what terrible news! Fathers, brothers and sons,
inhumanly butchered! We now took up the line of march for home. Alas!
what a home! Who would we find there? And now, with our minds full of
the most fearful forebodings, we retraced those three long, dreary
miles. As we were returning I saw a brother, Myers, who had been shot
through his body. In that dreadful state he crawled on his hands and
knees, about two miles, to his home.
"After I arrived at my house with my children, I hastily made a fire
to warm them, and then started for the mill, about one mile distant.
My children would not remain at home, saying, 'If father and mother
are going to be killed, we want to be with them.' It was about seven
o'clock in the morning when we arrived at the mill. In the first house
I came to there were three dead men. One, a Brother McBride, I was told
was a survivor of the Revolution. He was a terrible sight to behold,
having been cut and chopped, and horribly mangled, with a corn-cutter.
"I hurried on, looking for my husband. I found him in an old house,
covered with some rubbish. (The mob had taken the bedding and clothing
from all the houses near the mill). My husband had been shot in the
thigh. I rendered him all the assistance I could, but it was evening
before I could get him home. I saw thirteen more dead bodies at the
shop, and witnessed the beginning of the burial, which consisted in
throwing the bodies into an old, dry well. So great was the fear of
the men that the mob would return and kill what few of them there were
left, that they threw the bodies in, head first or feet first, as the
case might be. When they had thrown in three, my heart sickened, and I
turned fainting away.
"At the moment of the massacre, my husband and another brother drew
some of the dead bodies on themselves, and pretended to be dead also,
by so doing saving their lives. While in this situation they heard
what the ruffians said after the firing was over. Two little boys, who
had not been hit, begged for their lives; but with horrible oaths they
put the muzzles of their guns to the children's heads, and blew their
brains out.
"Oh! what a change one short day had brought! Here were my friends,
dead and dying; one in particular asked me to give him relief by taking
a hammer and knocking his brains out, so great was his agony. And we
knew not what moment our enemies would be upon us again. And all this,
not because we had broken any law--on the contrary, it was a part of
our religion to keep the laws of the land. In the evening Brother
Evans got a team and conveyed my husband to his house, carried him in,
and placed him on a bed. I then had to attend him, alone, without any
doctor or any one to tell me what to do. Six days afterwards I, with my
husband's assistance, extracted the bullet, it being buried deep in the
thick part of the thigh, and flattened like a knife. During the first
ten days, mobbers, with blackened faces, came every day, cursing and
swearing like demons from the pit, and declaring that they would 'kill
that d--d old Mormon preacher.' At times like these, when human nature
quailed, I felt the power of God upon me to that degree that I could
stand before them fearless; and although a woman, and alone, those
demons in human shape had to succumb; for there was a power with me
that they knew not of. During these days of mobocratic violence I would
sometimes hide my husband in the house, and sometimes in the woods,
covering him with leaves. And thus was I constantly harassed, until
the mob finally left us, with the understanding that we should leave
in the spring. About the middle of February we started for Quincy,
Ill. Arriving there, we tarried for a short time, and thence moved to
Nauvoo."