Chapter II: The City and Its Prophet (1)

Before giving any detailed account of the Mormons, I should like to say that I was twenty-four days at headquarters, and every opportunity was given me of surface observation; but there is in Mormondom, as in all other exclusive faiths, Jewish, Hindu, or other, an inner life, into which I cannot flatter myself to have penetrated. No Gentile, however long he may live in Salt Lake City, or how intimately he may be connected with the Mormons, can expect to see anything but the outside. The different accounts which have been given of life in the City of the Saints by anti-Mormons and apostates are venomous and misleading, whilst the writings of the faithful are necessarily untrustworthy. I therefore take the middle distance of the unprejudiced observer, and can only recount, honestly and truthfully, what I heard, felt, and saw.

The day after my arrival I went to see the Governor, the Hon. Alfred Cumming, who had been appointed by the President of the United States to assume the supreme executive authority at Great Salt Lake City. The conditions were that polygamy should not be interfered with, nor forcible measures resorted to, except in extremest need. Governor Cumming, accompanied by his wife, with an escort of six hundred dragoons, entered the city in the spring of 1858, shortly after the Mormons were in open rebellion against the Federal authority. By firmness, prudence, and conciliation, he not only prevented any collision between the local militia and the United States army, but succeeded in restoring order and obedience throughout the territory. He was told that his life was in danger, and warned that he might share the fate of Governor Boggs, who was shot through the mouth when standing at the window. His answer was to enlarge the casements of his house, in order to give the shooters a fair chance. The impartiality which he brought to bear in the discharge of his difficult and delicate duties, and his resolution to treat the saints like Gentiles and citizens, not as Digger Indians or felons, had not, when I was at Great Salt Lake City, won him the credit which he deserved from either party. The anti-Mormons abused him, and declared him to be a Mormon in Christian disguise; the Mormons, though more moderate, could never, by their very organisation, be content with a temporal and extraneous power existing side by side with a spiritual power. Governor Cumming did not meet his predecessor, the ex-Governor, Brigham Young, except on public duty. Mrs. Cumming visited Mrs. Young and the houses of the principal dignitaries, this being the only society in the place. Amongst the Moslems a Lady Mary Wortley Montagu could learn more of domestic life in a week than a man could in a year. So it was among the Mormons, and Mrs. Cumming’s knowledge far exceeded all that I might ever hope to gain.

The leading feature of Great Salt Lake City was Main, otherwise Whiskey, Street. This broadway was 132 feet wide, including twenty sidewalks, and, like the rest of the principal avenues, was planted with locust and other trees. The whole city was divided up into wide streets, and planted with trees. The stores were far superior to the shops of an English country town; the public buildings were few and unimposing. I was disappointed with the Temple block, the only place of public and general worship in the city; when I was there it was unfinished, a mere waste. The Tabernacle, the principal building, required enlarging, and was quite unfitted for the temple of a new faith. It seemed hardly in accordance with the energy and devotedness of this new religion that such a building should represent the House of the Lord, while Mr. Brigham Young, the Prophet, thinking of his own comfort before the glory of God, was lodged, like Solomon of old, in what was comparatively a palace. Near the Tabernacle was the Endowment House, or place of great medicine. Many rites took place here in secret that were carefully concealed from Gentile eyes, and with a result that human sacrifices were said to be performed within its walls. Personally, I did not believe in these orgies; there were probably ceremonies of the nature of masonic rites. Gentiles declared that the ceremonies consisted of a sort of miracle play, and a respectable judge was popularly known as “The Devil,” because he was supposed to play the part of the Father of Sin when tempting Adam and Eve. It was said that baptism by total immersion was performed, and the ceremony occupied eleven or twelve hours, the neophyte, after bathing, being anointed with oil, and dressed in clean white garments, cap and shirt, of which the latter was rarely removed.

On the Monday after my arrival a smoke-like column towards the east announced that the emigrants were crossing the bench-land, and the people hurried from all sides to greet them. Of course, I went, too, as the arrival of these emigrants, or rather prilgrims, was one of the sights of the City of the Saints. Presently the carts came. All the new arrivals were in clean clothes, the men washed and shaved, and the girls were singing hymns, habited in Sunday dress. Except the very young and the very old, the company of pilgrims did not trouble the waggons. They marched through clouds of dust over the sandy road leading to the town, accompanied by crowds, some on foot, others on horseback, and a few in traps. A score of youths of rather rowdy appearance were mounted in all the tawdriness of Western trappings――Rocky Mountain hats, embroidered buckskin garments, red flannel shirts, gigantic spurs, pistols and knives stuck in red sashes with depending ends. By-and-by the train of pilgrims reached the public square, and here, before the invasion of the Federal army, the first President used to make a point of honouring the arrival of pilgrims by a greeting in person. Not so on this occasion; indeed, it was whispered that Brigham Young seldom left his house except for the Tabernacle, and, despite his powerful will and high moral courage, did not show the personal intrepidity of Mr. Joseph Smith. He had guards at his gates, and never appeared in public unattended by friends and followers, who were, of course, armed. On this occasion the place of Mr. Brigham Young was taken by President-Bishop Hunter. Preceded by a brass band, and accompanied by the City Marshal, the Bishop stood up in his conveyance, and calling up the captains of companies, shook hands with them, and proceeded forthwith to business. In a short time arrangements were made for the housing and employment of all who required work, whether men or women. Everything was conducted with decorum.

