The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  * * *

  By mid-October, Far West was like a burlap bag filled with too many potatoes. The fabric was stretched to the limit and the seams were starting to unravel. In addition to the refugees pouring in from the countryside now—up to thirty teams a day were coming—the city had had to absorb the five hundred of the Kirtland Camp and then another two hundred of the weak and starving who had survived the siege of DeWitt.

  With the brethren spending half their time running here and there to protect themselves, any building of new homes had virtually ceased. Less than thirty homes had been built since the beginning of September, and in that same time the population had swelled by three or four hundred families. Families now were housed in rooms rather than individual residences. Extended families like the Steeds, where parents and married children lived in separate homes, moved in together and turned their vacant homes over to the newcomers. Nathan and Lydia and their children were now living with Benjamin and Mary Ann and Matthew. Two young families shared Nathan and Lydia’s one-room cabin. But even that was not sufficient. Every vacant lot was jammed with wagons, tents, crate shacks, and open campfires.

  Even before the troubles had started, the infrastructures of Far West had been taxed to the limit. In just over two years the site had gone from being a desolate, windswept ridge on the prairie to a city of nearly five thousand people. And now that population was up by another fifteen hundred or more. Even in the best of circumstances it would have been a logistical nightmare, but with civil war threatening to engulf the countryside the movement of goods and services into Caldwell County virtually came to a standstill.

  “Provisions are low,” wrote one man in his journal, phonetically spelling some words as best he could. “Here corn is 20 cts per bushel, beans 1.00, wheat 87 1/2 cents. Wood is $2.00 per cord. Soap is the hardest necessary to be got. Bar soap is worth 18 3/4 per pound, soft soap is from 7 to 10 cents per pound which is about 1.00 per gallon. Salt is 12 1/2 cts per quart. Milk is nothing but is getting rather skirse. Pumpkins and squash are quite low. Verry little of domestic fruit is raised within 20 miles. Medical herbs are reather scirce. Bring on Lobelia, Babary Rasbury, slipery Elm, Composition, bitters, & Hot drops. Peneroyal is plenty. Clothing is twice as high hear as at the East, shoes also. 3 Months since 1 per cent would insure goods from St Louis to this place but now is thought worth 25 per cent. Indeed perilous times have verily come, and it is at the Risk of our lives that we go to the landing for our goods.”

  With his characteristic flair for practicality, Joseph decided to capitalize on the already existing Mormon militia. The brethren had been organized into “companies” of tens and fifties and hundreds, which were quickly dubbed the “armies of Israel.” Some of the companies were given assignments that were of a military nature. One was asked to monitor the movement of the mobs and any opposing militia. Another set up a runner system to deliver messages quickly between Far West and Di-Ahman or among the scattered settlements. And in case of open warfare, the companies would provide defense for the city.

  But the vast majority of these companies were given the task of helping the Saints to better prepare for whatever eventualities were coming. One of Joseph’s favorite scriptures came from the book of James. “ ‘Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father,’ ” he was fond of quoting, “ ‘is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.’ ”

  With the flood of incoming refugees there were many poor and not a few widows trying to survive with their children. And while the situation was becoming more and more desperate in Far West, Joseph was not one to sit about and wring his hands. So the “army of Israel” was put to work. One company was assigned to build cabins for those without shelter. Another was sent to help get in the crops. Cutting wood, fixing wagons, mending fences, stockpiling bedding and clothing—wherever there was a task or need that was too much for an individual family alone to do, Joseph sent one of the companies to help. Widows were specifically targeted, and the “army” was told to make sure these widows had sufficient shelter and food for the winter.

  If any of the brethren started to grumble about the extra work they were assigned, Joseph would gently chide them. “Now, Brother Brown,” he would say, “how can you expect to keep yourself unspotted from the pollutions of the world if Sister Green and her fatherless children, who live just two doors away from you, are in want? How would you face your Savior and hold your head up high in such a case?” And even the crustiest of the Saints could not resist such persuasion.

