Biography and Family Record of Lorenzo Snow. Eliza R. Snow
of a turbulent river. At that season of the year the stream was very low, and frequently through the day we experienced much difficulty in following the channel. We took turns in rowing, and, as night approached, we began in sober earnest to look out for a suitable landing, but were forced to continue on until it was quite dark, when we were every moment in danger of being upset by "sawyers," for we could hardly discern them in time to shun them. Those "sawyers" were trees or parts of trees—one end firmly embedded in the bottom of the stream, while the other end, by the motion and pressure of the current, was constantly vaccillating up and down, often swiftly and powerfully.
We met with several narrow escapes, and anxiously watched for a place of landing. At length we espied upon the bank a bright light, to which we directed our course, and, much to our relief, were enabled to bring our little bark safely to land, and after securing it, we climbed up the bank, and directly found ourselves in the presence of rough, savage looking fellows, who told us they were hunters and trappers; but their appearance and conversation, and the whisperings of the Spirit, impressed us at once with the feeling that there was more safety on the river, searching our way amid the threatening "sawyers," than in remaining through the night in such forbidding company. Accordingly we again embarked, and pushed into the fluctuating stream. It was very dark, and as we cautiously wended our way, our ears were ever and anon saluted with the fearful sounds of the dashing "sawyers" ahead. It was prudent to keep as close to the bank as possible, in order to avail ourselves of the first opportunity to secure a landing.
We had one man at the bow to watch for "sawyers," while the others kept a vigilant look out for a place to haul up. The dense darkness of the stormy night prevented us discovering danger until we were on the point of being enveloped in it, and in several instances, our escape seemed truly miraculous. At last our perilous night voyage terminated, having drifted into a swift current which fortunately forced us upon a low place in the bank, covered with willows, briers and thorns, through which, after having fastened our bark, we made our way, and soon reached a very welcome camping ground, in the midst of a thick grove of small timber. We were not long in starting a rousing fire, and having taken from our little bark the provision we brought along, we did justice to a hearty meal, while the gratitude of our hearts arose in evening incense to Him, the Giver of all good, to whom we ascribed our safe deliverance. After vocally and unitedly returning thanks to Him for His miraculous providence in preserving us from the perils of the night, we spread our blankets, couched down and enjoyed refreshing sleep, with occasional interruptions by the wonderful clamor of seemingly thousands upon thousands of wild geese, which had gathered upon an island in the river, a short distance from our camp.
The following morning we were struck with astonishment, as we viewed, by the light of day, the river below us thickly dotted with sand-bars and bristling "sawyers," there being, apparently, no possible chance of having proceeded one dozen yards farther without steering nearly a direct course to the opposite bank of the stream, which, with our ignorance of the circumstances, and the darkness of the night, would naturally have resulted very disastrously.
After this brief but impressive experience in the labors and dangers in traveling on this celebrated river, we concluded to abandon our boat and proceed on foot. In carrying out this programme, the first night after leaving the river, we called at a gentleman's house and asked for a night's lodging, without making ourselves known as "Mormons." We were very kindly entertained by our host, whom we soon discovered was a bitter mobocrat, and had acted the part of leader of a mob in raiding one of our settlements. He was very wealthy, and had with him, as guest, a rich southern planter, who told us that he, as neutral, accompanied his friend, the captain of the mob above mentioned, and he narrated the particulars of the fight, and its termination. He said that the two parties met and fought with desperation. He sheltered himself behind a large tree which was struck by "Mormon" bullets, several times. At length a parley was held, and a council between the leaders of the parties, in which the "Mormons" agreed to abandon their location. Our host and his friend said they justified the manner in which they were expelling the "Mormons," only on the ground that they were mostly Yankees, and opposed to slavery, and they feared that by settling in the State, the interest of the inhabitants, as slave-holders, would be infringed upon. We all listened with respectful attention, but those gentlemen little thought who composed their audience, and they knew not our thoughts and the feelings of our hearts.
The next day we parted with our brethren who came down the river with us, Brother Butterfield and I traveling together and holding neighborhood meetings. We made the acquaintance of a Campbellite preacher, who became so much interested with the principles we taught, that he invited us to attend his conference, and I had a very enjoyable time in preaching to his congregation. But opportunities for preaching, in that time of excitement and belligerent feeling toward our people, did not often come when unsought, and very frequently not then. The many false reports in circulation against us were so exasperating the feelings of the people in that section, that the spirit of mobocracy was everywhere manifesting itself; in many instances it really assumed the appearance of a species of insanity. Our main object was, by giving correct information, to disabuse the minds of those we gained access to, and allay the feverish sentiment of bitterness. Whenever we succeeded in securing the attention of people, to listen to our testimonies, we were pretty sure of their confidence. We held meetings in several places where we were threatened, and in one instance preached to a congregation in which were those who had come expressly to mob us, but on seeing and hearing us, had changed their minds, and at the close of the meeting, came and made their acknowledgments.
Finding, after continued efforts, that very little good could be accomplished while excitement was running at so high pitch, and the mob spirit so rampant, we concluded to leave the State of Missouri until it cooled off from its fermented condition. Brother Butterfield took for his field of labor the northern sections of Indiana and Illinois, while I continued my course through Missouri, the southern portion of Illinois, and into Kentucky.
Just before leaving the State, as I approached a beautiful little village, called Jacksonville, I felt an anxiety to preach to the people, and yet felt that it would not be proper to make myself known as a "Mormon" Elder. Just as I arrived at the suburbs of the town, I accosted a stranger whom I met, and desired him to inform me who was the principal minister in the place. He told me the minister's name, and said he was a Methodist, directing me to his residence. On my arrival at the house, a very fine and intelligent appearing lady responded to the door-bell, and informed me that her husband was not at home. I told her I was a minister of the Gospel—a stranger in that part of the country—that I wished to stop in town over night, and desired to improve the opportunity of preaching to the people, if a suitable house could be obtained. "To what religious persuasion do you hold, sir?" was the first inquiry. "I wish, madam," said I, "this evening, to speak to a promiscuous congregation, embracing all classes of people, therefore, I had thought, on this particular occasion, and for this special purpose, I would beg to suppress the name of the religious denomination of which I am a minister; but," I continued, "I was christened Lorenzo, having been named as you see, madam, after the celebrated Lorenzo Dow." Her eyes lighted up, and her countenance assumed a pleasant smile; she invited me to walk in and be seated—said her husband would be in directly—that he had charge of the principal chapel, and would be delighted to accord to me its accommodations. The minister soon made his appearance, to whom I was introduced by his lady. The gentleman at once assented to my wishes—sent notice around of the meeting, and had the bell of his chapel rung long and loud.
That evening I had a large, appreciative audience, and spoke with great freedom; in fact, I seldom, if ever, enjoyed greater liberty than on that occasion. What my hearers thought of me or whom they imagined I was, or whence I came, or whither I was going, I am left in ignorance to this day, as I was not required to inform any of my audience, and of course was entirely reticent on those points. I stayed over night with the minister, and after breakfast the next morning, took my departure, no further questions having been asked in relation to my business or profession, excepting as shown in the following incident:
At this time, I was, as usual, traveling "without purse or scrip." I had proceeded two or three miles, when I noticed that just ahead of me the road forked, and being at a loss which to take, I called at a house a little in the distance, to inquire. A gentleman was standing on the porch, who, after satisfying my inquiry, with much apparent