On the 23d of February, A.D. 1881, I was somewhat surprised to receive a letter from President John Taylor, requesting me to take a mission to the Southern States. Surprised I certainly was, for my mind up to this time had not been turned to religious matters, and my maxim was, "I sought no change." But from the moment I received the appointment I was determined to fulfil my mission to the best of my ability.
I was, at that time, engaged in teaching school, and after a few weeks of preparation, I bade adieu to my kindred and friends, and soon found myself among strangers and those "who know not God." Thrown thus entirely upon my own resources, I now commenced to search the Scriptures, and the germ of the Gospel, hitherto undeveloped, sprang apparently into life.
My field of labor was in the States of Tennessee and Kentucky, principally in the former. I found the country people far behind my expectation, both intellectually and financially. However, I entered actively into the work, and soon found much to interest me in my labors and in the people themselves. Their peculiar phraseology was often truly amusing; such expressions as "tote," "reckon," "we 'uns," "you 'uns," etc., were household words. I remember shortly after my arrival at my destination, while stopping with one of the "good families," the lady of the house sent her son-in-law, Dr. ——, to call me to dinner, when he accosted me thus: "Elder Snow, I have been requested to carry you to dinner"—carry being a common term for fetch. I at first thought he was jesting, but glancing up and seeing an earnest expression on his face, I replied: "Do you think you can do it?" It was now his turn to be surprised, to have an utter stranger, when politely asked to dinner, reply, "Do you think you can do it?"
During the summer of 1881, Elder B. H. Roberts, my traveling companion, and myself held as many as six and seven meetings a week, often walking from twenty to thirty miles each day in the hot, broiling sun, to fill our appointments. At first we met with little success, but later in the summer those who believed offered themselves for baptism, and we organized a branch of the Church, consisting of forty-four members. Up to this time, in the fall of 1881, we had received but little persecution, but when we commenced making converts the people became enraged, and many threats were breathed against us. Notices were posted up on trees and schoolhouses requesting us to leave the county forthwith. About this time, while left alone with the Saints, upon going to the post office for my mail, I received the following note:
Shooters' Hamlet, September 14, 1881.
Most Infamous Scoundrel:
You are warned to leave this county in one week; if you remain it will be at the peril of your life. We have measured the ground; go, or we will hang you like dogs.
Indignant Citizens.
No attention was paid to this threat, and the only effect it had was to increase the supply of Mr. H.'s buckshot. The author of this letter was the son of a Presbyterian minister, a portion of whose flock had been added to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I had often read of the persecutions and death of our Savior, which was brought about and accomplished by religious sects, those who professed to follow strictly the rites and ceremonies of Moses and the Prophets; this was often a mystery and a source of astonishment to me; nor could I understand, until my brief experience among the modern Pharisees, how those who professed to be so good and holy could perpetrate such horrid deeds. A deacon in one of the popular sects of the day, while visiting our host, who, by the way, was not connected with any religious society, the subject of "Mormonism" being broached, said: "Mr. H., if I could raise a mob to-day I would drive those Mormon Elders from the county or hang them to a tree." "You would," replied Mr. H., "well, I'm not a religious man, as you are; in fact I'm what you good people please to term a wicked man, but I would not commit such a bloody deed as you propose doing; and, further, I expect those Elders to my house to-night, and if you insult them, say nothing of hanging, I'll shoot you deader than h—l!" The deacon left prior to our arrival.