by Marian Wells
Mark scanned the letter from Doniphan. Slowly he said, “He’s enclosing an order from Governor Boggs and he’s suggesting that you take action quickly since Lucas and General Clark are headed for Far West with six thousand men, and with instructions to enforce this order.”
Mark sat down and spread the second paper across his knees. “The order from Boggs is dated October 27, 1838, from Jefferson City.” He glanced up at Joseph, “It appears he’s had a change of mind from some previous decision—”
Joseph interrupted, “Previously he’d ordered troops to Daviess County to reinstate the Gentile residents. I’d received word that Doniphan’s men were to be the ones sent to Daviess County.”
Mark glanced at the paper he held. “Well, now he states that he has information just received that has changed the whole face of things. This new information indicates to him that the Mormons are in defiance of the laws of the state. He accuses us of ‘having made open war upon the people of the state.’” Mark was silent for a moment and then said slowly, “he advises that the Mormons are to be treated as enemies and must be exterminated or else driven from the state.”
Looking up at Joseph, Mark winced. “Exterminated. That’s an unusual word. Do you suppose he’s planned revenge, using the very word Rigdon proposed in his Independence Day speech? I remember hearing him use it.”
Joseph shook his head and sighed. Mark watched him again drop his head into his hands. With a strange sensation of detachment, Mark wondered if the whole scene, even the alarming papers Joseph still held, were real. But he couldn’t help measuring the reaction of Joseph Smith, and he decided he was seeing a defeated man.
As he hesitated, a conviction gripped him that it was no accident he was sitting here beside Joseph in this one quiet moment before a decision must be made.
On the far wall of the long, dimly lighted building, a clock ticked off the minutes. For a moment Mark recalled the unexpected sight of the walnut clock standing in the middle of his cabin. Immediately the impulse to warn Joseph was overlapped with the memory of Jenny’s blue mittens and the talisman. He stopped.
His jaw tightened as he stared down at Joseph. The man deserves whatever Boggs plans to give him. Mark clenched his fist and then relaxed.
Pushing aside his own angry feeling, he squatted in front of the Prophet. “Joe, there’s the people to think about. You’ve got to save them; it’s your responsibility as leader. Do you see? Joe, it’s starting to look tough out there. I think you’ll have a chance if you get out and level with your men. Admit you’ve no heaven-stamped guarantee that your troops will be victors. Admit that God’s not playing favorites with you. The riches and lands of the Gentiles aren’t going to be handed to you on a silver platter. Pull your men in. I saw them facing off out there on the prairie. They’re still thinking they’re obligated to fight because God’s ordered it. You know there’s only a handful compared to Doniphan’s men. Plead with Hinkel, Wight, Avard, and the rest to get back here, and then surrender. Admit—”
Joseph jumped to his feet. “Mark, I’m not seeking advice. I’m a prophet of the Lord, I give the orders.”
“And you haven’t a chance in the world to succeed if you follow this track. Joseph, in God’s name, can’t you see what your childish play-acting has led you into? You have no more audience with God than—” Joseph turned away and stomped toward the bar at the end of the building. Heavily Mark followed him. His voice was controlled and low now. “I could say all the things like repent, accept God on His terms, quit trying to be God; but I don’t think you intend to listen.”
Mark started for the door and Joseph called, “You might stay around to pick up the pieces. One of these days, just maybe—”
The door burst open. Lyman Wight and Colonel Hinkel charged into the room. “You’ve got communication,” Hinkel said. “Let’s see it.”
Joseph clenched the papers and glared at Hinkel. “Who’s in command?” he snapped. The men dropped back and Joseph stepped forward. “What’s going on out there?”
“It’s Doniphan. His troops have moved closer. Don’t think they’re more’n a mile outta town. We’re using the breastwork down the middle of town. The men are lined up, just dancing with excitement, daring Doniphan’s bunch to get close enough so’s they can take a shot at ’em. Joseph, our men are straining at the bit. When do I give them the word?”
Joseph’s voice was deliberately slow as he said, “Not until I give the word. We’re going to play hell with their apple carts.”
