Source: Lyman Omer Littlefield, Reminiscences of Latter-day Saints

Lyman Littlefield Reminiscences (1888), p.194

Myself--"My earliest remembrances are of him and my mother."

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Uncle--"You are not his son!"

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Myself--"I am his second son, Lyman, and was named after my uncle, in whose habitation, and in the midst of these, my cousins, this is a happy moment!"

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As I entered, the family was partaking of an early supper. I had not seen them since a little boy, some twenty years previous to that meeting. To be thus ushered into their presence filled me with emotions of pleasure. Their joy was exhibited as if by an electric wave. Simultaneously, uncle, aunt and cousins sprang from the table to salute me with eager and hurried words of welcome.

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They did not stand upon the strict order of etiquette. The influence that impelled them was imperative, and they followed the impulse of those consanguineal ties which spring from the purple tide that pulsates the kindred heart. To them it was as if I had suddenly, from regions unknown, sprang into their presence to apprise them that I still lived. To me, to be thus gemmed around with such brilliant specimens of human form, and they my own blood kindred, was an event gratifying beyond all power of the tongue or pen to delineate. Their joy was evidenced in the sparkling eye and glowing countenance. I tried to expatiate and felt what a boon, to me, would have been the enrapturing powers of eloquence. But life's transports and its woes are alike evanescent. At times the glorious sun pours down upon the green earth, its broad sheen of glittering radiance, showing the romantic landscapes in the full lusciousness of their native array, and this gives a charm like that which bedecks the fair edens of the blessed; then a change--the curtains of night are drawn, the revolving globe shuts out the brilliant day, with the warble of birds, but the musical roar of gliding streams that leap down declivities and thunder from the cataracts, lull us to slumber with the mingled dignity of their voice, that declare a ceaseless harmony in the flow and order of nature's vast creations.

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A little time explains all, calmed the tumult of joy, and I united with them in completing their anniversary repast.

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My visit and acquaintance with my Uncle Lyman and family, as well as with many other uncles, aunts and cousins in that neighborhood, was most agreeable and satisfactory to them and myself. On the 22nd of that month [July, 1847] I reluctantly bid them all adieu and went to Rochester where I spent one day in visiting cousin Sidney Higgins and other relatives on my mother's side. I took the steamer Lady of the Lake and went down Lake Ontario to Sacketsharbor, ten miles from which place I found Brother Fox at his father's home, whom I was happy to meet again. I took the stage for Rome, sixty miles distant, which place called up many youthful memories. Ten miles from there was the place of my birth. With my father I had attended "general trainings" at Rome and looked at the grand officers on prancing steeds and the wheeling columns. My twenty years' absence had rendered strange to me all the scenery, but I was gratified to travel through my native state.

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Cohose is a delightful place, situated on the Mohawk River. Standing on the Erie Canal, one half mile west of the village, a magnificent scene spread before the beholder. There is a long succession of canal locks. The Cohose Falls, down which the clear waters pour, send upwards a mist of spray to dance in wreaths of playful fantasy in the glancing sunbeams, while the waters of the "old canal" rested in their basins, a few feet below. There was a quiet green beyond, over which the aged and the youth, the merry and sedate, slowly sauntered arm in arm. The river bluffs arose just beyond, skirted with young growths of cedars, but bridge, with lattice work, stretched across the stream. The quiet village in the vale below sent up its modest spires above the foliage of the trees, and the high lands spread out their broad limits like a map of sublimity beyond. There were broad, well-cultivated farms with fine residences; and woods, groves, wild clumps of trees and trees ornamental, that here and there in fantastic array, dotted the checkered landscape. Over all this, the yellow radiating tints of the retiring sun reflected a gorgeousness that mellowed the ambient air into an enchanting halo that captivated the mind of the beholder.

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Night soon hovered over the scene, and Dr. Daniel Olts, of Courtland County, (that state), and myself returned to our boat and passed the evening with our books.

