A JOURNEY OF SIXTY MILES WITHOUT FOOD—CONFRONTED BY A BEAR—PASS BY UNHARMED—SURROUNDED BY WOLVES—LOST IN DARKNESS—REACH A CABIN—ITS INMATES—NO SUPPER—SLEEP ON THE FLOOR—THE HARDEST DAY'S WORK OF MY LIFE—TWELVE MILES MORE WITHOUT BREAKFAST—BREAKFAST AND ABUSE TOGETHER.

We arose in the morning, after a good night's rest. I was somewhat lame, from wading in the swamp the night before. We had a good breakfast. Mr. Jereu sent an Indian to see us across the river, and informed us that it was sixty miles to the nearest settlement of either white or red men.

We were too bashful to ask for anything to take with us to eat; so we crossed the river and started on our day's journey of sixty miles without a morsel of food of any kind. What for? To preach the gospel of Jesus Christ, to save this generation.

Think of this, children; think of what the Presidency, the Apostles, and the Elders of this Church have passed through to give you the homes and comforts you now enjoy.

Think of this, ye statesmen and judges of this American nation; ye who are now seeking to destroy God's people in the wilderness, who have gone hungry and naked and have labored for fifty years to save this nation and generation. Cease your exertions to destroy this people, or God will bring you to judgment and destroy your nation, and cast you into outer darkness, where there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth; for the Lord God has spoken it. I must pause; I almost forgot I was writing a narrative.

We started about sunrise and crossed a thirty-mile prairie, apparently as level as a house floor, without shrub or water. We arrived at timber about two o'clock in the afternoon. As we approached the timber a large black bear came out towards us. We were not afraid of him, for we were on the Lord's business, and had not mocked God's prophets as did the forty-two wicked children who said to Elisha, "Go up thou bald head," for which they were torn by bears.

When the bear got within eight rods of us he sat on his haunches and looked at us a moment, and then ran away; and we went on our way rejoicing. We had to travel in the night, which was cloudy and very dark, so we had great difficulty to keep the road. Soon a large drove of wolves gathered around, and followed us. They came very close, and at times it seemed as though they would eat us up.

We had materials for striking a light, and at ten o'clock, not knowing where we were, and the wolves becoming so bold, we thought it wisdom to make a fire; so we stopped and gathered a lot of oak limbs that lay on the ground, and lit them, and as our fire began to burn the wolves left us.

As we were about to lay down on the ground—for we had no blankets—we heard a dog bark.

My companion said it was a wolf; I said it was a dog: but soon we heard a cow bell. Then we each took a firebrand and went about a quarter of a mile, and found the house, which was sixty miles from where we started that morning.

It was an old log cabin, about twelve feet square, with no door, but an old blanket was hung up in the door-way. There was no furniture except one bedstead, upon which lay a woman, several children and several small dogs. A man lay on the bare floor with his feet to the fire-place, and all were asleep. I went in and spoke to the man, but did not wake him. I stepped to him, and laid my hand on his shoulder. The moment he felt the weight of my hand he jumped to his feet, and ran around the room as though he was frightened; but he was quieted when we informed him we were friends.

The cause of his fright was, he had shot a panther a few nights before, and he thought its mate had jumped upon him.

He asked us what we wanted; we told him we wished to stop with him all night, and would like something to eat. He informed us we might lay on the floor as he did, but that he had not a mouthful for us to eat, as he had to depend on his gun to get breakfast for his family in the morning. So we lay on the bare floor, and slept through a long, rainy night, which was pretty hard after walking sixty miles without anything to eat. That was the hardest day's work of my life.

The man's name was Williams. He was in the mob in Jackson County; and after the Saints were driven out, he, with many others, went south.

We got up in the morning and walked in the rain twelve miles to the house of a man named Bemon, who was also one of the mob from Jackson County. They were about sitting down to breakfast as we came in.

In those days it was the custom of the Missourians to ask you to eat even if they intended to cut your throat as soon as you got through; so he asked us to take breakfast, and we were very glad of the invitation.

He knew we were "Mormons;" and as soon as we began to eat he began to swear about the "Mormons." He had a large platter of bacon and eggs, and plenty of bread on the table, and his swearing did not hinder our eating, for the harder he swore the harder we ate, until we got our stomachs full; then we arose from the table, took our hats, thanked him for our breakfast, and the last we heard of him he was still swearing.

I trust the Lord will reward him for our breakfast.