Mark grabbed up his coat and left the store, shaking his head in dismay. For some time he walked around the camp, watching the men, listening to their subdued conversations. More than once he saw their quick glances his direction. It was easy to guess they were seeing him as a spy for Joseph. No wonder they turned away, with expressions very nearly like fear on their faces. Mark sighed heavily.
Later when he picked up his tin plate and joined the others around the mess fire, he discovered that the men were silent, but the air of depression was real. In the absence of conversation, he found himself mulling over all that had happened that day. Measuring events against the feeling that Joseph’s decisions were wrong, he picked at his food and admitted the obvious. Not only were Joe’s decisions wrong, Mark’s legal mind admitted uneasily, but the decisions must be challenged or the constitution of the state, as well as law and justice, were impotent vessels.
One statement Joseph had made still rang in Mark’s ears: “I am above the law.”
Mark sighed, gave up on the plate of cold food, and headed for his bunk.
Mark knew it was late when the armed guard touched his shoulder. He knew it because he had known how long he had tossed on his mat before going to sleep. When he raised himself to one elbow, the man’s grip tightened. “Mr. Cartwright,” he said respectfully, “Joseph bids me tell you that you are under arrest. Please, sir, this is for your own protection.” The man’s grip had become steely. “Come with me; Haun’s Mill has been attacked.”
Chapter 21
October 30 dawned with the promise of being a nice day, and Jenny immediately seized on the promise. “Sally, let’s get out. We’ve been cooped up here like a bunch of chickens. Let’s walk over to Haun’s Mill; it’s only a good stroll down the creek. You’ve made friends over that way, and there’s a woman I want to inquire after.”
Sally lifted dull eyes and moved restlessly on her bench. “I suppose so—anything’s better than sitting here, fearing what’s happening to the menfolk. We haven’t heard a word for days.”
“I suppose I should have walked into town,” Jenny said slowly. “But they say no news is good news. With Mark riding Sammy, and Patches with a lame foot, it’s been easier to sit and wait on the fellows.”
“I did promise Mrs. Harris I’d visit,” Sally added.
After breakfast, Jenny bundled Tamara into warm clothing and hurried Sally along.
The heavy, unseasonable snow earlier in the month had broken branches and stripped leaves from the trees before they had completed their cycle of autumn glory. Snow still lingered in the heavy shadows, and the leaves were a soggy cushion underfoot.
While Sally shivered, Jenny enjoyed the pungent forest smells—the pine and the acrid odor of ancient foliage. She gloried in the scurry of squirrels and the raucous complaint of jays. With Tamara beside her, she was seeing with new eyes the wonder of twigs and shiny rocks. They followed Log Creek into the settlement.
Haun’s Mill was a tidy circle in the midst of forest. In addition to the mill and a cluster of cabins, there was the blacksmith shop and corrals. Over all lay order and neatness. Jenny studied the garden patches, saying, “I like it here. It would be a pleasant place to live. Seems there’s such a haphazard air to Adam-ondi-Ahman.”
Sally lifted her head and looked surprised. “Why the difference?”
Jenny shrugged, “Probably because up that way the settlements are new.” Abruptly she changed the subject, “I’ve been hearing things about Far Wes
t that surprised me. Mrs. Harris said everything’s topsy-turvy. She was blaming most of it on the disorder of the breastworks they’re putting up for defense in case the fighting gets into town. She was telling me she heard one woman complaining that Joseph has had them building block houses for defense for such a long time, they didn’t even get a chance to put in crops. She told Mrs. Harris, confidential-like, that they’d all be thieving for their grain before spring—and from what she says, there’s plenty of that going on right now.”
Sally poked at a pile of leaves with the stick she carried, saying, “What difference does it make? The Prophet’s promised that the cattle on a thousand hills belong to the Lord, and that means it belongs to us, too. Why worry about planting when there’s more important things to do?”
As it turned out, both Sally and Jenny found many of their Kirtland friends living at Haun’s Mill. The day passed quickly as they visited from cabin to cabin. Women, as isolated as they, were eager to talk. Jenny was only vaguely conscious of how quickly the time passed as they worried together over the latest news and the fearful things taking place.
