With me I had brought home about all that my team could haul of supplies, clothing, and groceries, which soon made my family comfortable. I had met Brigham and shaken hands with him, but had not made my report or delivered the money to him. The next morning Brigham called to see me, and notified me that the Council would meet at nine o'clock at Dr. Richards', and for me to be there and make my report. He appeared ashamed of the manner in which my family had been treated.
"Brother Brigham, how does this compare with your promises to me, when I trusted all to you?" I said.
"Brother John," Brigham replied, "I am ashamed of the conduct of this people. Do not blame me, Brother John, for I have done the best I could." Then putting his hand on my shoulder, he said: "Don't feel bad about it. You will live through, and the day will come when we can look back and see what we have endured for the Kingdom of Heaven's sake. Lord bless you, Brother John."
Allow me to jump from 1847 to 1877, just thirty years. I have remained faithful to the end. I was adopted by Brigham, and was to seek his interests here, and in return he was to seek my salvation; I, being an heir of his family, was to share his blessings in common with his other heirs. True to my pledges, I have done his bidding. I have let him direct my energies in all things. And the time has come for me to receive my reward. An offering must be made; I must hew the wood and build the altar; then, as did Abraham of old with his son Isaac, I must be laid upon the altar as a sacrifice. I must meet my fate without murmuring or complaining; I must submit, true to the end. If I endure firm to the end, I will receive the martyr's crown.
After my return, my first duty was to build comfortable houses for my family. Soon afterwards I was sent to St. Joseph to cash the checks and purchase goods to supply the wants of the people. I was directed to purchase a lot of salt and potatoes from a Frenchman at Trading Point. I did so, and bought three hundred dollars' worth on credit, and sent it back to the settlement. I had to borrow the money from Mrs. Armstrong to pay the three hundred dollars. But she was afterwards sealed to me, and it was then all in the family. I never asked Brigham for it, and he never offered to pay it.
On that trip to St. Joseph I bought fifteen hundred dollars' worth of goods, such as were needed at the settlement. I advanced seven hundred dollars of my own money; the remainder was from the money sent home by the Mormon Battalion. I took the goods back and we opened a store at winter quarters. Brother Rockwood acted as chief clerk and salesman. We sold the goods at a great advance. What cost us seven cents in St. Joseph we sold at sixty- five cents. Everything was sold at a similar profit. I kept the stock up during the winter and did a good business. One drawback was this: many of the families of the men who were in the Mormon Battalion had no money, and we were obliged to let them have goods on credit. I had to stand the loss myself, for few of the men ever paid a dollar due me when they returned.
Andrew Little was in the battalion, and at the request of Brigham I let his family have two hundred and fifty-eight dollars' worth of goods. Brigham said I should have my money when Little returned, but I never got any of it. Little was also an adopted son of Brigham, and did about as he pleased. James Pace, Thomas Woolsey, and a few others of the soldiers paid me when they returned for what I had advanced their families, but the majority never paid.
When I returned from Santa Fe I found David Young, his wife, and two daughters lying sick and helpless - really in want. I took care of them and supplied them with food and such articles as they required until the death of the father, mother, and one son, which took place in a short time - a few months after my return home. I had baptized this family in Putnam County, Tennessee, and felt an interest in them. The two girls were sealed to me while we stayed at winter quarters, and became members of my family. They are both living. By them I have had three sons and three daughters. They were sealed to me in 1847. I was also sealed to Nancy Armstrong the same evening that I took the Young girls to wife. A few evenings afterwards I was sealed to Emeline Woolsey. She was my thirteenth wife.
Nancy Armstrong's maiden name was Gibbons. She was the wife of a wealthy merchant by the name of Armstrong, who owned a large establishment in Louisville, and another in Carlisle, Kentucky, at which places he did business as wholesale and retail dealer in dry goods. I became acquainted with the family at Carlisle, while preaching there.
The people of Carlisle were bitter enemies of the Mormon Church, and a mob threatened to tar and feather me one night, when Armstrong took me home with him and protected me. He was not a believer in any religion, but I always considered him a high- minded, honorable man. I afterwards often stopped at the house.
His wife and sister Sarah were believers in the Mormon faith, but as Mr. Armstrong was not, I advised his wife not to become a member of the Church, and refused to baptize her until her husband would consent to it. Elder Smoot afterwards baptized Sarah Gibbons and Nancy Armstrong.
Brother Smoot had taken his wife with him on the mission, and she laid the plan to get Sarah to go to Nauvoo. A wagon was sent to take Sarah Gibbons' goods to Nauvoo, and in it Mrs. Armstrong sent her valuable clothing and jewelry, amounting to more than two thousand dollars. She intended to join the Saints at the first chance.
Within a few months after Sarah had gone Mrs. Armstrong got the consent of her husband to pay a visit to her sister and the Church at Nauvoo; he fitted her up in fine style, sending two serving maids to wait on her.
Soon after she left home the friends of Armstrong advised him to stop his slaves at St. Louis, if he wanted to keep them, for his wife would never return to him. Armstrong stopped the slaves, and his wife went on to Nauvoo, where she stayed until the Saints left that place after the death of the Prophet. Elder Smoot had planned to get Mrs. Armstrong to Nauvoo, so he could be sealed to her and get her property. Sarah Gibbons was sealed to Elder Smoot, but Mrs. Armstrong would not consent to take him as her husband; but she lived in the family until she got disgusted with Smoot's treatment of her sister. She loaned him nearly all her money and he never paid it back; he wanted the rest, but she refused to let him have it; he then declined to take her with him across the plains. She told her griefs to my wife Rachel, and Rachel brought about the marriage between her and myself.
Mrs. Armstrong told Rachel that I was the first man on earth to bring the gospel to her, and she had always had a great regard for me, but I appeared to treat her coldly. Rachel told her that I always spoke kindly of her, and the reason I had not been more friendly was because I thought she wanted to become a member of Brother Smoot's family; that she had heard me speak of her in terms of praise many times.
Finally she came to my house and I asked her, in the presence of my wives, to become a member of my family. My wives advised me to be sealed to her, and, as the matter was agreeable all round, I was. Brigham sealed her and the Young girls to me. She was a true, affectionate woman. My whole family respected her. She was forty-eight years of age when she was sealed to me, and remained a true wife until her death.