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On August 2 [1847] I arrived in Albany. I did not like the city much, but I saw only the lower streets. I was told it was beautiful further back. I took passage on the passenger steamer South America, left the wharf at 6:30 a.m. The North River is a most delightful stream. It is not rapid. It runs clear and deep--free from rocks, sand bars or "snags" which makes it safe and easy to navigate. No freight was carried by passenger vessels. The burthens of commerce were conveyed in sail vessels and it was interesting to view the many sails that floated over the bosom of the Hudson. The shore sceneries are romantic and beautiful. The bluffs for many miles seem to be solid rock that rise up to a great height. There is a view of the Catskill mountains towering their blue summits to the skies at the base of which are table lands and sequestered vales. We see Poughkeepsie, Newburg, West Point, Sing Sing, Nyack and Tarrytown. Beautiful bath houses were erected along the water's edge, every little distance for forty miles above New York, for the benefit of bathers in the salt water from the sea. We arrived at New York at 2 p.m.

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The Saints in New York and Brooklyn were very kind in providing me with necessary comforts while I should be crossing to Liverpool.

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On Monday morning, August 23, 1837, Elders Applyby, William H. Miles, Brother Burnett and four or five sisters who had just come from England, and several of the New York Saints went down to the docks and saw me on board the sail ship Liverpool, which was towed out by tug boats to the open sea.

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The limit of this volume is now nearly filled. Consequently I shall not give a full account of my voyage. One or two incidents only I will briefly relate:

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At four o'clock a.m., August 29 [1847], a woman died. Her body was wrapped in canvas, by and sailors, which was sewed up securely then carried to the small side door and place upon a plank with a bag of sand tied at her feet. The end of the plank was then lifted to a proper angle, and the weight of the sand drew her, feet foremost, into the "dark blue sea." This was the first burial at sea I had ever witnessed. It was a melancholy spectacle to witness a human form thrown into the deep ocean where nothing can mark the place of interment! The sand was not of sufficient weight to sink her and, as we pursued our course, she was seen far behind amid the bounding waves.

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A young lady by the name of Eliza Cherry was among the passengers. She sickened and became a great sufferer. She was remarkably patient. Her modesty and general quiet demeanor won for her the sympathy and esteem of all who were quartered in the portion of the ship adjacent to her berth. She expressed no particular anxiety except a strong desire to live to see her father who resided in England and who she was going to visit. On Monday, September 20, 1847, this young lady died and was lowered from the ship to find a sepulcher in the mighty deep until the "sea shall give up its dead."

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September 23 [1847], we entered the Irish Channel, sighted Cape Clear, the Irish coast, the Dungowan and Waterford Mountains, etc. O, how the Irish passengers rejoiced as they gazed upon their native shore! On the 25th we passed the Welch coast, the islands of Anglesy, the villages of Bumorris, Amwich and Middlemouse. We took on board the pilot, the tug boat hitched to the Liverpool and we were safely moored at the Liverpool docks.

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I went direct to 39 Torbock Street, the publication office of the Millennial Star. I was rejoiced to meet President Orson Spencer and family, and Apostle Franklin D. Richards there.

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I labored in the Millennial Star office about six months--preaching frequently in Liverpool and its suburbs. I was treated with much courtesy by President Spencer and family, Apostle Richards and the Saints generally. Afterwards I went to labor in the Cheshire Conference, under the presidency of President J. Goodfellow.

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On the 9th of February, 1848, I was appointed by President Spencer to preside over the Staffordshire Conference. During my labors in that conference, I enjoyed the friendship and confidence of the Latter-day Saints and labored diligently for their welfare in the things pertaining to their advancement in the principles of the gospel, also to bring unbelievers to a knowledge of the truth.

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I made a couple of pleasant and, as I believe, profitable visits into Woostershire, where L. D. Butler presided, and he visited and labored in the Staffordshire Conference in return.

