by Dean Hughes
“Does he think the mobs will still come, then?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t explain.”
The party rode east on Mulholland about a mile, where they connected to the Carthage road and angled southeast toward the cemetery and then out across the prairie. It was a solemn procession, but they met no enemy, and by ten o’clock they were only about four miles from Carthage when they met a company of men from McDonough County. Will heard Captain Dunn, their leader, explain to Joseph that he had been sent by the governor to collect the arms that had been issued by the state to the Nauvoo Legion. Will understood that the governor wanted to interrupt the preparations for war, but he also worried that the Saints would be giving up their chance to protect themselves.
But Joseph didn’t argue. He agreed to give up the arms, countersigned the order from the governor, and sent Henry Sherwood to hurry back to Nauvoo and gather the weapons into the new Masonic Lodge. Joseph turned then and told his men that he would ride back to Nauvoo with Captain Dunn to make certain all would be peaceful.
Will wanted to ride with Joseph. It was his job to protect him. But Joseph didn’t want to make all the men travel back and forth and wear out their horses, so he asked most to stay. He and Hyrum and about twelve others made the trip back.
For Will that meant a long day of waiting, with nothing to do but wonder about Joseph, wonder what might be happening in Nauvoo, and wonder how Liz was doing. Some of the men napped under some gnarly old cottonwood trees by a creek, but Will had never been good at sleeping when his mind was riled this way. He walked for a time, sat for a time, and talked to the few men who stayed awake. It was a humid day, and after a time, the shade of the trees was no protection against the heat.
It was one of the longest days of the year, so the sun was up until late, but as it was setting, Joseph and the others had still not returned. Will was pacing and ready to start riding back toward Nauvoo when Joseph, along with Captain Dunn’s company, finally rode toward them. Joseph greeted the men, again more solemnly than Will was used to from Joseph, and they all continued on together.
John Benton, who had gone back with Joseph, rode alongside Will, and Will asked him how everything had gone in Nauvoo. “It took some time to explain to the Legion officers what was goin’ on—and then to start haulin’ in all the weapons—but more than anythin’, Joseph wanted to see Emma. He went back to the house twice. He kept holdin’ onto Emma and the childern like he didn’t ’spect to come home agin. And then, when we got to his farm, there by the cemetery, he jist kept starin’ out across his land. When we asked him why he was doin’ that, he told us that if any of us had a farm like that, and knowed we’d never see it again, we’d want to take a last look too.”
“Is he so sure he’s going to die?”
It was Henry Sherwood, riding on the other side of Will, who responded. “I think he’s ready for whatever comes. I heard him say, ‘I’m going like a lamb to the slaughter, but I’m calm as a summer’s morning.’ And he is calm—like he’s accepted what’s coming.”
“I heard him say some things like that, back in Nauvoo,” John said. “But he tol’ Emma that all would be jist fine, and Hyrum keeps sayin’ that too. So I think they still hold out some hope. But Abram Hodge caught up with us not long after we passed the farm. Joseph had sent him on to Carthage to see what was goin’ on over there. He told Joseph not to go on, that he’ll never get out of Carthage alive. He’d talked to a minister who said the Carthage Greys was waiting to kill him.”
“But Joseph decided to go on anyway?”
“I think he feels he has to,” Brother Sherwood said. “It’s as though he sees God in this, and he’s carrying out what the Lord wants him to do.”
But what did that mean? Will felt the soberness in Sherwood—in all the men. Will’s instincts told him they should never let Joseph give himself up, that they should convince him to go back across the river again, get far away from this place. But Joseph had made his decision, and Will was going to stay with him, no matter what that meant.
It was almost midnight when the party arrived in Carthage. Will had learned that Joseph was staying at the Hamilton Hotel for the night and would turn himself in the next morning—along with all the indicted men. The hotel was only one street east of the courthouse. As the band of men rode past the public square, Will saw that the local militia, the Carthage Greys, were camped near the courthouse. Along with them was the rest of the militia from McDonough County. All the men seemed eager to have a look at Joseph. Many of them came out of their tents and howled their insults. They vowed to have his life, called him every disgusting name imaginable.
