Memoirs of John R. Young, Utah Pioneer, 1847Young, John R.
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Memoirs of John R. Young, Utah Pioneer, 1847
Young, John R.
Latter Day Saint pioneers -- Utah -- Biography; Young, John R., 1837-
Many years ago I visited Hilo, a beautiful city on the Island of
Hawaii. I noticed when gentlemen walked out that they always carried
umbrellas with them; and when I asked them why, the reply was, that
you never can tell here when it's going to rain. That's a good
representation of Mormon life. We never know when a storm is brewing
from the outside, nor from what quarter the wind will blow.
When the main body of the Church left Nauvoo, it was understood with
the mob that the poor and destitute would be allowed to remain in
peace, in the possession of their homes, until our leaders should find
a place for our permanent settlement. But in this promise we were
disappointed. Those who thrust us out, were not only desirous of being
rid of our presence, but they sought our utter destruction, as the
history of all their aggressive operations, when taken collectively,
plainly shows.
See how thoughtfully they waited until the strength of our camps,
the battalion was gone; till our main camps were encroaching on the
Red Man's domain, so that wicked men might stir up the Indians to
hostilities against us. Then our enemies, for I cannot call them else,
marshaled all their strength, fifteen hundred or two thousand men, and
with a battery of artillery on the 16th of September, set upon the
remnants of our people, who were still in Nauvoo, and after three days'
battle took possession of the city and drove the inhabitants across the
Mississippi to perish of hunger and exposure.
Chapter 4.
Thomas L. Kane's Description of the City of Nauvoo, and the Exiled
Mormons.
And now I wish you to read the graphic lecture of Thomas L. Kane before
the Historical Society of Philadelphia:
"A few years ago, ascending the upper Mississippi in the autumn, when
its waters were low, I was compelled to travel by land past the region
of the rapids. My road lay through the Half Breed tract, a fine section
of Iowa, which the unsettled state of its land titles had appropriated
as a sanctuary for coiners, horse thieves and other outlaws. I had left
my steamer at Keokuk at the foot of the lower falls, to hire a carriage
and to contend for some fragments of a dirty meal with the swarming
flies, the only scavengers of the locality.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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