I mingled freely among the crowd, and was introduced to many, whose names I did not remember. Indeed, the nomenclature of the Mormons was apt to be rather confusing, because, in order to distinguish children of different mothers, it was usual to prefix the maternal to the paternal parents’ name, suppressing the Christian name altogether. Thus, for instance, my sons, if I had any, by Miss Brown and Miss Jones and Miss Robinson respectively, would call themselves Brother Brown-Burton, Brother Jones-Burton, and Brother Robinson-Burton. The saints, even the highest dignitaries, waive the reverend and the ridiculous esquire, that “title much in use among vulgar people.” The Mormon pontiff and the eminences around him are simply brother or mister. _En revanche_, amongst the crowd there are as many colonels and majors, about ten being the proportion to one captain, as in the days when Mrs. Trollope set the Mississippi on fire. Sister is applied to women of all ages, whether married or single.

Many of the pilgrims were English, who had crossed over the plains, looking towards Mr. Brigham Young and Great Salt Lake City much as Roman Catholics regard the Pope and Rome. The arrangements for their convoy appeared to have been admirable, but many tales were told of mismangement. An old but favourite illustration of the trials of inexperienced travellers from the Mississippi to California was as follows. A man rode up to a standing waggon, and seeing a wretched-looking lad nursing a starving baby, asked him what the matter might be: “Wal now,” responded the youth, “guess I’m kinder streakt――ole dad’s drunk, ole marm’s in hy-sterics, brother Jim be playing poker with two gamblers, sister Sal’s down yonder a-courtin’ with an in-tire stranger, this ’ere baby’s got the diaree, the team’s clean guv out, the waggon’s broke down, it’s twenty miles to the next water. I don’t care a damn if I never see Californy!”

The dress of the fair sex in Great Salt Lake City was somewhat peculiar. The article called in Cornwall a “gowk,” in other parts of England a “cottage bonnet,” was universally used, plus a long, thick veil behind, which acts as a cape or shawl. A loose jacket and a petticoat, mostly of calico or some inexpensive stuff, made up all that was visible. The wealthier ladies affected silks, especially black. Love of dress, however, was as great among the sisters as in women in any other part of the world; in fact, I noticed that this essential is everywhere a pleasing foible, and the semi-nude savage, the crinolined “civilisee,” the nun and the quakeress, the sinner and the saint, the _biche_ and the _grande dame_, all meet for once in their lives pretty much on a par and on the same ground.

The sisters of Great Salt Lake City――at least, the native ones――were distinctly good-looking, with regular features, lofty brow, clear complexion, long, silky hair, and a bewitching soft smile. It would seem that polygamy had agreed with them. The belle of the city, so far as I could see, was a Miss Sally A――――, daughter of a judge. Strict Mormons, however, rather wagged their heads at this pretty person. She was supposed to prefer Gentile and heathenish society, and it was whispered against her that she had actually vowed never to marry a saint.

The City of the Saints was not a dull city. In addition to the spiritual exercises, provision was also made for physical pastimes. The Social Hall was the usual scene of Mormon festivities, and here one could see the beauty and fashion of Great Salt Lake City _en grande tenue_. Good amateur acting took place here, and dancing seemed to be considered a most edifying exercise. The Prophet danced, the apostles danced, the bishops danced, the young and the old danced. There is high authority for perseverance in this practice: David danced, we are told, with all his might; and Scipio, according to Seneca, was wont thus to exercise his heroic limbs. The balls at the Social Hall were highly select, and conducted on an expensive scale; ten-dollar tickets admitted one lady with one gentleman, and for all extra ladies two dollars each had to be paid. Space was limited, and many a Jacob was shorn of his glory by having to appear with only Rachael in his train, and without a following of Leahs, Zilpahs, and Bilhahs.

An account of one of these balls might be of interest. The hall was tastefully decorated. At four o’clock in the afternoon the Prophet entered, and order was called. He ascended a kind of platform, and, with uplifted hands, blessed those present. He then descended to the boards and led off the first cotillon. At 8 p.m. supper was served; dancing was resumed with spirit; and finally the party ended as it began, with prayer and benediction, about five o’clock in the morning――thirteen successive mortal hours. I may mention that, in order to balance any disparity of the sexes, each gentleman was allowed to lead out two ladies and dance with them, either together or alternately. What an advantage this would be in many a London ball-room!

I will now proceed to describe my visit to the President, or Prophet, Brigham Young. Governor Cumming had first written to ask if he would give me the honour of an interview; and, having received a gracious reply, I proceeded with him to call upon the Prophet on August 31st, at 11 a.m., as appointed. We arrived at the house, and, after a slight scrutiny, passed the guard, and, walking down the verandah, entered the Prophet’s private office. Several people who were sitting there rose at Governor Cumming’s entrance. At a few words of introduction, Brigham Young advanced, shook hands with me, and invited me to be seated on a sofa on one side of the room, and presented me to those present.

The “President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints all over the World” was born at Whittingham, Vermont, on June 1st, 1801. He was, consequently, at the time I saw him, in 1860, fifty-nine years old; he looked about forty-five. I had expected to see a venerable-looking old man; but scarcely a grey thread appeared in his hair, which was parted on the side, light-coloured, and rather thick. His forehead was somewhat narrow, the eyebrows thin, the eyes between grey and blue, with a calm and somewhat reserved expression. A slight droop in the left lid made me think he had suffered from paralysis; I afterwards heard it was the result of a neuralgia, which long tormented him. The nose, which was fine and somewhat pointed, was bent a little to the left; the lips were like the New Englander’s, and the teeth were imperfect. The cheeks were rather fleshy, the chin somewhat peaked, and face clean-shaven, except under the jaws, where the beard was allowed to grow. The hands were well-made, and the figure was somewhat large and broad-shouldered.

