Lucas stopped and folded the paper. “So you see, Colonel,” he said, barely disguising his triumph, “it is a wise thing you have done to come now to negotiate. Actually, you have no choice.”
“What terms do you require?” Hinkle whispered.
Lucas considered that for only a moment. “Four conditions. Number one, all Church leaders are to be given up for trial and punishment. Number two, the Mormons are to make an appropriation of their property for the payment of their debts and to indemnify the state for damages done by them. Third, the balance of the Mormons must leave the state. We will protect them with the militia, but they must leave.”
Hinkle was deeply shocked. He hadn’t expected warm terms, but there was no mercy here at all. “Immediately, sir?” he asked.
Lucas shook his head. “They can remain until I receive further orders from the governor.” He looked at Hinkle sharply. “Fourth condition. Your people must give up arms of every description. These shall be receipted for.”
Colonel Hinkle frowned. Lucas gave him a withering stare, and Hinkle immediately caved in. He began to nod. “And if I agree, there will be no attack upon our people?”
“You have my word, sir. And you will personally be treated as an officer should. There will be no incriminations of any kind against you.”
Hinkle took a deep breath, then blew it out quickly. “Those terms are reasonable, sir. I can agree to them.” Hinkle’s lips pursed slightly. “It is already late in the day. I would suggest, therefore, that the surrender take place tomorrow.”
“Agreed.” Then a thought came to Lucas. “But I demand that you immediately bring to me hostages as pledge to guarantee your faithful compliance with these terms.”
A little surprised, Hinkle leaned forward. “Hostages? Who, sir?”
Lucas was triumphant. He began to tick them off with his finger. “Colonel Lyman Wight of Daviess County. George Robinson of Far West. Parley P. Pratt and Sidney Rigdon.” He paused, and a wicked grin pulled back his lips, revealing his teeth. “And Mr. Joseph Smith, Junior, of course.”
For several moments Hinkle stared at the ground. Then he looked up. “Of course,” he murmured.
* * *
“Be especially careful, Joseph.” Hyrum Smith had been seriously ill for several days, and he looked drawn and tired. The thoughts of Joseph walking into the enemies’ camp did little to help his weariness.
Joseph turned to his brother. “I will, Hyrum. Lucas just wants to talk. I’m sure he wishes to set forth the terms of our surrender.”
“And will you surrender, Joseph?” Benjamin Steed asked quietly.
Joseph turned to his old friend. “Benjamin, all this time we have thought that the militia was acting as a mob. But you heard the report. General Lucas is acting under direct commission of the state. He has an executive order from the governor.”
“And that order says that we are to be exterminated or driven from the state,” Nathan said hotly.
Joseph looked very tired too. His eyes were dark with sorrow. “It is still an order from the legal executive of this state.”
Colonel Hinkle stepped forward. He was angry. “Enough of this talk. I have told you. The general only wishes to confer with Brother Joseph and our other leaders to see what can be done. They have pledged their sacred honor that you will not be abused or insulted.”
Sidney Rigdon nodded. “We have no choice, Joseph.”
Joseph looked at his couselor, then at Hinkle. Finally he nodded. “Yes, let us go.” He quickly shook hands all around the circle. When he got to Hyrum they embraced. Parley Pratt stuck out his hand to Nathan. “Wish us luck, old friend.”
“We’ll be praying for you,” Nathan said in return.
Joseph turned to Colonel Hinkle. “I’m ready,” he said.
* * *
As they walked toward the gentle rise that led to Lucas’s camp, Joseph and those with him could see the line of militia-men coming to meet them. It looked as though the whole of his army was marching to attack. General Lucas was in the lead. Directly behind him was a company of artillerymen. They had a four-pounder hitched behind a team of horses. On both sides of this group, infantry and cavalry stretched out behind them. There was at least a thousand men, maybe more.
Most chilling was the sight of one body of men. Led by Cornelius Gilliam—or Neil Gilliam, as he was more commonly known—they were dressed like Indians and had their faces painted black or red. Gilliam liked to fancy himself as the “Delaware Chief.” He and his men had been terrorizing the countryside for several days. It was a sight to make the blood run cold.