Joseph didn’t respond, but Will was infuriated. These men knew nothing of Joseph Smith. What possible reason could they have to hate a man—any man—that much, particularly one as good as Joseph was? Will understood why some of the local people resented the Saints, but this kind of hatred was beyond reason. The men seemed crazed, their voices—their eyes—full of rage.
Many of the men followed on down the street, trying to get as close to Joseph as they could, seeming to hope they could yell some insult directly into his face. Captain Dunn’s troops surrounded him, however, and kept them back. As the mass of people reached the hotel, and Joseph, along with everyone else in his party, began to dismount, the roar of the mob reached a fanatic volume. About then a window on the second floor of the hotel came open, and someone yelled at the men. When they turned to see who was speaking, Governor Ford identified himself. “That’s enough, boys,” he shouted. “I’ll bring Mr. Smith by for your review in the morning. You get some sleep now—and let me do the same.”
Someone shouted, “Hurrah for Tom Ford,” and three loud cheers went up. Will thought the crowd was about to disperse, but just as Will was trying to get close to the Prophet, to offer protection as they walked inside, a man broke out of the crowd and rushed forward. He shouted, “We’re going to kill you, Joe Smith, an’ ever’ Mormon in these parts. We won’t put up with you no more.”
It was George Samples. Will jumped between him and the Prophet, but Samples slammed into Will, chest to chest. He was wearing a makeshift uniform and had a brace of pistols strapped around his waist. “Git out of my way, Lewis,” he growled, and then he threw out his arm and tried to fight his way through. But Will grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. He was about to drive him to the ground when he felt a strong hand grasp his shoulder.
“No.”
Will knew the voice, knew the firm hand. Will let go of Samples, who stumbled away and turned back around, hesitated, and seemed to reach a decision not to make another charge. He mumbled an insult and moved back into the crowd.
Will looked at Joseph, who nodded as if to thank him. But Will had heard the resolute tone of his voice, and he knew he was looking at a better man than himself. “It’s no use to fight them,” Joseph said. “It’s what we have to learn—you and I both.”
“I won’t let any of them get to you,” Will shouted over the continued roar of the mob.
Joseph leaned close to Will’s ear. “I know. And I appreciate that. But we can’t go to war with these people. The Lord doesn’t want that.”
“We can’t just let them massacre our women and children.”
“No, we can’t. But if they have me, they won’t attack Nauvoo. I’m the one they want.”
“You’ll never get a fair trial.”
“That’s all in the Lord’s hands now. I tried to escape. Hyrum and I crossed the river. But my friends told me I was wrong to leave, and the Spirit told me to come back. I’ve accepted my fate, whatever it is.”
Will looked into the Prophet’s face, tried to read his eyes in the dark, but all he needed to know was in his voice. He was calm—and sad. Back in Nauvoo, he had raised his sword and vowed to fight, but something had changed in him now. He had accepted the Lord’s will. It was that acceptance—that sadness in his v
oice—that stayed with Will as he waited out the long night.
Chapter 20
Liz had trouble sleeping with Will gone. She kept wondering what would happen if a militia from Warsaw or Carthage attacked the little escort force that was traveling with Joseph. She knew that Will was too much of a fighter. He would put his life in danger to protect the Prophet.
She finally gave up on sleeping and got up early. She knew that Will would probably still be gone again that night. She already expected the day to be endless, and she knew the heat, which had been bad in recent days, would be ever more oppressive as the day stretched on. She needed to do something besides wait and worry. So she dressed Jacob, nursed Daniel and got him ready, and then set out along Rich Street carrying Daniel and holding Jacob’s hand. The going was slow—with Jacob stopping to pick up rocks and sticks—but Liz liked being out of the house. The birds were up early too, singing raucously in the woods. Surely, it seemed, Will couldn’t be lying dead somewhere on the road to Carthage, not on such a beautiful morning as this.
