“We’ll find a safer place to camp,” Joseph concluded. “Then I’d suggest you get out your journals and record what you have seen here this night.”
July 3rd, 1834
I sit tonight in the hut in which my sister-in-law and two other families live. This shall be the final entry in my journal. We are some four or five miles west of the town of Liberty. Joseph called many of the brethren together and organized a High Council. He also authorized General L. Wight to give us our discharge. Zion’s Camp is disbanded. Zion’s Camp is no more. We are given leave to return to Kirtland.
Though it is a great disappointment, there is nothing to be done. Governor Dunklin and the other weakling officers of the state of Missouri refuse to call out the militia and restore our people. Without that, how can we act? In spite of all attempts to negotiate with them, the Jackson County settlers are sworn to die before they let us return. Sadly, the Lord has revoked the commandment to redeem Zion because of our own unfaithfulness. The Saints in the east largely ignore the plight of their brothers and sisters, and fail to share their means with them. We in the camp itself have brought upon ourselves grave consequences because we have failed to be obedient. God commands, and God revokes. Now he has revoked. The redemption of Zion must wait for a season.
Some of the camp members will stay on with the Saints here in Missouri, but most will return to the East. I am happy to say that I have persuaded my sister-in-law, Jessica Steed, and her daughter, Rachel, to return with us to Kirtland. There she can be with our family and perhaps find some measure of peace. She will leave two days hence with Brothers Brigham Young and Heber Kimball. If all goes well, I shall be with them by the time of their departure or shortly thereafter. If not, I have asked that Jessica carry this journal back to Lydia and my family and explain why I did not return. But of that I cannot speak more, for my feelings now are too tender. I shall simply try to complete the record of our trek so my family has it in its entirety.
It was not long after the storm of which I have already spoken that Joseph received the revelation saying that the Lord no longer wanted us to redeem Zion. The revelation was greeted with much dismay. A great murmuring swept through the camp. Some said Joseph had lost his courage, others that God did not change his mind and therefore the revelation must be false. I will not go into detail on where I stood in this matter except to say that I did not stand firmly with Joseph. That shames me now, but alas, it is true. I stood with those whose faith wavered.
Joseph called us together and reminded us that before we ever crossed the Mississippi he had warned us about our fractiousness. He had prophesied then that if we did not repent and show a more humble spirit, the Lord would send a scourge among us and we would see men die like sheep with the rot. This only made some of the men angrier still and the murmuring continued. It was a sorry time.
On the 24th of June the prophecy came to pass. On that night a cholera epidemic struck the camp. It has been a most fearful thing. Never have I seen anything strike with such swiftness. It seizes upon men like the talons of a hawk. First one and then another collapsed. Men would be standing around talking one moment, then writhing on the ground in another. Sister Betsy Parrish, one of the women in our camp, was in good health and spirits at the midday meal. I sat beside her. Shortly thereafter, she began to feel distressed. By supper she was in a coma and by trumpet’s call, she was dead.
I myself was standing guard duty early on the second evening of the scourge. I was much alarmed by the situation and, speaking frankly, had undertaken some serious personal reflection and repentance. I felt to mourn for my own murmurings and saw that the hand of God was upon us because of what we had done. But to that point I felt well and fit and was rejoicing in my good fortune in being spared. Suddenly it was as though I was struck with a flat iron. I dropped to my knees, my rifle still in hand. The next thing I knew I awoke in my tent in the most severe distress. For three days and nights I hovered between life and death, many times not caring which took me so long as I could escape the anguish I was in.
Joseph tried to lay his hands on the ill and rebuke the disease, but was stricken himself. He later told me it was clear that when the Great Jehovah decrees judgment upon a people, no man should attempt to stay his hand.
Yesterday morning, Joseph called us together, those who could get about. I was starting to recover by then, though I was still very weak. Joseph told us that this was the scourge of which the Lord had spoken. He then promised us that if we would humble ourselves before the Lord and covenant with a most solemn covenant to keep his commandments and follow Joseph’s counsel, the plague should be stayed from that very hour and there would not be another case of the cholera among us.