  Not only was it a brilliant strategy in terms of making sure the Saints were better prepared, but also it took otherwise idle people and put them to work. Instead of standing around bemoaning their lot, they were actively engaged in productive service. This boosted morale in a time when the grim realities of the situation they were facing could have created unmanageable tension and anxiety.

  On the afternoon of Saturday, October thirteenth, the day after Joseph had returned with the group of Saints from DeWitt, a letter arrived from General Alexander Doniphan. When he had been briefed by General Atchison, Doniphan sent an express to Joseph and told him that a body of eight hundred armed men were headed for Di-Ahman, or Wight’s Town, as he called it.

  Doniphan authorized Joseph Smith to activate the Mormon militia under the command of Lieutenant Colonel George M. Hinkle, who was a fully commissioned officer in the Missouri militia. It was what the Saints had prayed for. They had official permission to resist and to protect themselves from their enemies. Later that same day Joseph called for all the Saints to meet at the public square immediately following worship services the next day.

  By one o’clock on that Sabbath afternoon, the public square was packed solid. There was a high overcast, and it was a cool day, but not unpleasantly so. The Steeds stood together not far from where the makeshift podium had been set up for Joseph. Young Joshua had been left behind with the other children. This was not a meeting for children.

  After opening the meeting with prayer, Joseph explained the situation about the approaching army. It didn’t come as much of a surprise. Word of the news from the south had swept through Far West like a flash flood down a narrow canyon. What hadn’t spread as quickly was the word that Colonel Hinkle had authorization to call out the armies of Israel. A murmur of excitement rumbled across the group as Joseph explained that. Hinkle was a proud man who, like Thomas B. Marsh, felt that Joseph did not give him enough honor and recognition, but he was also courageous and a natural leader. It had been he who had resisted the demands of the mob in DeWitt and held out until help had come. So the people welcomed the news that he would be leading an official group of militia against their enemies.

  Then, to Mary Ann’s surprise, Joseph reached to where a Bible was set on the podium in front of him. He picked it up, every eye on him, and turned pages slowly until he found his place. Then he looked up. The blue eyes that were so clear and so often filled with gentle amusement were now clouded and grave. “Brethren and sisters, I should like to read something to you,” he began. “It comes from the book of John, the fifteenth chapter, the thirteenth verse.”

  There was a pause as he let his eyes sweep across the as- sembled men and women, their faces as grave and filled with concern as his. “This took place in the upper room, on the night before Jesus was crucified. So it was a grim time for them as well. Jesus had been teaching his disciples about love and what it meant to love one another. Then he said . . .” His eyes dropped to find the verse; then he read it slowly and with great emphasis. “ ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.’ ”

  He shut the book. Not a sound came from the assembly. A great hush even seemed to lie upon the surrounding countryside, as if all of nature were holding its breath to see what the Mormons would do now. Then Joseph began to speak again in slow and measured tones. “Brethren and sisters, as you know, these are perilous times. Our enemies prowl abou
t us like wolves following the scent of an injured stag. We are told that a large body of men are marching from the south against Di-Ahman. Well, I have friends in Di-Ahman. And you have friends in Di-Ahman. These are not only friends in the normal sense of the word, but friends in the gospel sense of the word. These are fellow disciples of Christ. And Christ said that no man can have greater love than to be willing to lay down his life for his friends.”

  Nathan Steed watched Joseph closely. They had been friends since the spring of 1827, more than eleven years now. They had been through some glorious times together. They had also seen times that would cause hell to throw back its head and howl with glee. And through it all, Nathan could not remember seeing Joseph quite so somber. He felt a little shiver run up his back. In the case of Nathan Steed, some of those “friends” in Di-Ahman consisted of his younger sister, her new husband, and his fourteen-year-old brother, Peter.

  “We shall be leaving from this square tomorrow morning. All of you brethren who wish to join me and Colonel Hinkle in riding north to save our friends from harm, please assemble at eight o’clock.”

