Then suddenly a shadow crossed the doorway, and there was the sound of men’s voices. A man entered the shop, then another. “Damnation!” a rough voice cried. “We got ’em. Would ya look at this!”
“Watch it,” another man growled. “See if there’s any still alive.”
A pair of boots came around the bellows, moving very cautiously. Lie down! Play dead! John’s mind screamed at Sardius. But the boy just huddled there, watching the boots come around toward him.
With an oath, the man dropped to one knee. He had a rifle in his hand. Bending lower, his back to John now, he peered beneath the bellows. “Well, I’ll be—”
“What is it?” someone else barked.
“We got a live one.” There was a moment of silence, then a soft exclamation. “Hold it, Glaze! This is just a boy.”
There was a harsh guffaw. “Nits make lice,” the voice growled. “Leave him be and he’ll grow up to be a Mormon.” The rifle muzzle dropped, coming up against the boy’s head.
No! Oh, dear God! The prayer burst out like a shout in John’s mind. He turned his head against the logs and shut his eyes tightly.
In the confines of the shop, the explosion was like a cannon shot inside a barrel. John heard someone start to curse, his voice heavy with shock. And then suddenly John felt a lance of fire shoot through his side. Someone had nudged him with the toe of a boot. “This one’s alive too,” a voice above him said.
John didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t have to. He felt no fear. Just a deep, instantaneous sorrow that he would not get to hold his children one more time.
There was the scrape of boots on the dirt floor as the man stepped back. Metal clicked on metal as the hammer of the rifle was pulled back. John turned his head toward the wall. Good-bye, dearest Jessie. I’ll miss you.
Chapter Notes
While the purposes of the novel require that the author place his fictional characters in the midst of the terrible events at Haun’s Mill and provide some detail not given in original accounts, every effort has been made to depict the tragedy as it actually happened. The main events of the massacre come from several eyewitness accounts (see Joseph Young’s account in HC 3:183–86; see also HC 3:186–87; Persecutions, pp. 234–37; Restoration, pp. 399–402).
Later reports of the Missouri militia indicate that there were 240 men in the group that attacked the settlement and that they were led by a man by the name of Nehemiah Comstock. Each man fired an average of seven bullets during the attack. This makes a total of almost seventeen hundred rounds fired against approximately thirty families. Eighteen people, men and boys, were killed, and thirteen other people (including at least one woman) were wounded, some of them critically. Only three of the Missourians were wounded.
The massacre in the blacksmith shop, including the shooting of the wounded and the brutal murder of Sardius Smith, are accurate, as are the mutilation of Father McBride with a corn cutter and the shooting at women and children. The killer of Sardius Smith later boasted about what he had done, showing the totally ruthless nature of some of the mob.
Willard Smith was one of the survivors and one of the heroes of Haun’s Mill, even though he was not yet twelve. He wrote a little-known account of his experience, which gives some details not found in other sources. His hiding in the woodpile, the flight to the cabin of Thomas McBride (who was evidently first shot, then later killed with the corn knife), his getting the old man water from the millpond while under fire, and his daring escape with the six little girls are all based on his journal account (found in By Their Fruits, pp. 180–83).
There was an actual woman, named Mary Stedwell, who fled across the creek with Amanda Smith and who was shot in the hand. Amanda Smith later recalled, “One girl was wounded by my side and fell over a log, her clothes hung across the log [and] they Shot at them expecting that they were hitting her, and our people af[ter]wards Cut out of that log twenty bullets.” (In Redress, p. 538; see also HC 3:186; CHFT, p. 203.) Rather than trying to introduce a new character so that the story of Mary’s heroic escape could be told, the author has taken the liberty to have Jessica experience events similar to those Mary experienced.
Jacob Haun was wounded but recovered. Some time later, after the Saints reached Nauvoo, the Prophet Joseph said: “At Haun’s Mill the brethren went contrary to my counsel; if they had not, their lives would have been spared” (HC 5:137).
