Matthew felt a little thrill run up and down his body, and without realizing it, he squared his own shoulder and laid a hand upon his pistol.
“Bear witness, one and all,” Joseph cried, the sword still thrust upward, catching the afternoon sun on its steel. “While I live, I will never tamely submit to the dominion of cursed mobocracy. I do not regard my own life. I am ready to be offered a sacrifice for this people. What can our enemies do? Only kill the body, and their power is then at an end.”
The sword lowered slowly, and Joseph looked around, his face suddenly sad. “God has tried you. You are a good people. Therefore, I love you with all my heart. Greater love hath no man than that he should lay down his life for his friends. You have stood by me in the hour of trouble, and I am willing to sacrifice my life for your preservation. May the Lord God of Israel bless you forever and ever. I say it in the name of Jesus of Nazareth, and in the authority of the holy priesthood, which he hath conferred upon me. Amen.”
With a mighty roar the nearly five thousand men of the Nauvoo Legion answered their prophet. “Amen!” they cried as if with one voice. “Amen.”
On the seventeenth of June, Hyrum Smith had written a letter to Brigham Young suggesting that, due to the deteriorating situation in Nauvoo, the Twelve ought to come home as quickly as possible. When Hyrum showed the letter to Joseph, his brother advised him not to mail it. Three days later, conditions had reached the point that Joseph changed his mind. He sat down and dictated ten letters to those members of the Twelve who were out on missions promoting Joseph’s candidacy for the presidency. Only John Taylor and Willard Richards were in Nauvoo. The message was the same in each letter. Conditions are very serious here. Return home immediately. With the mails in disarray because of the martial law, Joseph sent a special rider to take the letters beyond the confines of the county and see that they got posted.
As the rider left with the letters, Joseph turned to Hyrum. “Hyrum?”
“Yes, Joseph?”
“I want you to leave.”
Hyrum was stunned. “What?” he cried.
“I want you to take Mary and your family and go to Cincinnati. Hyrum, I want you to live through all of this.”
“Joseph, I cannot leave you.” There was complete finality in his voice.
Joseph sighed and turned to the others in the room with them. “I wish I could get Hyrum out of the way so that he could live to avenge my blood.” He turned back to the brother who had stood by his side for so long. “But I will stay with you and see it out.”
With the news from Hancock County growing more grim with every day, Governor Thomas Ford finally decided to try to get control of the situation. He left Springfield, unknowingly passing somewhere along the trail the delegation Joseph Smith had sent to meet him. When Nathan’s group learned that the governor was no longer in Springfield, they decided they would rest for a day before starting back. But Nathan himself felt too much anxiety for his family to do that. He slept for a couple of hours, bought some extra grain for his horse, and started back.
Springfield was normally a four-day ride from Nauvoo, being about a hundred and fifty miles. But they hadn’t gone the full way and Nathan pushed hard on the way back, sleeping in quick snatches along the road, then moving on. When he reached Carthage, however, which was still about twenty miles from Nauvoo, he knew that both he and his horse had reached their limit. Just before midnight on June twenty-first, he pulled up in front of the Hamilton House, a hotel, and stiffly slid off his horse. Inside, as he signed the register book, his eye was caught by the two signatures just above his. John Taylor and John Bernhisel, both of Nauvoo, had checked in just an hour before. He determined that he would seek them out before going on the next morning, to see what was happening.
The hotel clerk had been right. As Nathan approached the courthouse, he saw Elder Taylor and Brother Bernhisel just coming out of the building. With a shout and a wave, he caught their attention and moved quickly over to join them.
“I thought you were in Springfield,” Elder Taylor said.
Nathan explained briefly what had happened. The Apostle nodded. “When Joseph received a message from Governor Ford, stating that he was here and requesting to hear the Mormons’ version of matters, we realized that you had probably not reached Springfield in time. So Joseph asked Brother Bernhisel and me to bring another letter and some additional documents down to the governor. We’ve got an audience with him at ten. Why don’t you stay for that, then we’ll ride home with you.”
