On the fifth day of October, 1875, at the Semi-annual Conference of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I was called to perform a mission to the United States.
Just why my name was suggested as a candidate for this mission, and presented at conference for approval or rejection by the people, I cannot say. My mind prior to that time had been entirely given up to temporalities. I had never read to exceed a dozen chapters of the Bible in my life, and little more than that from either the Book of Mormon or Doctrine and Covenants, and concerning Church history was entirely ignorant. Had never made but one attempt to address a public audience, large or small, and that effort was no credit to me. Had been engaged in the railroad business for a number of years, and this occupation would have deprived me of meetings and religious services even had my inclinations led in that direction, which I frankly confess they did not. I had become almost an inveterate smoker, and bought cigars by the wholesale, a thousand at a time. Was addicted to the use of language which, if not profane, was at least vulgar and reprehensible. Frequently visited saloons, but was not an habitual drinker. Was not proficient at billiards, but squandered considerable money in acquiring what little knowledge I possessed of the game; and pool frequently cost me more for drinks than my board bill came to. Though these indiscretions were common and frequent, thanks to a mother's sagacious training, they never led to grosser or more alluring ones.
Nature never endowed me with a superabundance of religious sentiment or veneration; my region of spirituality is not high, but below the average. A phrenologist once said to me: "You are too level-headed to ever make a sanctimonious church member." With this list of disqualifications, which serious reflection helped to magnify, is it surprising that I marveled and wondered if the Church were not running short of missionary material?
One of my fellow employees was at the conference; I was not, because I did not care to be. He heard my name called, abruptly left the meeting and ran over to the telegraph office to call and tell me the startling news. This was the first intimation I had received that such a thing was contemplated. At the very moment this intelligence was being flashed over the wires, I was sitting lazily thrown back in an office rocking chair, my feet on the desk, reading a novel and simultaneously sucking an old Dutch pipe, of massive proportions, just to vary the monotony of cigar smoking.
As soon as I had been informed of what had taken place, I threw the novel in the waste basket, the pipe in a corner and started up town to buy a catechism. Have never read a novel nor smoked a pipe from that hour. Sent in my resignation the same day, to take effect at once, in order that I might have time for study and preparation.
Remarkable as it may seem, and has since appeared to me, a thought of disregarding the call, or of refusing to comply with the requirement, never once entered my mind. The question I asked myself a thousand times, and which seemed so all-important, was: "How can I accomplish this mission? How can I, who am so shamefully ignorant and untaught in doctrine, do honor to God and justice to the souls of men, and merit the trust reposed in me by the Priesthood?"
Some of my companions ridiculed me for entertaining sentimental thoughts; some mocked and derided, whilst others predicted that I would tire of working for glory before I had been out six months, and seek my level by uniting with some comedy troupe or minstrel show; but no word of encouragement from any of my associates.
The first man to congratulate me and offer words of comfort and cheer, was President Moses Thatcher; he not only strengthened me with kind words and fatherly advice, but handed me a fifty-dollar note with his blessing, wished me every success, and expressed a fervent desire for my welfare.
I was rebaptized, confirmed, set apart, ordained a Seventy and started on my mission, all within a month from the time I was called. Went direct to New York City, where I remained several days visiting places of interest. Saw the great tragedian, Edwin Booth, in his favorite character of Hamlet. Met with the Saints at Williamsburg, New York, but contrived to get out of preaching. My traveling companion arrived and we went up to the coal regions of Pennsylvania. At a meeting of the Bellevue branch, I made my maiden effort as a preacher of the Gospel. I stammeringly told the Saints that I had never received a testimony that would justify me in declaring to them a knowledge of the work of the latter days.
Elder McKean was unexpectedly called into New Jersey, and I was left alone. In December was joined by Elder David Evans, Jr., of Lehi, Utah, who became my missionary companion. Our labors were confined exclusively to the State of Pennsylvania, mostly in the counties of Luzerne, Tioga and Bradford, and our circuit extended over two hundred miles.