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 diffidence, asked if I was not a minister of the Gospel, and if I would not allow him the pleasure of contributing a little to aid in the good cause in which I was engaged, at the same time drawing from his pocket the willing offering, which I very thankfully accepted. Probably he was one of the audience at the meeting the evening before. Not more than an hour later, I found myself in actual need of a portion of the kind gentleman's donation, for I soon came to a large stream where money was necessary to pay for ferryage.
In passing through the southern portion of Illinois, I found, in general, very little interest manifest in reference to the principles of the fulness of the Gospel, but any amount of ignorance and prejudice.
I spent the remainder of the winter in travel and preaching, chiefly in the northern part of Kentucky, with varied success, and treatment—sometimes received in the most courteous manner and listened to with intense interest, and, at other times, abusively and impudently insulted; but in no instance treated worse than was Jesus, whom I profess to follow. He said: "If they have called the master of the house Beelzebub, how much more they of his household?" What a fine test the Gospel is, to prove the hearts of the people! On one occasion, I was very courteously tendered a court house, and at the close of the services, I was invited home by a member of the legislature—was seated at the head of his table, and otherwise as highly honored, and as hospitably treated, as though I had been a sceptered monarch. Then, on another occasion, one evening, I was preaching in a large room of a private house, and afterwards learned that a portion of my audience had gathered for the purpose of mobbing me. They had arranged with a party that lay concealed at a little distance, and within call, to join them immediately on my leaving the house to return to my lodgings, and all proceed together to execute their schemes of vengeance. It was a very cold night, and after the close of the services I stood with my back to the chimney fire, with a number of others—some of whom belonged to the mob party. One of the latter persons, amid the jostling of the crowd, accidentally brought his hand in contact with one of the pockets in the skirt of my coat, which struck him with sudden alarm on his feeling, what he supposed to be, a large pistol. He immediately communicated the discovery to his affrighted coadjutors, all of whom directly withdrew, and, to their fellows outside, imparted the astounding news that the "Mormon" Elder was armed with deadly weapons. That was sufficient—the would-be outlaws abandoned their evil designs for fear of signal punishment; but the supposed pistol which caused their alarm and my protection, was my pocket Bible, a precious gift to me from the dearly beloved Patriarch, Father Joseph Smith.
On another occasion, while addressing a congregation in a dwelling house, in fulfilment of a previous arrangement by a lawless set, to throw a rope over my head and then drag me to the river and duck me through a hole in the ice, one of the fellows who was in front of me was in the act of throwing his lariat, when he was discovered by the mistress of the house, who instantly gave the alarm, and he sneaked out of the congregation like a whipped dog.