The Prophet’s dress was neat and plain as a Quaker’s, of grey homespun, except the cravat and waistcoat. His coat was of antique cut and, like the pantaloons, baggy, and the buttons were black. A necktie of dark silk, with a large bow, was passed round a starchless collar. He wore a black satin waistcoat, and plain gold chain. Altogether, the Prophet’s appearance was that of a gentleman farmer in New England.

His manner was affable and impressive, and distinctly unpretentious. He showed no signs of dogmatism or bigotry, and never once entered, with me at least, on the subject of religion. He impressed me with a certain sense of power. It was commonly said there was only one chief in Great Salt Lake City, and that was “Brigham.” His temper was even, and his manner cold; in fact, like his face, somewhat bloodless. He had great powers of observation and judgment of character; if he disliked a stranger at the first interview, he never saw him again. He lived a most temperate and sober life, his favourite food being baked potatoes, with a little buttermilk, and his drink water; he disapproved, like all strict Mormons, of spirituous liquors, and never touched anything stronger than a glass of lager beer, and never smoked tobacco. His followers deemed him an angel of light, his foes a fiend damned; he was, I presume, neither one nor the other. He has been called a hypocrite, swindler, forger, and murderer; no one looked it less. In fact, he was the St. Paul of the New Dispensation; he gave point, energy, and consistency to the disjointed and turbulent fanaticism of Mr. Joseph Smith; and if he was not able to create, he was at least able to control circumstances.

Such was His Excellency, President Brigham Young, “painter and glazier”――his earliest craft――prophet, revelator, translator, and seer; the man who was revered as no king or kaiser, pope or pontiff, ever was; who, like the Old Man of the Mountain, by holding up his hand could cause the death of any one within his reach; who, governing as well as reigning, long stood up to fight with the sword of the Lord, and with his few hundred guerillas, against the mighty power of the United States; who outwitted all diplomacy opposed to him; and, finally, made a treaty of peace with the President of the great Republic as though he had wielded the combined power of France, Russia, and England.

The Prophet’s private office, where he was in the habit of transacting the greater part of his business, correcting his sermons, and conducting his correspondence, was a plain, neat room, with a large writing-table and money-safe. I remarked a pistol and rifle hung within easy reach on the right-hand wall. There was a look of order which suited the character of the man, and his style of doing business was to issue distinct directions to his employés, after which he disliked referring to the subject. He had the reputation of being a wealthy man, though he began life as a poor one; and, so far as I could see, he had made his money, not by enriching himself by the tithes and plunder of his followers, but in business and by hard work.

After the first few words of greeting, I interpreted the Prophet’s look to mean that he would like to know my object in coming to the City of the Saints. I told him that, having read and heard much about Utah as it was said to be, I was anxious to see Utah as it was. He then touched upon agricultural and other subjects; but we carefully avoided anything to do with religion or his domestic peculiarities, on which, I was warned, he disliked to be questioned. After talking for about half an hour, the conversation began to flag, so we rose up, shook hands all round, as was the custom there, and took our leave.

The first impression left upon my mind, and subsequently confirmed, was that the Prophet was no common man, and that he had none of the weakness and vanity which characterise the common uncommon man. I also remarked the veneration shown to him by his followers, whose affection for him was equalled only by the confidence with which they entrusted to him their dearest interests in this world and in the next. After my visit many congratulated me, as would the followers of Tien Wong, or Heavenly King, upon having at last seen the most remarkable man in the world.

The Prophet’s block was surrounded by a high wall and strengthened with semi-circular buttresses; it consisted of many houses. The Lion House was occupied by Mrs. Young and her family in the eastern part of the square. On the west of it lay the private office, in which we were received, and further west again was the public office, where the church and other business was transacted. Beyond this was the Bee House, so named from the sculptured bee-hive in front of it. The Bee House was a large building with long walls facing east and west. It was tenanted by the Prophet’s “plurality wives” and their families, who each had a bedroom, sitting-room, and closet, simply and similarly furnished. There was a Moslem air of retirement about the Bee House; the face of woman was rarely seen at the window, and her voice was never heard without. Anti-Mormons declared the Bee House to be like the State prison of Auburn, a self-supporting establishment, for not even the wives of the Prophet were allowed to live in idleness.

As I have said before, I was unwilling to add to those who had annoyed the Prophet by domestic allusions, and have, therefore, no direct knowledge of the extent to which he carried his polygamy; some Gentiles allowed him seventeen, others thirty-six, wives out of a household of seventy members, others an indefinite number of wives scattered through the different settlements. Of these, doubtless, many were but wives by name――such, for instance, as the wives of the late Prophet; and others were married more for the purpose of building up for themselves spiritual kingdoms than for the normal purpose of matrimony. I judged the Prophet’s progeny to be numerous from the following circumstance. On one occasion, when standing with him on the belvedere, my eye fell upon a new erection; it could be compared externally to nothing but an English gentleman’s hunting-stables, and I asked him what it was intended for. “A private school for my children,” he replied, “directed by Brother Kelsey.”

