[Footnote B: Western Monitor, August 2, 1833.]
This address was unanimously adopted by the meeting, and a committee of twelve appointed to wait upon the "Mormon" leaders, and see that the foregoing requisitions were assented to by them. In case of a refusal on the part of the "Mormons" to comply with these demands, the committee, acting as the organ of Jackson County, were to inform them that it was the fixed determination of the mob to adopt such means as would enforce their removal.
The committee called upon Edward Partridge, A. S. Gilbert, John Corrill, Isaac Morley, John Whitmer, and W. W. Phelps, and demanded that they cease publishing the Star and close the printing office, and that, as elders of the "Mormon Church," they agree to move out of the county forthwith. Three months was asked for by these elders in which to consider the proposition, and to give them time to counsel with The Church authorities in Ohio; as closing a printing office and removing twelve hundred people from their homes was a work of no small moment. But this time was denied them. They asked for ten days; but that was not granted; fifteen minutes only was allowed them in which to decide. At this the conference broke up, and the mob returned to the courthouse and reported to the meeting that they had called upon the "Mormon" leaders and that they refused to give a direct answer, but asked for time to consider the propositions and counsel with their brethren in Ohio. The meeting then resolved that the printing office be razed to the ground, and the type and press destroyed.
With demoniac yells the mob surrounded the printing office and house of W. W. Phelps. Mrs. Phelps, with a sick infant in her arms, and the rest of the children, were forced out of their home, the furniture was thrown into the street and garden, the press was broken, the type pied; the revelations, book-work and papers were nearly all destroyed or kept by the mob; and the printing office and house of W. W. Phelps were razed to the ground. Having reduced these buildings to a mass of ruins, the mob proceeded to demolish the mercantile establishment of Gilbert, Whitney & Co., and destroy the goods; but when Mr. Gilbert assured them that the goods would be packed by the twenty-third, they desisted from their work of destruction.
But their fiendish hate had not spent its force. With horrible yells and cursings loud, they sought for the leading elders. Men, women and children ran in all directions, not knowing what would befall them. The mob caught Bishop Edward Partridge and Charles Allen, and dragged them through the maddened crowd, which insulted and abused them along the road to the public square. Here two alternatives were presented them: either they must renounce their faith in the Book of Mormon, or leave the county. The Book of Mormon they would not deny, nor consent to leave the county. Bishop Partridge, being permitted to speak, said that the saints had to suffer persecution in all ages of the world, and that he was willing to suffer for the sake of Christ, as the saints in former ages had done; that he had done nothing which ought to offend anyone, and that if they abused him, they would injure an innocent man. Here his voice was drowned by the tumult of the crowd, many of whom were shouting: "Call upon your God to deliver you—pretty Jesus you worship!" These expressions, intermingled as they were with the vile oaths of the mob, were enough to put hell itself to shame. The two brethren, Partridge and Allen, were stripped of their outer clothing, and daubed with tar, mixed with lime, or pearlash, or some other flesh-eating acid, and a quantity of feathers scattered over them. They bore this cruel indignity and abuse with so much resignation and meekness that the crowd grew still, and appeared astonished at what they witnessed. The brethren were permitted to retire in silence—in silence, except when it was broken by the voice of a sister, crying aloud:
While you who have done this wicked deed must suffer the vengeance of God, they, having endured persecution, can rejoice, for henceforth for them is laid up a crown eternal in the heavens!
By this time it was getting late and the mob suddenly dispersed. As night drew her sable mantle over the scene of ruin, those who had escaped to the woods and corn fields began to return, to learn what had befallen their friends. Wives anxiously inquired of the fate of their husbands, and children of the fate of their parents. There can be nothing more sad than this seeking to remove uncertainty in such cases. It is like seeking the dead and wounded on the battlefield, or the missing, the maimed or the dead after an earthquake, or some devouring tempest or flood—so much alike, at least in their results, are the eruptions of the elements and the fierce, uncontrolled passions of man. Before each the timid and the helpless fly to such shelter as they find at hand. Some seek safety in flight, others in hiding from the storm or from wrath. Then when temporary safety is seemingly assured, thoughts for the safety of others assert themselves. The desire for the safety of the loved ones—a wife, a husband, a child, a parent, a brother, a friend—becomes an agony. Love by degrees conquers fear, and at last prompts the facing of danger much greater than those from which at first they fled, and the loved ones are sought despite of all risks to personal safety. So it was with the saints who had been so unexpectedly assailed. On this occasion, however, those returning from flight or hiding had nothing to discover beyond the destruction of the printing press, the wrecking of the Phelps home, the looting of Gilbert's store, and the abuse of Partridge and Allen. Enough surely for one day of persecution, but not to be compared with scenes they yet would witness!
The outrages of this day were the more reprehensible because of the character of the leaders of the mob. In the main they were the county officers—the county judge, the constables, clerks of the court and justices of the peace; while Lilburn W. Boggs, the lieutenant-governor, the second officer in the state, was there quietly looking on and secretly aiding every measure of the mob—who, walking among the ruins of the printing office and house of W. W. Phelps, remarked to some of the saints, "You now know what our Jackson boys can do, and you must leave the country!"