MY FIRST INTRODUCTION TO MORMONISM.
During my residence in France, my parents had left St. Heliers and
returned to Southampton, England. To visit them now I had to take a
sailing vessel from Portrieux to the Isle of Jersey, and thence I could
take the steamer to Southampton.
Monsieur and Madame D——, together with the two little girls, accompanied
me in their private carriage to Portrieux, a distance of forty miles, in
order to confide me safely to the captain’s care. As they wished me “_bon
voyage_” and embraced me affectionately, Mons. D—— handed me a valuable
purse for pocket-money during my absence, and they all exhibited great
anxiety for my welfare, saying over and over again _au revoir_, as they
entered their carriage to return to their happy home;—thereby implying
that this was not a final _adieu_, but that we should soon meet again.
I cannot tell why it was, but I experienced at that moment a painful
feeling of mental indecision about the future. I had no real reason to
doubt my return to France, and the certainty of a warm welcome when I
should again greet those dear ones who were now leaving me in tears; but
my mind was troubled by a vague feeling of uncertainty which made me
anything but happy. Filial affection and a sense of duty drew me towards
my parents in England; while a feeling of gratitude, and, I think,
another and more tender sentiment, turned the current of my thoughts
towards the happy home at St. Brieux.
It was not necessary for me to stop in Jersey for more than a few hours,
but I wanted to revisit the scenes of my childhood’s happy days, and to
speak again with those whom I had known and loved in early life. In later
years the scenes and memories of childhood seem like the imaginings of
a pleasant dream. A sweet charm is thrown around all that we then said
and did; and the men and women who then were known to us are pictured
in our recollection as beings possessing charms and graces such as never
belonged to the common-place children of earth. The glamour of a fairy
wand is over all the past history of mankind; but upon nothing does it
cast so potent a spell as upon the personal reminiscences of our own
infant years. To me that little island had charms which no stranger
could ever have discovered; and even now, after the lapse of so many
long, eventful years I often feel an earnest wish to visit again those
rock-bound shores, to listen to the everlasting murmur of the wild, wild
waves, to watch the distant speck-like vessels far away upon the swelling
ocean, and to drink in the invigorating breezes which seem to give life
and energy to every pulsation of the living soul.
But I must not theorize: life has been to me too earnest and too painful
to admit of much sentiment or fancy as I recall the past. Little as I
thought it, during the short visit which I paid to my birthplace the web
of destiny was being woven for me in a way which I could not then have
conjectured even in a dream.
At St. Heliers I heard for the first time of the Latter-day Saints, or
Mormonites, as they were more familiarly called; but I cannot express
how perfectly astonished I was when I learned that my father, mother,
sisters, and one of my brothers had been converted to the new faith.
It was my own brother-in-law who told me this. He himself, with my
sister, were “Apostate” Mormons. They had been baptized into the Mormon
Church, but became dissatisfied, and abandoned it. The St. Heliers branch
of the Latter-day Saints had had a turbulent experience. Their first
teachings had been a mixture of Bible texts about the last days, and
arguments about the millennium, the return of the Jews to Palestine, the
resurrection of the dead, and a new revelation and a new prophet; but
the improper conduct of some of the elders had disgusted the people with
their doctrines, and the tales of wickedness which I heard were, if true,
certainly sufficient to justify them in rejecting such instructors.
The more I heard of this strange religion the more I was troubled; yet,
as I knew my parents were devoted Christians, I could hardly believe
that Mormonism was such a vile delusion and imposture as it had been
represented to me, or they would never have accepted it: still it was
possible that they had been led astray by the fascinations of a new
religion.
In this state of mind I met in the street the wife of the Baptist
minister whom I have already mentioned. She greeted me affectionately and
then began at once to warn me against the Latter-day Saints. I inquired
what she knew of them; and she replied that personally she knew nothing,
but she believed them to be servants of the Evil One, adding, “There is
a strange power with them that fascinates the people and draws them into
their meshes in spite of themselves. Let me entreat you not to go near
them. Do not trust yourself at one of their meetings, or the delusion
will take hold of _you_ too.”
“I cannot ignore Mormonism in this way,” I said, “or pass it by with
indifference; for my parents whom I tenderly love have been blinded
by this delusion, and I can do no less than investigate its teachings
thoroughly, and if I find it false, expose its errors, and, if possible,
save my father’s family from ruin.”
