The Story of William Pilkington
My special interest in the words of the prophets came at a very impressionable age in my life. My father was the bishop of our ward. Each year he would plan a trip that would help impress on our minds the significance of the events that happened near our home in Logan, Utah.
When I was 12 years of age, he planned a trip to Clarkston, Utah, for the Aaronic Priesthood holders of our ward. Arriving in Clarkston, we were driven to the town cemetery, where we were asked to gather around a tall granite marker. The marker was engraved with the name of Martin Harris, one of the Three Witnesses to the authenticity of the Book of Mormon. Not only were we to see Martin Harris's grave, but we would also hear Martin Harris's testimony by one who knew him. I would like you to relive that event with me tonight. I have invited William Pilkington—alias Lael Woodbury—to tell his story. William, please come forth and give that witness.
We had been in our new home a few days. One dark night a knock came on the door. Our family was gathered at home and we were all singing the songs of Zion. We stopped singing and Father opened the door. A strange man walked in. He was given a chair and he sat down.
He said, "What is your name, sir?"
Father promptly told him our name was Pilkington.
He said, "Are you immigrants?"
He was told that we had just immigrated from England. He said he wanted to hire a boy to go and live with him for one year.
My brother Richard and I were sitting together on the right of the stranger. He looked at us and said, "I think this one will do." That one was Willie—me.
He then asked if I would like to go and live with him for a year. He said he had just sold his property in Smithfield and was going to a place across the valley called Clarkston. Father asked him how much I would get if I went for a year. He thought a little while and then said, "I will give Willie a two-year-old heifer and his board and clothes if he will work for me."
I asked Father what he thought about the proposition. He said it was all right—I could go and work for him a year, and for me to be a good boy.
I put on my coat and hat, kissed Mother, Father, and all the rest of the family, and went with him. It was a very dark night, and the country being strange to me, he took hold of my hand. We walked for about 10 minutes and entered a log house—the first log house I was ever in.
The rest of the family had all retired to bed. Or at least I thought so. I thought it very strange the man did not tell me what his name was. He gave me a chair and sat me down close by a little round table. He then asked me if I had had my supper.
I said, "Yes," and he said, "Maybe you can eat a little more." So he got a pan of milk, some bread, a bowl and spoon and told me to eat all I wanted. He told me the folks had all gone to bed and said, "Now I will go to bed, but before going I will show you where you will sleep on the floor," and then he went to bed.
I was enjoying the bread and milk when my attention was attracted to an object over in the northwest corner of the room. As the oil lamp gives very little light, I was puzzled as to what it could be, so I ate a little faster so I could go to bed.
I was obliged to go between the table and this object, and in going round the table I discovered the form of a man. He made a motion with his hand as if he wanted me.
Rather timidly I went over to him, and he told me to pull up a chair and sit down close to him. I still felt a rather crawly sensation creeping over me, but I pulled up the chair alongside the chair he was sitting on and sat down.
He asked me what my name was, and I promptly told him my name was William Pilkington.
He asked me if we were immigrants.
I told him our family immigrated from England.
He then asked me if I was going to live with them.
I told him I thought I would live with them for about a year.
Up to this time neither one of them had told me what their name was, and it rather puzzled me. Then he asked me if I was a Mormon.
I told him our whole family were Mormons.
He told me he was going to call me Willie. I told him that Mother called me Willie too.
Then he said, "Willie, tomorrow night after the chores are done and we have had supper and all the folks have gone to bed, I want you to sit down in this chair, close to mine, for I have lots to tell you."
I told him I would do that, and then I retired to bed on the floor. Between the floor being hard and what the old man had told me, I did not sleep very much and arose very early the next morning not feeling very much refreshed, as that was the first time I had ever slept on the floor, and that with only one quilt under and one over me.
When I arose the next morning, I looked for the man who talked to me last night. I knew that I could recognize him, as in the darkness of the room he resembled a picture I had once seen of Rip Van Winkle. When I found him, however, I found a very old man, and he walked with a cane. He greeted me with "Good morning, Willie" and shook my hand and told me not to forget tonight.
I told him I wouldn't forget. I was wondering all day long what that old man wanted me for—an old decrepit man who wanted to talk to a boy he had found out was a Mormon boy.
At last night came. Supper was over, and after having family prayer they all retired to bed. The old gentleman then sat down in his armchair, put his elbow on the arm of the chair, and crooked his finger as he did scores of times afterward, and that was a signal for me to bring my chair alongside his.
He again asked me what my name was.
I told him.
"Oh, yes, I am to call you Willie." He then said, "Willie, did you ever go to Sunday School?"
I promptly told him, "Yes, sir."
"What class were you in?"
I promptly told him the Book of Mormon class.
His eyes sparkled and his whole body seemed to vibrate. He seemed like a changed being. He was very excited, trembling as I gazed into his eyes.
He said, "Did you ever read the Book of Mormon?"
"Yes, sir," was the reply.
"Well, if you have read the Book of Mormon, what is the first reading that we find in the preface of the book?"
After a little thinking, I said, "The first reading in the Book of Mormon is the testimony of the three men testifying to the whole world that they saw an angel come down from heaven, that they saw the gold plates from which the Book of Mormon was translated, and the angel told them that the translation was correct, and they bear record that Joseph Smith is a true prophet of God and that their names will go forever before the world testifying that the Book of Mormon is true."
He then said, "I know now, Willie, that you have read that glorious book. Willie, I am going to ask you one more question. What were those three men's names?"
I told him they were Oliver Cowdery, David Whitmer, and Martin Harris.
This little old man, then 92 years of age, of whom in my mind I had likened to Rip Van Winkle, whose whole being at this time was wonderful to behold, all lit up with the Spirit of God, whose eyes now were sparkling, whose whole being was transformed, stood up before me on that memorable occasion and, putting his walking cane in his left hand, he straightened up and striking his breast with his right hand exclaimed, "I am Martin Harris, one of the three witnesses to the authenticity of the Book of Mormon—a man who had the privilege of standing before angels, a man whose eyes beheld the golden plates, a man whose ears heard the voice of God declare that the book was translated correctly and then command him to testify to all the world that it was correct."
From that time on until his death, he never tired of telling me of the beauties of the gospel, and especially about the early rise of the Church and the tribulations that beset the Prophet Joseph Smith and himself.
Thank you, William Pilkington, for that witness and testimony.2
"The Scriptures and the Restoration" L. Tom Perry, November 02, 2003BYU Fireside