Nathan nodded immediately. He would feel much better about riding in this part of the county with someone else.
“Do you know who else is here?” Bernhisel asked.
“No, who?”
There was a short explosion of disgust from Brother Taylor. “Robert Foster, Wilson Law, the Higbees. Joseph Jackson.”
“Here?” Nathan said in surprise. “What are they doing here?”
“Just what you’d expect. Stirring up as much trouble as possible.”
Bernhisel was angry now. “They saw us when we came in last night. Chauncey Higbee came to our room and tried to get me to come over to the courthouse and post bail for one of our brethren.”
“In the middle of the night?” Nathan asked in surprise.
“Exactly,” Elder Taylor muttered. “I told John it was a ruse to get us separated from each other. I think they wanted to get the papers we’re carrying. We’ve just come from the justice of the peace right now to see about the bail. He won’t accept bail from either of us. Never planned to. It was all a lie.”
Joseph Jackson was a proven murderer and a man of violent temper. Knowing that gave Nathan a quick chill. “You were wise not to fall for it.”
John Taylor nodded. “We lay awake all night with our pistols in hand, just in case.”
“I’ll be glad to be out of here,” Bernhisel said. “This is not the place for Latter-day Saints right now.”
It was ten minutes after ten when they were finally invited into the dining room of the Hamilton House, where the governor was holding audience. As his aide ushered them into the room, all three men stopped dead at the sight of what was before them. Governor Ford was there, all right, with his secretary and a few others of his staff, but there were almost twenty other men in the room as well. And it took only a moment to know which group these men represented. On the front row of chairs, leering delightedly in their direction, were Robert Foster, Wilson Law, Francis and Chauncey Higbee. Joseph Jackson sat directly behind them.
“That’s Frank Worrell,” Bernhisel whispered. “He’s one of the officers for the Carthage Greys.” Nathan felt a sudden bleakness. The Carthage Greys were the local militiamen, and among their number were some of the most bitter of Joseph’s enemies. That alone said mountains about where Governor Ford was going to stand.
The governor’s secretary stood and came to meet them. “Come in, gentlemen. Governor Ford is ready to receive you.”
“And so are we!” Jackson yelled. Then he cackled fiendishly.
“Bring on the Mormons,” someone else shouted. “We’re ready for them.”
Governor Thomas Ford seemed not to even notice the outcries. He motioned them forward. “Come sit down, gentlemen.”
Ford was a handsome man, in his mid-forties, with full dark hair, neatly barbered. He was clean shaven, and well dressed in a black suit and white shirt with a black cravat fastened at the collar. Nathan, feeling shabby in his trail clothes, saw that Thomas Ford had the kind of face that politicians longed for—pleasant, honest, trustworthy. He had come to the governor’s chair through years of distinguished judicial service, first as an Illinois state attorney, then as a circuit judge, and finally as a justice of the Illinois Supreme Court. There was no question but what he had won the election with the help of the Mormons. There was also no question, as Nathan looked around the room, that he wanted to distance himself from that “tainted” influence as much as possible now.
As the three men took sea
ts in front of the governor, the catcalls continued. “Hey, why didn’cha bring ol’ Joe Smith? We’d have given him a warm welcome.” “Get ready for some heavy lying, Governor, sir.” “Where’s your prophet now, brethren? Out marrying him another wife?” That brought a chorus of guffaws. “No wonder he’s too busy to come down and answer to the courts.”
Finally, Ford raised a hand. “Gentlemen, please. They’ve come to be heard. Let’s not let this get out of control.”
Nathan shook his head. The wave of the governor’s hand was like that of a tired mother chiding a particularly malicious young boy, and both boy and mother knew that it would never amount to any more than just a tired wave of the hand. Ignoring the stream of gibes, John Taylor went forward and handed the governor Joseph’s letter and the packet of documents. “In response to your call for further information, the mayor has sent me and Mr. Bernhisel to report to you on the happenings of recent days. Mr. Steed here was part of a delegation on their way to Springfield to give you a similar briefing, but you had passed them on the road coming here. There are also copies of several documents which will substantiate the truth in this circumstance.”