The following Sunday I attended a Mormon service. I passed the morning in the painful but appropriate exercise of reading the books of Mormon and of Moroni the prophet. Some people had told me that it was the best imitation of the Old Testament existing; to me it seemed to emulate the sprightliness of Leviticus. Surely there never was a book so dull and heavy; it was as monotonous as a sage prairie. In Mormonism it holds the same place as the Bible in the more ignorant Roman Catholic countries, where religious reading is chiefly restricted to the Breviary, tales of miracles, of saints, and so forth. It was strictly proper, and did not contain a word about materialism and polygamy.

The early part of the morning passed. At 9.45 a.m. we entered “the Bowery”; it was advisable to go early to get seats within hearing. This place was a kind of “hangar,” about one hundred feet long by the same breadth, with a roofing of bushes and boughs supported by rough posts, and open for ventilation on the sides; it contained about three thousand souls. The congregation was accommodated upon long rows of benches, opposite the dais, or tribune, which looked like a long lane of boarding open to the north, where it faced the audience, and entered by steps from the east. Between the people and the platform was the orchestra――a violin, a bass, two women, and four men performers――who sang the sweet songs of Zion tolerably well.

We took our seats on the benches, where we could see the congregation flocking in, a proceeding which was not over for half an hour. The people were all in their Sunday best, and many a pretty face peeped out from the sun-bonnet, though the “mushroom” and the “pork-pie” had found their way over the plains, and trim figures were clad in neat dresses, sometimes with a little faded finery. The men were decently attired; but the weather being hot, many of them had left their coats at home, and had come in their shirt sleeves. The custom, however, looked natural, and there was no want of cleanliness, such as sometimes lurks behind the bulwark of buttons. The elders and dignitaries on the platform affected coats of black broadcloth. All wore their hats till the address began, then all uncovered. The number of old people astonished me; half a dozen were sitting on the same bench: these broken-down men and decrepit crones had come to lay their bones in the Holy City.

At 10 a.m. the meeting opened with a spiritual song, and then a civilised-looking man, being called upon by the presiding Elder for the day, offered up prayer. The matter was good, but somewhat commonplace. The conclusion was an “Amen,” in which all hands joined. It reminded me of the historical practice of “humming” in the seventeenth century.

Next arose Bishop Abraham O. Smoot, second Mayor of Zion, who began with “Brethring,” and proceeded in a Methody tone of voice to praise the saints and pitch into the apostates. He made an undue use of the regular Wesleyan organ――the nose; but he appeared to speak excellent sense in execrable English. As he was in the midst of an allusion to the President, Brigham Young entered, and all turned their faces, even the old lady who was sleeping through the discourse.

The Prophet was dressed as usual in grey homespun and home-woven; he wore, like most of the elders, a tall, steeple-crowned straw hat, with a broad black ribbon, and he had the gentility of black kid gloves. He entered the tribune covered, and sat down. A man in a fit was carried out pumpwards. Bishop Smoot concluded with informing us that we should live for God. Another hymn was sung. Then a great silence, which told us that something was about to happen: _that_ old man held his cough; _that_ old lady awoke with a start; _that_ child ceased to squall. President Brigham Young removed his hat, advanced to the end of the tribune, expectorated into the spittoon, restored the balance of fluid by a glass of water from a decanter on a stand, and, leaning slightly forwards with both hands propped on the green baize of the tribune, addressed his followers.

The discourse began slowly, word crept titubantly after word, and the opening phrases were scarcely audible; but as the orator warmed, his voice rose high and sonorous, and a fluency so remarkable succeeded hesitation that the latter seemed to have been a work of art. The gestures were easy and rounded, except one of raising and shaking the forefinger, which struck me as threatening and bullying. The address was long. Mormonism was a great fact. Religion had made him, Brigham Young, the happiest of men. He was ready to dance like a Shaker. At this the Prophet, who was a good mimic and had much of humour, raised his right arm, and gave, to the amusement of the congregation, a droll imitation of the Shakers. A great deal of what followed contained topical allusions. The Saints had a glorious destiny before them, and their morality was remarkable as the beauty of the Promised Land. The soft breeze blowing over the Bowery, and the glorious sunshine outside, made the allusion highly appropriate. After a somewhat lengthy string of sentences concerning the great tribulation coming on earth――it had been coming for the last eighteen hundred years――he concluded with good wishes to visitors and Gentiles generally, with a solemn blessing upon the President of the United States, the territorial Governor, and all that be in authority over us, and with an “Amen” which was loudly re-echoed by all around, he restored his hat and resumed his seat.

Then arose Mr. Heber C. Kimball, the second President. He was the model of a Methodist, a tall, powerful man, with dark, piercing eyes and clean-shaven, blue face. He affected the Boanerges style, from a certain dislike to the Nonconformist rant and whine, and his manner of speech savoured rather of familiarity than of reverence. Several of his remarks were loudly laughed at by the congregation. His style of oratory was certainly startling; he reminded me of Luther’s description of Tetzel’s sermon, in which he used to shout the words “Bring! bring! bring!” with such a horrible bellowing that one would have said it was a mad bull rushing on the people and goring them with its horns.