Liz made her way to Hannah Murdock’s house. She found her outside hoeing in her garden. “Oh, Sister Liz,” she said. “It’s so good to see you.”
“I haven’t been a good friend lately, Hannah,” Liz said. “Since Daniel was born, I haven’t left the house much.”
“I shoulda came to you. You set with me so many times when I lost my little ones. It oughta be my turn now.” Daniel squirmed in Liz’s arms. Sister Murdock smiled at him. “Look how big your baby is already.”
“Do I see something you’re hiding under your apron yourself?”
“Oh, yes, it’s true. I’m glad to have a new baby on the way, but I worry about it. What would I ever do if something happened again?”
Sister Murdock stretched backward with a hand against the small of her back, and Liz wondered whether she should be hoeing in her state. But she looked much better than she had the year before. She had filled out, looked strong and healthy. “Let me take that hoe,” Liz said.
“No, no. I’m stoppin’ now. I’ve been out here a hour, and that’s all I promised myself I’d do. Alferd’s prob’ly awake by now an’ I need to fix breakfast for ’im.”
“Where’s Brother Murdock?”
“Oh, gone since daybreak. He’s workin’ his fields, replantin’. How many times have we been washed out this year?”
“Too many.” But Liz didn’t say where Will was. She wasn’t sure she could talk about that without breaking down.
“Has anyone heard anythin’ this mornin’?” Hannah asked.
Liz knew what she meant—anyone in Nauvoo would understand the question. “I don’t know. I haven’t. They left early yesterday, but Joseph and Hyrum came back to turn over all the state weapons. Then they—”
“I know all that. But I’m wonderin’ what’s goin’ to happen over there in Carthage.”
“Will said, if the judge grants all the brethren bail, they might be free to leave.”
“Will the mob let ’em go?”
“I don’t know. That’s what everyone is wondering.”
Liz watched Sister Murdock, saw the worry in her face. It was the same look she had seen in Nelly’s face, and Warren’s, and in the faces of everyone she had talked to lately. People were going about their business as best they could, but time seemed suspended. It was as though a fuse had been lit, and everyone was waiting for the explosion.
“Walk inside with me a minute,” Sister Murdock said. “It’s so good to see you.”
So they walked to the house and Hannah leaned her hoe by the door. What Liz saw pleased her. These were still cramped quarters, with hardly enough room for two beds and a table, but everything looked tidy. The Murdocks’ garden was flourishing more than most in spite of all the rain that had come in recent weeks, and there were new pieces of furniture inside the cabin, and a new quilt on the bed. “You’re doing well, aren’t you, Hannah? You seem to be prospering.”
“I guess we are. We’re poor as church mice, but we’ve worked hard and our neighbors have looked out fer us. You brought us what we needed for cookin’, but we didn’t have a dry sink, so Brother Dawson, our neighbor jist east of us, helped my husband build one. He coulda jist looked after hisself and his family, but he thought of us. We plan ta pay ’im back a little with some vegetables as soon as we’re pickin’ from our garden.”
Liz didn’t know Brother Dawson, but she liked knowing that neighbors were helping one another.
Sister Murdock peeked at the bed in the corner and then whispered, “Alferd was up too late las’ night, with the sun up so long. I’ll let him sleep a little more.” She motioned to the table by the fireplace. “Sit down. Will ya’ have a cup of tea?”
Liz was not sure how long she should stay. Jacob had been hanging on to her so far, but he would soon want something more to occupy his incessant curiosity. Daniel was also looking about, as though surprised by his new surroundings. “Oh, yes, tea would be nice, but I can’t stay long. I just thought I’d walk out a little before the heat comes on. I’m alone today and ...” But suddenly she was crying, and she had told herself not to do that.
“What is it, deary?”
Liz couldn’t speak for a time. She held a hand over her mouth and let herself sob. “Will went with them,” she finally managed to say. “With Joseph and the others.”
“Oh, my. An’ you thought of me this mornin’? I shoulda been down to yer house.”
