Is There Power in Prayer?

IS THERE POWER IN PRAYER? BY JAMES H. MARTIXEAU. As a practical answer to the above question, let me relate an episode of the persecution of the Latter-day Saints in Missouri, as related to me by a chief actor therein—a man whose word, to all who know him, is unquestioned, and a man whose integrity, from the days of Kirtland to the present time, is unimpeachable— Patriarch Benjamin F. Johnson—a resident of Mesa, Arizona. It is not in any degree a fancy sketch, but a simple record of one of many scenes, similar in some respects, which occurred during that terrible persecution. During the reign of terror in those days, Johnson, then a young man of about twenty years, was captured by a detachment of soldiers, (which.as history records, were apart of a military mob sworn to carry into effect the governor's orders to exterminate the "Mormons") and when brought into camp narrowly escaped death at their hands; but was reserved for a mock trial by courtmartial, and thus preserved from instant death. He was kept under a military guard instructed to kill him upon the least indication of an attempt to escape. The guard quarters was simply an open campfire in the woods, without shelter of any kind from storm or piercing wintry blast; the guards were protected from cold at night by a huge campfire and by bedding plundered from defenseless settlers, before their dwellings were burned in their presence. But the prisoner was not given the slightest protection against the cold at night, not even a horse blanket to spread upon the frozen, snowy ground, his only couch being some brush spread near the campfire. While the guard feasted upon chickens, turkeys* and stolen beef, he was not given a single morsel to eat, and when he asked for something, the reply was, "Starve ! that's good

338 IMPROVEMENT ERA. enough for ye!" and he must have done so, had not the negro cook been pitiful; he, when he could without detection, gave him some of the remnants, saying, "Marse, here's jest a few bites—don't let 'em see you eat it." Thus was he kept during eight days and nights, half starved and half frozen at times, continually threatened with death, in various horrid forms, and often assured that on the morrow he would be killed for "treason" to the government which he loved. Among his guards was the miscreant who had killed the old revolutionary soldier, with a corn cutter, at the Haun's Mill massacre. This weapon he carried about, its blade still stained with the old man's blood, to which he pointed with pride, boasting that he would yet stain it a deeper red "with the blood of some other d—d 'Mormon.'" On one occasion he threatened Johnson with it, making passes with it as if to cut him down, the while uttering fearful imprecations. The prisoner was made to carry wood for the campfire, the guards piling it upon him until he was scarcely able to walk, until at last, in desperation, he threw his load down and declared they might kill him, but he would carry no more. With oaths they did threaten to kill him on the spot, he of the corn cutter claiming first blood; but the timely appearance of an officer saved his life. Being told that the prisoner refused to carry wood for the campfire, he ordered the guards to carry it themselves in future, or go without. Thus among the mob was found a friend in a man worthy the name. And many of the regular officers were men of this character, not being selected by the mob. Upon another occasion one of the troops came to him, rifle in hand, and told him to give up his religion or die on the spot, at the same time leveling his gun upon him, only a few feet distant. The prisoner refusing, the ruffian pulled the trigger, but the gun missed fire. Cursing fearfully, and saying that in all the years he had used the rifle it had never before missed fire, he again tried to discharge it, but with the same result. Swearing he would kill his intended victim, he carefully examined and fixed the gun lock, and again took aim at the young man who still sat upon the log, and again the charge failed to explode. The wretch then swore he would fix his gun, and walked a few yards away and again at-