Jane Laney shivered and said, “I’m right grateful we settled down here in Caldwell County instead of in Daviess. I don’t think the Gentiles will ever give in to the Saints up there.”
Later on their way down the lane they met old Thomas McBride. He leaned on his cane and waited until they reached him. There was concern in his eyes as he said, “Now don’t you young ladies linger until dark. I’ve been listenin’ to the troops all day.”
“They’re just shooting rabbits,” Jenny said with a laugh. “The McLaughlin boy crept up on them. It’s just a bunch of men from down the way. They’re not the militia, and they’re not any more serious about this business than we are.”
“What makes you think that way?” His eyes were piercingly intent. “You’re too young to know war and suffering and you’re thinking it can’t happen to you. I fought in the Revolutionary War, and I know it’s not that way at all.”
For a moment Jenny was caught by the memory of the McBriers’ home—both before and after. She shivered, saying, “Yes, I know it can happen.” Suddenly sober, she added, “Sally, perhaps we’d better go.”
The always-present fear settled back down over Sally’s gentle face. As her eyes darkened, Jenny added hastily. “Oh, it can’t be that bad. We’ll finish our walk to Matilda’s and then go home.”
She turned to wave at Mr. McBride and then took Tamara’s hand.
The afternoon was far gone when they left Matilda’s cabin. Jenny said with a sigh, “We’ve still not asked about the Martindales.”
“Martindales?” Sally said wrinkling her nose. “Why do you want to visit that stuffy old lady? She’s the biggest bore I’ve ever met.”
Jenny stopped abruptly. “She is?” she said slowly, thinking back to the whirling red-clad Adela with her sparkling smile and mysterious lilting voice. “I wonder if I’m mistaken—” She looked at the heavy clouds overhead and sighed. “It’s going to darken quickly tonight. Those clouds promise a storm.”
They were still hesitating in the path when the gunfire began. At first Jenny thought rabbits, but then she heard the screams.
For a moment she could almost dismiss it as a bad dream. Looking around the clearing at the solid cabins and rustling cornstalks, she thought, It seems so ordinary and peaceful. Then she heard Tamara’s whimpers and felt Sally’s frantic hands grasping at her.
Turning slowly, Jenny looked at the scene behind them. The gunfire was coming again. She saw people running; women and children streamed toward the woods, while men with guns were running, shooting, and running again toward the blacksmith shop standing in the middle of the clearing.
In the space of one hard breath, Jenny saw men swarming up the creek bank toward them—strangers, dirty and ragged. Jenny caught a glimpse of their faces, some leering, some contorted in rage, waving rifles over their heads.
Still with a sense of idle detachment, Jenny saw them turn on the running figures, chasing the women and children, herding the silent racing figures into the woods.
Until the screams penetrated Jenny’s confusion, she didn’t comprehend what was happening. But even while Jenny watched, she saw them kneel and lift their rifles. Dust pricked upward in puffs.
Once again the men laughed and aimed their rifles at the women fleeing toward the trees. In the brief silence after the women disappeared, the men turned back.
Hands were shoving at Jenny and she moved in response. Now aware of gunfire coming from behind her, Jenny forced her numb body to move, stepping backward into the sheltering trees.
Now she could see a ring of men gathered around the blacksmith shop, shooting, waiting, and shooting again.
Then Jenny realized that she and Sally were clinging to each other. With every blast of gunfire, Sally cringed, her body jerking as if she felt those bullets. In a brief, silent interval, she cried, “Will it go on forever?” Jenny could only shake her head.
Darkness was nearly upon them when the rapid volley trailed into an occasional burst of gunfire. Jenny became aware of Sally’s strangling sobs. They were still clinging to each other with Tamara wedged between them. Jenny found mind enough to be glad the child stayed motionless and soundless.
Later Jenny began to breathe easier. A few shadowy figures pulled themselves upright and came to huddle in the trees. The silence was alive with fear. Once more men pounded past, circled, and returned. With every sound of their searching feet, the women cringed deeper into the trees.