In matters of this kind I tried to act from principle and not from passion. Yet I do not pretend to say that all such acts wore directed by principle, for I know they were not. I am not blind to my own faults. I have been a proud man, and in my younger days I thought I was perfection. In those days, too, I expected perfection in all women. I know now that I was foolish in looking for that in anybody. I have, for slight offenses, turned away good-meaning young women who had been sealed to me; refused to hear their excuses, and sent them away heartbroken.
In this I did wrong. I have regretted the same in sorrow many years. Two of the young women so used still keep warm hearts for me, notwithstanding my conduct toward them. They were young and in the prime of life when I sent them from me. They have since married again, and are the mothers of families. They frequently send letters to comfort me in my troubles and afflictions, but their kind remembrances serve only to add to my self-reproach for my cruel treatment of them in past years. I banished them from me for lesser offenses than I myself had been guilty of.
Should my story ever fall into the hands of Emeline Woolsey or Polly Ann Workman, I wish them to know that, with my last breath, I asked God to pardon me for the wrong I did them, when I drove them from me - poor young girls as they were.
Brigham built a gristmill during the winter, and ground meal for the people, charging a toll for all that the mill ground. In the spring I was ordered to go out and preach, and raise thirty-three wagons with the mules and harness to draw them. I succeeded in getting thirty of the teams. Brigham told me to go again, that he had asked for thirty-three teams, not for thirty. I went again, and preached so that I soon had the other teams. I then turned the whole outfit over to Brigham, so he could send his pioneers to look up a new home for the Saints. I offered to go with the company, but Brigham said:
"I cannot spare you; I can spare others better than you."
Brigham directed me to take my family and a company and go and raise corn for the people. He said:
"I want you to take a company, with your family, and go up the river and open up a farm, and raise grain and vegetables to feed the needy and the soldiers' families. We cannot depend on hauling our substance from Missouri, to feed the many that we have on our hands. I want so much grain raised that all will be supplied next winter, for we must feed our animals grain if we wish to cross the plains next spring. There is an old military fort about eighteen miles above here, where the land was once farmed, and that land is in good condition for farming now. We will leave Father Morley in charge of the various settlements. Brother Heber C. Kimball will send some of his boys and make another farm this side of there." Then turning to Father Morley, he said: "I want John to take charge of the farming interests and the settlement at my place, and you must counsel and advise with him from time to time. I want you and all the brethren to understand that the land nearest the settlement is to be divided between John and his wives, for they are workers. The others are to go further for their land."
At this I said that such an arrangement would not give satisfaction to the people; there were several of his adopted sons already jealous of me, and I feared the consequences, and preferred to have the land divided more equally.
"Who is jealous of you?" he asked.
Then I named several persons to him. In reply he said, naming a man, that he would work all day under the shade of a tree. Another could work all day in a half-bushel. Then he said:
"Such men will do but little; let them go to some outside place for their land. I want those who will work to have the best land. Let each family have an acre near the settlement for a garden and truck patch. And now, Father Morley, I want you to see that John and his family have all the cleared land they can tend, for I know they will raise a good crop, and when it is raised we can all share with him. I want a company to follow Brother John, about the 1st of May, when the grass is good, made up of men that can fit themselves out comfortably. My brother, John Young, will lead them, and Jedde Grant will be their captain." Then he turned to me and said: "Brother John, I want you to fit my brother John out. If he needs oxen, let him have them, and I will pay them back; see that he gets a good outfit. When he leaves here Father Morley will take charge of the Church. I want the brethren to do as Brother John tells them; he carries a good in- fluence wherever he goes; no evil reports follow him from his field of labor; all respect him, and that is evidence to me that he carries himself straight."
Now, I settled up my business at the winter quarters. Brigham was indebted to the firm two hundred and eighty-five dollars; he had not the money to settle the account, and he was just starting to look out a resting place for the Saints. His first adopted son, Brother Rockwood, our salesman, could not spare a dollar, so the loss of that money fell on me. I told Brigham he was welcome to the two hundred and eighty-five dollars. Before he left for the new land of promise he said to me:
"My son John, what shall I do for you?"
"Select me an inheritance when you find the resting-place," said I.
"I will remember you. May Heaven bless you. I bless you. Be a good boy. Keep an account of how each man under your charge occupies his time, while I am gone."
Brigham then said I was to have half the improvements that were made, and half the crop that was raised by the company I fitted out with teams, seeds, and provisions.
The pioneer company started April 1st, 1847. We moved to our new location, and called it Summer Quarters. We threw up a fort to protect us from the Indians, as they were troublesome. We then laid out our land. I found that if I obeyed orders it would require all the cleared land for my family, so I set off three acres to each family - there were thirty-seven families - for gardens, and took the balance.
Although I had given each family three times as much land, for a garden and truck patch, as Brigham ordered, the people found a great deal of fault with me. Mrs. Armstrong had some money left, and she told me to take it and send for supplies and seed corn. I did take it, and sent four teams to Missouri for corn and provisions, and then set all hands at work building the fort and putting the land in order for the crop.
About the beginning of May thirty-eight warriors of the Oto tribe came to our camp. They were in full paint, and on the warpath. They came in on the yell, and at full speed. It was just daylight; I was laying the foundation of a house when they came to me. I threw logs against them as if I did not see them, but most of the brethren kept out of sight.
The Indians began to build a fire in my garden, and one raised his gun to shoot one of my oxen which the boys were driving up. The majority of the Indians formed a half circle, holding their bows fully strung, and commenced a war dance. We had been told not to shoot Indians, but to take sticks and whale them when they commenced any depredations. As the Indian took the leather casing from his gun so that he could shoot, I rushed them with a heavy club, with the intention of knocking down as many as I could. I could speak their language some, and I told them I would kill them all if they shot my ox. They saw that I meant what I said. Then the two chiefs held out their hands, and yelled to the warrior not to shoot. He lowered his gun and returned to the crowd, but he was very angry. The other Indians seemed amazed, and stood as if paralyzed. Old man Knight followed me with a club, and stood by me all the time. Joseph Busby said:
"Hold on, Brother Lee, they outnumber us."
"For all that," said I, "there are not Indians enough in their nation to make me stand by and see them shoot down my oxen before my eyes."
Busby then ran into the house to load my gun, but he was so frightened he could not get the powder in it, and my wife Rachel loaded it for him. I looked around to see how things were, and saw seven of my wives standing with guns in their hands, ready to shoot if I was attacked. I succeeded in driving the Indians from the settlement.
Some time after the Indians had gone away an old chief returned and brought an ax that he said one of his bucks had stolen. I gave him a little ammunition and bread, and he left me as a friend.