After this worthy’s address, a list of names for whom letters were lying unclaimed was called from the platform. A missionary adjourned the meeting till two o’clock, delivered the prayer of dismissal, during which all stood up, and ended with the Benediction and “Amen.” The Sacrament was not administered on this occasion. It was often given, and reduced to the very elements of a ceremony; even water was used instead of wine, because the latter is of Gentile manufacture. Two elders walked up and down the rows, one carrying a pitcher, the other a plate of broken bread, and each Saint partook of both.

That same evening when dining out, I had a lesson in Mormon modesty. The mistress of the house, a Gentile but not an anti-Mormon, was requested by a saintly visitor, who was also a widow, to instruct me that on no account I must propose to see her home. “Mormon ladies,” said my kind informant, “are very strict”; “Unnecessarily so on this occasion,” I could not help adding. Something similar occurred on another occasion: a very old lady, wishing to return home, surreptitiously left the room and sidled out of the garden gate, and my companion, an officer from Camp Floyd, at once recognised the object of the retreat――_viz._ to avoid our possible escort. I afterwards learned at dinner and elsewhere amongst the Mormons to abjure the Gentile practice of giving precedence to the fair sex. The lesson, however, was not new; I had been taught the same, in times past, amongst certain German missionaries, who assumed precedence over their wives upon a principle borrowed from St. Paul.

There was a certain monotony of life in Great Salt Lake City, a sameness from day to day, which does not render the subject favourable for a lively description; moreover, the Moslem gloom, the result of austere morals and manner, of the semi-seclusion of the sexes, and, in my case, the reserve arising towards a stranger who appeared in the train of Federal officials, hung over society. We rose early, and breakfasted at any hour between 6 and 9 a.m. Then ensued “business,” which seemed to consist principally of correcting one’s teeth and a walk about the town, with an occasional liquor up. Dinner was at 1 p.m., announced not by the normal gong of Eastern States, but by a most discordant hand-bell. Jostling into the long room of the ordinary, we took our seats, and, seizing our forks, proceeded at once to action. Nothing but water was drunk at dinner, except when a gentleman preferred to wash down roast pork with a tumbler of milk. Wine in this part of the world was dear and bad, and even if the Saints made their own, it could scarcely be cheap, on account of the price of labour. The feeding ended with a glass of liquor, not at the bar, because there was none, but in the privacy of one’s own chamber, which takes from drinking half its charms. Most of the well-to-do men found time for a siesta in the afternoon. There was supper at 6 p.m., and the evening was quietly spent with a friend.

To describe Great Salt Lake City in those days without some account of polygamy would be like seeing _Hamlet_ with the part of the Prince of Denmark omitted. It is, I suppose, therefore necessary to supply a popular view of the peculiar institution which at once was the bane and the blessing of Mormonism――plurality. I approach the subject with a feeling of despair, so conflicting are opinions concerning it, and so difficult is it to naturalise in Europe the customs of Asia, Africa, and America, and reconcile the habits of the nineteenth century A.D. with those of 1900 B.C. A return to the patriarchal ages must necessarily have its disadvantages.

I found that the marriage ceremony was performed in the Temple, or, if that was impossible, in Mr. Brigham Young’s office, properly speaking, by the Prophet, who, however, could depute any follower to act for him. When mutual consent was given, the parties were pronounced man and wife in the name of Jesus Christ; prayers followed, and there was a patriarchal feast of joy in the evening.

The first wife, as amongst polygamists generally, was _the_ wife, and assumed the husband’s name and title. Her plurality partners were called sisters, such as Sister Anne, or Sister Maria, and were the “aunts” of her children. The first wife was married for time, the others were sealed for eternity. Girls rarely remained single past sixteen (in England the average marrying age is thirty), and they would have been the pity of the community if they had been doomed to a waste of youth so unnatural.

Divorce was rarely obtained by the man, who was ashamed to own that he could not keep his house in order. Some, such as the President, would grant it only in the case of adultery; and here I may say the two mortal sins in Mormonism are (1) adultery, and (2) shedding innocent blood. Wives, however, were allowed to claim it for cruelty, desertion, or neglect. Mormon women married to Gentiles were cut off from the society of the Saints, and without uncharitableness men suspected a sound previous reason. The widows of the Prophet were married to his successor, as David took unto himself the wives of Saul; being generally aged, they occupied the position of matron rather than wife, and the same was the case where a man espoused a mother and her daughter.

There were rules and regulations of Mormonism. All sensuality in the married state was strictly forbidden beyond that necessary to procure progeny――the practice, in fact, of Adam and Abraham.

It is not necessary to go into the arguments which are adduced by the Mormons in favour of polygamy, nor to recount the arguments on the other side. I content myself here with stating facts as I saw them. It will be asked, What view did the softer sex take of this state of affairs? A few, mostly from the Old Country, lamented that Mr. Joseph Smith ever asked of the Creator that question which was answered in the affirmative. A very few, like the Curia Electa, Emma, the first wife of Mr. Joseph Smith――who said of her, by-the-bye, that she could not be contented in Heaven without rule――apostatised, and became Mrs. Brideman. But most of the women were even more in favour of polygamy than the men. For this attachment of the women of the Saints to the doctrine of plurality I found two reasons. The Mormon prophets expended all their arts upon this end, well knowing that without the hearty co-operation of mothers and wives, sisters and daughters, their institution could not exist long. They bribed them with promises of Paradise, they subjugated them with threats of annihilation. With them, once a Mormon always a Mormon. The apostate Mormon was looked upon by other people as a scamp and a knave, and as regards a woman, she was looked upon as worse than a prostitute. The Mormon household has been described by its enemies as a hell of hatred, envy, and malice; the same has been said of the Moslem harem; both, I believe, suffer from the assertions of prejudice or ignorance.