The two groups closed quickly, and Lucas moved out ahead of his men. As they finally met, Joseph stepped out ahead of the others, extending his hand. “General Lucas,” he said pleasantly, “we understand you wish to confer with us. It is late in the day. Would not tomorrow morning do just as well?”
But Colonel Hinkle stepped quickly up beside Joseph. “General Lucas,” he said loudly, “here are the prisoners I agreed to deliver to you.”
Joseph whirled around, staring at his leading commander in shocked dismay. Parley, Sidney, Lyman Wight, George Robinson—they all were thunderstruck.
Lucas raised one hand and instantly the soldiers nearest him leaped forward, surrounding the small body of Mormons, leveling their rifles. Like a battering wave of sound, a roar of triumph went up all along the line of Missourians. The company of artillerymen directly behind Lucas jumped up and down, waving their weapons and howling in jubilation. Neil Gilliam’s men began to shriek wildly, spurring their horses and firing their rifles into the air. As Parley Pratt would later write, “If the vision of the infernal regions could suddenly open to the mind, with thousands of malicious fiends, all clamoring, exulting, deriding, blaspheming, mocking, railing, raging and foaming like a troubled sea, then could some idea be formed of the hell which we had entered.”
Several hundred yards away, Benjamin and Nathan and the other brethren lining the barricades stood in stunned horror at the scene unfolding before them and the horrible shrieking that rent the air. After a moment, Nathan turned to his father. Benjamin was stricken to the core. “God help us now,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “They’ve taken Joseph.”
Chapter Notes
The surviving Saints at Haun’s Mill were fearful that the mob would be returning and did bury their dead in the newly dug well (see CHFT, p. 204).
The treachery of Colonel Hinkle, the conditions set for the surrender, and the betrayal of Joseph and the other leaders is accurately portrayed in the novel (see HC 3:188–90 and Mack Hist., pp. 272–73). Of this act, B. H. Roberts wrote, “So long as treason is detested, and traitors despised, so long will the memory of Colonel Hinkle be execrated for his vile treachery” (Persecutions, p. 243).
The quote from Parley P. Pratt can be found in his autobiography (see PPP Auto., p. 160).
Chapter 20
But, sir!” Lieutenant Carter was sputtering in his outrage. “The general asked me to report to him directly about Captain Steed. I demand to see him.”
The man who served as the aide-de-camp to General Lucas was well aware of Carter’s assignment. It made no difference. He had his orders too. “I will tell the general that you are back and wish to see him.” He gave Carter a thin smile. “Or if you wish, you can give your report to me and I’ll pass it on as soon as the general is free.”
Carter stiffened. “The general said I was to report directly to him.”
“Then you’ll just have to wait until morning.” The aide turned toward the tent door and waved his hand. Outside it was cacophony. Men yelling. Horrid shrieking. Occasional gunfire. “For heaven’s sake, man! Can’t you hear what’s going on out there? We’ve got Joe Smith! We’ve got the Mormon leaders. The Mormons are going to surrender in the morning. General Lucas has more important things on his mind right now than you and your Captain Steed.”
* * *
Hyrum and Mary Fielding Smith had a modest home in Far West, but i
t was comfortably furnished and ample for the needs of them and their children. As Rebecca came up the walk, she could not see anyone in the lamplit windows. As she reached the porch, she stopped for a moment. A little shiver ran up and down her spine. The sounds of shrieking and yelling coming from the south of town carried faintly but clearly on the cold night air. Even though it was several hours later, the Missourians were still celebrating their capture of the Mormon prophet. It was enough to give you waking nightmares. Rebecca flinched as she heard a rifle shot, then another. Turning, she looked anxiously in that direction. Then she raised her hand swiftly and knocked on the door.
