An Englishwoman in Utah: The Story of a Life's Experience in Mormonism

by Mrs. T. B. H. Stenhouse

Up to this time I had never seriously doubted my religion, and I probably never should have done so had it not been for the introduction of polygamy. But what I saw in London at that time sadly shook my faith, and the stories which I heard from Utah quite frightened me. Nothing, of course, was openly said, and at first I disbelieved every evil report, until at last it was impossible for me altogether to reject what was told me. The testimony of an apostate or of a Gentile would have been dismissed with contempt; but when we saw letters from mothers to their children, and husbands to their wives—all people of unquestioned faith, setting forth the troubled state of men’s minds in Utah, expressing fears for their own safety, and hinting at “cutting off” the transgressor, and the doings of “Avenging Angels,” we could not cast them aside with contempt. My views of the glories of Zion were changing; henceforth I was never firm in the faith; I felt that there was something wrong.

Perhaps the reader may think that now I might have left the church, and thus have avoided all those troubles which awaited me in Utah. But let him remember that, although my faith was shaken, it was not wholly destroyed. All that I clung to on earth—my husband, whom I truly loved, and my darling children—were part and parcel of Mormonism. I could not tear myself from them, and isolate my soul from all that made life worth having.

My unsettled state of mind, however, did not long remain a secret. It was spoken of among the Saints, and I became an object of interest. The pastor over the London and adjoining Conferences was the son of one of the chief apostles in Utah—a young man, whose good nature was far better than his religion. He visited us very frequently, and used to bring with him the distinguished American Elders who might be visiting the metropolis. I have no doubt that they were sincere in their desire to do me good; but it was not kind attentions that I then needed, it was the removal of the cause of my sorrows.

They tried to persuade me that it was all “the work of the Lord;” but I could not see it in that light, and very often in reply to their consolations I said very hard things of polygamy and the leaders of the church, whose conduct I considered sinful. And in this I did not stand alone, for I soon found that the President of the Conference, Elder Marsden, had been in the same position for years, and his wife was “quite through” with Mormonism. In fact, so great had been the distrust occasioned by polygamy, that in the report ending June 30th, 1853, it was stated that from the whole British church, which then numbered very nearly 31,000 souls—1776 had been excommunicated for apostasy!

Of those who remained faithful I cannot give a much more cheering account. The Elders who visited President Marsden made as damaging reports of the condition of the Saints as their worst enemies could desire. All that my young friend, Mary Burton, had told me did not equal the truth of what I saw for myself. No one had any confidence now in what the Elders said; how could they be trusted after so many years of deception?

The Elders who visited me and reasoned with me about my want of faith, tried to persuade me to be baptized again. Among the Mormons it is the privilege of the faithful to be baptized over and over again, as often as may be needed, for the remission of their sins, which are thus washed away, and the penitent is enabled to start afresh. At that time of fearful excitement in Utah, called by the Mormons “The Reformation,” when people were being exhorted under terrible penalties to confess their sins, many were so frightened that they acknowledged themselves guilty of crimes of which they had never dreamed, while at the same time many horrible and detestable sins were brought to light. Brigham and the leaders found that they were confessing too much—the sinners were far more numerous than the godly. Brigham, with his usual craft, soon found a way of escape; the people were told to be baptized again, so that their sins being washed away, they could truly say they were not guilty of the crimes of which they might be accused.

I was not convinced, and did not see that I had anything to repent of, but I was quite willing to be re-baptized if it was thought proper. At the same time I stipulated that the President of the Conference, Elder Marsden, should be baptized with me. I felt that if I required re-baptizing, how much more necessary was it for Elder Marsden to have his sins washed away also. I partly believed in the fearful stories that I had heard from Zion, but it was he who had shown them to me. The Pastor of the Conference gave no sign that he suspected my meaning in wishing Elder Marsden to be baptized at the same time as I was, though I believe he must have formed a pretty shrewd guess. And so we two went down into the water, but I am afraid that little of our sins was washed away. Not long after, President Marsden apostatized, and my heart remained as hard as ever. At least I was frequently told so.

Poor Elder Marsden! He was branded with the most opprobrious titles which Mormon ingenuity or malice could fling against him: and yet I know of many men—not one nor two, associated most intimately with Brigham Young to-day, whose faith is not a whit stronger than that apostate’s, who serve the Prophet because it is their interest to do so, but who in their hearts no more believe in his high pretensions than did James Marsden, the President of the London Conference.

Meanwhile, the season for emigration had again arrived, and we were directed to hold ourselves in readiness to start. Although by no means unexpected, this “counsel” to emigrate came very painfully to me, for every step we took towards Utah seemed to bring me nearer to the realization of my worst apprehensions. I had lost my affection for Mormonism, and my enthusiasm had now quite melted away. But to refuse to go was altogether out of the question.