Another curious effect may be noticed. When a man had four or five wives, with reasonable families by each, he was fixed for life; his interests, if not his affections, bound him irrevocably to his New Faith. But the bachelor, as well as the monogamic youth, was prone to backsliding and apostacy. This, when I was at Great Salt Lake City, was apparently so common that many of the new Saints formed a mere floating population. But without expressing any further opinions (those I have given so far are merely the opinions of others), I may say that the result of my investigations was to prove that Great Salt Lake City had been wonderfully successful in its colonisation. Physically speaking, there was no comparison between the Saints and the class from which they were mostly taken, and, in point of view of mere morality, the Mormon community was perhaps purer than any other of equal numbers.

About the middle of September the time for my departure drew nigh. I prepared for difficulties by having my hair “shingled off,” till my head somewhat resembled a pointer’s dorsum, and deeply regretted having left all my wigs behind me. We laid in a good store of provisions, not forgetting an allowance of whiskey and schnapps.

My last evening was spent in the genial company of a few friends. I thanked Governor Cumming for his generous hospitality, and made my acknowledgments to the courtesy of his amiable wife. My adieux were on an extensive scale, and the next day, September 19th, in the morning, I left Great Salt Lake City, _en route_ for the South.

The day was fine and wondrous clear, affording a splendid back view of the Happy Valley before it was finally shut out from sight, and the Utah Lake looked a very gem of beauty, a diamond in its setting of steelly blue mountains. It was with a feeling of real regret that I bade adieu to the City of the Saints.

_A MISSION TO DAHOMÉ_

1863

_A MISSION TO DAHOMÉ_

1863

It is a long stride from Salt Lake City to Dahomé, from the Mormons to the Amazons, but I take my visit to the King of Dahomé as next in date. Before, however, beginning my journey to Dahomé let me touch briefly on that much-vexed and little-understood subject――the negro.

Central Intertropical Africa, lying between north latitude 10° and south latitude 20°, at that time contained eight considerable negro circles, which may be called kingdoms. Of these there were three on the west coast north of the Equator, namely:

1st. Ashanti, the land which exports the “Minas” negroes. This despotism has been well known to us since the beginning of the present century. The capital is Kumasi, nearly 133 direct miles from the coast. This empire may be said to rest on two pillars, blood and gold. Human sacrifice was excessive, and the “customs” mean the slaughter of fellow-creatures.

2nd. Benin, a kingdom well known to old travellers, and the place where Belzoni of the Pyramids died. I visited it in August, 1862, and my reception was the crucifixion of a negro. On the night after my arrival a second slave was slain and placed before my doorway. My lodgings commanded a view of the principal square, which was strewn with human bones, _green_ and _white_.

3rd. Dahomé. From the plain and unvarnished account of this tyranny, which I am about to relate, may be estimated the amount of hopeless misery which awaited the African in Africa. And as it is unsatisfactory to point out a disease without suggesting a remedy, I will propose my panacea at the end of this essay.

We now cross the Equator and find ourselves among the great South African family. Their common origin is proved by their speech. Briefly to characterise their language, the place of our genders are taken by personal and impersonal forms, and all changes of words are made at the beginning, not, as with us, at the end. The Kaffir (Caffre race in South-east Africa) is evidently a mixed breed, and it has nearly annihilated the Bushmen and the Hottentots――the original lords of the land. There is a curious resemblance between the Coptic, or Old Egyptian, and the Hottentot tongues, which suggests that in the prehistoric ages one language extended from the Nile Valley to the Cape of Good Hope. The true negroes, distinguished by their long, ape-like head and projecting jaws, bowed shins and elongated heels and forearms, are all the tribes of Intertropical Africa whose blood is unmixed. This is my definition; but of this point opinions differ.

And here we may stand to view the gleam of light which the future casts across the Dark Continent. Slowly but surely the wave of Moslem conquest rolls down towards the line. Every Moslem is a propagandist, and their traders, unlike ours, carry conversion with them. This fact European missionaries deny, because they do not like it: they would rather preach to heathens than to Moslems, whom Locke describes as unorthodox Christians. They even deny the superiority of El Islam, which forbids the pagan abominations of child-murder, human sacrifice, witch-burning, ordeal-poisons, and horrors innumerable. But we, who look forward to the advent of a higher law, of a nobler humanity, hail with infinite pleasure every sign of progress.

Philanthropists, whose heads are sometimes softer than their hearts, have summed up their opinion of slavery as the “sum of all villainies.” I look upon it as an evil, to the slaveholder even more than to the slave, but a necessary evil, or, rather, a condition of things essentially connected, like polygamy, with the progress of human society, especially in the tropics. The savage hunting tribes slave for themselves; they are at the bottom of the ladder. Advancing to agricultural and settled life, man must have assistants, hands, slaves. As population increases, commerce develops itself and free labour fills the markets; the slave and the serf are emancipated: they have done their task; they disappear from the community, never more to return. Hence every nation, Hindu and Hebrew, English and French, have had slaves; all rose to their present state of civilisation by the “sum of all villainies.” And here, when owning slavery to be an evil, I must guard against being misunderstood. It is an evil to the white man: it is often an incalculable boon to the black. In the case of the negro it is life, it is comfort, it is civilisation; in the case of the white it has done evil by retarding progress, by demoralising society, and by giving rise to a mixed race.

