Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

  After we left the mound, we inquired of Joseph who he thought this might have been. Joseph said that while he was on the mound, the visions of the past had been opened to his mind by the power of the Almighty. He discovered the man was named Zelph, a white Lamanite who had died in battle with the Lamanites. We rejoiced to think that God was so mindful of us that he would give us this information through his servant Joseph.

  About noon of that same day, Joseph gathered us again. He climbed upon a wagon wheel and said he wished to deliver a prophecy. He gave us much good advice and exhorted us to faithfulness and humility, then said that the Lord had revealed to him that because of the fractious and unruly spirit some in the camp were manifesting, a scourge would come upon the camp and that we would see the men die like sheep with the rot. With the most tender entreaties, Joseph begged us to repent and humble ourselves so the scourge might be turned away, but feared it would not be so, because so many members are filled with an unruly temper.

  We were much subdued for a time, but alas, I must say that the same spirit now fills our camp again. Much of it comes through the person of Brother Syl. Smith (I can hardly call him brother. He carries such a rebellious spirit I have little patience for him.) Recently Brother P. Pratt called upon Sylvester to share his provisions as he had none and they were scarce in the camp. Smith had plenty and more than enough, but he refused Parley and sent him off to ask others. Parley finally went to bed hungry. When Joseph learned of this, he sharply reproved Sylvester, who did not take it well. Since then he finds every excuse to criticize Joseph’s leadership and his spirit is influencing others in a bad way.

  Joseph’s bulldog is a mean-tempered animal and often snaps or growls at the men. We have found this to be quite objectionable, but Joseph says the beast is but responding to the treatment he receives. There are considerable feelings against it. The dog and Sylvester especially do not get along. I wager it is because they are both alike in temperament.

  This morning Joseph again spoke with us. He said he was much alarmed about the spirit which was in the camp. To help us drive it from the camp, he would show us what we were like now. Then raising his voice, in a surly tone he said: “If any man insults or abuses me, I will stand against him even at the expense of my own life.”

  At that moment, Syl. Smith returned from the meadow where he had been caring for his horses. Overhearing the last statement, and thinking Joseph made reference to him alone, he went into a fury. “If that dog bites me,” he yelled, “I shall kill him.”

  Joseph whirled around. “If you do, I will whip you.”

  He then turned to us and lowering his voice said, “Now, brethren, I have descended to that spirit which fills our camp. Are you not ashamed of it? I most certainly am.”

  Though we all knew what Joseph was trying to do, it did not set well with many. I, myself, have thought a great deal about it. I think it was unwise. I’m not sure this was the best way to deal with us. Tensions are high. There are reports that 400 men from Jackson County are in the area looking to stop our march. Dear Brother Joseph, we don’t need your rebukes as much as we need your support and your encouragement.

  Tues. 17th

  It has been nearly a fortnight now since I last wrote. Between long marches in the day and double picket duty on many nights, I have little energy for writing. I also accept the fact that much of my enthusiasm for this journey seems to have died. We have been joined by more volunteers from Michigan, which brings our numbers to about 207 (not counting women and children) with 25 baggage wagons. This is as strong as we have ever been, and yet a spirit of despair seems to pervade us all.

  There is now almost no hope that Governor Dunklin will keep his promise to reinstate the Saints to Jackson County, even if we provide them protection. Orson Hyde and Parley Pratt have returned from a visit to Jefferson City. They got nothing but sympathy and not enough of that. Gov. D. says he has no power and there is little he can do. He counseled the delegation to have the Saints sell their land and abandon any claim to it. This, of course, we cannot do, for the Lord forbids it.

  O Lord, have we come all this way for naught? What purpose do you have for us if we cannot prevail and redeem Zion?

  The men behave more strangely each day. Yesterday, Brother Martin Harris was boasting that by the power of the priesthood he could handle snakes with perfect safety. To prove his point, he removed his boot and began to tease a black snake he had found. He provoked it until it bit him on the heel. When Joseph learned of it, he was angry and rebuked Brother H. We are not to trifle with the promises of the Lord, he said. It is true men may be healed if accidently bitten by a poisonous snake but we should not seek such a thing simply to test the Lord. Mr. Harris is fortunate this snake was not poisonous.