The door opened almost instantly to reveal Mary Smith. Now less than three weeks away from delivery, she was, as the scriptures say, “great with child.” Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks tearstained. But when she saw who it was, her face lit up and she smiled. “Oh, Rebecca. Come in.” As she stepped back, almost waddling, she braced her back with one hand and winced at a momentary flash of pain.
Rebecca followed her inside and shut the door. “I was hoping you would still be awake.”
“How can we sleep with that?” She grimaced and flung one hand toward the window and the sounds coming to them from the far camp. Her face softened and she laid a hand on her belly. “And with this?”
“Are the children asleep?”
“Yes, thankfully.” Mary sank down wearily into a chair. “Hyrum put them down before he went over to Joseph’s house to comfort Mother and Father Smith. I tried to talk him out of it. He’s so sick.”
Rebecca shook her head. “How is Emma holding up?”
Mary frowned. “It’s hard for her, of course, but Emma’s strong. She’s doing better than Joseph’s father. When they heard all the shooting just after Joseph was taken, Father Smith was at the doorway to their home. He threw his arms across his chest. ‘Oh, my God! my God!’ he cried. ‘They have killed my son! They have murdered him, and I must die, for I cannot live without him.’” Her eyes were glistening suddenly. “He collapsed and they put him to bed. He’s barely moved since. He’s so frail.” She tipped her head back and massaged her neck.
Rebecca picked up a stool and set it down in front of Mary, then sat down to face her. “Are you all right? You should be in your bed.”
“I’m fine,” Mary managed. Then there was a smile in spite of it all. “If I could just get this boy to stop kicking me night and day.”
Rebecca laughed. “You think it is a boy?”
“If it’s a girl,” Mary responded, “she’s not acting much like a lady.” Then she sobered. “It frightens me to think of having a baby with all this.” She gestured again toward the south and the sounds that filled the air.
Rebecca had not come for this, in fact just the opposite. She clapped her hands together as if having a sudden thought. “I’m here to bring you some cheer.”
Mary closed her eyes, the lines around her mouth softening slightly. “Now, that I could use.”
Rebecca laid a hand on Mary’s knee. “Forget about Missouri right now and all that’s happening. Tell me about England. Is it really as beautiful as Derek says it is?”
Slowly Mary Fielding Smith’s face smoothed out. She closed her eyes, and a quiet smile spread across her mouth. “Ah, yes, Rebecca. ’Tis a sight to behold, all green and lovely and. . . .”
Rebecca smiled and leaned back, pleased that her idea was working.
* * *
Joshua considered briefly trying to get to his horse, then decided against it. It was not much more than a mile to Far West, and he couldn’t risk being caught by the sentries. He moved westward first. Far West was to the north, so the guards here were fewer and, as he hoped, much less alert. Once he was clear of the camp, he swung around to the north and broke into a jogging run, a black wraith moving swiftly through the rain and darkness of the early-morning hours of the first day of November.
* * *
Benjamin looked steadily at Mary Ann, feeling her grief as sharply as if it were his own. “There is no choice, Mother,” he said firmly. He turned to his two sons. “Nathan, Matthew. Pack some things. You’re going with the others.”
There was a soft cry from Lydia, but she bit it back instantly. Nathan turned to her and held out his arms. Instantly she was into them and clinging to him in desperate longing. But when she spoke, it was loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Father Steed is right, Nathan. You’ve got to go. If they arrest you, we may never see you again.”
Nathan turned to Joshua. “You’re absolutely sure of this?”
Joshua threw up his hands. “Who’s sure of anything out there? It’s a madhouse. But yes, I heard one of Lucas’s officers give the order. Any of the men who rode against the Missourians at Crooked River are to be arrested and taken south for trial.”
“But how can they know?” Matthew said.
Joshua was grim. “You keep forgetting that some of your own people are with us, Mormons who have become bitter against you, men who are being offered money to finger the leaders and any others the militia wants.”
Benjamin was very anxious. Joshua’s arrival had been a pleasant surprise, but his news had spread alarm throughout the city. “The time for discussion is past. All those who they can find are gathering at the square in ten minutes. If you’re not there, they’ll leave without you. You’ve got to be long away before first light.”