By then, any spirit of rebellion had long since vanished and we listened with open hearts and accepted with willing minds. We united in common prayer that the Lord would turn away his wrath from us. That was about thirty-six hours ago now as I write. Happily I report that Joseph’s promise is fulfilled. The disease is leaving us. There have been no further outbreaks since yesterday and we are recovering now quickly. But all told, sixty-eight have been stricken. Of that number, fourteen are dead.
How that should give us pause for reflection. Though we have marched nearly a thousand miles, we have lost not a man to accident. Though we faced a hostile enemy sworn to kill us, we lost not a man in battle. Only two out of over two hundred men have deserted us on the march. Yet because of our own foolishness, fourteen of our number now lie beneath the prairie sod. May Jesus bless them to come forth in the morning of the first resurrection, and may we, the living, never forget the lessons of this day.
And that brings me at last to the task which I have set for myself. Earlier I wrote of the terrible feelings I have harbored in my heart for my brother Joshua. It has become an obsession of late, like a canker in my soul. I see now that my whole outlook has become darkened with bitter feelings toward him. I know this darkness was largely responsible for the mean spirit which has possessed me of late and caused me to murmur. If I would follow the example of the Master, I must purge my heart of this ugliness toward my own flesh and blood.
I have therefore determined that I shall ride to Jackson County this night and seek out my brother. Many try to dissuade me, for Jackson County still seethes with hatred for all that is Mormon. Jessica informs me that about a month ago a young lad went across the river in search of some of his livestock. He was caught and beaten unmercifully. Threats of death to any Mormons are commonplace. But this matters not to me. I cannot rest until I have sought him out and tried to make peace with him.
My dearest Lydia, if I do not return to your side, know that my last thoughts were of you and the children. I love you, and will forever.
Nathan Steed.
Written in my twenty-sixth year of age.
“He’s a Mormon, I’m tellin’ ya. I can see Mormon written all over him.”
The man closest to Nathan reached out and grabbed Nathan’s hair, yanking back on it hard. His face was next to Nathan’s, no more than an inch or two away. Tobacco juice oozed out of one corner of his mouth and into his beard. His breath was foul, his eyes bloodshot and wild. With his other hand he whipped out a pistol and laid it up alongside Nathan’s head. “Are ye a Mormon!” he shouted. “Tell me or I’ll blow your brains out.”
They were in a small room above a saloon in Independence. The four men who had intercepted Nathan shortly after he crossed the river had brought him here via some back stairs. One of their number had gone downstairs. Now the rest interrogated Nathan angrily.
Nathan began again, speaking slowly, patiently. “My name is Nathan Morgan. I have just recently come from the East. I am from the state of New York. I am a friend of Joshua Steed. We lived in the same town. Send for him, he’ll tell you—”
The man shoved hard, sending the chair crashing backwards against the table. Nathan’s arms were lashed down tightly to the chair, and so he could do nothing as the chair spun on one back leg, then t
oppled over, slamming the back of his head against the floor.
The door opened. “Steed’s comin’,” a man said.
“Good,” said the first man. “Get him up.”
Two men lifted the chair and sat Nathan upright. He turned his head and wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth against his shirt. There were footsteps on the stairs, and the man who had shoved him stepped forward toward the door, blocking Nathan’s view.
“What’s going on here?” a voice demanded harshly. Nathan felt his heart leap. It had been almost seven years since he had last heard that voice. “What’s this about some man who—”
The man standing in front of Nathan stepped aside and Joshua Steed stood face-to-face with his brother. Nathan looked up slowly, not speaking, not moving, just looking up at his brother’s face. Joshua blinked, then blinked again. It said something about his poker playing ability that only his eyes registered the fact that he was totally stunned.
“This man claims he knows ya, Steed,” one of the men said. “Claims he’s from New York State.”
Joshua didn’t respond, just kept looking at Nathan through eyes suddenly hooded.