  Part of this comes from low morale, I’m sure. Conditions are hard and there is little to rejoice over. We have been six weeks on the trail and memories of our families seem more and more dim. I know I should think more often of Lydia and the children, but my thoughts are consumed with the daily needs of our existence. The weather is very hot with hardly a breeze to stir the air and good water is now difficult to come by. Yesterday a heavy thunderstorm came and we caught as much water as possible in the brims of our hats and drank it. But this was not sufficient and some were forced to drink water from the horses’ tracks. Likewise our food is scarce and of poor quality—much of it rancid or moldy.

  Today, the spirit of dissension reached a climax amongst us who call ourselves “brethren.” We reached the Wakenda River, it being high and requiring that we ferry over, always a labor that exhausts both man and beast. A man informed us that a large body of Missourians were gathering and would attack us that night. He also said that the prairie ahead of us was twenty-three miles long with no timber or good water. Some of the brethren suggested we camp there on the river where there was an ample supply of good water and firewood. Joseph was worried that the woods left us vulnerable to being ambushed and suggested we take wood and water with us out onto the prairie.

  There was considerable disagreement on the matter. I voted to stay in the timber but suggested we be especially diligent. Then Brother Hyrum Smith said he felt impressed to say, in the name of the Lord, that we should camp on the prairie and not at the river. Joseph felt to heed the counsel of his older brother and said the prairie it would be. I hesitate to murmur, but why should Hyrum be allowed to decide our camping place? Is Joseph our leader, or is he not?

  Well, be that as it may, as we set to the march once again, Lyman Wight, who has been elected general commander of our company now that we are in Missouri, was still arguing for the river. Brother Sylvester Smith stood in the roadside as the men passed and cried, “Who shall you follow, your general or some other man?” Meaning of course, Joseph Smith. About twenty heeded the call and stayed behind with Syl. Smith and Wight. I was sorely tempted, but finally felt I should follow Joseph. Although Lyman Wight has been elected general, Joseph is still our commander in chief. I went reluctantly with many misgivings. Is Joseph doing right?

  When we reached our campsite here, about eight miles from the river and out of sight of timber, we found only a slough with putrid water filled with some kind of little red living things. The water we had brought from the river had been put in two empty powder kegs and proved to be undrinkable. Thus our situation was almost intolerable, and this only furthers the complaints against Joseph.

  Lyman Wight and the others finally rejoined us just a few minutes ago. Joseph rebuked Bro. Wight for not obeying counsel and for tarrying behind. He told him not to do so again. Bro. W. showed a repentant spirit and promised Bro. Joseph he would never forsake him again but would stand by him forever.

  I was pleased to hear that, for I have admired Bro. W. He strikes me as being a man of great courage. I wish I could say Syl. S. exhibited the same spirit but he did not. He was his usual difficult and fractious self.

  I would be dishonest if I did not say that I too struggle with this problem. Joseph has
warned us about having a fractious and rebellious spirit, but I find myself filled with bitterness towards those who have brought this upon us, especially Syl. Smith. Brother Brigham, my captain, and HC Kimball, Wilford Woodruff and others have sensed my flagging spirits and have worked much to buoy me up.

  What is worse for me, with each passing day we draw closer to Jackson County. While I yearn to know if all is well with Jessica and my young niece, my mind is increasingly filled with thoughts of my eldest brother. I know that our Savior says we are to have love for all men, even those who despitefully use us, but my heart is filled with the blackest feelings for Joshua. I pray nightly that God will help me find it in my heart to forgive him, but as yet, I wish only to face him and say he is not worthy to be called a Steed. God forgive me for this bitterness, but I cannot help it.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  What darling children, Lydia!”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Roth.”

