A much less noble fate than assassination was reserved for us. The wretches, although otherwise well armed, were not holding revolvers in their hands as I first supposed. They were furnished with huge garden-syringes charged with the most disgusting filth, in the preparation of which they took especial pains. So kindred to their own base natures was such an act, that I doubt not they found it quite a labour of love. The moment the syringes were pointed at us, my husband, thinking a shot was coming, moved his head, and thus to a certain extent escaped the full force of the discharge. I, however, was not so fortunate. My hair, bonnet, face, clothes, person—every inch of my body, every shred that I wore—were in an instant saturated, from head to foot.
The villains, when they had perpetrated this disgusting and brutal outrage, turned and fled. We ran after them for some little distance, but we had no arms and nothing with which to defend ourselves; in fact, we pursued them instinctively rather than with any idea of overtaking them. There was another man standing a little distance off in the direction in which they were running, and we could not tell how many might be concealed. The place, too, was dark and lonely, for they had gone behind the Temple block—a fit corner for murderers to skulk in; a convenient spot for the commission of any unholy deed. I was burning with indignation, and longed to revenge myself upon the brutal cowards who had assaulted us. In my anger I called upon them to come and kill us outright, for I would have preferred death to such an indignity. I almost wonder that they did not take me at my word and return and finish their foul work, for they have long acted upon the principle that “dead men tell no tales.”
I shall never forget that night. I declared that henceforth I would tear from my heart every association, every memory, every affection, which still remained to bind me to Mormonism; not one solitary link should be left. Henceforth I would be the declared and open enemy of the Priesthood. To the utmost of my power—weak though I might be—I would arouse the women of Utah to a sense of the wrongs which they endured; I would proclaim to the world the disgrace which Mormonism is to the great American nation, the foul blot that it is upon Christianity and the civilization of the age!
My son-in-law, Joseph A. Young, on the night of the attack, offered a reward to the chief of the police for the apprehension of the ruffians; but we knew well enough they would never be discovered. A few Gentile friends also offered a reward of five hundred dollars for any evidence that might lead to their identification; but nothing, of course, was elicited.
CHAPTER XL.
AMUSING TROUBLES OF MY TALKATIVE FRIEND—CHARLOTTE WITH THE GOLDEN HAIR!
Not long after our separation from the Mormon Church, I received another visit from my talkative friend.
As, according to her custom, she was making a preliminary “fuss” at the door before entering, I heard her voice, and was at a loss to conjecture whether she came for the purpose of lamenting my apostasy and entreating my immediate return to the bosom of the Church, or to condole with me concerning the brutal outrage to which we had been subjected. In both suppositions I was, however, mistaken—she came to talk about her own woes.
“You’ll be surprised, my dear Sister Stenhouse,” she said, “to see me looking so utterly miserable. I’m sure I must look the picture of despair, and I feel it. You don’t know what I’ve been suffering, and how shamefully I have been used.”