“Joe Smith ain’t never told the truth in his life,” someone shouted.
“Infernal liar,” Francis Higbee snorted. “Always has been.”
Again it was as if Ford weren’t even aware of their presence. “Proceed,” he said to Elder Taylor.
John Taylor began to outline in brief the events surrounding the destruction of the Nauvoo Expositor press. It was a cruel joke. Governor Ford was leafing through some of the documents, only half listening. Meanwhile, the crowd jeered, swore, pounded their chairs, and interrupted constantly. “That’s a damnable lie!” Wilson Law shouted after a sentence or two. “Lies! Lies!” shouted Robert Foster when the Apostle started to talk about the slanderous nature of their paper. Jackson stood up and shook his fist at Taylor, swearing loudly. “An infernal falsehood,” he screamed into Taylor’s face. And through it all Governor Ford went on reading and half listening, as if they were alone in a forest glade with nothing but the soft hum of an occasional bee to break the silence.
Finally, when a highly frustrated Elder Taylor stopped, Governor Ford looked up. Now the men in the room leaned forward, tensing. This would tell where their governor stood. “Gentlemen,” he said, looking at the three of them, “I understand your position, but I think under the circumstances, the only way we can satisfy all parties in the matter is to bring Joseph Smith and the others here to Carthage where they can answer to the charges laid against them.”
“But, Governor—”
He raised one hand quickly, the most energetic response he had yet shown. “I know how repugnant this may seem to your feelings, but you must realize that the public excitement has reached a dangerous pitch here. We must do something to allay the fears of the people and show them that you people are willing to be governed by law.”
“Sir, this matter has twice gone before the courts in Nauvoo and—”
“The courts in Nauvoo are lackeys of Joe Smith,” Foster yelled.
The governor, for the first time looking irritated, waved him to silence; then to Elder Taylor, he continued speaking, his voice unctuous and smooth. “I know all that about Mr. Smith going before your courts. But the people view it differently. Therefore, notwithstanding your opinions, I think we must satisfy the people. Joseph Smith must come here to face his accusers. He is accused of riot in destroying the press of a public newspaper. He must face those charges here.”
John Taylor straightened to his full height. Joseph had once called him the “Champion of Right,” and now he looked and sounded every bit the part, with his white hair and dignified majesty and his rich British accent. “Sir, should Joseph Smith comply with this request, it would be extremely unsafe. Considering the present excited state of the people that you yourself have alluded to, unless he comes with a sufficient force of armed men he could never be safe.”
“Never!” Wilson Law shouted, shaking his fist. “He’s already a dictator, a demagogue. If he brings his legions down here, there shall be all-out war.”
“And if he doesn’t,” Taylor thundered back, “he shall be in the gravest danger.”
Ford stood now, signaling that the audience was at an end. “Mr. Taylor, you go back to Nauvoo and tell Mr. Smith that he and the others accused in this matter must come here to answer the charges, but that I strongly advise you not to come with any armed men. I pledge to you my word as governor and I pledge the faith of this state—Mr. Smith and those who come with him shall be protected. I guarantee your perfect safety.”
Foster sat down, smiling triumphantly at Nathan.
“Gentlemen, I shall draft a letter for Mr. Smith. Please wait outside and then you may return to Nauvoo. Tell your mayor that I shall send Captain Gates and a squad of men to Nauvoo to ensure that he may come to Carthage in safety. That will be all.”
In the end, the governor kept the three of them waiting until almost five o’clock. It was a clear slap in the face, letting them know where they stood with their chief executive. They finally set out, pushing their mounts hard, and arrived in Nauvoo about dusk. They went straight to the Mansion House to report to Joseph. Joseph immediately sent for others to come and hear John Taylor’s report and moved them to the upper room of the store. Willard Richards came. Stephen Markham, a commander in the Legion, was there. John Greene, city marshal, and several officers of the police force were also there. It was a grim group that watched as John Taylor handed Joseph Governor Ford’s letter.