  Hannah Lovina Hurlburt McBride smiled proudly and lifted little Emily higher in her arms. “This is Grandma’s girl, this one, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

  Emily—always one to know when she was on parade, and also very much aware of the benefits of pleasing Grandma—bobbed her head. “Yes’m,” she said demurely, the large brown eyes appraising the other woman quite openly from beneath the long lashes.

  “Oh,” gushed Mrs. Roth, “she is such a little angel. How old are you, darlin’?”

  Emily held up four fingers, then carefully reached out with her other hand and folded two of them back down again.

  “Two?” Mrs. Roth cried in mock amazement.

  “Almost two,” Grandma McBride amended. “About three more weeks. July fifth.”

  Joshua sensed what was coming—it happened almost every time they went out—and so he cut it off. He looked up at his mother. “Mama?”

  Lydia looked down. “Yes, dear?”

  “Can we have some candy?”

  She nodded absently. “I suppose. We’ll have to ask Grandpa.”

  They were standing on the boardwalk, just two or three doors down now from the McBrides’ mercantile store, so Joshua immediately saw his escape. “I’ll take Emily,” he said, like the little man that he was. “We’ll go see Grandpa.”

  That was enough for Emily. Immediately she squirmed her way out of Grandma McBride’s grasp and slithered down to join her brother. As they moved off, the three women watched them go.

  “They are such angels, Lydia.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Roth. We do find great pleasure in them.”

  “And when will you be going back to Ohio?”

  Lydia was caught off guard by the question. Hannah shot her neighbor a sharp look and cut in quickly. “Not for a while yet. Why, she’s only been here barely a month. That’s hardly any visit at all.”

  “We’ll probably stay for Emily’s birthday,” Lydia said hesitantly. “My husband’s still in Missouri and—”

  “And then Lydia’s birthday is in August, you know,” her mother went on smoothly. “He very likely won’t be home before then anyway.”

  “Well,” Mrs. Roth said quickly, sensing she had kicked over the beehive, “it’s very good to have you back home again, Lydia. You look absolutely lovely. Come over and visit us before you go. Won’t you please?”

  Lydia smiled. “I will, Mrs. Roth, thank you kindly. It’s good to see you again.”

  As Mrs. Roth hurried away, Lydia watched her go, a wistful look on her face.

  “Now, Lydia,” her mother said firmly, “the letter you got from Nathan said they weren’t even halfway to Independence yet, and that was almost the first of June. Heaven only knows how long that Joe Smith will keep them in Missouri once they get there.”

  “Joseph Smith,” Lydia corrected automatically.

  “Well, there isn’t any point you going home to an empty house, now, is there?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but started after the children.

  “I need to be there when Nathan gets home—,” Lydia began.

  Hannah McBride stopped and turned back. “Well, he isn’t home now,” she said in a tone that closed the matter once and for all. “There’ll be plenty of time to find out when he’s coming. Now, let’s get in that store before your father gives those children every piece of candy in the store.”

  “Do you see him?” Newel Knight whispered anxiously.

  “No.”

  “Then, let’s get out of here.” Brother Knight made no attempt to hide his nervousness as he eyed the crowd that pushed in around them.

  Next to him, Jessica was up on tiptoe trying to see above the crowd. She shook her head. “I’ve got to know, Brother Knight.”

  Newel sighed and shook his head, wondering who had ever been foolish enough to suggest that men were the stubborn ones of God’s creation. “Sister Steed,” Knight whispered, “we cannot stay. This is a very foolish thing we are doing.”

  “Just another minute. Please.”

  She understood the foolishness as well as he, and felt the danger and the fear also. But she had to know. Was he here? Had he come?

  They were standing outside the courthouse in Liberty, the county seat of Clay County. Seven or eight hundred people jammed the square; another hundred or more were inside watching the proceedings. It was hot. It was humid. And Jessica could feel the sweat trickling down her back inside her dress.