My firm stand saved the settlement at that time and secured it from molestation in the future. The Indians never bothered us at Summer Quarters again. In the fall they made us a friendly visit, and called me a Sioux.
Near our settlement there was an abundance of wild game - deer, turkey, prairie chickens, ducks, geese, brant, and squirrels - which gave us much of our food during our stay. We worked diligently and raised a great crop of corn and vegetables. We built comfortable houses, and made the floors and roofs of basswood, which was plenty near by, and worked easily.
In July the people were all sick. The fever and ague were fairly a contagion. Other diseases were not uncommon. In August and September seventeen of our people died. During these months we had hardly a sufficient number of well people to attend to the sick. The most of my family were very sick. My little son, Heber John, the child of my first wife, Agathe Ann, died; also David Young, Sr., the father of my two wives, Polly and Louisa; also their brother, David Young, Jr. I lay at the point of death for some time. I was in a trance nearly one hour and a half.
While in this condition my wives Rachel and Nancy stood over me like guardian angels, and prayed for me. My spirit left the body and I was taken into another sphere, where I saw myriads of people - many of whom I was acquainted with and had known on earth. The atmosphere that they dwelt in was pure and hallowed. Pain and sorrow were unknown. All was joy and peace. Each spirit was blest with all the pleasure its ability enabled it to comprehend and enjoy. They had full knowledge of earthly doings and also of the sphere where they were so blest. The glory of God shone upon them, the power of Heaven over-shadowed them all, and was to them a shield from temptations and dangers. I was anxious to remain, but the spirits told me I must return to the body and remain in it until my appointed time for death - that my work on earth was not yet finished. I obeyed, but did so with reluctance, and once more entered the body, then apparently lifeless upon the bed of sickness.
After taking possession of the body again I lay some time in deep thought, contemplating the majesty of God's works. I then spoke to my faithful nurses, and told them of what I had done, heard, and witnessed. I recovered from my sickness, but my life was for some time a misery to me. I longed to join that angelic host I had so lately visited in their mansions of glory and pleasure, where I knew I was to go when I escaped from this body of earthly material.
This feeling of anxiety to go to my eternal rest was strengthened by the bitter, malignant actions of men who acted like demons toward me and mine. Every species of intrigue and meanness was resorted to by several of the brethren to injure and torment me. They were jealous of me and anxious to provoke me to violence. Everything that envy and hatred could suggest was tried to break up and scatter my family. Finally they reported to Father Morley that nothing but a change of rulers in the settlement would bring peace.
Father Morley came, with several elders, and called a meeting, at which he heard all the parties state their grievances against me. He then told them they had brought nothing against me that reflected upon me as presiding officer; that I had acted well and for the best interest of the entire people; that all the trouble arose from the wrong acts of the people.
One of the brethren, C. Kennedy, proposed a change. He wanted a High Priest to preside instead of a Seventy. I was tired of my position and consented to the change. A man by the name of Fuller was selected by Kennedy to rule over the people. Father Morley put the question to a vote of the people, and said that all who wished a change of rulers should hold up their hands. Only two hands were raised. Then he said that all who wished me to remain in charge should raise their hands, when every person present but two voted that I should still be the ruler at Summer Quarters.
Father Morley called upon the two brethren who had voted for a change to get up and tell what they had against me. They could give no good reason for wanting a change. They said they had never lived by a better neighbor or kinder man than I was, but that I was too kind. I let the people run over me; and they voted for a change believing it would tend to unite the people and satisfy those who had been raising a fuss and finding fault.
Father Morley told them it was wrong to vote against a good man for such reasons. He talked to the people on the principles of their religion for some time, and advised them to forsake their evil ways, for they were going in a road that led to hell. This ended my troubles for a time, but I soon found that my enemies had only let go their hold to spit on their hands and get a better one.
They asked to be allowed to organize a Danite force for the protection of the settlement. This was to be entirely apart from me. I granted their request. It was next decided to build an estray pound. A meeting was called and it was agreed that each man should build fence in proportion to the amount of stock he owned, and that the public corral should be used for the estray pound. But no stock was to be put into the pound until all the fencing was done and the gates set up. I at once completed my fencing, but the grumblers had no time to work; they were too busy finding fault. The whole thing was a subterfuge, and was meant to bother me. There was no need of a pound, as our cattle were herded in daytime and corralled at night. But I submitted, for I knew I could live by their laws as well as they.
One evening, as my cattle were being driven up for the night, one of the oxen broke through a brush fence and got into a patch of corn. The herdsman ran him out in a moment. Instead of holding the herder responsible for the damage, or coming to me to make a complaint and demand pay for the wrong, they took my ox out of the corral, and, contrary to the vote of the people, tied him up in Wm. Pace's private corral. I was the only man who had made his fence, as ordered by the meeting. I did not know that they had my ox tied up (for work had not been done to justify putting any stock in the pound).
Next morning I sent one of my boys to yoke up my oxen; he returned and informed me that one of my oxen was missing. I soon found the ox, and demanded its release. I was told I must pay twenty dollars before I could have the ox, and pay it in money. I saw this was done to worry me, and sent word that I would pay in any kind of property I had.
They refused everything but money or butter. I had neither to spare, and they well knew it. I was still weak from my recent sickness, but I walked over and had a talk with Wm. Pace and tried to reason with him, but to no purpose. I told him he ought to take pay for damage done by stock in the kind of property that the stock had injured, but no, I must pay money or butter, or lose my ox. I reflected a moment and concluded that forbearance had ceased to be a virtue; that unless I defended my rights I would soon be without anything worth protecting. I then walked into the yard, untied the ox, and told my boy to drive him home. Pace stood by the gate with a large cane, but made no resistance; in fact, he was not a bad man, but was being misled by evil company.
Kennedy, Busby, Dunn, and others were a little way off. They saw me, and came running up. Kennedy was the bully of the camp, and the leader of those against me. He came up and said:
"If I had been here you would not have turned that ox out. I would have switched you if you had tried it."
"Kennedy," I said, "I have lost property enough without your oppressing me any more."
He shoved his fist under my nose. I parried his blow, and told him that he would do well to keep at a proper distance from me. He again made a pass at me. I then threw down my hat and said:
"If you attempt that again you must take what follows."
He came at me the third time, and as he did so I aimed to spoil his face, but he dropped his head as I struck; the blow took effect on his eyebrow, and badly sprained my thumb. We were on a little knoll, full of stumps of small trees that had been cut down. Kennedy caught hold of me and commenced shoving me back.
