Chapter 23.
A Letter to my Son.—An Enquirer Answered.—The Sinking of the Euridice.—Four Hundred Men Perish.—Letters from Home.—Two Splendid Dreams.
"Silas S. Young: My dear son: Your very neat letter of February 2nd came safely to hand, and I was pleased to have you write to me.
"I have recently been to Crew Kerne, a noted pleasure resort and while there, witnessed the Somerset steeple-chase races. I will try to tell you something about them. To begin with, I must tell you that England, and Wales, so far as I have seen, are hilly countries; the hollows abounding in creeks, and springs—and such beautiful clear, soft water; while the ridges and table lands are covered with forests of pine, oak, beach, and other varieties of timber. The tillable lands are generally drained; and the steep hills are cultivated, as well as the level plains.
"But farms in England are mostly cut up into small fields. The fences, which are mainly ditches and hedges, are crooked and irregular; often leaving the plow lands in triangle, or flatiron shape. With this explanation, I will now come to the race course.
"The grandstand, a glass-roofed shed with raised seats capable of seating a thousand persons, was situated on the east side of a glade, one-half mile wide, and commanding a good view of the same. A circular track, eight rods wide, and bounded on each side with red flags, was marked off a mile and a half long. This track crossed eight hedges, one deep creek and hedge combined, the object evidently being to select as difficult and dangerous a track as possible.
"The points to be tested were strength, speed, and activity in the horses; and nerve, skill, and horsemanship in the riders. They were required to run twice around the track; making a three mile run. The most difficult leap was a hedge six feet high, four feet wide on top, with a deep three-foot ditch on the opposite side. This leap had to be taken on an up-hill run, which made it hard work.
"But the part of the race that attracted the most attention was leaping the creek. This was ten feet wide and eight feet deep; but the water was partially dammed, causing an overflow of four feet on the farther side. The hedge on the approaching side was five feet wide and four feet high; making in all, twenty feet to be leaped.
"In the race, twelve horses started. A mare fell at the up-hill hedge, and broke her leg; the rider was thrown and so badly hurt, that he had to be taken away in the hospital cab. A horse fell in the creek, and the rider was nearly drowned. Two bay mares, the winners, and such beauties, went twice around the track, leaping the creek, twenty-two feet, neck and neck. It was the prettiest running that I have ever seen.
"Be a good boy, and write again."
Friday, March 22nd, I spent the day posting the conference books. The next day President Jacobs came from Trowbridge. He is in good health and spirits, and working hard. I also received the following letter from my father, dated Salt Lake City, February 17, 1878:
"My dear son, I should be glad if I were in a condition to send for the Saints you so much desire to emigrate; but it is not in my power. Yesterday I went to see your Uncle Phineas. It was his seventy-ninth birthday, Feb. 16, 1878. He is quite smart; gets up early mornings, does his own chores, and often walks up into town, two and one-half miles. Uncle Joseph is also well, and full of faith. He is eighty-one years old.
"Well, Johnny, hold on, and never give up until the battle is won. We shall all be glad to meet you when you come home. The family all join me in love. May God bless you, is the prayer of your father, Lorenzo D. Young."
Monday, March 25, 1878. As several of the Welsh Saints had written asking me to spend a Sabbath with them, I got leave of a week's absence from President Jacobs and crossed the Bristol channel on the steamer Wye. I visited Brother Harris at Cardiff, and held meeting. Wednesday, the 27th, I also visited D. R. Gill. That day a collier was killed by the falling of a stone in a mine where several of the Saints are working. Poor fellows, spending their lives toiling down in the dark, foul pits, with blocks of death hanging over their heads! Hundreds die yearly, as this man died.
In the morning the goodby is cheerfully spoken, for no shadow of death looms forward as a warning; at sunset the block has fallen, and the dying man is borne by his comrades to the heart-broken wife. The next day he is buried, and soon forgotten by all save those to whom his strong arm brought daily bread.
On the 28th I visited Brother Jenkin Thomas, A. J. Jones, and Brother Edwin Street. The latter is still confined to his bed, suffering from the effects of the terrible bruises he received in a coal pit two years, ago; but he keeps in good spirits and is firm in the faith. I held meeting in his house, that he might hear the service. The room was crowded, many strangers being present.
On Monday, the 30th, I visited Richard Wadley, gentleman, on his farm twelve miles from Cardiff, to help him in his work. I plowed while he sowed grain. This pleased him so much that he hitched his "cob" into the cart and drove me to his home in Cardiff. I spent the evening with the family, preaching the Gospel to them. Under this date, I wrote to an enquirer, not in the Church:
"I know the idea generally prevails, that a man can love but one wife at a time; but a careful reading of the word of God forces the conviction that the idea is wrong; and my own experience confirms this view. I find in the scriptures of divine truth, that we are commanded to love the Lord with all our heart, and to love our neighbor as ourselves; what a terrible tax to place upon a man who can only love one wife! I am thankful to say that I have learned to govern love by principle; and I can truly say, that the bright and intelligent sons and daughters born to me by different wives, are alike beloved, and dear to me."
On Wednesday, April 3, 1878, I returned to Bristol, and received the following letter from my wife Lydia:
"Dear Husband: The day's work is done, the children are sweetly sleeping, and the nine o'clock bugle (curfew) is sounding, 'Hard times, come again no more!'
"If I knew hard times would come no more to you, while you are in that land of poverty and wretchedness, I should be very thankful. I have been treated with much kindness by the brethren and sisters here in Orderville. Neither I, nor mine, have suffered for food or clothing.