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I made a trip to London and took in the sights of that mammoth city. I would be gratified had I space to give in detail an elaborate account of the London sights, of England and its people, and of my mission.

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Chapter XIII

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July 6, 1848, I went on board the sail ship Forest Monarch for New York, in company with four of the English Saints. The ship had moved a little way out from the docks and had cast anchor. I observed a row boat steering for our ship and one of the men who left it clambered up the vessel's side and I was made happy in the presence of my old friend, Elder Lorenzo D. Butler, the President of the Worcestershire Conference.

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Salutations exchanged quickly, and he explained the object of his visit. He said it might be the case that I had been unfortunate enough to be on board a doomed ship. He said a friend of mine was strongly impressed with that belief and he had been solicited to interview me about the matter. It was feared, if I started to cross the ocean upon it, I would be lost.

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I told my friend I had come on board with good intentions, and if it were really true that the passengers were in danger, that perhaps my presence might not be detrimental to their safety. I confessed that I might have my hands full before reaching America; but my confidence was in God and His Providences and I would look to Him who "tempers the winds to the shorn lamb," for the outcome. I told him I loved my friends and felt grateful for their solicitude, but I believed in the over-ruling providences of God, and that if I should be careful on the voyage to do nothing with an evil intent, and followed the promptings of His Holy Spirit, that all would be over-ruled and I would again stand upon the soil of my native shore.

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My friend saw that I was firm in the position I had taken, and, with feelings of disappointment, left the ship. I watched, with melancholy interest, as the distance widened between us. The Forest Monarch lay quietly at her moorings, as an experienced warrior might have done when resting for strength at the threshold of conflict.

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The next morning by daylight the tug boat came along side and towed us out into the channel. The weather was delightful. In the afternoon, off Hollyhead, a breeze struck up that caused waves to dash against the bow of the ship with sufficient force to burst open the port hole of the vessel and the water rushed in among the steerage passengers in large quantities. Great alarm seized upon all. Screaming, crying, praying and swearing were alternately heard and the Irish Catholics commenced counting their beads, crossing themselves, etc.

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The captain ordered "tack ship." The vessel's bow was held from the wind and the captain gave orders for making fast the port hole. The regular or original block that filled the opening had been taken out at Liverpool and a temporary one swung on hinges from the top of the opening on the inside and fastened with a catch at the lower edge. This was done for the purpose of admitting air while loading the vessel at the docks. When the waves forced themselves against the bow of the ship the catch was found too weak and was broken, while the temporary door swung upward upon its hinges and admitted the water. They fastened it again by placing an iron bar across and lashing it at each end with ropes inserted through auger holes bored through the hull. This was accomplished with much trouble and the ship put on its course. In a short time it burst open again. This time universal consternation prevailed, more intense than before. Many, pale as death, threw themselves upon the deck, apparently with little power to move or speak.

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The bow of the ship was turned from the waves. The next morning was more calm and the port hole was fastened securely which was accomplished by suspending a platform from ropes over the ship's bow, upon which the carpenter descended, inserted the block originally made for the purpose, and filled it around with oakum. this made it permanent. Had this occurrence been postponed for some of the storms destined to meet us in our course, certain destruction would have been our portion.

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On the 12th of July, 1848, a very heavy gale came up from the west and continued for forty-eight hours. The ship lay to under close reefed top sails, while she wallowed through the waves like a monster of the sea. I can but imperfectly describe the scene in the lower decks, among the 480 passengers, but those who have been in storms on the ocean can view something of the incidents through the glass of imagination. The ship, rolling from side to side, some of the passengers holding to posts, ropes, or whatever they could grasp. Many were thrown entirely across the deck and back again, among boxes, trunks, and all kinds of articles. Cries with pain from bruises received in the heterogeneous mixture, mingled with the enjoyable laugh of the reckless ones, strangely blended with the roar of the winds and the pelting of the waves against the ship's sides, which seemed but frail protection against the combined fury of the elements.