She was not convinced that this was the wisest course for me to pursue,
but I resolved at once to attend a meeting of the Saints and judge for
myself. My brother-in-law, when he heard of my intentions, tried to
dissuade me, but, finding me determined, finally offered to escort me to
the meeting-place.
What I heard on this occasion made a great impression on my mind, and set
me thinking as I had never thought before. On returning to my sister’s
house she asked me what opinion I had now formed of the Latter-day
Saints. I replied that I had not yet formed any conclusion, but that what
I had heard had given me serious cause for reflection. “Oh,” she said,
“you have caught the Mormon fever, I see.”
I felt a disposition to resent this implication, but I was half afraid
that, after all, my sister was right. Much that I had heard could, I
knew, be proved true from Scripture; and the rest seemed to me to be
capable of demonstration from the same authority. I resolved, however, to
fortify myself against a too easy credulity, and thought that probably if
I heard more of these doctrines I might be able to discover their falsity.
On the following day, the elder who had preached at the meeting, and who,
by the way, is one of the present proprietors of the Salt Lake _Herald_,
called to see me, as he had been intimate with my parents before they
left the island. I hardly knew how to be civil to him, though he had done
nothing to offend me, nor had he been the cause of my parents entering
the Mormon Church; but I disliked him solely on account of the stories
which I had heard about the Mormons. Intending only to be kind to me, he
told me that on the following day he proposed to take the steamer for
Southampton, as he was going to attend a conference of the Saints in
London, and that he should be pleased to show me any attentions while
crossing the Channel, and would see me safe home in England. I confess
I really felt insulted at a Mormon Elder offering to be my escort;
and although my trunks were ready packed for my departure by the same
steamer, and Mr. Dunbar knew it, I thanked him politely, but said I would
not go by that boat. He tried to persuade me to change my mind, and said
that I should have to wait a whole week for another vessel; and at last
I frankly told him the abhorrence I felt at the things I had heard about
the Mormons, and that I should be afraid to travel in the same steamer
with him or any of the Mormon Elders whom I regarded as no better than
so many whited sepulchres. He, however, very kindly took no offence, for
he knew that I had been listening to those who disliked the Saints. I
felt ashamed at having been betrayed into such unladylike rudeness, but,
notwithstanding, tried to persuade myself that his civility was, after
all, an insult; for I had conceived a detestation of every Mormon, on
account of the deception which I felt sure had been practised upon my
family.
This feeling was not lessened by the consciousness that an impression had
been made upon my own mind. The more in accordance with Scripture the
teaching of the Elders appeared, the more firmly I believed it must be a
powerful delusion. Here, I said, Satan has indeed taken the form of an
angel of light to deceive, if possible, the very elect.
Elder Dunbar, finding me unyielding, left by the next steamer, and had a
pleasant passage across the Channel, and I remained on the island another
week. During that interval my mind was haunted with what I had heard of
this new gospel dispensation, as it was called. That angels had again
descended from heaven to teach man upon earth; that a prophet had been
raised up to speak again the mind of the Lord to the children of men;
that the Saints were partakers of the gifts of the Spirit, as in the
Early Christian Church,—all these assumed facts took the form of reality,
and came back into my mind with greater force every time I strove to
drive them away; just as our thoughts do when we desire to sleep, and
cannot—our very efforts to dismiss them bring them back with greater
force to torment us.
We had an unusually bad passage across the Channel, which annoyed me all
the more when I remembered my scornful refusal to go in the same boat
with Elder Dunbar.
On my arrival in Southampton I soon discovered that my father, mother,
and sisters were full of the spirit of Mormonism. They were rejoicing in
it, ardently believing that it was the fulness of the everlasting gospel,
as the Elders styled it; and whatever I might think of the new religion,
I was forced to confess that it brought into my father’s house peace,
love, kindness, and charity such as were seldom seen in many households
of religious people. My sisters were completely changed in their manner
of life. They cared I nothing for the amusements which girls of their age
usually crave and enjoy. Their whole thoughts seemed to be occupied with
the Church, attending the meetings of the Saints, and employing every
leisure hour in preparing comforts for the Elders who were travelling and
preaching without purse and scrip. And in all this they were as happy as
children.
Of my parents I might say the same. My dear mother rejoiced in the belief
that she had been peculiarly blessed in being privileged to live at a
time when “the last dispensation” was revealed; and my father, though
an invalid, rejoiced that he had entered into the kingdom by baptism.