And there is yet another point to be settled when speaking of the negro. In the United States every black man is a negro, or, to speak politely, a “cullard pussun.” Thus the noble races of Northern Africa and the half-Arab Moors, the Nubians and Abyssinians, and the fine Kaffir (Caffre) type of South-eastern Africa are confounded with the anthropoid of Sierra Leone, of the Guinea and of the Congo regions. The families first mentioned differ more from the true negro than they do from the white man.

My first visit to Gelele, then King of Dahomé, was in May and June, 1863. Already in 1861 I had proposed to restore those amicable relations which we had with his father Gezo; but my application was not accepted by the Government. On my return to the West African coast after a six weeks’ visit to England, the journey was made on my own responsibility, and it was not pleasant. I was alone――in such matters negroes do not count as men――and four mortal days upon the Slave Coast lagoons, salt, miry rivers, rich only in mud, miasma, and mosquitoes, with drenching rains and burning suns playing upon a cramping canoe without awning, are unsatisfactory even to remember. Having reached Whydah, the seaport and slave-market of Dahomé, I procured a hammock, and in three days I arrived at Kana, a summer residency for the Court, distant 7,500 miles from Agbomé, the capital.

The human sacrifices called the “nago customs” had lately ended. Twelve men had lost their lives, and, dressed in various attire like reapers, dancers, and musicians, had been exposed on tall scaffolds of strong scantling. “_C’est se moquer de l’humanité_,” remarked to me the Principal of the French Mission at Whydah. But the corpses had been removed, and during my flying visit of five days nothing offensive was witnessed.

At Kana I met M. Jules Gerard, first “_le chasseur_,” then “_le tueur des lions_”: we had sailed together from Europe to Madeira, and he had been sea-sick during the whole voyage. Men who have spent their youth in the excitement of dangerous sport often lose their nerve in middle age. This was the case with the unfortunate lion-hunter; the sight of the “customs” threw him into a fever. Disappointment also weighed upon his spirits. He came to West Africa in the hope that his fame as a killer of lions had preceded him; but the only lion that can exist in that mouldy climate is the British lion, and even he is not a terrible beast to bring amongst the ladies. He expected to find Dahomé a kind of Algiers, and he exchanged a good for a very bad country. He had set his mind upon crossing the northern frontier; but the king at once put an end to that plan, and afterwards played me the same trick. He had also based his hopes upon his good shooting and upon an explosive bullet calculated to do great execution; but many of the king’s women guards could use their guns better than he did, and when the said shell was produced, Gelele sent to his stores and brought out a box-full.

M. Gerard proposed to himself a journey which would have severely tried the health of the strongest man in Europe. He resolved to make his way from the Gulf of Guinea through dangerous Timbuktu (Timbuctos) and the terrible Sahara to Algiers. I advised him to retire to Teneriffe or Madeira and recruit his energies. But he was game to the last. He made another departure through the malarious Sherbro country, south of pestilential Sierra Leone. The next thing we heard of him was when crossing the Jong River he had been drowned by the upsetting of a canoe. Somewhat later came the report that he had been foully murdered. I was rejoiced to hear that a subscription had been raised for his aged and bereaved mother.

Having reported that Dahomé was, under normal circumstances, as safe as most parts of Africa, I received in August, 1863, orders to visit it as Commissioner. My “mission” was to make certain presents to the king, and to preach up cotton and palm oil versus war and human sacrifices. I may begin by saying I lectured hard and talked to the wind.

H.M.’s cruiser _Antelope_ landed me at Whydah in December, the dry season, and the surf was not particularly dangerous. The beach is open; between it and Brazil rolls the broad Atlantic; and near the shore are an outer and inner sandbar with an interval forming a fine breeding-ground for sharks. A girl is occasionally thrown in as an offering to “Hu,” the sea-dog, and this does not diminish the evil.

We entered Whydah in state, paraded and surrounded by chiefs and soldiery in war dress, kilts and silver horns like the giraffe’s: their arms were long guns and short swords for decapitating the wounded. Each troop had its flag, its umbrella, its band of drums and tom-toms, its horns and cymbals. I especially remarked a gourd bottle full of, and covered with, cowries, or pebbles――in fact the celebrated “maraca” of Brazil, which, it has been conjectured, contributed towards the formation of the word America. Every five minutes the warriors halted to drink and dance. The drink is easily described――tafia or bad caxaca. But the dance! I defy mortal man to paint it in words. Let me briefly say that the arms are held up as though the owner were running, the elbows being jerked so as nearly to meet behind the back; the hands paddle like the paws of a swimming dog; the feet shuffle and stamp as though treading water; the body-trunk joins in the play, and the hips move backwards and forwards to the beating time. The jig and the hornpipe are repose compared with this performance. There is also a decapitation dance over an ideal dead enemy, whose head is duly sawn off with the edge of the hand.

At Whydah I lodged at the English fort, a large double-storied building of “taipa,” tenanted by Wesleyan missionaries. It was once a strong place, as the ruined towers and burst guns show.