I knew that my strength would not last long. I did not wish to risk having a tussle among the stumps, so I backed towards the cleared ground. I fastened my left hand in his long black hair to steady myself, and as I reached the flat ground I suddenly leaped back, breaking his hold by tearing my shirt. I then jerked him forward at an angle of forty-five degrees, and planted my fist in his face; stepping back, and drawing him after me, I kept feeding him in the face with my fist, the blood spurting over me.
The crowd saw their bully getting the worst of it, and ran in to help him. Brother Teeples caught me around the arms, to prevent me striking any more. My Rachel, who was standing by, called to her brother, James Woolsey, and he came and took hold of Kennedy and separated us. I was sorry that this fight took place, for I had severely punished the bully, and his face was badly bruised.
This suited the people; I had shown violence, and now they could lay a charge against me that they thought would stand. I was cited to appear before the High Council, and be dealt with according to the rules of the Church, for a breach of the peace and for unchristian conduct.
The whole people were not against me, only a few; but there were enough of them to keep up a constant broil. They began consecrating my property to their own use; killed my cattle, and ate them, and stole everything that was loose. They stole wheat from my graneries, had it ground, and ate it, and bragged about it.
Kennedy, by the evil influences he commanded, induced my young wife, Emeline, to leave me and go to his house, and she went with his family to the winter quarters. That was the reason that I turned her away and refused to take her back. She repented, and wished to come back, but I would not receive her.
Similar influences were brought to bear on all of my family, but without success. Such treatment was not calculated to bind me to such a people, whose only aim appeared to be to deprive me of every comfort and enjoyment that made life endurable. I was in great trouble; in place of friends I had found enemies. There was a struggle in my mind to decide what I should do. I looked upon those of my family that remained true and shared my persecutions, and knew that if I left the Church I could not keep or live with them; that if I left I must part with all but my first wife and her children, and to do so was worse than death. I did not know what to do. I finally appeared before the High Council to meet my accusers, who had formed a combination to destroy me. I had few friends to defend me, and they were in a measure powerless. They dared not speak their mind in my behalf.
Father Morley was true to the last, although he was becoming unpopular on account of having so long supported me. Lieut. Gully was another true friend of mine; he said he would never turn against me until I had done something wrong, even if Brigham should desire him to do so. This lost him his influence in the Council.
The most willful and damnable lies were brought up against me. Many things which had been said and done in moments of amusement and jocularity were remembered, as though I had said and done those things for wicked purposes. Everything that could be discovered or invented to injure me was laid to my charge. All who were against me had a full chance to talk.
Brother Johnson, who was there, but not as a member of the Council, was called upon to fill a vacancy occasioned by the absence of some member. He made a speech to the Council, and showed where I had acted well; he then voted for my acquittal. Brother Cummings, who had been a member of the Council when I was first tried in the summer, and who then took my part, now thought he would make himself popular with the people, so he volunteered his evidence and bore false witness against me. This man's action was wrong and uncharitable. I had been more than a brother to him in the past; I had supplied his family with food when they would have suffered but for the help I gave them.
The result of the trial was that I was ordered to confess I had been in fault; that I was alone to blame, and must ask the people to forgive me. If I refused I was to be cut off from the Church.
To a man in my situation it was equivalent to death to be cut off from the Church; my wives would be taken from me, my property consecrated to the Church, and I turned adrift, broken and disgraced, and liable to suffer death at the hand of any brother Danite who wished to take my life to save my soul. I replied that in justice to myself I could not make such confession, but, if nothing else would do, I would say as the Council commended me to say - that is, I would make the confession. I was told that this would not do; that no whipping of the devil around a stump would do them; my confession must be full and unconditional.
What the result would have been I cannot say, for just then a messenger returned, saying that Brigham was near at hand, on his return with the pioneers who had gone out with him to look for a resting place for the Saints. This stopped proceedings.
The majority of the people rushed forth to meet Brigham. I returned home, conscious of my innocence and willing that the people should have the first show to talk to Brigham and give him their side of the case. I did this so that I might see how much he could be stuffed.
The people told their story and misrepresented me in every way; they told Brigham how I had divided the land, and said that I and Father Morley both declared that he had ordered me and my family to take the cleared land.
Brigham sided against me.
After that there was nothing left undone by many of the people to irritate or injure me or my family.
My property was stolen, my fences broken down, and everything that vile men could imagine or work up by studying deviltry was done to make life a burden to me. I had raised over seven thousand bushels of corn, and everyone had a good crop. I had a large lot filled up in the husk, and I let my cattle run to it so as to keep them fat during the winter, that I might drive them over the plains in the spring. My enemies took advantage of my position, and drove my cattle from my own corn pile and put them into the estray pound. I offered to put all the corn I had into their hands as security, until I could have a meeting called to examine into the charge. I wanted my cows at home, for we needed the milk. I had a large family, and many little children that would suffer without milk. Half the men in the settlement offered to go my security, but to no purpose. I sent Lieut. Gully to Brigham with a statement of the case, but he paid no attention to it. Gully was well acquainted with Brigham, and a fine man too. He insisted on giving Brigham the story in full, and demanded that he should go in person and see to the matter. But Brigham was immovable.
Things stood this way until Emeline, one of Brigham's wives, took the matter to heart, and begged him to look into the affair. She asked him to bring her to my house, to visit her sister Louisa, then one of my wives. He came, but said little of the trouble, and soon left.
Two days afterwards I wrote Brigham a kind letter, and invited him to come to my house and eat a turkey dinner with me. I sent this by Brother Stewart. He met Brigham on his way to my house and gave him my letter. I did not expect he would come to see me, but he was there. He treated me most kindly. When supper time came he said to one of my wives:
"Sister, I have come for a bowl of good milk, but skim the cream off."
"We have no milk," she replied.
"How is that?" said he. "I thought Brother John always had milk." I then told him that the Danites had my cows in the pound.
"What on earth are they doing with your cows?" he asked.
Then I told him the whole story in a few words. He scarcely waited to hear me, but called to his carriage driver, Grant, and said:
"Come, George, I will go and see about this matter."
He soon returned, saying:
"Your cows will presently be here."