“I wish it were so, Hannah. Mostly, I needed someone to talk to. I’ve been missing my mother and my sister so much lately.”
“I can imagine.” Sister Murdock came to Liz, put her arm around her shoulders. “If we ever trusted God, we have to do it now.”
Liz had thought so much about that during the night. “But what about Missouri, Hannah? Why did those things happen over there? Do you think the people here will try to drive us out again?”
“I don’t know, Liz. I on’y know what ya’ taught me las’ year. When things happen, even things so awful we think we cain’t go on, we do anyhow, no matter what.”
All night Liz had told herself that God wouldn’t take Will from her. But some of the Saints had died in Missouri. She couldn’t trust that nothing bad would happen here.
“They’ve tried to kill Joseph before,” Sister Murdock said. “An’ the Lord pertected him. I jist think it will be that way agin.”
Liz told herself that was right. But the fear wouldn’t leave her. After she walked back home, she tried to work, but mostly she watched and waited—all day—and when night fell, Will was still gone. She told herself that if there had been bad news, she would have heard, but that thought didn’t take away the sick feeling in her stomach.
• • •
In Carthage no one knew for sure what was happening in Nauvoo, but Will kept hearing rumors, mostly in the form of threats. He had been told a dozen times that an attack would soon begin, and according to some of the militia men shouting at him, armed soldiers were already in Nauvoo driving the Mormons into the Mississippi. It was terrible to sit around and wait when something like that might be happening, but he couldn’t walk away and leave Joseph without protection.
Will had waited outside the Hamilton Hotel that first night in Carthage as a “guard against the guards”: the Carthage Greys and the McDonough County boys. They were called militias, but they were a drunken, noisy band of ruffians, more mob than military force. They were there to protect the Mormons, according to the governor, but the majority of them hoped to see Joseph dead and the Saints run out of Illinois—and they didn’t mind saying so.
On Tuesday morning Governor Ford marched Joseph and Hyrum before the two militias, as he had promised to do, but the militiamen became enraged when the governor addressed the Smith brothers by their military titles, as generals. Some of the men cursed in response and threatened violence that very moment. The governor
put an end to that, but he hurried Joseph and Hyrum back to the hotel.
All those accused of “riot” for destroying the Expositor press were scheduled for a hearing at four o’clock that afternoon, and that meant another long day of waiting for Will. He stood guard outside the Hamilton Hotel and listened to the insults of both soldiers and citizens. One well-dressed man approached him and, without any hint of animosity, said politely, “You look like an upright young man. What’s brought you to this? How have you allowed yourself to become so deluded?”
Will replied, with equal politeness, “Sir, I’m not deluded. If you could meet Joseph Smith and talk to him—or talk with any of us—about the things we believe, I feel certain you would change your mind.”
The man stood silent for a time and stared into Will’s eyes. Finally he said, “They’re going to kill Joe Smith, you know. I don’t approve of that myself, but you must see it coming. You can’t be foolish enough to assemble yourselves in such great numbers here on the frontier and expect to be welcomed as though you were ordinary people.”
“But we are ordinary people,” Will said.
The man smiled. “I suppose you do see it that way. No lunatic knows that he’s a lunatic.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Go home and protect your family, not these Smiths. Or better yet, leave the county before these other lunatics drop their ruse as militiamen and show their true colors. I’m a physician, and if you stay here, I fear that you’ll need my services before another day passes.”
But Will continued to wait—and worry—and then, just before four o’clock, a number of officials, escorted by armed soldiers with fixed bayonets, marched down the street to the hotel. Will learned that one of the men in the party was the man who would try the case, Justice Robert Smith. He had come to the hotel to protect Joseph and Hyrum from having to walk to the courthouse, according to the wishes of the governor, who insisted that he wanted to avoid armed confrontation.
As it turned out, the hearing didn’t last long. Within an hour the judge exited the hotel and walked back toward the courthouse. Will wasn’t sure what that meant, so he stepped inside and found John Taylor in the lobby. “Brother Taylor, what’s happened?” he asked.