There were three other forts in the town. The Brazilian, which was nearest the sea, was held by Chico de Souza, the son of the late Francisco Fellis de Souza. This was a remarkable man. Born at Cachoeira, near Bahia, he emigrated to Africa, where by courage and conduct he became the Chacha, or Governor, of the Guild of Merchants, a kind of Board of Trade. He made an enormous fortune, and by his many wives he left about a hundred olive branches. Though a slave-dealer, he was a man of honour and honesty. The English had done him many an injury, yet he was invariably courteous and hospitable to every English traveller. He strongly opposed human sacrifice, and he saved many lives by curious contrivances. Of the same stamp was M. Domingos Martins of Bahia, once celebrated for enormous wealth. He died in the interval between my first and second visits. I regretted his death, for he had been most kind and attentive to me.

The Portuguese fort had also been repaired, and was inhabited by six members of the Lyons Mission, “_Le Vicariate Apostolique de Dahomé_.” They kept a school, and they were apparently convinced that it was hopeless to attempt the conversion of adults. The superior, Father François Borghero, had several times been ill-treated by the barbarians, and his hatred of idolatry had exposed him to not a little danger. It is rare in those lands to find a highly educated and thoroughly gentlemanly man; and, looking back, I am not surprised that all my time not occupied by study or observation was spent in the Portuguese fort.

Lastly, there was the French fort, in far better condition than the others. It was held in my time by M. Marius Daumas, agent to M. Regis (_aîné_) of Marseilles, and _faute de mieux_ he was buying and shipping palm oil.

Whydah was easily seen. The houses were red “taipa” with thick thatch, and each had its large and slovenly courtyard. The market-place was a long street of small booths open to the front, where everything from a needle to a moleque (small slave-boy) could be bought. The thoroughfares were studded with small round roofs of grass, which sheltered a hideous deity called Legba. He was made of muddy clay, with holes for eyes and cowries for teeth, and he squatted before a pot in which the faithful placed provisions, which were devoured by the urubu (vulture). The chief temple was dedicated to the danh, or snake, which here was the principal “fetish.” It was a circular hut with two doorless entrances, and the venerated boas curled themselves comfortably on the thickness of the walls. The largest was about six feet long, and it was dangerous only to rats, of which it was very fond. Several foreigners had been killed for injuring these reptiles, and Whydah, once an independent kingdom, lost her liberty through the snakes. When attacked by Dahomé in 1729, her chief defence was to place a serpent on the invaders’ path. The Dahomans killed the guardian genius and slaughtered the Whydahs till the streets ran blood. But, when the conquerors had reduced their neighbour, they gave her leave to adore the snake, and Whydah felt consoled, even happy. It sounds like a traveller’s tale. I am writing history.

At Whydah we complied with the custom of sending up a messenger to report our arrival. After three days came three officials from the palace, who presented their sticks and delivered to me a verbal invitation from their master. The sticks were white sticks, two feet long, adorned with plates of silver, cut into the shapes of lions, sharks, crocodiles, and other savage beasts. These batons served as visiting cards, and were signs of dignity. When the king made me honorary commandant of a corps of life-guardswomen, he sent me two sticks by way of commission or diploma.

We set out _en route_ for the capital on December 13th, 1863. My little party consisted of Mr. George Cruikshank, a naval assistant-surgeon detached to accompany me; the Rev. Mr. Bernasco, Wesleyan missionary and private friend of the king; two negro interpreters, thirty hammock men, and a troop of baggage porters. This made up a total of ninety-nine mouths, which were never idle except when asleep.

Between the seaboard and Kana, the “villegiatura,” or country capital, of the king, there were fifty-two to fifty-three direct miles. The country was here a campo, or rolling grassy prairie: there was a dense and magnificent forest. At every few miles there were settlements, now villages, once capitals which felt the weight of the Dahomé arm. The first was Savé, ancient metropolis of the Whydah kingdom, when the present Whydah, which was properly Gle-hwe, or the Garden House, was only a squalid port. The territory was only thirty miles by seven, but it mustered 200,000 fighting men. This, however, was easily explained. In Africa every male between the ages of seventeen and fifty carried arms: this would be about one-fifth of the population; consequently there was one million inhabitants in an area of two hundred square miles (4,762 souls to each mile).

After Savé came Tevé, also an ex-capital. It was a pretty little village commanded by a Dahoman “caboceer.” This frequently used word is a corruption of a Portuguese corruption, “caboceer,” or, rather, “caboceira,” and means a pillow, a headman, or a chief officer. The etiquette on arriving at such places is as follows. You alight from your hammock before the tree under which the grandee and his party are drawn up to receive you with vociferous shouts, with singing, drumming, and dancing. After the first greetings you pledge him in fresh water, which he has tasted before you. Then you drink spirits and receive an offering of provisions. You make a return of rum and gin, the people drum, dance, sing, and shout their thanks, and you are at liberty to proceed.

On the fourth day we crossed the “Agrime Swamp,” which is hardly practicable in the wet season. The road then entered upon a true continent: we emerged from the false coast, which at one time was under water, and which is raised by secular upheaval. At the little town of Agrime we were delayed till the king, who was in his country capital, sent an escort and permission to advance.

On Friday, December 18th, we entered Kana, a large and scattered town, shaded by magnificent trees. It is about two hundred and seventy feet above sea-level, and the climate is a relief after Whydah. The morrow was fixed for our reception. It was Ember Day, and the date could hardly have been better chosen.

It is hardly possible to form an idea of the _peine forte et dure_ attending the presentation in Africa. It is every negro’s object to keep the white man waiting as long as possible, and the visitor must be very firm and angry if he would not lose all his time.