"I am striving diligently to overcome selfishness, and I am gaining ground a little. I feel that if there are any more needy than I am, who are laboring faithfully in the order, let them be served first.
"I cannot accomplish as much work as I should like to, but I do all that I can. I am making hats, and have charge of the hat department. My babe is as nice a boy as anybody ever had; and the Lord knows it is my desire to bring him up in such a way that he will be an honor to his parents. Vilate is very delicate; I do not feel at all easy about her, but I do hope and pray that she will be spared to us.
"May the blessings of the Lord be with you, is the prayer of your affectionate wife, Lydia K. Young."
April 5th was a cold, windy day. I went to Sister Burris's, Little Dean Hill, forty miles, and found the family well. I wrote Elder Samuel Leigh, of Cedar City, as follows:
"Dear friend, I have just returned from a short visit to Wales, our old field of labor, and feel to write a few lines to you.
"I thought that England would go to war with Russia but as yet the Lion and the Bear are content to watch the bone, and snarl and growl at each other. However, the war feeling is becoming more intense and bitter, and it is hard to say what a day may bring forth.
"In Wales, there is still much suffering—worse a great deal than when you were here. You will doubtless remember Brother Street of Treorky, who was so badly crushed in the coal pit. He is still suffering, yet clinging to life and full of faith, else he would have been dead long ago. At one time, his wounds had nearly closed; but they opened again, and several pieces of the backbone came out. The doctors can do nothing for him; and our Christian friends call long and loud for a miracle, and because he is not healed, they harden their hearts and persecute the Saints; forgetting that John did no miracles, yet a greater prophet never lived."
One of the most melancholy events of the season was the sinking of Her Majesty's war training-ship, Euridice. She was returning from a six months' training trip, having on board four hundred picked young officers and men. In forty minutes more she would have been at anchor in Portsmouth. Thousands of friends had assembled on the pier to give them welcome; when a sudden squall, accompanied with snow, swept from the headlands across the bay, striking the ship. In a few minutes the storm was past; but the ship was nowhere to be seen. The hand of death, as it were, had smitten her; and of the four hundred souls on board, all perished but two.
On Sunday, April 7, 1878, I attended a baptist meeting in the baptist chapel, the Rev. Mr. Griffiths preaching an able discourse on baptism by immersion. After the services he put on a rubber water-proof suit, and stepping into a font filled with warm water, baptized eight persons; using these words: "Upon your profession of faith in Christ Jesus, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen."
At the close of the service, I went to the pulpit and introduced myself, and asked the privilege of preaching in the chapel. The ministers refused. I then told the people I was an Elder from Utah, and that I would preach that afternoon at Mr. Burris's, and my meeting was well attended by Saints and strangers.
On Monday, April 8, 1878, I walked to Clifford Mesne, twelve miles, and found Brother Wadley and family well. My wife wrote:
"Orderville, February 20, 1878. Dear Husband: Your favor of January 18th came today. I can truly say it is a kind and good letter. It gives me new courage, and I feel more determined to press on, in the straight and narrow path.
"Several things have happened today, causing me to feel well: your letter and a good one from father, and Hattie's new dress. She is much pleased; but poor little Mary—her lips are put up, and tears are in her eyes. I tell her it will be her turn next.
"Frank's cough is still very bad. Last, week we received the parcel you sent by Brother Leigh. William is so pleased with his knife. He carries it in his pocket in the day time, and sleeps with it in his hand at night.
"The children are having a dance tonight. Roy and Hattie have gone. They took hold of hands, and walked off together so kindly. They seem to think a great deal of each other, and I am proud to see them.
"You have been gone ten months, and my babe is walking around, by holding on to the chairs. He is so intelligent, and has such bright blue eyes. As for teaching my children to pray, I have always done so, since they were old enough to talk, and I generally pray with them night and morning.
"I am trying to do right, and I intend to improve as fast as I can in all good things. I am thankful that I am here in Orderville. I have never felt discouraged. Last night I dreamed that you and father both came home. I thought you had been gone just eleven months. As ever, your wife, Tamar B. Young."
April 11, 1878, from my journal: Last night I stayed with Brother and Sister Thomas Newman. As they had but one bed, I sat up all night in a wooden-bottomed chair; but I got some sleep, and dreamed that I saw an elderly woman apparently lost in the woods—and a person told me to go and get her, for she was ready to go to Zion.
In the morning I asked Sister Alice Newman if there was an aged sister in the Church living in the branch that I had not seen. She said, "Mother Jaynes lives about six miles from here, in an out-of-the-way place that no Elder has visited for the past four years." "Well," said I, "I want you to tell me the way, as I must see her and get her emigration money."
This amused Sister Newman: for Sister Jaynes had been living on the parish for over twenty years. It was a dark, rainy day; but Sister Newman put on her cloak and walked across the fields with me. We found the old lady gathering bits of sticks from the hedge. I asked her to go to the house, make a good fire, and give us some refreshments. When we had warmed and rested, I told her I had come to get her emigration money.
She said, "The Lord has sent you, for no mortal knows that I have any money." She went into a back room, and soon returned with her apron full of gold, emptied it on to the table, and told me to do as I pleased with it. I counted out her emigration money, and sent it to the Liverpool office; and when I came home, I brought her with me—to Echo on the Weber, where her friends were waiting for her.
Having returned with Sister Alice, I then walked two miles to the top of Malvern Hill, knelt down and gave thanks to the Lord for the revelations of His Spirit to me; a Spirit that guides me so often into unknown paths.