The room was completely silent as Joseph’s eyes scanned the neatly written lines. Then the corners of his mouth turned down and his eyes narrowed. Finally, Joseph lowered the letter, slowly shaking his head. Hyrum, watching him closely, leaned forward. “What, Joseph? What does he say?”
“There is no mercy,” Joseph said, his voice heavy with discouragement. “No mercy here.”
John Taylor quickly told them of how they had been received by the governor and then how they had been humiliated by the long delay.
“Well, the same spirit fills his letter,” Joseph murmured, his face downcast.
Hyrum took it particularly hard. He looked at his brother. “No, Joseph,” he agreed. “You are right. There is no mercy here. Just as surely as we fall into their hands we are dead men.”
“Then what shall we do, Brother Hyrum? He is insistent that we come.”
There was a long silence; then, “I don’t know.”
The gloom settled in heavily on all of them. Nathan watched Joseph’s face, lined now with weariness and anxiety. Then suddenly, Joseph sat up. His eyes widened and his countenance brightened. “The way is open. It is clear to any mind what to do.”
They all came to attention with that.
“Yes,” he said, his voice rising now with excitement. “All they want is Hyrum and myself. Tell everybody to go about their business, not to collect in groups, but to scatter about. There is no doubt they will come here and search for us, but let them search. They will not bother you in person or property. Not even a hair of your head shall be harmed.”
“But,” Nathan blurted, “where will you go?”
Joseph stood now, too excited to remain seated any longer. “We will cross the river tonight, and go away to the West.”
Nathan’s mouth opened as he stared at the Prophet. Hyrum and the others were equally stunned. Joseph had talked about going to investigate the areas of California and Oregon back in February, but with the press of his candidacy and then the growing crisis, little more had been said of it.
Stephen Markham looked up. “But Joseph, are you sure that’s wise?”
Joseph swung on him. “Brother Markham, I tell you, if Hyrum and I are ever taken again, we shall be massacred, or I am not a prophet of God. I would go to Carthage alone, but I want Hyrum to live to avenge my blood and he is determined not to leave me.”
Now he turned to two of the policemen. “Abraham, John, y
ou go and get the Maid of Iowa. Get it to the upper landing. Take Hyrum’s family and my family and put them on it. Then go down the Mississippi and up the Ohio River to Portsmouth. There we will send word on where we are and how to get our families to us.”
Joseph turned, ignoring their shocked looks. “Will you come with us, Brother Nathan?”
Nathan wasn’t terribly surprised. Joseph had specifically requested that he be part of the Oregon expedition. “Of course, Joseph. Do you want any others of my family?”
Joseph almost immediately shook his head. “With all of Joshua’s trail experience, he would be of great value, but no. He must stay here with Caroline now. Will too. She could not bear to lose either of them just now. No, just you, Nathan. Tell Lydia I’m sorry.”
“She’ll understand.”
“You mustn’t tell her where we’re going, Nathan,” he added quickly. “For her own safety.”
“Where shall I meet you?”
“Across the river in Montrose. Try Brother Killien’s home, or William Jordan’s.”
Nathan stood. “I shall be there before morning.”
Chapter Notes
Not only would Joseph’s address to the Nauvoo Legion on 18 June 1844 turn out to be his last address to them, but it would prove to be his final public discourse to the Saints as well. The words he uses here come directly from the record of his address on that date (see HC 6:497–500).
The attempt by Higbee and Jackson to separate John Taylor and John Bernhisel on the night of 21 June 1844 and the shabby treatment of the two brethren by Governor Ford the next day are recorded in John Taylor’s biography (see B. H. Roberts, Life of John Taylor, Collector’s Edition [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1989], pp. 122–25; see also HC 6:542–45).
Chapter 41
Lydia stood watching her husband thrust things into the small valise. The tears had stopped now, but her cheeks were still wet. “Can’t you even say farewell to the children?” she asked.
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