After visiting the Saints in Great Salt Lake City, I traveled north, calling on all the inhabitants, who at this early date were much scattered, and went as far as Ogden, then the northern limit of our settlements, and there found about one dozen families. I was hospitably entertained by Captain Brown, who occupied a log house with earth floor, and roof of the same material, with the addition of willow boughs. I called a meeting, which was held in the captain's house—everybody attended, and we had a glorious season. The hearts of the Saints were open, and, considering their circumstances, they donated liberally and amply, and I need not say cheerfully. Elder (Captain) Brown exhibited the nobility and generosity of soul characteristic of the man. There is an amusing anecdote told of Captain Brown, as follows: He owned a ferry on the Weber River at the time when the "Gold Diggers" were rushing through the country, some of whom were bitterly hostile to the "Mormons," and availed themselves of every occasion to vent their spite in the presence and hearing of the captain, in the following style: "Whoa haw, old Brigham," "Gee up there, old Heber," at the same time flourishing and cracking their long ox whips. This vulgar language applied in demeaning the leaders of the Church, made Captain Brown very angry, so much so that he could hardly restrain himself from retaliating; but finally, when, with increasing impudence, they added the name of Captain Brown, his temper at once arose to fever heat, and became uncontrollable, and to use his own words, "I pitched into them." In public meetings, occasionally, I have referred to this anecdote in illustrating a principle, i. e., when the Priesthood is assailed, we should be more valiant in its defense than when the offense is merely personal. Without doubt this was the captain's sentiment, and had he received the first insult, he could have borne it, but after having the brethren insulted, which was all he could endure and contain himself, the addition of his name was "the straw that broke the camel's back."
At the October Conference many of the leading Elders were called on missions to different nations of the earth. Lorenzo was appointed to establish a mission in Italy, with discretionary power to labor in any other country or nation, whenever the Spirit should direct. He arranged as best he could under the circumstances, for the comfort of his family during his absence—his family having increased by the birth of a son, Oliver Goddard, and a daughter, Roxcy Charlotte, born in Salt Lake City.
In less than two weeks from the time of his appointment, he was to leave. With little means—in a wild, uncultivated country, one thousand miles from supplies, what could he do towards providing for the coming wants of an increasing family, which in a few days he was to leave for an indefinite period? Although he felt the weight of the responsibilities of a husband and father, he did not hesitate. He knew that God, through His servants, had called him to the mission—the mission was before him, and its accomplishment paramount to every consideration. The two young men, John and Porter kindly proposed to remain with his family during his absence and render all the assistance in their power.
This was the first company of missionaries sent from the Rocky Mountains; it was organized on the nineteenth of October, by President Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball, and the brethren started the same day on their various missions—some to Nauvoo to assist in gathering the Saints remaining there—some to the Eastern States, and others to the nations abroad. Shadrach Roundy was appointed captain of the company across the plains.
We will now glean a portion of my brother's history from his letters, in which we meet him in Southampton, England:
Southampton, England, June 14, 1850.
My Dear Sister:
Although nearly half the world lies between us, I hope this brief record of my travels will reach you in safety. Wherever I may be destined to wander, I shall ever remember those claims of relationship, which may be interrupted on earth, but are happily consecrated in your bosom and mine for eternity; they seem like a golden chain, passing over earth and ocean, and linking this foreign shore with your dwelling in the far distant West.
Recalling the scenes of the past, my mind reverts to the nineteenth of October, 1849, when, in solemn silence, I left what, next to God, was dearest to my heart—my friends, my loving wives and my dear little children. As I pursued my journey, in company with my brethren, many conflicting feelings occupied my bosom. The gardens and fields in and around our new-born city, just emerging from nature's barrenness, through the faith, energy and the necessities of the exiled Saints, now struggling for subsistence, in a wild recess in the Rocky Mountains, were exchanged for the vast unbroken wilderness which lay spread out before us for a thousand miles.
If my mind still glanced onward, there was the stormy main, and, in the far distant perspective, a land of strangers—the field of my mission. We were hastening farther and still farther from the mighty magnet—HOME. But we knew that the work in which we were engaged was to carry light to those who sat in darkness and in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and our bosoms glowed with love and compassion toward them.