Mary Ann went to her youngest son, now eighteen and towering almost a foot above her. She put her arms around his waist. Neither could bear to speak. They just held each other, and Matthew patted his mother’s shoulders awkwardly, and in great pain.
Joshua cleared his throat. “I’ve got to get back before anyone realizes I’ve gone.”
Benjamin swung around. “Son—” His voice caught, and he shook his head, frustrated that his emotions rose up so easily.
In the lamplight, Joshua could see that his father’s eyes were suddenly shining. He felt a great lump filling his own chest. He raised one hand. “You don’t have to say anything, Pa. I’m just glad I found out about this.”
Jessica had been sitting quietly in one corner of the room. She stood now and came to the man who had once been her husband. She stepped in front of him, her eyes large and filled with sorrow. She reached up and touched his face with her bandaged hand. He saw now that the bandage was new and clean. “This is twice in two days you’ve come to our aid, Joshua.” She took a quick breath. “Whatever debts you may have incurred in the past, they’re paid now. A hundredfold.” She went up on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
Joshua started to speak, but found himself too deeply moved to get the words out. He finally shook his head gruffly, turned, and spoke to his father and mother. “I don’t know what’s going to happen today. I’ll try to come in with my troops, but . . .” He shrugged. Promises were cheap right now.
In two steps Mary Ann was to him, throwing her arms around him. “Oh, beloved Joshua, my son, my son.”
They stood there for several moments, holding each other tightly. Then finally Joshua stepped back and turned to face Nathan and Matthew. “Be careful,” he said, gripping Nathan’s hand. “Don’t stop until you’re in Iowa Territory.”
Nathan nodded, gripping his hand tightly. “We won’t.”
Joshua and Matthew hugged, then Joshua went to the door. He looked at his father, then at his mother. There was a curt nod. Then he lifted one hand briefly, opened the door, and disappeared back out into the darkness of predawn.
* * *
They were seated around the kitchen table—all but Rachel, young Joshua, and Emily, who sat on chairs and held their breakfast plates in their laps. The meal was almost done, and tension had begun to fill the air. In less than an hour the brethren in Far West, the ones who had not fled before dawn, would gather in the central square, then march out of town to give up their weapons to the Missourians. It meant surrendering the only thing that gave them hope of holding the armies at bay. T
he thought of it weighed heavily on everyone’s mind.
Then Derek cleared his throat and raised his hand. Benjamin looked up in suprise. “Yes?”
Derek cleared his throat again. For most of his youth and all of his adult life, Derek Ingalls had learned to keep his emotions to himself. He rarely spoke of feelings, even more rarely exhibited those feelings openly. So this did not come easy to him.
“Go on, Derek,” Rebecca urged.
“All right.” He looked around at the family. Even the children had stopped eating and were watching him. He cleared his throat a third time. “Peter and me? We . . . well, we never had any family. Not since we were little. We had to fend for ourselves. It wasn’t always easy.”
Peter was nodding soberly.
“But since we came to America . . .” He looked down, his hands and fingers twisting around each other. “Well, we found us a family.”
“Amen!” Peter said quietly but fervently.
Derek looked at his father-in-law. “Father Steed, we just wanted you to know. No matter what happens today or in the days to come. We’re Steeds now too. You can count on us to be here. No matter what.”
“That’s right,” Peter said, more loudly now.
Derek looked over at Lydia, then to Jessica. “I know your husbands are not here, that you have children.” His shoulders straightened. “But I want you to know, they are my children now too. You are my sisters. More dear to me than the sisters I lost when I was a young boy.”
“And me too,” Peter murmured bravely.
It was absolutely quiet in the cabin. Jessica, sitting directly across from Derek, was staring at him in wonder. Mary Ann was blinking her eyes rapidly. Benjamin was looking at him with open affection and admiration. But it was Lydia, sitting on the other side of Rebecca, who finally broke the silence, though her voice was very soft when she spoke. “Rebecca?”
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