Brigham then asked me where my turkey was. I told him Kennedy had robbed me of all my turkeys, but perhaps I could borrow one from him. I then sent Brother Gully to ask Kennedy to loan me a couple of fat turkey's; that I had Brigham at my house and wanted them for his supper. He sent word that Brigham was welcome to all the turkeys he wanted, at his house. I then told Brigham I would go hunting and get him a nice one for dinner the next day. I went out that night with Gully and hunted some time, but the snow was a foot deep or more, and a crust had frozen, so that it was difficult hunting. At last we found a large flock of turkeys at roost in the tall Cottonwood timber. I shot two by starlight; one fell in the river, and we lost it, but the other fell dead at the roots of the tree. This was a large and fat turkey. I considered that it would do, and we returned home with it. We had been gone only a little over an hour.
Brigham stayed at my house. We sat by the fire and talked until midnight. I unbosomed myself to him. I told him of my ill treatment, and asked if I had failed in any respect to perform the duties of the mission he gave me before starting with the pioneers across the plains. I told him of the great crop we had raised; that we had it in abundance to feed the poor and for every purpose; so much, in fact, that there was no sale for it. He said:
"You have done well, and you shall be blessed for it."
To this I replied that I hoped my blessings would be different from those I had been receiving. He replied:
"Jesus has said, In this world you shall have tribulation, but in Me you shall have peace - that is, if you bear these things patiently, without murmuring."
While my mind is running in that direction let me tell of certain of the doings of the Danites. These stories I relate will illustrate the purpose and uses of the Danite in the work of the Mormon Church, and show how the sword of Gideon was wielded in cases smaller than the affair at Mountain Meadows, still to be written down. What follows are instances of thousands of like kind.
In the fall of 1859 two young men on their way to California stopped at the Santa Clara fort to recruit their jaded animals. Expecting that while doing so they might be so fortunate as to meet with a train of people going to the same place, and have company to San Bernardino, the young men stayed at the fort over two months. Hamblin, one of the Danites, assured them that they could go alone through the country with perfect safety. At the same time he had his plans laid to take their lives as soon as they started. This was by direction of the Mormon leaders. The Indians around the fort wanted to kill the men at once, but Hamblin objected, and told the Indians to wait until the men got out in the desert.
At last these young men started from the fort. Hamblin told the Indians that the right time had come, and wanted the Indians to ambush themselves at a point agreed on near the desert, where the men could be safely killed. The Indians obeyed Hamblin's orders, and as the men approached the place of ambush fired upon them, killing one of the men. The other returned the fire, and shot one of Hamblin's pet Indians through the hand; this Indian's name was Queets, which means left-handed. By wounding this Indian he managed to escape, with the loss of the pack animals, provisions, and the riding animal of his partner, who lay dead upon the desert. The survivor stayed with Mr. Judd for a few days, when a company of emigrants came that way, and, departing with them, he succeeded in making his escape from the death that Hamblin still planned for him.
One day, this was in 1857, an emigrant train was passing through the Mormon settlements. Hamblin, the Danite at Santa Clara, made arrangements with Nephi Johnson, who was to act as their guide, how and where to relieve this company of the large herd of stock that belonged to the train. They had a number of horses and cattle, more than five hundred head in all. Several Indian interpreters were sent ahead of the train. One of these was Ira Hatch, a Danite. They were ordered by Hamblin to prepare the Indians for a raid upon the stock.
About 10 o'clock, a. m., just after the train had crossed the Muddy, and was a few miles beyond it on the desert, at the time and place settled on by Hamblin, over one hundred Indians made a dash on the train and drove off all the stock to the Muddy.
The emigrants fired at the Indians, but Nephi Johnson their guide, rushed out and told them that if they valued their own lives they must not fire again, for if they did he could not protect them from the cruelty of the savages - that the Indians would return and massacre them.
The acting of Johnson and the other Danites who were with him was so good that after a consultation the emigrants decided to follow his advice. The conclusion was that, as Johnson was friendly with the Indians, and could talk their language, he should go and see the Indians and try and get the stock back.
The emigrants waited in the desert, and Johnson went to the Indians, or pretended to do so. After a few hours he returned, and reported that the Indians were hostile, and threatened to attack the train at once; that he was afraid he could not prevent it, and the only chance for the emigrants lay in their instant departure; that while the emigrants were gaining a place of safety he would, at the risk of his life, make an effort to keep the Indians back and pacify them. Also that he would report to Hamblin as soon as possible, and raise a force of men at the fort and get back the stock, if it could be done, and write to the company, giving an account of his success. They were to get his letter at San Bernardino, and if he recovered the stock the emigrants could send back a party to receive it and drive it to California.
Under the circumstances the company adopted his plan, and he left them on the desert, with all their stock gone; but the danger was over, for the stock was what Hamblin and Johnson had been working for.
Johnson returned and ordered the Indians to drive the stock to the Clara. The Indians acted like good Mormons, and obeyed orders. Hamblin gave them a few head of cattle for their services in aiding him to capture the drove. The remainder of the cattle and horses Hamblin took charge of for the benefit of the Mission. As the cattle became fat enough for beef, they were sold or butchered for the use of the settlers. Some were traded to nearby settlements for sheep and other articles.
In the winter of 1857-8 John Weston, a Danite, took an Irishman who had been stopping with him as his guest on a hunt, and when he got him to the brush and timber four miles west of Cedar City he cut his throat and left the body unburied. He had received orders to kill the man, because Brother Haight considered him a spy.
Near the same time Philip Klingensmith, a Danite, laid in ambush to kill Robert Keyes (now a resident of Beaver City, Utah Territory), while Keyes was irrigating his field. Klingensmith decided to kill Keyes because Keyes refused to give testimony when requested to do so by Klingensmith, who was then a bishop of the Church. When Keyes came within a few feet of his hiding place Klingensmith raised his gun and took aim at Keyes' heart; but the cap burst without exploding the powder, and Keyes escaped.
After the Mountain Meadows massacre Haight reported that I was the big captain who had planned, led, and executed it; that the honor of such a deed for avenging of the blood of the Prophets would lead to honor, immortality, and eternal life in the Kingdom of God. In this way it became a settled fact that I was the leader in that affair. Year by year the story has gained ground and strength, until I am now held responsible, and am to die, to save the Church.
As I have stated in other places in my writings, the people in Utah who professed the Mormon religion were at and for some time before the Mountain Meadows massacre full of wildfire and zeal, anxious to do something to build up the Kingdom of God on earth and waste the enemies of the Mormon religion. At that time it was a common thing for small bands of people on their way from California to pass through Cedar City. Many of these people were killed. When a Gentile came into a town he was looked upon with suspicion, and most of the people considered every stranger a spy from the United States army. The killing of Gentiles was a means of grace and a virtuous deed. I remember an affair that took place at the old distillery in Cedar City, just before the massacre.