  That was it. Joseph laid the Bible down and stepped back. There were no dramatics. No histrionics. No passionate appeals for action. He had read a scripture, then quietly called for a response from men of faith. The very quietness of the request infused it with more drama and power and passion than anything else Joseph could possibly have done.

  * * *

  Nathan and Benjamin hung back, waiting for the throngs of men to shake Joseph’s hand and pledge their support. Mary Ann and Lydia had left immediately to start preparing food for their men to carry on the march north.

  “Hello, Brother Ben. Hello, Nathan.”

  They both turned. Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball had come up to stand beside them.

  “Good afternoon, brethren,” Benjamin said. Nathan greeted them, and they shook hands all around.

  “You’ll be going?” Brigham asked without turning his head. He was watching the men surrounding Joseph.

  “Yes.” Nathan and Benjamin spoke as one.

  “Matthew?”

  Benjamin shook his head. “Matthew’s with the express company.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I knew that.”

  Because of his age, Matthew had been assigned to the company of militia that set up a series of relay posts at two- or three-mile intervals between Far West and Di-Ahman so that word could be passed between the two communities quickly. He manned the second post north of Far West from dawn till dusk each day.

  “Are you going?” Nathan asked.

  Brigham shook his head. “Joseph has asked that Heber and I stay behind and make sure all is in readiness in case something develops here.”

  “That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard all day,” a sarcastic voice behind them said.

  The four of them turned. Thomas B. Marsh had walked over to join them. He was scowling in the direction of Joseph and the gathering of men. “He loves the glory, doesn’t he?”

  Brigham glanced quickly at Heber, then back to Marsh. “What makes you say that, Brother Thomas? Joseph is just listening to the men making their pledges about coming tomorrow.”

  Heber was looking at Marsh from beneath his heavy eyebrows. There was a hint of warning in his eyes. “I didn’t see Joseph asking for much glory today,” he said shortly.

  Marsh blew out his breath in disgust. “Oh, no? Well, where’s the Twelve in all this?”

  Heber grinned suddenly. “Brigham and I are right here. David Patten is waiting his turn to see Joseph. You’re right here too.”

  “Don’t be clever,” Thomas snapped. “You know what I mean. We’re the Council of the Twelve. Were you consulted in this decision? Were any of us asked if sending an army with Hinkle is the best course of action?”

  “Why are you so angry, Thomas?” Brigham said cautiously. “Joseph is the prophet.”

  “And I’m the senior Apostle!” Marsh shot right back. “And I don’t even get so much as a fare-thee-well. That’s why I’m angry. And it makes me angry that you and Heber sit here and let it happen without getting angry too.”

  Brigham Young was not a tall man, no more than about five foot ten. He was a good two inches shorter than Marsh, but now he straightened to his full height and looked every bit as tall as Marsh. “Are you the leader of this church, Brother Thomas?” he asked softly.

  For a moment Marsh spluttered; then he finally shook his head. “No,” he admitted.

  “Then why don’t you leave it alone?” Brigham said, with equal softness.

  For several moments, Marsh just stared into those steel gray eyes, as if he had been struck speechless.

  “Thomas,” Heber broke in, “you are the senior Apostle. You have a right to revelation. Why don’t you ask God about the matter?”

  Finally the spell was broken and Thomas B. Marsh nodded curtly. “I shall do just that,” he said, and turned and stalked away.

  Brigham watched him go for a moment, then let out his breath slowly. “I don’t know, Brother Heber. He’s a proud man.”

  Heber nodded. “The fact that Joseph ruled against his wife is still a piece of grit stuck in his craw.”

  “I know,” Brigham said. Then he brightened and took Benjamin’s and Nathan’s arms. “Come on, you two. It looks like Joseph is about done. Let’s go tell him the Steeds shall be riding with them.”