IS THERE POWER IN PRAYER? 339 tempted to discharge it. This time the charge did explode; the gun bursted, killing its owner on the spot. And such were the tests of his integrity which the young man was compelled alone to endure. "But," says the reader, "where, in this narrative, does prayer come in?" We will see. Another actor enters upon the scene; a young girl, who, filled with pity for the prisoner, and fearing, like her friends, that he might be slain, actively interested herself in his behalf, and through her efforts, and the overruling providence of heaven, came relief to the sorely beset young man. Filled with that divine pity so natural to the daughters of Eve, she went among the Saints, asking them to meet together at the school house and supplicate the Lord to preserve the prisoner, not only from death, but from the greater evil, that through fear of death he might become a possible traitor to his brethren. Her efforts were successful. Men and women repaired to the appointed place, and in fervent prayer asked God that the young man might escape or be released. No sooner did one prayer cease than another commenced; and thus, without intermission, a continuous supplication ascended to heaven, hour after hour, all that day and the following night; some going home when necessary, while others returned to re-engage in supplication. Their prayers were heard and answered. At midnight, the general had the prisoner brought to his tent, and, dismissing every attendant, ?aid to him: "Young man, I have brought you here to give you a chance for your life; why, I can hardly say; but I wish to save you. Give up affiliation with the 'Mormons,' and I will set you free. I am rich, and will provide for you as a son. Feel free to do this, for we have determined to make an end of 'Mormonism.' We have the power, and we will do it. If you refuse, you must die, for my men are determined to kill you; and they will do so in spite of me—you will not live through another day." Johnson replied that he would rather die than give up his religion. All must die at some time, and a few years sooner or later would be of little consequence. The general looked at him in wonder, and said: "Young man, I admire your courage; I will > the best I can for you. You shall

340 IMPROVEMENT ERA. be conducted beyond our lines, set free, and you may escape if you can. Dare you risk it?" The answer was affirmative; a small bag of parched corn was given him, he was conducted to a deserted cabin, left alone—and he was free. Prayer had been heard in his behalf, and granted. When his escape was discovered in the morning, great was the commotion and violent the denunciations showered upon his luckless guard, whose negligence had thwarted the bloody designs, as they supposed—he who freed him, of course, keeping his own counsel. Yes; he was free from his guards,but in what a position! Alone in the wintry forest, without a blanket, but little food, and no gun to procure any game. Nothing but a pocket knife and flint and steel to make a fire at night; his situation was enough to appal the stoutest heart. But he did not despair, though he could not go to the settlement to procure anything to help his case. The enemy would surely visit and search it thoroughiy. His only course must be to reach Far West, several days'journey distant; and this he did, suffering much with cold, fatigue and hunger on the way. But he could not remain in safety here; the troops were scouring all the country, swearing to kill Johnson upon sight; and after a few hours' rest, he and another proscribed "Mormon" left Far West, a little before dawn, and began a tramp of more than a hundred miles to Fort Leavenworth. This time he and his companion were a little better provided than at first; Lyman Sherman and his wife Dulcina, the sister of Johnson, gave to each an old quilt from their scanty store, and a few corn meal pones; and thus on foot, often hiding by day and traveling by night, wading often through sloughs of snow and water, and suffering great hardship, they reached Fort Leavenworth, and were kindly received, with promises of protection from further mob violence. And now, who was the young girl whose efforts for the relief of Johnson were so signally successful? No other than our beloved sister, familiarly and so lovingly known as "Aunt Zina," who, until a short time ago, was President of the Relief Societies of the Church; and who, thus early in life, evinced that faith, integrityp and exalted character which illustra . her entire life. Logan, Utah.

MAN PROPOSES.* BY SUSA YOUNG GATES. The dining room was flooded with the soft sunshine of a September afternoon. Everything was in exquisite order. From the plaster casts and vase on the mantel, to the last leaf on the palm which stood in the sweep of the western bay-end windows, there reigned order, cleanliness and peace. Both parlor and dining room were pretty rooms, and the few good rugs scattered about on the waxed floors, with the few fine engravings on the pale, cream-tinted walls, gave evidence of taste, means, and some culture. The white-robed, dark-haired girl, who stood in the window of the dining room arranging some flame-colored nasturtiums in a glass bowl, was the sweet, living expression of the daintiness about her. "Mary, do you expect company this afternoon?" asked her mother, who sat by, watching with some sadness the subdued excitement manifested in the girl's actions. "Oh, I don't know, mother. Yes; suppose I do. Either Burt or Harry will come over, I suppose, and maybe both." A little frown gathered on the brow, and a proud expression clouded the beauty of the brown eyes. *Asked what the moral of this story is, the author said,"It has none. It is just an incident from real life.'' But since it would not have found space in the Era without having amoral in it, it is plain the author is mistaken. The Era will be glad to receive suggestions from any young man, as to what the moral is. We will print the best.—Editor.