Such was the condition of my father’s house; and who can wonder that,
accustomed as I was to listen with respect to the opinions of my parents,
I was more than ever troubled about the new religion which they had
adopted?
The first Sunday morning that I was in England, my parents asked me to
accompany them to meeting, and I readily complied, as I wanted to hear
more of the strange doctrines which in some mysterious way had made our
family so happy, but which in other quarters had provoked such bitter
hostility. I know _now_ that this joyousness of heart is not peculiar to
new converts to Mormonism, but may be found among the newly-converted
of every sect which allows the emotional feelings to come into play.
To me, at the time, however, it was a mystery, but I must confess that
the change which had taken place in those nearest and dearest to me,
affecting me personally, and being so evidently in accordance with the
teachings of the Saviour, led me to regard Mormonism with less antipathy.
The bright side alone of the new faith was presented to the world abroad;
we had yet to go to Utah and witness the effects of Brigham Young’s
teachings at home before we could know what Mormonism really was.
I shall never forget the trial it was to my pride to enter the dirty,
mean-looking room where the Saints assembled at that time. No one would
rent a respectable hall to them, and they were glad to obtain the use
of any place which was large enough for their meetings. On the present
occasion there was a very fair gathering of people, who had come together
influenced by the most varied motives. The Presiding Elder—I should here
remark that the word “Elder” has among the Mormons no reference whatever
to age, but is simply a rank in the priesthood—called the meeting to
order, and read the following hymn:
The morning breaks, the shadows flee;
Lo! Zion’s standard is unfurl’d!
The dawning of a brighter day
Majestic rises on the world.
The clouds of error disappear
Before the rays of truth divine;
The glory bursting from afar,
Wide o’er the nations soon will shine!
The Gentile fulness now comes in,
And Israel’s blessings are at hand;
Lo! Judah’s remnant, cleansed from sin,
Shall in the promised Canaan stand.
Angels from heaven and truth from earth
Have met, and both have record borne;
Thus Zion’s light is bursting forth
To bring her ransom’d children home.
Every word of this hymn had a meaning peculiar to itself, relating to the
distinctive doctrines of the Saints. The congregation sang with an energy
and enthusiasm which made the room shake again. Self and the outer world
were alike forgotten, and an ecstasy of rapture seemed to possess the
souls of all present. Then all kneeled down, and prayer was offered for
the Prophet, the apostles, high-priests, “seventies,” elders, priests,
teachers, and deacons; blessings were invoked upon the Saints, and power
to convert the Gentiles; and as the earnest words of supplication left
the speaker’s lips, the congregation shouted a loud “Amen.”
There was no prepared sermon. There never is at a Mormon meeting. The
people are taught that the Holy Ghost is “mouth, matter, and wisdom.”
Whatever the preaching Elder may say is supposed to come directly by
inspiration from heaven, and the Saints listening, as they believe, not
to his utterances but to the words of God Himself, have nothing to do but
to hear and obey.
The first speaker on this occasion was a young gentleman of respectable
family, who had been recently baptized and ordained. He, too, was from
St. Heliers, and I had known him from childhood. His address impressed me
very much. He had been a member of the Baptist church, and he related his
experience, told how often he had wondered why there were not inspired
men to preach the glad tidings of salvation to the world to-day, as there
were eighteen centuries ago. He spoke of the joy which he had experienced
in being baptized into the Mormon Church and realizing that he had
received the “gift of the Holy Ghost.” The simplicity with which he
spoke, his evident honesty, and the sacrifice he had made in leaving the
respectable Baptists and joining the despised Mormons, were, I thought,
so many evidences of his sincerity.
Alas! how little could that young preacher conjecture how different the
practical Mormonism in Utah was from the theoretical Mormonism which
he had learned to believe in Europe, before polygamy was known among
the Saints. A short time afterwards he gave up his business, married
an accomplished young lady, and went with her to Salt Lake City. There
they were soon utterly disgusted with what they witnessed, apostatized,
and set out for England. When they had gone three-fourths of their way
back to the Missouri river, the young man, his wife, child, and another
apostate and his wife, were killed by “Indians:”—such, at least, was the
report; but dissenting Mormons have always charged their “taking off” to
the order of the leaders of the Mormon Church.