  But none of that mattered. When they learned that a delegation from Jackson County was coming to Liberty to negotiate peace with the Mormons (a peace which, given the Missourians’ unrealistic proposals, would more than likely not be reached), Jessica had determined to come into town and see if Joshua had come with them.

  It had become an obsession with her now. Twice during the winter, since the terrible exodus from Kaw Township, money arrived in Liberty for Jessica Steed. The sender’s name was never given. The money never came with a message. But between the two deliveries, there had been more than a hundred dollars. The gift had been a godsend. Food was scarce, shelter barely marginal. The children in the camp were like little derelicts, castaways from society, gaunt faced and hollow ribbed. With the money Jessica received, she and some others had rented a group of huts previously used for slaves, enough for five families, and bought flour and sugar and even two slabs of bacon. Everyone in their little group said it was a miracle, and Jessica did not dispute that. But she thought she knew by whose hand the miracle had come. Now she had to see him and find out if it was true.

  Then suddenly she froze. A face in the crowd was turned toward her. It was Joshua! His mouth dropped open as he recognized her, and for a moment their eyes locked. She ducked her head, the shock taking her breath away. “There he is!” she cried in a hoarse whisper.

  Newel raised his head. “Where?”

  Jessica couldn’t resist. She went back up on her toes to see if she had been mistaken. She gasped. He was coming toward her, pushing his way roughly through the crowd, face as grim as though he were death itself.

  Jessica spun around. “He’s coming!” she hissed. “He’s after me!” She looked around wildly, seeking escape.

  “But I thought—,” Newel Knight started, but before he could finish, Jessica plunged into the crowd, elbows up, pushing her way through with urgency. “Jessica, wait!” he called.

  But the crowd had swallowed her up, and so Newel plowed in after her.

  By the time Joshua reached the opposite side of the square, Jessica was nowhere to be found. He searched quickly, scanning the hundreds of faces. Nothing. Disappointed, he slumped back against one of the buildings.

  “What is it, Joshua?” Clinton Roundy had come up to join him.

  “I saw Jessica.”

  Roundy’s jaw dropped. “Here?”

  “Yes!” Joshua looked at Roundy, then rubbed a hand across his eyes. “I wasn’t going to hurt her. I just wanted to ask about Rachel.”

  “All right, men,” Joseph said quietly, “I don’t want anybody firing unless I say. Just keep your guns ready.” He wal
ked along the line, touching their shoulders momentarily.

  The men of Zion’s Camp were standing in a half circle around the edge of a bluff that had been formed by two different branches of the Fishing River. Below them, at the fording place across the main stream, five heavily armed horsemen were crossing and starting up the hill toward them. Beyond that the land stretched out in a flat run to the Missouri River, about two miles south of them. The wheat fields and cornfields of early summer provided a rich patchwork of various shades of green.

  Nathan stood next to Joseph’s young cousin, George Albert Smith. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw George A. lick his lips, then wipe first one hand and then the other on his trouser legs. Nathan did not smile at the boy’s nervousness. Suddenly his own throat was dry, and he found himself breathing a little more rapidly. His stomach also felt as though he had eaten something that disagreed with him and was thinking about parting company with it. He had heard men talk about the “taste of fear.” Now he knew what they meant.

  The bluff was not an ideal defensive position, though it held the only high ground in the vicinity. But their wagons had broken down again and again during the day’s march, and they had not made Liberty as they originally planned. So Joseph had picked this site, and they had made do. Now there were armed men approaching. Only five, it was true, but they certainly wouldn’t be so brazen as to ride into an armed camp unless they had more men somewhere behind them.

  As the horsemen approached the line, Joseph spoke quietly again. “Hold steady, boys. If they want trouble, we’ll give it to them, but we’ll not be starting it.”

  Nathan swallowed, then swallowed again, trying to ignore the squeezing sensation in his gut.

  The five riders topped the hill and pulled up a few yards short of the line. They were mean looking, bearded and unkempt. One swayed unsteadily on his horse, and Nathan guessed they had all been drinking, probably a lot.