THE STORY OF THE HUNTINGTON SISTERS CONTINUED--ZINA D. YOUNG'S PATHETIC
PICTURE OF THE MARTYRDOM--JOSEPH'S MANTLE FALLS UPON BRIGHAM--THE
EXODUS--A BIRTH ON THE BANKS OF THE CHARITON--DEATH OF FATHER
HUNTINGTON.
"It was June 27th, 1844," writes Zina D. Young (one of the Huntington
sisters, with whom the reader is familiar), "and it was rumored that
Joseph was expected in from Carthage. I did not know to the contrary
until I saw the Governor and his guards descending the hill by the
temple, a short distance from my house. Their swords glistened in
the sun, and their appearance startled me, though I knew not what it
foreboded. I exclaimed to a neighbor who was with me, 'What is the
trouble! It seems to me that the trees and the grass are in mourning!'
A fearful silence pervaded the city, and after the shades of night
gathered around us it was thick darkness. The lightnings flashed, the
cattle bellowed, the dogs barked, and the elements wailed. What a
terrible night that was to the saints, yet we knew nothing of the dark
tragedy which had been enacted by the assassins at Carthage.
"The morning dawned; the sad news came; but as yet I had not heard of
the terrible event. I started to go to Mother Smith's, on an errand. As
I approached I saw men gathered around the door of the mansion. A few
rods from the house I met Jesse P. Harmon. 'Have you heard the news?'
he asked. 'What news?' I inquired. 'Joseph and Hyrum are dead!' Had
I believed it, I could not have walked any farther. I hastened to my
brother Dimick. He was sitting in his house, mourning and weeping aloud
as only strong men can weep. All was confirmed in a moment. My pen
cannot utter my grief nor describe my horror. But after awhile a change
came, as though the released spirits of the departed sought to comfort
us in that hour of dreadful bereavement.
"'The healer was there, pouring balm on my heart,
And wiping the tears from my eyes;
He was binding the chain that was broken in twain,
And fastening it firm in the skies.'
"Never can it be told in words what the saints suffered in those days
of trial; but the sweet spirit--the comforter--did not forsake them;
and when the twelve returned, the mantle of Joseph fell upon Brigham.
"When I approached the stand (on the occasion when Sidney Rigdon was
striving for the guardianship of the Church), President Young was
speaking. It was the voice of Joseph Smith--not that of Brigham Young.
His very person was changed. The mantle was truly given to another.
There was no doubting this in the minds of that vast assembly. All
witnessed the transfiguration, and even to-day thousands bear testimony
thereof. I closed my eyes. I could have exclaimed, I know that is
Joseph Smith's voice! Yet I knew he had gone. But the same spirit was
with the people; the comforter remained.
"The building of the temple was hurried on. The saints did not slacken
their energies. They had a work to do in that temple for their dead,
and blessings to obtain for themselves. They had learned from the
prophet Joseph the meaning of Paul's words, 'Why then are ye baptized
for the dead, if the dead rise not at all?'
"Passing on to the exodus. My family were informed that we were to
leave with the first company. So on the 9th of February, 1846, on a
clear cold day, we left our home at Nauvoo. All that we possessed was
now in our wagon. Many of our things remained in the house, unsold, for
most of our neighbors were, like ourselves, on the wing.
"Arrived at Sugar Creek, we there first saw who were the brave, the
good, the self-sacrificing. Here we had now openly the first examples
of noble-minded, virtuous women, bravely commencing to live in the
newly-revealed order of celestial marriage.
"'Women; this is my husband's wife!'
"Here, at length, we could give this introduction, without fear of
reproach, or violation of man-made laws, seeing we were bound for the
refuge of the Rocky Mountains, where no Gentile society existed, to ask
of Israel, 'What doest thou?'
"President Young arrived on Sugar Creek, and at once commenced to
organize the camp. George A. Smith was the captain of our company of
fifty.
"I will pass over the tedious journey to the Chariton river, in the
face of the fierce winds of departing winter, and amid rains that
fairly inundated the land. By day we literally waded through mud and
water, and at night camped in anything but pleasant places.
"On the bank of the Chariton an incident occurred ever eventful in the
life of woman. I had been told in the temple that I should acknowledge
God even in a miracle in my deliverance in woman's hour of trouble,
which hour had now come. We had traveled one morning about five miles,
when I called for a halt in our inarch. There was but one person with
me--Mother Lyman, the aunt of George A. Smith; and there on the bank of
the Chariton I was delivered of a fine son. On the morning of the 23d,
Mother Lyman gave me a cup of coffee and a biscuit. What a luxury for
special remembrance! Occasionally the wagon had to be stopped, that I
might take breath. Thus I journeyed on. But I did not mind the hardship
of my situation, for my life had been preserved, and my babe seemed so
beautiful.
"We reached Mount Pisgah in May. I was now with my father, who had been
appointed to preside over this temporary settlement of the saints. But
an unlooked for event soon came. One evening Parley P. Pratt arrived,
bringing the word from headquarters that the Mormon battalion must be
raised in compliance with the requisition of the government upon our
people. And what did this news personally amount to, to me? That I had
only my father to look after me now; for I had parted from my husband;
my eldest brother, Dimick Huntington, with his family, had gone into
the battalion, and every man who could be spared was also enlisted.
It was impossible for me to go on to winter quarters, so I tarried at
Mount Pisgah with my father.
"But, alas! a still greater trial awaited me! The call for the
battalion had left many destitute. They had to live in wagons. But
worse than destitution stared us in the face. Sickness came upon us
and death invaded our camp. Sickness was so prevalent and deaths so
frequent that enough help could not be had to make coffins, and many of
the dead were wrapped in their grave-clothes and buried with split logs
at the bottom of the grave and brush at the sides, that being all that
could be done for them by their mourning friends. Too soon it became
my turn to mourn. My father was taken sick, and in eighteen days he
died. Just before he left us for his better home he raised himself upon
his elbow, and said: 'Man is like the flower or the grass--cut down
in an hour! Father, unto thee do I commend my spirit!' This said, he
sweetly went to rest with the just, a martyr for the truth; for, like
my dear mother, who died in the expulsion from Missouri, he died in the
expulsion from Nauvoo. Sad was my heart. I alone of all his children
was there to mourn.
"It was a sad day at Mount Pisgah, when my father was buried. The poor
and needy had lost a friend--the kingdom of God a faithful servant.
There upon the hillside was his resting place. The graveyard was so
near that I could hear the wolves howling as they visited the spot;
those hungry monsters, who fain would have unsepulchred those sacred
bones!
"Those days of trial and grief were succeeded by my journey to winter
quarters, where in due time I arrived, and was welcomed by President
Young into his family."