But to return to the meeting. The reader must please forgive me if I
dwell a little upon the events of that particular morning, for naturally
they made a deep impression upon my own mind—it was there that I saw for
the first time my husband who was to be.
I had heard a good deal about a certain Elder, from my family and from
the Saints who visited at our house. They spoke with great enthusiasm of
the earnestness with which he preached, of the effect which his addresses
produced, and of his confidence in the final triumph of “the kingdom.”
At that time—the summer of 1849—although the branch of the Mormon Church
in Britain was in a most flourishing condition, there were not in England
more than two or three American Elders preaching the faith, for when—two
years before the period of which I speak—the Saints left Nauvoo and
undertook that most extraordinary exodus across the plains to the Rocky
Mountains, the missionary Elders were all called home, and the work of
proselytizing in Europe was left entirely to the native Elders. To direct
their labours there was placed over them an American elder named Orson
Spencer, a graduate of Dartmouth University, a scholar and a gentleman—a
man well calculated from his previous Christian education to give an
elevated tone to the teachings of the young English missionaries.
Mormonism in England then, had no resemblance to the Mormonism of Utah
to-day. The Mormons were then simply an earnest religious people, in
many respects like the Methodists, especially in their missionary zeal
and fervour of spirit. The Mormon Church abroad was purely a religious
institution, and Mormonism was preached by the Elders as the gospel
of Christianity restored. The Church had no political shaping nor the
remotest antagonism to the civil power. The name of Joseph Smith was
seldom spoken, and still more seldom was heard the name of Brigham Young,
and then only so far as they had reference to the Church of the Saints.
About eighteen months before I visited Southampton, one of these
missionaries had come into that town, “without purse or scrip.” He was
quite a young man and almost penniless, but he was rich in faith and
overflowing with zeal. He knew no one there; and homeless, and frequently
hungry, he continued his labours. Of fasting he knew much, of feasting
nothing. He first preached under the branches of a spreading beech-tree
in a public park, and when more favoured he held forth in a school-room
or public hall. He had come to convert the people to Mormonism, or he
was going to die among them; and before such zeal and determination,
discouragements, of course, soon vanished away. He troubled the ministers
of other dissenting churches when they found him distributing tracts and
talking to their people. He was sowing broadcast dissatisfaction and
discontent wherever he could get any one to listen to him, and thus he
drew down upon himself the eloquence of the dissenting pulpits and the
derision of the local press. But the more they attacked him the more
zealously did he labour, and defied his opponents to public discussion.
Mormonism was bold then in Europe—it had no American history to meet in
those days.
This, and a great deal more, I had heard discussed in glowing language
by my relatives and friends; and thus the young missionary—Elder
Stenhouse—was, by name, no stranger to me.
It was Elder Stenhouse who now addressed the meeting, and I listened to
him with attention. The reader must remember that at that time polygamy
was unheard of as a doctrine of the Saints, and the blood-atonement, the
doctrine that Adam is God, together with the polytheism and priestly
theocracy of after-years, were things undreamed of. The saving love of
Christ, the glory and fulness of the everlasting Gospel, the gifts and
graces of the Spirit, together with repentance, baptism, and faith, were
the points upon which the Mormon teachers touched; and who can wonder
that with such topics as these, and fortifying every statement with
powerful and numerous texts of Scripture, they should captivate the minds
of religiously inclined people? However this may be, I can only confess
that, as I listened to Elder Stenhouse’s earnest discourse, I felt my
antipathy to Mormonism rapidly melting away.
At the close of the service, when he left the platform, he was warmly
received by the brethren and sisters, for so the Saints speak of one
another, and they came about him to shake hands, or it might be to seize
the opportunity of slipping a trifle into his hand to help him in his
work. Young and old, the poor and their more wealthy neighbours, mingled
together like one happy family. It was altogether a most pleasing scene;
and, whatever explanation may yet be given to Mormonism in America, one
thing I know—the facts of its early history in Europe are among the most
pleasant reminiscences of my life.
Elder Stenhouse came up in a familiar and open-hearted way to my mother
and sisters, and I was introduced to him as “the other daughter from
France.” He kindly welcomed me, and when I frankly told him the state of
my mind, he made, I must admit, a successful attempt to solve my doubts,
and when I left the meeting it was with sentiments towards the Saints
and their religion far different from those which I entertained when I
entered.
This meeting was a memorable era in my life.