Chapter 18
A movement outside the window caught Mary Ann’s eye. The glass panes were thick and wavy, and they distorted the image somewhat, but she didn’t need clear vision to recognize the outline and the gait of her husband, or to see that he was coming at a swift trot, something Benjamin Steed didn’t do much anymore.
“You’re father is coming.” She was peeling carrots at the cutting table. Rebecca and Lydia were at the main table deboning a boiled chicken and dropping the pieces of meat into the stew pot. Both of their heads turned to look at her. She set the carrot and the knife down, and turned slowly, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. “He’s running.”
The chicken was forgotten. Rebecca was on her feet, wiping her hands on her apron. Lydia swung around on the bench so that she was facing the door. There was no sound in the room except for the soft gooing of Lydia’s baby from her cradle in the corner.
There was a clumping sound on the porch, then the door flew open. Benjamin took only one step inside. “Brigham and the men are coming in,” he said.
“Derek?” Rebecca asked, holding her breath.
Benjamin nodded. “Fine. Nathan. Matthew. They’re all back.”
Relief flooded across the faces of all three women. That morning, word had reached Far West that a huge company of militia was on the march from the south, and Joseph had sent Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball out with about a hundred and fifty men to scout the situation. Now it was five o’clock, and there had been no word. The worry had been weighing more and more heavily on their minds.
“Are you sure they’re all back?” Lydia asked.
“Yes. They were chased by a large party of men as they tried to come in, but Brigham says he knew the lay of the land too well and easily eluded them.”
“Thank the good Lord for that,” Mary Ann half whispered.
Benjamin looked at his wife. “Where are the children?”
“Out back.” With the worry lifted, she felt a need to let out her emotions. She smiled. “They’re playing school. Young Joshua is the schoolmaster. Rachel is the teacher. The little ones are the pupils. Emily is—”
“I think you’d better get them inside.”
Mary Ann’s hands gripped her apron, her knuckles suddenly white.
“The army that chased Brigham’s party are marshalling just south of town. There’s another two thousand men—maybe more—camped down by Goose Creek.”
Rebecca drew in her breath sharply. Lydia and Mary Ann both blurted out the same word at the same time. “No!” Lydia was on her feet now too, her greasy hands completely forgotten.
Benjamin nodded gravely. “Joseph is going to send out a flag of truce and see if we can talk with them.”
“But—”
Benjamin hurried on quickly. “Our militia is forming a line along the south edge of town. . . .” He didn’t finish. He just looked at Mary Ann, trying to lessen the impact of what he was about to say. Then he shook his head. “It might be well if you begin gathering whatever valuables we can carry if we have to leave. You’ll have to—” He shrugged helplessly. This was not the time for counsel about the need to travel light. “Don’t come out until you hear something from us.”
And with that, he backed out of the door and shut it quietly, leaving the women to stare at each other.
* * *
General Alexander Doniphan had command of the brigade of the right flank as the army marched northward. When he learned that a large party of riders was seen approaching Far West from the east, he sent word to General Lucas and asked permission to take his brigade and try to c
ut them off. Permission was granted, and Doniphan and his men rode off at a hard gallop.
The main body had reached Goose Creek by then, which was about a mile south of Far West, and Lucas gave the order to start camp there. But about half an hour later, a rider from Doniphan came tearing back to camp. Doniphan had chased the men, definitely a company of Mormon militia, but had been unable to intercept them before they reached the town. Now Doniphan had his men deployed about two hundred yards south of Far West and was waiting for further orders. Then the thoroughly frightened messenger added his own assessment of the situation, though Doniphan had not given him leave to do so. The Mormons were forming a line behind the barricades. He had seen them with his own eyes. There were over eight hundred of them, and they were heavily armed with rifle and cannon.
