  Farewell Scenes:—Departure of the Last Remnant of the Exiles:—Court:—Release of Two of the Prisoners:—Reflections in Prison. On the 17th of March, 1839, my wife took leave of the prison with her little children, and, with a broken heart returned to Far West, in order to get passage with some of the brethren for Illinois. She tarried in Far West a month. All the society had gone from the State, but a few of the poor and widows, and the committee who tarried behind to assist them in removing. About the middle of April a gang of robbers entered Far West armed, and ordered my wife, and the committee, and the others to be gone by such a time, or they would murder them. This gang destroyed much furniture and other property. Thus my wife was driven away according to the Governor's previous order, while I was still detained in a filthy dungeon. My family were conveyed to Quincy, Illinois, distance two hundred and eighty miles, by David W. Rogers, of New York, who is a descendant of the celebrated martyr, John Rogers, of Smithfield celebrity, England. On the 20th of April, 1839, the last of the Society departed from Far West. Thus had a whole people, variously estimated at from ten to fifteen thousand souls, been driven from houses and lands and reduced to poverty, and had removed to another State during one short winter and part of a spring. The sacrifice of property was immense—including houses, lands, cattle, sheep, hogs, agricultural implements, furniture, household utensils, clothing, money and grain. One of the most flourishing counties in the State and part of several others were reduced to desolation, or inhabited only by marauding gangs of murderers and robbers. On the 24th of April our cases came before the Grand Jury of the county of Ray; which Grand Jury, the reader is aware, would be naturally composed of our persecutors and their accessories; and at whose head was the same Judge King who had presided in the former mock trial and inquisition which committed us to prison. Darwin Chase and Norman Shearer were dismissed, after being imprisoned near six months. This release happened just as Mr. Shearer came to visit his son for the last time before he left the country. He came into the prison and took an affectionate leave of his son, who wept as if his heart would break; but while he yet lingered in town his son was called before the Court, and, together with Mr. Chase, was told that he might go at liberty. The father and son then embraced each other, almost overcome with joy, and departed. At the same time my brother, Orson Pratt, whom I had not seen for a year, came from Illinois to see me, but was only permitted to visit me for a few moments, and then was ordered to depart. Mrs. Phelps, who had waited in prison for some days, in hopes that the Court would release her husband, now parted with him, overwhelmed with sorrow and tears, and, with her infant, went away to remove to Illinois. Thus our families wander in a strange land, without protection, being robbed of house and home. O Lord! how long? Our number in prison were now reduced to four—one having been added about the middle of April. His name was King Follett; he was dragged from his distressed family just as they were leaving the State, being charged with robbery, which meant that he was one of a posse who took a keg of powder from a gang of ruffians who were out against the Mormons. Thus, of all the Mormon prisoners first kidnapped, only two remained in the State—Mr. Gibbs having denied the faith to try and regain his liberty—these were Morris Phelps and myself. All who were liberated on bail were forced to leave the State, together with those who bailed them, thus forfeiting many thousands of dollars to the coffers of the State. Is it possible! Have I been recording the history of realities as the scenes transpired in the broad light of the nineteenth century—in the boasted land of liberty—and in the most renowned republic now existing on the globe? Alas! it is too true; would to God it were a dream—a novel, a romance that had no existence save in the wild regions of fancy. But the prison door yet grating on its hinges,—the absence of my wife and little ones—the gloom of the dungeon where I yet repose,—these and ten thousand other things cause me to think that my almost incredible narrative is no fiction, but an awful reality—a fact more truly distressing than my feeble tongue or pen can find words to set forth. How often in my sleeping visions I see my beloved wife, or my playful children surrounded with the pleasures of home in my sweet little cottage, or walk with them in some pleasant grove or flowery field, as in years past. How often I see myself surrounded with listening thousands, as in bygone years, and join with them in the sacred song and prayer, or address them with the sound of the everlasting gospel. But, alas! I soon awake, and, to my inexpressible grief and sorrow, find myself still in my lonely dungeon.
When shall I and my injured family and friends again enjoy thy sweets? When shall we repose beneath thy bower, or bask in thy boundless ocean of felicity? When shall we sit again under our vine and under our fruit trees, and worship our God, with none to molest or make us afraid?
Restore a persecuted and injured people to their rights, as citizens of a free republic. Down with tyranny and oppression, and rescue your liberties from the brink of ruin. Redeem your much injured country from the awful stain upon its honor; and let the cries of helpless orphans and the tears of the sorrowing widow cease to ascend up before the Lord for vengeance upon the heads of those who have slain, plundered, imprisoned and driven the Saints. And let the news go forth to the wondering nations that Columbia still is free. O tell it not in Britain; nor let the sound be heard in Europe that Liberty is fallen; that the free institutions of our once happy country are now destroyed, lest the sons and daughters of Britannia rejoice and laugh us to scorn; lest the children of monarchy triumph and have us in derision.
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