Parley P. Pratt, History of the Late Persecution, 1839

  • Source Note
  • Historical Introduction
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ed about a half a mile from our prison; he was an excellent shoemaker, and a true disciple, but secretly for fear of the people. This man was our friend, and was formerly from . I wished my wife to go there and carry my shoes to be mended, which would be a good excuse for going unsuspitioned by our jealous guards, and at the same time leave the manuscript there. Therefore I wrote as above, “let the truth remain with the people of .” This was done.
Thus kind reader, was this little book providentially, and I may say, miraculously preserved, and by this means you have it to read. If it had not been for all these unforseen accidents or providences, the world would never have read this account of awful persecutions, and terrible scenes through which myself and family, and fellow Saints have been called to pass. The writings would have been consumed to ashes. But, “truth is mighty, and will prevail.” The horrid deeds of murder and injustice will come to light. Iniquity cannot be hid.
Is it possible! have I been recording the history of realities as the scenes transpired in the broad light of the nineteenth century, and in the boasted land of Liberty—in the midst of the most renowned now existing on the Globe? Alas! it is too true. Would to God it were a dream. Would to God it were a novel, a romance, that had no existence, save in the wild regions of fancy. But the prison door yet grating on its huge hinges, and the absence of my beloved Mary, and our little babes, with 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 truely distressing than my feeble pen can find worlds to set forth. How oft 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 the years past. How oft I see myself surrounded with listening thousands, as in by gone years, and join with them in the sacred song [p. 68]
ed about a half a mile from our prison; he was an excellent shoemaker, and a true disciple, but secretly for fear of the people. This man was our friend, and was formerly from . I wished my wife to go there and carry my shoes to be mended, which would be a good excuse for going unsuspitioned by our jealous guards, and at the same time leave the manuscript there. Therefore I wrote as above, “let the truth remain with the people of .” This was done.
Thus kind reader, was this little book providentially, and I may say, miraculously preserved, and by this means you have it to read. If it had not been for all these unforseen accidents or providences, the world would never have read this account of awful persecutions, and terrible scenes through which myself and family, and fellow Saints have been called to pass. The writings would have been consumed to ashes. But, “truth is mighty, and will prevail.” The horrid deeds of murder and injustice will come to light. Iniquity cannot be hid.
Is it possible! have I been recording the history of realities as the scenes transpired in the broad light of the nineteenth century, and in the boasted land of Liberty—in the midst of the most renowned now existing on the Globe? Alas! it is too true. Would to God it were a dream. Would to God it were a novel, a romance, that had no existence, save in the wild regions of fancy. But the prison door yet grating on its huge hinges, and the absence of my beloved Mary, and our little babes, with 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 truely distressing than my feeble pen can find worlds to set forth. How oft 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 the years past. How oft I see myself surrounded with listening thousands, as in by gone years, and join with them in the sacred song [p. 68]
Page 68