When the footsteps faded and the eerie quiet grew, Jenny began to realize that their total, mindless fear had saved them. In the trees she discovered others had survived too. Much later, like Jenny and Sally, they came creeping out of the woods. Together they huddled in the clearing, stunned and wondering.
That gunfire. They saw the silent shop and remembered the men and boys who had fled into the blacksmith shop. Finally Matilda spoke, and for moments Jenny could only compare the strong, confident woman she knew with this trembling, weak creature who was clinging to the tree beside her.
Jenny spoke out of memory she didn’t know she had. “Those—those, they knelt down and shot through the spaces between the logs. It was like—they didn’t have a place to run.”
The women continued to huddle on the edge of the clearing. The last gun had long been silent. The final shadowy figure slipped away, and the scent of gunpowder disappeared. They were still motionless when a lone shadow moved hesitantly toward them, stood, and stumbled to fall again.
One of the group, braver than the rest, said slowly, “It’s a woman.” Her voice unshackled the others and slowly they began to come forward. They surrounded the trembling figure and waited, powerless to act.
She spoke in a faltering voice, “I was hiding in the wagon. Old Thomas, he surrendered his rifle, and one of those men—” she choked and they heard her ragged breath—“one of those men hacked him to pieces with a corn knife.” Her voice became shrill, “The others—” She shook her head, but it was enough.
They turned and faced the blacksmith shop. First one and then the others began moving hesitantly toward it.
****
Mark pulled on his clothes. As the guard instructed, he picked up his rifle and coat. The man’s voice had been heavy; that should have been enough to alert Mark, but even now the information, still seeping into his mind, seemed unreal.
When they reached the store, the facts began to add up and make sense. Joseph was sitting behind a table. His arms rested on the piles of paper; his hands clasped the base of the smoking oil lamp. When the guard spoke, Joseph sighed and got to his feet. Now his face was shadowed, and Mark found himself leaning forward to peer into his eyes.
Joseph spoke as if stunned. “We’ve just received communication from Haun’s Mill. One of the wounded made it in with the information that they had been fired upon this afternoon. Seventeen are dead and fifteen wounded.”
“But why am I
arrested?” Mark questioned.
“I need you and I can’t have you running off to Log Creek to be shot like a hero.”
The final fact sank in: Haun’s Mill was fearfully close to Morgans’ cabin. He had to moisten his lips before he could ask, “Then you think the outlying cabins were attacked too?”
“It’s possible.” As Joseph paced the floor, Mark watched him, his heart thudding; but he dared not allow his thoughts to probe further.
The door opened. Corrill and Reed Peck entered the store. When they walked into the circle of lamplight, Joseph returned to his chair behind the table. He pulled a pile of papers toward him and said, “I’ve a mission for you men. I want you to find Doniphan and beg like a dog for peace.”
The three men facing him stood motionless, silent. Mark moved first, and with a puzzled frown, glanced at the other faces. Then the realization struck him. Joseph had chosen dissenters to carry his message. He was speaking again and his voice was level, emotionless. “Yesterday it was Haun’s Mill. God knows what it will be tomorrow. I’m getting new information almost every hour. The militia is moving in from all directions. We’re outnumbered five to one. By this time tomorrow there’ll be ten thousand men surrounding the town.”
And Mark knew why they had been chosen. Wight, Avard, and all the other men who had been brainwashed by Joseph’s doctrine would never back down now. He could almost hear Avard’s cry: Charge, Danites, charge! The Lord will fight our battles for us!
****
Dawn was breaking over the horizon when the three saddled up and pointed their horses in the direction in which they believed Doniphan’s camp lay.
Already Israel’s army was stirring, moving toward the town square. When Mark heard the cheer, he muttered to Corrill and Peck, “Wait up, fellows; let’s hear what Joseph has to say to the men.”
They watched the lithe figure vault to the top of the breastwork and face the men. “The Gentiles are coming.” His voice rang through the crisp morning air. “I care not a fig. For years we’ve tried to please them. Their lawlessness spells out their belief that ‘might makes right.’ And mighty they are. But we have God on our side. They are a damned set and God will blast them into hell.”