Three men came to Cedar City one evening; they were poor, and much worn by their long journey. They were on their way to California. The authorities believed they were dangerous men; that they were spies from Johnston's army; and ordered the Danites to devise a plan to put them out of the way decently and in order.
That the will of God might be done, these men were coaxed to go to the old distillery and take a drink. They went in company with Danites John M. Higbee, John Weston, James Haslem, and Wm. C. Stewart, and another man, whose name I have forgotten. The party drank considerable, and when the emigrants got under the influence of the whisky the brethren attacked them and knocked the brains out of two with the kingbolt of a wagon. The third man was powerful and muscular; he fought valiantly for his life, but after a struggle he was overcome and killed. They were buried near Cedar City.
Some time in the fall of 1857, not long after the Mountain Meadows massacre, it was decided by the authorities at Salt Lake City that Lieut. Tobin must be killed. Tobin had left a train in Salt Lake, joined the Church there, and afterwards married a daughter of Brother Charles C. Rich, one of the twelve apostles. Tobin was a smart man, and soon after his marriage he was sent to England on a mission.
While preaching in England, it was reported that he had committed adultery, and he was ordered home. On his arrival in Salt Lake he was cut off from the Church, and his wife taken from him by order of Brigham. He made several efforts to get out of the Territory.
Finally he joined a company and left Salt Lake, intending to go to California. After he had been gone a few days the Destroying Angels were put on his trail, with orders to kill him before they returned.
Two desperate Danites were selected, who knew nothing but to obey orders: Joel White and John Willis were the Danites. They started on the trail, determined to kill Tobin when they found him.
White and Willis overtook the company that Tobin was traveling with at a point near the crossing of the Magottsey. They found where he was sleeping, and, going to him as he lay on the ground rolled up in his blanket, they shot him several times. Although thinking him dead, they concluded to shoot him once more to make certain that he would not escape, so they put a pistol against his eye and fired; the ball put out his eye, but did not kill him. The Angels made their escape and returned to Salt Lake City, and reported that their orders were obeyed. Severely wounded as he was, Tobin recovered, and was, when I last heard from him, in the Union army.
At Parowan, in 1855 or 1856, there was a man by the name of Robert Gillespie. He was a member of the Church, had one wife, and owned a fine property. Gillespie wanted to be sealed to his sister-in-law, but for some reason his request was denied. He had known of others obtaining wives by committing adultery and then being sealed to avoid scandal. So he tried it, and went to Apostle Smith, and again asked to be sealed to the woman. But Brother Smith refused to seal him or let him be sealed, giving as his reason for refusing, that Gillespie had exercised the rights of sealing without first obtaining orders to do so. A warrant was issued and Gillespie was arrested and placed under guard; he was also sued in the Probate Court, before James Lewis, Probate Judge, and a heavy judgment rendered against him, and all of his property was sold to pay the fine and costs. The money was put into the Church fund and Gillespie was broken up.
The fate of old man Braffett, of Parowan, was a peculiar one, and, as it afterwards led me into trouble, I will give the story briefly. Old man Braffett lived at Parowan, and in the fall of 1855 a man by the name of Woodward came to Braffett's house and stopped to recruit his teams before crossing the deserts. Woodward had two wives. He had lived in Nauvoo, and while there had been architect for the Nauvoo House. While Woodward and his family were stopping with Braffett, one of his wives concluded that she would be damned if she went to live in California, - leaving the land of the Saints, - and she asked to be divorced from Woodward and sealed to Braffett.
At first Braffett refused to take her, but she was a likely woman. She made love to the old man in earnest. Mrs. Braffett made a fuss about it. The authorities were informed of Braffett's transgressions, and he was arrested and taken before the Probate Judge and tried for the sin. He made a bill of sale of some of his property to me, for which I paid him before his trial.
After hearing the case, the Probate Judge fined him one thousand dollars, and ordered him to be imprisoned until fine and costs were paid. Ezra Curtis, the then marshal at Parowan, took all of Braffett's property that could be found and sold it for the purpose of paying the fine; but the large amount of property which was taken was sold for a small sum, for the brethren will not bid much for property taken from one who has broken his covenants.
Being unable to pay the fine, the old man was ordered to be taken to Salt Lake City, to be imprisoned in the prison there. I was selected to take him to Salt Lake. I took the old man there, and, after many days spent in working with Brigham, I succeeded in securing a pardon for him.
Braffett was put to work at Salt Lake by Brigham. He dared not return home at that time. His property was gone, and he was ruined. The part I took to befriend the old man made several of the brethren at Parowan angry with me, and they swore they would have revenge against me for interfering where I was not interested.
After Braffett's pardon I stayed in Salt Lake some time, and when I started home there were quite a number of people along. All the teams were heavily loaded; the roads were bad, and our teams weak. We all had to walk much of the time. After we had passed the Severe River the road was very bad. My team was the best in the whole company, and I frequently let some of the women who were in the party ride in my wagon.
One evening, just about dark, I was asked by a young woman named Alexander to let her ride, as she was very tired walking. I had her get into the wagon with my wife Rachel, and she rode there until we camped for the night. I got into the wagon after dark and drove the team. We had ridden in this way an hour or so, when Rachel said she was going to ride a while in the next wagon, which was driven by son-in-law Dalton.
Soon after Rachel got out of the wagon a couple of my enemies rode by. I spoke to them, and they rode on. As soon as these men reached the camp they reported that I had been taking privileges with Sister Alexander. I was told to consider myself under arrest, and that when we reached Parowan I would be tried by the Council for violating my covenants. I was surprised and grieved at the charge, for I was innocent, and the young woman was a virtuous woman. As God is soon to judge me, I declare that I never knew of her committing any sin.
When we reached Parowan there was a meeting called by the Priesthood to try me. This Council was composed of the President of that Stake of Zion and his two Counselors, the High Council, and the leading men of Parowan. It was a general meeting of the authorities, Church and civil.
The meeting was held in a chamber that was used for a prayer circle. It was called a circle room, because the people met there to hold prayer in a circle, which was done in this way: All the brethren would kneel in a circle around the room, near enough to each other for their arms to touch, so that the influence would be more powerful.
When the meeting was called to order, all the lights were put out; and I was taken into the darkened room and placed on trial. I could not see my hand before my face. The charge was stated to me and I was ordered to confess my guilt. I told them I was innocent; that I had committed no crime - in fact, had not thought of wrong. I told the truth, just as it was. I was then ordered to stand one side.