“Hello, Mr. Steed,” Nathan said evenly. “Do you remember me?”
Again there was no response. Nathan thought that Joshua looked as though they had pulled him from sleep. His hair was tousled, his eyes rimmed beneath by dark circles, his chin covered with a dark beard. He looked very weary.
“I think he’s a Mormon,” one of the men said. “He won’t say yes or no, just kept askin’ for you.”
Joshua reached inside his jacket pocket and retrieved a cigar. One of the men sprang to where two candles were in a holder on the wall. He pulled one loose and held it for Joshua, who leaned forward, sticking the tip of the cigar into the flame. Through it all, his eyes never left Nathan’s.
When he had the cigar glowing, he took it from his mouth and blew a stream of smoke into the air. He turned to the other men. “I ain’t been back East for nearly seven years now. Let me have a few minutes alone with him, boys. I’d like to question him a little.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Steed. We’ll be right downstairs if you need us.”
Without answering, Joshua watched them go, then stepped to the door and shut it firmly. Finally, he turned around. He pulled out one of the other chairs, turned it around, and sat down slowly. “Well, well, well,” he said slowly, shaking his head. “This is a surprise.”
“Hello, Joshua.”
“What are you doing in Missouri?”
“I came with Zion’s Camp, to help the Saints.”
His head came up slowly. “You’re with the Mormon army?”
“Yes.”
“Were you at Fishing River?”
“Yes.”
Joshua looked away, a sudden shadow crossing his eyes.
“Why?” Nathan said. “Were you?”
Joshua laughed bitterly. “Kind of.”
“So if the storm hadn’t come...,” Nathan started slowly. He didn’t finish. Brother against brother? He felt a little chill.
“Why have you come here? Didn’t your people tell you what they’re doing to Mormons on this side of the river?”
“Yes, they did. I had to see you, Joshua. They’ve disbanded Zion’s Camp. We’re going back. I couldn’t leave without seeing you.”
“Why?” It came out blunt and hard. “I ain’t part of the family anymore.”
“You are to us.”
There was a grunt but Nathan couldn’t read it one way or the other.
Nathan sighed. “I couldn’t go without at least trying to see you.”
Putting the cigar down, Joshua softened a little. “How’s Ma?”
“Fine. Melissa’s married now, you know?”
Joshua looked up. “Ma wrote me, remember?” he said.
Nathan couldn’t keep a touch of tartness from his own tone. “We weren’t sure you ever got the letters. You never answered, remember?”
Joshua brushed all of that aside curtly. “You were a fool to come here.”
Nathan nodded. “That’s what everybody over there said too.”
“Did Joseph come with the group?”
Nathan hesitated, remembering Joseph’s caution about revealing their identity, but a week ago he had announced himself to the Missourians, so it was no longer a secret. “Yes.”
“Why don’t you send him across the river?” Joshua asked, his voice softly menacing. “Then we’ll see how long he keeps telling them stories about angels.”
Nathan shook his head in discouragement. “Oh, how little you know him. Besides, what’s with you and Joseph anyway? He never did anything to you. Why do you hate him so?”
Joshua nearly snarled out the answer. “What do you know? Joe Smith ain’t done nothing to me except cause trouble. Every time I turn around I got Joe Smith sticking in my face.”
“Joseph’s—,” Nathan started, then he changed his mind. He hadn’t come to fight over Joseph Smith. “Look, Joshua, we don’t have to battle over this. I didn’t come to try and make you a Mormon.”
Joshua hooted, the very idea so ludicrous to him as to make him laugh. “Then, why did you come?”
“I came because...” Again he let it go without finishing, realizing suddenly how foolish it would sound to start talking about forgiveness. He shrugged. “I told you, I came to see you.”
“No,” Joshua said, boring in. “You started to say something. What?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to see you before we left.”
Joshua pounced on that. “We? Is Joseph going back with you?”
“Not with us particularly, but yes, he’s returning to Ohio.” Nathan took a quick breath. “I’m taking Jessica and Rachel back with me, Joshua.”
