SELECTIONS FROM THE WRITINGS OF PRESCINDIA LATHROP HUNTINGTON
In Kirtland we enjoyed many very great blessings, and often saw the power of God manifested. On one occasion I saw angels clothed in white walking upon the temple. It was during one of our monthly fast meetings, when the saints were in the temple worshipping. A little girl came to my door and in wonder called me out, exclaiming, “The meeting is on the top of the meetinghouse!” I went to the door, and there I saw on the temple angels clothed in white covering the roof from end to end. They seemed to be walking to and fro; they appeared and disappeared. The third time they appeared and disappeared before I realized that they were not mortal men. Each time in a moment they vanished, and their reappearance was the same. This was in broad daylight, in the afternoon. A number of the children in Kirtland saw the same.
When the brethren and sisters came home in the evening, they told of the power of God manifested in the temple that day, and of the prophesying and speaking in tongues. It was also said, in the interpretation of tongues, “That the angels were resting down upon the house.”
At another fast meeting I was in the temple with my sister Zina. The whole of the congregation were on their knees, praying vocally, for such was the custom at the close of these meetings when Father Smith presided; yet there was no confusion; the voices of the congregation mingled softly together. While the congregation was thus praying, we both heard, from one corner of the room above our heads, a choir of angels singing most beautifully. They were invisible to us, but myriads of angelic voices seemed to be united in singing some song of Zion, and their sweet harmony filled the temple of God.
We were also in the temple at the pentecost. In the morning Father Smith prayed for a pentecost, in opening the meeting. That day the power of God rested mightily upon the saints. There was poured out upon us abundantly the spirit of revelation, prophesy and tongues. The Holy Ghost filled the house; and along in the afternoon a noise was heard. It was the sound of a mighty rushing wind. But at first the congregation was startled, not knowing what it was. To many it seemed as though the roof was all in flames. Father Smith exclaimed, “Is the house on fire?”
“Do you not remember your prayer this morning, Father Smith?” inquired a brother.
Then the patriarch, clasping his hands, exclaimed, “The spirit of God, like a mighty rushing wind!”
At another time a cousin of ours came to visit us at Kirtland. She wanted to go to one of the saints’ fast meetings, to hear someone sing or speak in tongues, but she said she expected to have a hearty laugh. Accordingly we went with our cousin to the meeting, during which a Brother McCarter rose and sang a song of Zion in tongues; I arose and sang simultaneously with him the same tune and words, beginning and ending each verse in perfect unison, without varying a word. It was just as though we had sung it together a thousand times. After we came out of meeting, our cousin observed, “Instead of laughing, I never felt so solemn in my life.”
The family of Huntingtons removed with the saints from Kirtland to Far West, and passed through the scenes of the expulsion from Missouri. In this their experience was very similar to the narratives of the other sisters already given; but Sister Prescindia’s visit to the prophet, in Liberty Jail, must have special notice. She says:
In the month of February, 1839, my father, with Heber C. Kimball, and Alanson Ripley, came and stayed overnight with us, on their way to visit the prophet and brethren in Liberty Jail. I was invited to go with them. When we arrived at the jail we found a heavy guard outside and inside the door. We were watched very closely, lest we should leave tools to help the prisoners escape.
I took dinner with the brethren in prison; they were much pleased to see the faces of true friends; but I cannot describe my feelings on seeing that man of God there confined in such a trying time for the saints, when his counsel was so much needed. And we were obliged to leave them in that horrid prison, surrounded by a wicked mob.
While in prison, the brethren were presented with human flesh to eat. My brother, William Huntington, tasted before the word could be passed from Joseph to him. It was the flesh of a colored man.
I never saw my mother again. I felt alone on the earth, with no one to comfort me, excepting my little son, George, for my husband had become a bitter apostate, and I could not speak in favor of the Church in his presence. There was by this time not one true saint in the state of Missouri, to my knowledge.