To be honest, to see a string of wagons heading westward was not an unusual sight during the 1800's. The push was to the west, whether you were LDS or not. Driven by the enticements of cheap lands and new opportunities, and in 1849, fast wealth through gold dust, the American frontier welcomed the adventurous with open arms. Many are the stories, both fun and solemn of those who trekked to westward lands as the next story indicates.
On March 1st of 1846, as Brigham Young was leading the Saints across Iowa, what shocked the non-LDS spectators?
A) The wagon odometer recording the distance traveled
B) The number of women far more out weighing the number of men
C) The structure and organization of the pioneer Saints
D) The dancing at the end of the day
Yesterday's answer:
A) The very mob that had killed the male members of her family
The following story is told by pioneer Amanda Smith as found in the book, "
The Women of Mormondom." Not only was her husband killed at Hauns Mill, but also another son. Only Alma lived, although his entire hip was blown off by a mobber's bullet.
"All the Mormons in the neighborhood had fled out of the state, excepting a few families of the bereaved women and children who had gathered at the house of Brother David Evans, two miles from the scene of the massacre. To this house Alma had been carried after that fatal night. In our utter desolation, what could we women do but pray? Prayer was our only source of comfort; our Heavenly Father our only helper. None but He could save and deliver us.
"One day a mobber came from the mill with the captain's fiat: 'The captain says if you women don't stop your praying he wlll send down a posse and kill every one of you!' And he might as well have done it, as to stop us poor women praying in that hour of our great calamity. Our prayers were hushed in terror. We dared not let our voices be heard in the house on supplication. I could pray in my bed or in silence, but I could not live thus long. This godless silence was more intolerable than had been that night of the massacre. I could bear it no longer. I pined to hear once more my own voice in petition to my Heavenly Father.
"I stole down into a cornfield, and crawled into a 'stout of corn.' It was as the temple of he Lord to me at that moment. I prayed aloud and most fervently. When I emerged from the corn, a voice spoke to me. It was a voice as plain as I ever heard one. It was no silent, strong impression of the Spirit, but a voice, repeating a verse of the Saints' hymn:
That soul who on Jesus hath leaned for repose,
I cannot, I will not desert its foes;
That soul, thought all hell should endeavor to shake,
I'll never, no never, no never forsake!
"From that moment I had no more fear. I felt that nothing could hurt me.
"Soon after this the mob sent us word that unless we were all out of the state by a certain day, we should be killed. The day came, and at evening came fifty armed men to execute the sentence. I met thme at the door. They demanded of me why I was not gone. I bade them enter and see their own work. They crowded into my room, and I showed them my wounded boy. They came, party after party, until all had seen my excuse.
"Then they quarreled among themselves and came near fighting. At last they went away, all but two. These I thought were detailed to kill us. Then the two returned. 'Madam,' said one, 'have you any meat in the house?' 'No,' was my reply. 'Could you dress a fat hog if one was laid at your door?' 'I think we could!' was my answer. And then they went and caught a fat hog from a herd which had belonged to a now exiled brother, killed it, and dragged it to my door and departed. These men, who had come to murder us, left on the threshold of our door a meat offering to atone for their repented intention.
"Yet even when my son was well I could not leave the state, now accursed indeed to the Saints. The mob had taken my horses, as they had the drove of horses, and the beeves, and the hogs, and wagons, and the tents, of the murdered and exiled. So I went down into Davies County (ten miles) to Captain Comstock and demanded of him my horses. There was one of them in his yard. He said I could have it if I paid five dollars for its keep. I told him I had no money. I did not fear the captain of the mob, for I had the Lord's promise that nothing should hurt me. But his wife swore that the mobbers were fools for not killing the women and children as well as the men--declaring that we would 'breed up a pack ten times worse than the first.'
"I left without the captain's permission to take my horse, or giving pay for its keep; but I went into his yard and took it, and returned to our refuge unmolested. Learning that my other horse was at the mill, I next yoked up a pair of steers and a sled and went and demanded it also. Comstock was there at the mill. He gave me the horse, and then asked if I had any flour. 'No' we have had none for weeks.' He then gave me about fifty pounds of flour and some beef, and filled a can with honey. But the mill, and the slaughtered beeves which hung plentifully off its walls, and the stock of flour and honey and abundant spoil besides, had all belonged to the murdered or exiled Saints.
"Yet was I thus providently, by the very murderers and mobocrats themselves, helped out of the State of Missouri. The Lord had kept his word. The soul who on Jesus had leaned for succor had not been forsaken even in this terrible hour of massacre, and in that infamous extermination of the Mormons form Missouri in the years 1838-1839.