  But David Patten, who had also been hanging back waiting for the crowd to disperse a little, saw his chance and stepped forward, reaching Joseph just before the four of them did. In the original Quorum of the Twelve, seniority was determined by age and not by date of ordination to the apostleship. At the time of the organization of the Twelve, Thomas B. Marsh was thought to be the oldest and was therefore first in seniority. David Patten was second, and Brigham was third. Therefore, Patten was next to Marsh in the leadership of the quorum. But unlike Marsh, David Patten was humble and completely teachable. He was a man of quiet but firm integrity and was admired and loved by the Saints.

  “Brother David,” Joseph said, taking him by the hand and squeezing his arm. Nathan and Benjamin and their two companions were close enough to hear the interchange.

  David Patten shook Joseph’s hand vigorously. “Brother Joseph, thank you for that speech. For that scripture. That has special meaning to me.”

  “It is a wonderful concept.”

  Patten grew suddenly very serious. “You should know that I have prayed earnestly to the Lord that he will give me the privilege of dying the death of a martyr.”

  Nathan gasped a little. His father and the two men with him were gaping. But Joseph saw none of that. His eyes were locked with Patten’s, and he reached out with his other hand and placed it on his arm. “Dear Brother David,” he said gravely, “that sorrows me deeply, for when a man of your faith asks the Lord for anything, he generally receives it.”

  Patten murmured something that Nathan did not hear. Joseph pulled him forward and there was a quick embrace, then Patten stepped back. He nodded a silent greeting to the four of them, then started away. Nathan was barely aware of his father stepping forward and starting to speak to Joseph. He couldn’t take his eyes off of David W. Patten’s back as the man walked slowly out of the public square of Far West.

  * * *

  Joshua buried his face in Caroline’s hair and breathed deeply. The scent of her, so familiar and so wonderful, knifed into him more sharply than he had thought possible. When they were first married, he was gone from her a lot, out with this wagon train or on this trip to St. Louis or on that journey to New Orleans. But in the last months, more and more he found himself wanting to stay at home. More and more he found himself resenting having to miss important things when he was away—Savannah’s taking her first step, Olivia’s winning the spelling bee at school, Will’s harnessing six span of oxen without a single error.

  Caroline’s arms were around him, holding him tightly. Finally she stirred. “Do you really have to leave again s
o soon?”

  He sighed wearily. “General Atchison almost didn’t let me come. I pushed him pretty hard to get a couple of hours.”

  She straightened and smiled up at him. “Then I shall not say another word. I don’t want the general to be unhappy with you. You worked too hard to get that assignment on his staff rather than a field assignment.”

  Joshua still felt a little guilty about that. Other men in Jackson County were begging for field commands so they could ride against the Mormons. But Joshua had called in a favor from a longtime business associate in Richmond. That got him the appointment to meet with Atchison. Then Joshua had shamelessly laid out his credentials. With his business experience and substantial freighting capability, he was a natural to serve as adjutant, and Atchison had bought it almost immediately. Joshua felt guilty but also tremendously relieved to avoid any possibility of being sent against members of his own family.

  He cleared his throat. “Things are not looking good, Caroline. I may still have to go north. Atchison is talking about going up there and monitoring the situation directly.”

  “No!” she cried. Then instantly she was contrite. She had worried and thought about this almost constantly for the last month. “But you’ll still be working with the general?”

  He shrugged. In war, things remained pretty fluid, and he knew down deep in his gut that war was imminent. Not the little skirmishes and show confrontations that were going on now. Real war. It was inevitable. And that could change everything.

  Caroline was watching his face anxiously. “Is it bad, Joshua?”

  His shoulders lifted and fell again. “Governor Boggs was instrumental in driving the Mormons from Jackson County. His feelings haven’t changed. He’s not going to be satisfied until he’s driven them from the state. The people aren’t going to be satisfied either.” He was suddenly quoting with soft mockery something he had once heard Boggs say. “And Lord knows a man has got to be true to his constituents.”

  He took her hands. “This isn’t going to go away, Caroline. Inflammatory letters are coming into Jefferson City every day. The Mormons did this, the Mormons did that. Boggs has enough depositions and affidavits to send the Mormons to hell and back using any jury in the land.”