In some instances the Lord preserved us, as it were by
miracle, from the mob.
We dared not go to houses and get food, so we picked and
ate raw corn, and slept on the ground, and did any way we
could until we got out of the County.
We dared not preach while in that County, and we did but
little preaching in the State of Missouri. The first time I
attempted to preach was on Sunday, in a tavern, in the early
part of December, 1834. It was snowing at the time, and the
room was full of people. As I commenced to speak the land-
lord opened the door, and the snow blew on the people; and
when I inquired the object of having the door opened in a
snowstorm, he informed me that he wanted some light on the
subject. I found that it was the custom of the country.
How much good I did in that sermon I never knew, and
probably never shall know until I meet that congregation in
In the southern portion of Missouri and the northern part
of Arkansas, in 1834, there were but very few inhabitants.
We arrived there on Sunday night at sunset. We had
walked all day with nothing to eat, and were very hungry and
tired. Neither the minister nor his wife would give us any-
thing to eat, nor let us stay overnight, because we were
“Mormons," and the only chance we had was to go twelve
miles farther down the river, to an Osage Indian trading
post, kept by a Frenchman named Jereu. And this wicked
priest, who would not give us a piece of bread, lied to us
about the road, and sent us across the swamp, and we wallowed
knee deep in mud and water till ten o'clock at night in try-
ing to follow this crooked river. We then left the swamp,
and put out into the prairie, to lie in the grass for the night.
When we came out of the swamp, we heard an Indian
drumming on a tin pail and singing. It was very dark, but
we traveled towards the noise, and when we drew near the
Indian camp quite a number of large Indian dogs came out
to meet us. They smelt us, but did not bark nor bite.