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The storm continued to rage. There was not a moment's lull in the wind, which all the time blew direct from the exact point of compass for which we wished to steer. At 12 o'clock a.m. of July 13th, [1848] there was no sign of the storm abating, but, if possible, it seemed to rage with greater fierceness. The danger appeared imminent. A responsibility seemed to point to me, as if a duty were assigned me. I felt convinced that there was but a brief period remaining until the Prince and Power of the Air would consummate his designs, did not the Divine Powers interpose. I was clinging with both arms clasped tightly around a post from which it seemed, at times, that I must be hurled by the plunging fury of the vessel, which indeed behaved as if doomed for destruction. While in this position a panorama of my life passed in review before me. Two or three words, as if shaped in letters of burnished gold or written by flames of fire, were presented. These words were so chosen as to be indicative of some unwise act or sinful deed. They would remain there, undiminished in brightness, until I had earnestly and humbly implored the forgiveness of my Heavenly Father. When I had duly repented, that set of words would pass away and others take their place, until mental restitution was made as before. These manifestations continued to alternate for a time and then passed away.

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Realizing the full extent of the threatened peril, I importuned my Heavenly Father and asked that His good spirit might direct me, if there was anything possible for me to accomplish, as a humble instrument in His hands, I acted as the spirit of the Lord directed. Taking with me a bottle of olive oil that had been consecrated by the authority of the priesthood, I made an effort to reach the hurricane deck which I succeeded in doing after much difficulty. The dense darkness of the night shut out from sight the surging billows, which were only brought to view by the rapid lightning flashes, while the booming voice of terrible thunder shoot the sea. The scene, though awe-inspiring, exhibited a little of the majesty of the Creator's works. Our ship mounted each succeeding wave with trembling and unsteady motion and then descended into the foaming troughs with a reckless madness that was portentous of an inevitable tomb down in the unfathomed abyss.

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No power but that of omnipotence, thought I, can save us from the perils of this terrible moment. The puny arm of man was far too short and feeble to extend to us a rescue. The eighty colored sailors that manned the toiling ship were skulked away in some place of fancied security and the captain and his officers (I was informed afterwards) had given up for lost and retired to their own apartments. The sails were closely wreathed, except one or two of the lowest, left purposely, if possible to hold the vessel a little steady.

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At such an hour--in the midst of darkness and the electric flashes--I wrestled against the dangers that threatened to hurl me into the foaming immensity that gleamed and sparkled in the lurid light. O, the terrible majesty of that scene! I cannot portray it! That boundless expanse of ocean was stirred up from its depths and piled around into mountain heights, and as our ship descended along each crested wave, it seemed that at the base might be our sepulchre!

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Reaching the bulwarks with safety, with my left hand I grasped a rope to keep from being hurled across the deck or into the sea. With my right hand I took from my pocket (for so was I impressed) the bottle before mentioned, and, in the name of the Lord, poured out the oil upon the winds and the waves. Then, rebuking the anger of the elements in the name of the God of Israel, I turned from the scene and reached in safety my quarters below the deck. It seemed but a few moments after my arrival there when I heard someone speak out earnestly from the gangway: "Good news; the wind is going down and turning in our favor." The wind died away by degrees and the next morning not a breeze was wafted over the blue crest of the ocean. All was calm and placid as is the humbled human breast after passion's terrible hurricane has subsided and left it once more to the empire of peace.

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I place this matter upon record as an evidence of God's power and to show that He has conferred His Priesthood upon men in these last days through the instrumentality of His Prophet Joseph Smith. I relate these facts with much diffidence lest some may think I do so with boastful motives, which is foreign from me. I feel myself as being one of the weakest instruments that our Heavenly Father has chosen in this age of the world and honored with the authority of His priesthood. To Him belongs all the glory and to Him, for this and many other evidences of His preserving mercy, I offer the tribute of a grateful heart.