The young woman was then brought into the room, and as she came in a pistol was placed to my head and I was told to keep silent. She was questioned and threatened at length, but not all the threats they could use would induce her to tell a falsehood. She insisted that I was entirely innocent.
Next her father, an old man, was introduced and questioned. He told the Council that he had diligently inquired into the matter, and believed I was innocent. Neither the young woman nor her father knew who was in the room. All they knew was that they were being examined before the secret tribunal of Utah, and that a false oath in that place would insure their death.
When the evidence had been received, and the witnesses retired, the candles were again lighted. Then speeches were made by most of the men present, and every one but two spoke in favor of my conviction. Without taking a vote, the meeting adjourned, or rather left that place and went somewhere else to consult. I was left in the dark, the house locked and guards placed around the building. I was told that my fate would soon be decided, and I would then be informed. I knew so well the manner of dealing in such cases that I expected to be killed in the dark, but for some reason it was not done.
Next morning some food was brought to me, but I was still kept a prisoner and refused the liberty of consulting with friends or any of my family. Late that day I looked out of the window of the chamber where I was confined, and saw a man by the name of John Steel. He was first Counselor to the President of that Stake of Zion. I called to him and asked him to secure my freedom. After stating the case to him, he promised to see what could be done for me, and went away.
Through his exertions I was released. I was told to go home and hold myself subject to orders - that my case was not yet decided. I went home, but for months I expected death every day; for it is the usual course of the authorities to send an Angel after men who are charged with or suspected of having violated their covenants.
Nothing further was done about the case, but it was held over me as a means of forcing me to live in accordance with the wishes of the Priesthood and to prevent me from again interfering with the Church authorities when they saw fit to destroy a man, as they destroyed old man Braffett; and it did have the effect of making me more careful.
In 1854 (I think that was the year) there was a young man, a Gentile, working in Parowan. He was quiet and orderly, but was courting some of the girls. He was notified to quit, and let the girls alone, but he still kept going to see them. This was contrary to orders. No Gentile is allowed to keep company with or visit any Mormon girl or woman.
The authorities decided to have the young man killed, so they called two of Bishop Dames' Destroying Angels, Barney Carter and old man Gould, and told them to take that young Gentile "over the rim of the basin." That was a term used by the Danites when they killed a person. The Destroying Angels made some excuse to induce the young man to go with them on an excursion, and when they got close to Shirts' mill, near Harmony, they killed him and left his body in the brush.
The Indians found the body, and reported the facts to me soon afterwards. I was not at home that night, but Carter and Gould went to my house and stayed there all night. Rachel asked them where they had been. They told her they had been on a mission to take a young man, a Gentile, over the rim of the basin, and Carter showed her his sword, which was bloody, and said he used it to help the Gentile over the edge. Rachel knew what they meant when they spoke of sending him "over the rim of the basin." It was at that time a common thing to see Danites going out of Cedar City and Harmony, with suspected Gentiles, to send them "over the rim of the basin," and the Gentiles were always sent.
This practice was supported by the people, and everything of that kind was done by orders from the Council, or by orders from some of the Priesthood. When a Danite or a Destroying Angel was placed on a man's track, that man died, certain, unless some providential act saved him, as in Tobin's case.
The Mormons believe in blood atonement. It is taught by the leaders, and believed by the people, that the Priesthood are inspired and cannot give a wrong order. It is the belief of all that I ever heard talk of these things - and I have been with the Church since the dark days in Jackson County - that the authority that orders is the only responsible party and the Danite who does the killing only an instrument, and commits no wrong. In other words, if Brigham or any of his apostles, or any of the Priesthood, gives an order to a Danite, the act is the act of the one giving the order, and the Danite doing the act only an instrument of the person commanding - just as much an instrument as the knife used to cut the throat of the victim. This being the belief of all good Mormons, it is easily understood why the orders of the Priesthood are so blindly obeyed by the people.
In 1857 there was an emigrant, a Gentile, who worked a number of months for Captain Jacob Huffine, at Parowan. This man wanted his pay; it was not convenient to pay him; he insisted on being paid, but not getting his wages, determined to leave. He started for the settlement at Summit, about seven miles from Parowan. The Indians were sent for and ordered to overtake and kill the man. They did so, and shot him full of arrows. The man called to the Indians and told them he was a Mormon and that they must not kill him. The Indians replied by saying:
"We know you; you are no Mormon, you are a Mericat."
They beat his head with rocks, and cut his throat, and then went back to Parowan and reported what they had done.
Brother Lancy had formed the acquaintance of the family of Aden while on a mission to Tennessee, and was saved by Mr. Aden from a mob that threatened his death because he was a Mormon preacher. When Fancher's train reached Parowan, Brother Laney met young Aden and recognized him as the son of the man who had saved his life. Aden told him he was hungry, and that he and his comrades had been unable to purchase supplies from the Mormons ever since they left Salt Lake City.
Brother Laney took young Aden to his house, gave him his supper, and let him sleep there that night. The next day Laney was accused by leading men of being unfaithful to his obligations. They said he had supported the enemies of the Church and given aid and comfort to one whose hands were still red with the blood of the Prophet. A few nights after that the Destroying Angels, doing the bidding of Bishop Dame, were ordered to kill Brother Laney to save him from his sins, he having violated his endowment oath and furnished food to a man who had been declared an outlaw by the Mormon Church.
The Angels were commanded by Barney Carter, a son-in-law of Bishop Dame. The Angels called Laney out of the house, saying that Bishop Dame wished to see him. As Laney passed through the gate into the street he was struck across the back of the head with a club by Barney Carter. His skull was fractured and for many months Laney lay at the point of death, and his mind still shows the effect of the injury he then received, for his brain has never quite settled since. I have frequently talked with Laney. He is still strong in the Mormon faith, and believes that Dame had the right to have him killed. Punishment by death is the penalty for refusing to obey the orders of the Priesthood. About this time the Church was in the throes of a "reformation."
One of the objects of the reformation was to place the Priesthood in possession of every secret act and crime that had been committed by a member of the Church. These secrets were obtained in this way: a meeting would be called; some Church leader would make a speech, defining the duties that the people owed the Priesthood, and instructing the people why it was necessary that the Priesthood should control the acts of the people; it was preached that to keep back any fact from the knowledge of the Priesthood was an unpardonable sin.