Joshua had started to reach for his cigar again. His hand froze in midair, then lowered slowly.
Nathan rushed on. “It’s been hard for her, Joshua. She has no one to care for her, no way to make a living. Back in Kirtland, we’ll see that she’s taken care of.”
Joshua picked up the cigar and jammed it in his mouth. “What are you telling me this for? She’s not my wife anymore. We got a divorce, or didn’t she bother to tell you that?”
“She told me. Have you remarried yet?”
That brought Joshua’s chin up a notch. “You always were nosing around in other people’s business, little brother.”
“You haven’t, have you?”
“That ain’t got nothing to do with Jessica,” he snarled.
Nathan took a quick breath. This was not going how he’d hoped. “She also told me about the hundred dollars you sent over to her.”
Joshua jammed the cigar down on the tabletop, crushing it against the wood. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Suit yourself, Joshua,” Nathan said wearily. “But I think you’re carrying one great big load of guilt because of the way you treated her. Well, she don’t hold no grudge against you. That’s hard to believe. Heaven knows I have for long enough. But she don’t.”
“You got a grudge against me, spit it out.”
“I didn’t come for that. I came to put it behind me, let you know we still care, that we miss you.”
Joshua snorted in disgust. “I’m touched.”
Nathan’s mouth tightened, but he fought down the anger. He leaned forward as much as his bonds would let him, peering at his brother. “She still loves you, you know? She’d come back in a minute, if you’d stop your drinking and gambling and let her be a Mormon in peace.”
Joshua came straight up out of his chair, his eyes blazing. “Oh, really?”
“Yes, really,” Nathan snapped, losing the last of his patience.
Joshua gave Nathan’s chair a savage kick. “And who appointed you as the official mediator in this matter?”
“No one, I just—”
“Then butt out, mister,” he said coldly. “Jessica made her choice. She changes her mind, she knows where I live.”
N
athan just stared at him, hardly believing his ears. “After what you’ve done, you want her to make the first move?”
With the speed of a striking rattlesnake, Joshua’s hand flashed out and grabbed Nathan’s shirtfront. “You listen to me, my Mormon little brother,” he shouted. “Everything that was ever important to me, Joe Smith and the Mormons have destroyed. You took my life in Palmyra. You took my wife and turned her against me. You took my daughter. Don’t you be talking to me about what I’ve done.”
Nathan hooted incredulously. “We took your wife?”
“That’s right. You and Joe Smith and the rest of the Mormon maggots that live in those hovels out on the prairie.”
Straining forward against the rawhide lashings that bound him, Nathan was livid. “You’ve got a short memory, big brother.” The last two words were filled with all the insolence he could put into them. “Remember, I was here that summer. I saw Jessica’s face after you beat her up—and her in the third month of being with child.”
Joshua let go of Nathan’s shirt, as if it were suddenly hot. He recoiled as though Nathan had struck him.
“And just two nights ago, I saw her feet. They’re covered with scars, Joshua. Scars from walking twenty-five miles across a sleet-covered prairie, carrying a child. Your child, Joshua Steed! And you at the head of the mob that drove them out.” He shook his head in utter contempt. “And you have the gall to stand there and tell me it’s the Mormons’ fault that you lost your wife?”
“I couldn’t stop them that night,” Joshua whispered, his voice suddenly stricken. “They were out for blood. I sent Clinton to warn her. I—”
Nathan turned his head and spit contemptuously. “You must be some kind of leader, big brother.”
Joshua whirled, his fist cocking back, his face a mask of fury.
Nathan tensed, but he did not turn away. “Go ahead, Joshua. That’s always your answer to everything, isn’t it?”
Gradually Joshua’s face smoothed and the hand finally lowered. Without another word he turned and walked toward the door.
For years afterwards, Nathan would always regret what happened next. He had come, hoping to purge away his anger and hate. Instead, he gave full vent to them in his blind desire to hurt, to wound, to strike at this infuriating man who should have been his brother.
The Work and the Glory Page 88