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On the twentieth of July [1848] another storm set in which lasted twenty-four hours, in which the mercy of our Heavenly Father was made manifest in our preservation. Also, on the twentieth of August, the elements seemed to be, if possible, more determined than ever on our destruction. The storm raged all day and night. We were in a very dangerous part of the ocean, between Sable Island and the mainland, as I understood, among rocks and shoals. The squalls struck us repeatedly with such fury that the sails were rent in pieces and the greatest peril was threatened. This time it seemed to me that all the hosts of the infernal regions were determined to destroy us. I stood at the bulwarks holding to the rigging about twelve o'clock at night. Again faith was exercised in the God of Israel and again His Omnipotent power was manifested in our preservation. All the powers of my soul were employed as I exercised faith in the name of the Lord and humbly asked Him to rebuke the fury of the winds and the waves and after a time my heart was filled with gratitude when the squalls came with less fury and less frequency. We were again preserved by the power of Jehovah and He alone it was who stilled the terrible motion of that angry sea.

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That was a terrible night. In addition to the horror of the storm, we were near having a collision. A vessel, for the first that it had been discovered, through the darkness and fog, was lying across our ship's bow. Every effort was quickly made by the officers of our ship and we passed them safely. Had the vessels truck, under such circumstances, the disaster must have been great to both. The captain, two days after, speaking to me of that night, said: "I took good care that nobody but myself knew the danger we were in."

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From Newfoundland we had a fair wind, the first since we left the Liverpool docks. All sails were stretched to catch the wooing breeze, and we were able to make excellent headway. A sight of my native shore filled me with a supreme gratitude I had never before felt--gratitude to God that we had been brought safely through so many dangers and again permitted to enjoy the privilege of looking upon the shore of my beloved country.

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To Newfoundland we had almost incessant storms, with the wind blowing exactly from the point of the compass for which we wished to steer.

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On the evening of the 25th of August, 1848, two steamers came alongside, to which the luggage of 480 passengers was transferred, and we all were soon landed on the wharf of New York, thankful to place our feet upon land once more, after having been denied that privilege for fifty-one days.

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In the midst of these interesting reminiscences we are under the necessity of closing our labors for the present. From the exodus of the Saints from Nauvoo--taking in the many unpublished incidents connected with their unexampled journey to the Rocky Mountains, and the founding of a prosperous territory--much of interest remains to be chronicled. All this, and much that has already been furnished us, may afford material for a second volume.

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LINES

Lyman Littlefield Reminiscences (1888), p.208

Lyman Littlefield Reminiscences (1888), p.208

By Miss E. R. Snow.

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Go, brother, go forth in the spirit of Jesus, Enrobed with salvation, encircled with power; God forth as a herald and publish glad tidings-- Go call to the nations and tell them the hour.

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Go, brother, be humble--hold fast your profession-- Continue to cling to the strong "iron rod:" 'Twill lead thro' the mists and the clouds of thick darkness, To the fountain of light and the glory of God.

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Go, brother, thy country has chased thee in exile, With an oft oppress'd people, the Saints of the Lord; Who are passing the furnace of deep "fiery trials," Rejoicing in hope of the "better reward."

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Go, brother, go tell our dear brethren in Europe The suff'ring and patience and faith of the Saints, Who, for righteousness sake, on the earth are but strangers-- But God is their Lord, and their spirit ne'er faints.

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Go, brother, and say to the Saints that are faithful That God is preparing a kingdom of rest; And when they have pass'd thro' the tide of affliction, With the fullness of blessing they'll truly be blest.

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Go, Brother, be faithful, and God will protect you And bear you in safety across the great deep; And your guardian angel will bring you instruction, And whisper sweet comfort to you when you sleep.

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Go, brother, and when from the friends now around you, You are breathing the air of a far distant clime, Look oft in the mirror of your recollection And the sweet sounding harp-strings of friendship will chime.

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May the God of our fathers preserve you from evil, And fill you with wisdom and light evermore; And when you with honor have finished your mission, Return you in peace to America's shore.

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