The messenger was about six hundred men too high in his estimate, but the damage had been done. Furious, and fearing a trap, Lucas ordered another brigade to march at full speed to link up with Doniphan.
When Joshua Steed got the news of the order to march, he immediately mounted up and went to Lucas’s tent. Lucas was inside, putting on his full dress uniform. Joshua went past the aide with barely a nod. Lucas had been furious. Now Joshua was trying to reason with the general.
“Sir, I’ve been to Far West. I know the lay of the land. I can help.”
“No.” He didn’t even look up from pulling on his boots.
“But, sir, I am the captain of a mounted company. I—”
Lucas looked up, peering at him over the top of his spectacles. “Steed, I’ve already ordered General Graham’s brigade forward. You are not part of that brigade.”
“With all due respect, sir, I believe you’re holding me back because of my family.”
Lucas stood slowly, his face reddening. “You listen, mister,” he said tightly, “I’ve got a war on my hands here, and I’ll put you where I need you.” He stopped, daring Joshua to contradict him. When Joshua didn’t say anything, he went on. “If you’re so all-fired anxious for something to do, you take your company and ride guard duty along the eastern flank.”
“But, sir—”
Lucas overrode him heavily. “You patrol all the way up across the road that comes from the east. They already just got a hundred and fifty men back into town. I don’t want them getting any more reinforcements.”
Joshua’s mouth opened to protest, but Lucas spun around and reached for his coat that hung over his chair. He didn’t look back. “That duty will start immediately, Steed,” he snapped. “Dismissed.”
Too angry now to speak, Joshua turned on his heel and stalked away. Lucas finished buttoning the coat, brushing at the gold officer’s braid on the shoulders, then turned, beckoning to his aide standing just outside the front of the tent. The man stepped forward smartly. “Sir?”
Lucas was buckling on his sword now. “Send a rider to Graham. Give him the word that I don’t want to be caught in a trap. He’s to get Doniphan and they’re both to withdraw back to camp immediately. We’ll wait until tomorrow for any engagement.”
“Yes, sir.” The aide started to pivot.
“Owens.”
He turned back. “Yes, sir?”
“Find Lieutenant Carter. Tell him I want him to ride with Captain Steed.”
There was a momentary flash of surprise, but he nodded immediately. “Yes, sir.”
“You tell him I want him to stick by Steed every minute. He’s to report to me personally if anything out of the ordinary happens.”
The man saluted. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell him, sir.” And with that, he was away.
* * *
As the two brethren who had gone out with the flag of truce came walking back toward the barricades, the brethren nearest to Joseph pushed in close to hear their report. As a leader of the home defense, Benjamin Steed was right next to Joseph. Nathan, Matthew, and Derek were about fifty or sixty yards down the line, and all they could do was watch from a distance. The men huddled in a circle for two or three minutes, then they backed up a little as Joseph Smith began to speak to them. He waved an arm in one direction, pointing out things, then turned, doing the same in the other direction.
“Look, the army’s leaving.” Matthew was pointing at the long line of men down the rise from them. Just as the negotiations between the Mormons and Doniphan’s brigade got under way, there had been a ripple of panic along the Mormon line when a second group, about the same size as the first, had appeared coming toward them at a hard march. But now there was no question about it. Both groups were retreating, moving slowly down the hill.
Nathan turned back and saw that Joseph’s instructions were finished and that Benjamin was approaching them. As he came up, the men around Nathan and Matthew and Derek gathered in close so they could hear what was going on.
“What did they say?” someone blurted as Benjamin joined them.
Benjamin’s mouth was drawn into a tight line. “Governor Boggs has issued an order to the militia. That’s why they’re here.”
“What order?” Nathan demanded. “I thought they’d come to protect us.”
Benjamin was staring at the ground. Slowly his head came up. “They aren’t here to protect us.”
There were cries of stunned surprise and horrified shock.
“But why?” Derek exclaimed. “We’re not the aggressors here.”