After one or more such discourses the people were called upon by name, commanded to rise from their seats, and standing in the midst of the congregation publicly confess their sins. If the confession was not full and complete, it was made the duty of the members of the Church, or any one of them who knew that the party confessing had committed a crime which he or he had not divulged, to then make public the same.
Unless the party then confessed, a charge was preferred against him or her for a violation of covenants, and either full confession and repentance immediately followed, or the sinful member was slain for the remission of sins - it being taught by the leaders, and believed by the people, that the right thing to do when a sinner did not repent and obey the Council, was to take the life of the offending party and thus save his or her everlasting soul. This was called Blood Atonement. The members who fully confessed their sins were again admitted into the Church and rebaptized, taking new covenants to obey any and all orders of the Priesthood and refuse all manner of assistance, friendship, or communication with those who failed of strict obedience to the authorities of the Church. The most deadly sin among the people was adultery, and many men were killed by the Danites for that crime.
Brother Rosmos Anderson was a Danish man who had come to Utah with his family to receive the benefits arising from an association with the Latter-day Saints. He had married a widow lady somewhat older than himself; and she had a daughter who was fully grown. The girl was anxious to be sealed to her stepfather. Anderson was equally anxious to take her for a second wife, but Bishop Klingensmith had set his eye on her, and desired her for himself.
At one of the meetings Anderson and his stepdaughter confessed they had committed adultery, believing that if they did so that Brigham would allow them to marry when he learned the facts. Their confession being full, they were rebaptized and received into full membership. They were then placed under covenant that if they again committed adultery Anderson should suffer death.
Soon after this a charge was laid against Anderson before the Council, accusing him of adultery with his stepdaughter. This Council was composed of Bishop Klingensmith and his two counselors; it was the Bishop's Council. The Council voted that Anderson must die for violating his covenants. Bishop Klingensmith went to Anderson and told him the judgment was that he must die by having his throat cut, so that the running of his blood would atone for his sins.
Anderson, being a firm believer in the doctrine of Blood Atonement and the teachings of the Mormon Church, made no protest, but asked half a day to prepare for death. His request was granted. His wife was ordered to prepare a suit of clean clothing, in which to have her husband buried, and informed that he was to be killed for his sins, she being directed to tell those who inquired after her husband that he had gone to California.
Bishop Klingensmith and Danite James Haslem dug a grave in a field near Cedar City, and that night, about twelve o'clock, went to Anderson's house and told him to make ready to obey the Council. Anderson got up, dressed himself, bid his family good- by, and without remonstrance accompanied those he believed were carrying out the will of Almighty God. They went to the place where the grave was prepared, Anderson kneeling by the side of the grave and praying. Bishop Klingensmith then cut Anderson's throat and held him so that his blood ran into the grave.
As soon as he was dead they dressed him in his clean clothes, threw him into the grave and buried him. They then carried his bloody clothing back to his family, and gave them to his wife to wash, when she was again instructed to say that her husband was in California. She obeyed their orders.
No move of that kind was made in Cedar City unless by order of the Council or of the High Council. Anderson was killed just before the Mountain Meadows massacre. The killing of Anderson was a religious duty and a just act. It was justified by the people, for they were bound by the same covenants, and the least word of objection to thus treating the man who had broken his covenant would have brought the same fate upon the person wicked enough to raise his voice against the Church authorities.
Brigham knew that I was not a man who liked to take life. I was well known as one that stood high in the confidence of Brigham, and was close-mouthed and reliable. I knew of many men being killed in Nauvoo by the Danites. It was then the rule that all the enemies of the Prophet Joseph should be killed, and I know of many a man who was quietly put out of the way by the orders of Joseph and his apostles while the Church was there. It has always been a well understood doctrine of the Church that it is right and praiseworthy to kill every person who speaks evil of the Prophet. This doctrine was strictly lived up to in Utah, until the Gentiles arrived in such numbers that it became unsafe to follow the practice; but the doctrine is believed, and no year passes without one or more of those who have spoken evil of Brigham being killed, in a secret manner. Springfield, Utah, was one of the Church hotbeds, and more men were killed there, in proportion to population, than in any other part of Utah. In that settlement it was certain death to say a word against the authorities, high or low.
Brother Warren Snow was bishop of the Church at Manti, San Pete County, Utah. He had several wives, but there was a fair young woman in the town that Snow wanted for a wife. He made love to her with all his powers, went to parties where she was, visited her at her home, and proposed to make her his wife. She thanked him for the honor offered, but told him she was engaged to a young man, a member of the Church, and consequently could not marry the old priest.
This was no sufficient reason to Brother Snow. He told her it was the will of God that she should marry him, and she must do so; that the young man could be got rid of - sent on a mission or dealt with in some way so as to release her from her engagement; that, in fact, a promise made to the young man was not binding when she was informed that it was contrary to the wishes of the authorities.
The girl continued obstinate.
The "teachers" of the town visited her and advised her to marry Bishop Snow. Her parents, under the orders of the Counselors of the Bishop, also insisted that their daughter marry the old man.
She still refused.
Then the authorities called on the young man and directed him to give up the girl. This he steadfastly declined to do. He was promised Church preferment, celestial rewards, and everything that could be thought of - all to no purpose. He said he would die before he would surrender his intended wife.
This resistance of authority by the young people made Bishop Snow more anxious than ever to marry the girl. The young man was ordered on a mission to some distant locality. But the mission was refused.
It was then determined that the rebellious young man should be forced by harsh treatment to respect the advice and orders of the Priesthood. His fate was left to Bishop Snow.
It was decided to call a meeting of the people who lived true to counsel, to be held in the schoolhouse in Manti, at which the young man should be present, and dealt with according to Snow's will. The meeting was called. The young man was there, and was again requested to surrender the young woman to Snow, but he refused.
The lights were then put out. An attack was made on the young man. He was tied down with his back to a bench, when Bishop Snow took a bowie knife and slashed and mutilated him. They left the young man weltering in his blood. During the night he succeeded in releasing himself from his confinement, and dragged himself to some haystacks, where he lay until the next day, when he was discovered by friends. The young man has been an idiot or quiet lunatic ever since.
Bishop Snow took soon occasion to get up another meeting at the schoolhouse, so as to have the people of Manti and the young woman that he wanted to marry attend the meeting. When all had assembled the old man talked to the people about their duty to the Church, their obligation to obey counsel and the dangers of refusal; and called attention to the case of the young man. The young woman was sealed to Bishop Snow.