Benjamin was weary. “Why doesn’t matter. The man read the order to our brethren. Their army is pulling back to Goose Creek for the night. Tomorrow . . . ?” His shoulders lifted and fell. And then he grew very businesslike. “Joseph wants the barricades strengthened. He wants every wagon, every spare table. These cabins along the edge of town, tear them down. Use the logs to strengthen the walls. Any unused lumber or logs, get them here as quickly as possible.”
The men were still too stunned to protest. They just stared at him. Their obtuseness made Benjamin suddenly angry. “Move!” he shouted. “We’ve got no more than twelve hours to get ready.”
They moved swiftly away, in groups of twos and threes. Benjamin watched them go, then turned back to his sons. “Derek, you and Matthew go home. Tell the women what’s happened. Make sure they’ve started to pack our things. Tell them food will be important. Warm clothes for the children. Anything they can use for bandages.”
Derek passed one hand over his eyes. He was dazed too. “Yes, Father Steed.”
As they half turned, Benjamin spoke again. “Matthew?”
“Yes, Pa.”
“There’s a good chance they’ll fire the houses. Move anything of value we can’t carry with us outside. Far enough away it won’t burn. Maybe we can salvage something once this is over.”
* * *
“Someone’s coming!”
Half a dozen men in Joshua’s company saw the approaching horsemen at the same time. Rifles whipped up and everyone went on instant alert. But as Joshua squinted to try and see them better, he relaxed almost at once. It was a large party—more than two hundred, Joshua guessed—and they were raising a cloud of dust along the road. But even at this distance Joshua could see that many of them were painted to look like Indians.
He swore under his breath and raised one arm. “They’re ours, boys. Stand easy.”
Some of the lunatic fringe that was now part of Lucas’s army had decided that they could convince the Missourians that there had been an Indian uprising—something that would strike terror in the heart of any Missourian. So they had put red on their clothes and painted their faces. If the sight hadn’t disgusted him so much, Joshua would have laughed. Even at a distance they looked no more like real Indians than boys playing games in the school yard.
Joshua’s men began calling and waving to the riders, and they cantered up to join them. As they approached, Joshua suddenly felt his stomach drop. The men were carrying the spoils of war. Some carried two rifles. One had a woman’s dress draped across his saddle. Another had a small leather trunk between him and the saddle horn. Several were leading extra horses by their
bridles or halter ropes. A boy not yet twenty was swinging a length of a woman’s beads.
“Captain Joshua Steed,” Joshua called to the man who was obviously in charge. “First Brigade, Third Division.”
The man was grinning broadly. “Nehemiah Comstock and my boys from Livingston County.” He leaned across his saddle, extending his hand.
Joshua started to reach out to take it, then recoiled in shock. The hand had dark red smears all across the palm.
Comstock looked down, then hooted. “Hey, boys, tell ’em what we’ve been doing.” He looked at Joshua and cackled fiendishly. “We just come from Haun’s Mill. We been killing Mormons.”
* * *
“Lieutenant?” It took every ounce of the control Joshua had learned in a thousand poker games to keep the look of repulsion from his face and the nausea from his eyes.
“Yes, Captain.” Lieutenant Carter owned a hat shop in Richmond. He was married and had a young family. Joshua saw, with some relief, that his face was nearly as gray as his coat. Some of the other men in Joshua’s company were hollering and shouting out their regrets that they hadn’t been part of Comstock’s attack, but Carter had paled at what he was hearing. He had nearly fallen off his horse when one man, the front of his clothes stiff with dried blood, had told in graphic detail how he had hacked an old man to pieces with a corn cutter.
Joshua pulled himself out of his thoughts with a real effort. “Lieutenant, you and the men take Mr. Comstock and his men back to General Lucas. I’d like to ride on a little, make sure there’re no Mormons out here.”
Comstock roared with laughter. “Ain’t no live ones, that’s for sure.”
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