Solomon raised his head and came back to the meeting. Brother Hancock was at the front of the shed, talking quietly with the men, getting their reports, trying to assess the extent of the damage. Solomon stood near the back of the shed, leaning against the wall. He held his side gingerly, careful not to move too quickly. He also held very still to try to minimize the blinding ache in his head. His left eye—the one just below where he had been cut on his forehead—was a mass of black and blue and nearly swollen shut. His lips were puffy and cracked. There was another bruise on his right cheek.
But that did not make him unique in this group. Many of the faces around him were blackened with soot. There were angry red burns visible on arms and hands and faces. One man’s face was more battered than his own. But more frightening were the evidences of a different kind—the shattered looks, the haunted eyes, the hopeless faces. Women wore nightdresses under men’s shirts or ill-fitting dresses borrowed from others. Two or three were barefoot. Others wore men’s boots. It was mute witness to the hatred of the men under Levi Williams’s command. Time after time families were driven out of their homes at the point of a rifle. They were not allowed to grab a wrap or a coat. Sick children, pregnant women, aged parents—it mattered not. Out into the rain they went and then were forced to watch as their houses were put to the torch.
Just behind him, Edmund Durfee and his family sat huddled on the floor. The older children were listening, but Durfee himself seemed not to be aware of anything around him. He was staring vacantly at the ceiling of the shed. Was it any wonder? Solomon thought. Twice they had come to his home. Twice they had left it afire. The first time Durfee and his family fought to save it. The second time they had barely escaped with their lives.
Someone at the window called out and they all turned to see where he was pointing. A solitary rider was coming up the street, the horse walking slowly. The rider’s head kept moving back and forth as though he had come to a town where he no longer recognized any of the familiar landmarks. President Hancock strode over to the window and peered out. A broad smile broke across his face. “It’s Charles,” he exclaimed. “Charles is back from President Young.” He turned and ran outside, waving his arms and calling softly.
“It’s his son,” one woman said to Solomon. “He sent his own son to report to Nauvoo.”
They waited until Charles and his father entered back into the shed. There were calls of hello and urgent questions about what he had found out. But to those Brother Hancock held up his hand. It held a letter. “It’s a letter from President Young. Charles brought it down with him.”
A great sense of relief passed over the group. Their plight was known in Nauvoo. Even though the mob was still just a few hundred yards away, still on the rampage, still burning their homes and businesses, they were no longer alone. It was a badly needed ray of hope.
Brother Hancock opened the letter and scanned it quickly. He nodded in quick satisfaction, then lifted it higher and began to read aloud. “It’s dated this morning, September twelfth.”
Charles, who was about twenty or twenty-one, nodded. “The President dictated it in my presence, then gave it to me about nine o’clock.”
“It’s addressed to me,” Brother Hancock said, then started to read slowly and distinctly. “‘Dear Brother: We have received your communication of last eve and have taken it into consideration in council. We have decided that it is wisdom for you to remove the women and children from Yelrome as fast as you can with what teams you have got, and we will send you more as fast as we can.’”
That brought murmurs of satisfaction and relief from the whole group, but more especially from the women.
“‘We ask that you not only remove the women and children but your grain also. Let all the brethren stay there and keep “bachelor’s hall” and watch the movements of the mob. The object of our enemies is to get opposition enough to raise popular excitement, but we think it best to let them burn up our houses while we take care of our families and grain. Let the sheriff of Hancock County attend to the mob, and let us see whether he and the Jack Mormons, so-called, the friends of law and order, will calmly sit down and watch the funeral processions of Illinois liberty. If so, they will all fall under the same condemnation. At a future day our course will be plain. Be calm and patient till all things are ready. What is a little property compared with the properties and lives of a great people, and the house and ordinances on which the salvation of that people depend?
“‘You will employ the best scribe you have, or half a dozen of them, if necessary, to pen minutely all the movements of the enemy and friends, what houses are burned, by whom, at what hour, who were present, and who saw them do it, etc., even every particular, and forward us a daily copy, if opportunity permits.’”
He stopped and looked up. “It is signed by Brigham Young, President, and written by W. Richards, Clerk.” He let that sink in for several moments, then bowed his head slightly. “This is good news, brothers and sisters. Help is on the way. We have to organize ourselves, decide who should go first on the wagons we have here and who should wait for the others.”
A man off to one side raised his hand. Solomon saw that it was Walter Cox, one of Hancock’s counselors. Cox had lost his home the previous afternoon. The branch president nodded in his direction, “Yes, Brother Cox?”
“Shall we proceed with our letter to the mobbers, then?”
Hancock started to nod, then stopped. “Brothers and sisters, we have been meeting in council as your branch presidency. We have a proposal. We propose that we send a note to Williams. We shall offer to leave Yelrome, selling our deeded lands and all the improvements thereon to the locals for as low a price as could be reasonably expected. We shall ask only that we be allowed to keep our livestock and the crops currently on our premises. For that we shall take in trade oxen, beef cattle, cows, sheep, horses, wagons, or other such things as shall help us remove to Nauvoo. We shall appoint a committee of brethren who will act as agents for us to negotiate with the settlers.”
To Solomon’s surprise, there were no cries of dismay, no shouts of protest. These people had been terrorized and they seemed to sense that this was not happenstance. It would not simply go away. So far, there had been no loss of life—a blessing indeed!—but how long would that last? And what were land and buildings compared to that? There was a deep, sorrowful silence, but no one was protesting.
Charles Hancock spoke up then. “President Young told me to emphasize that we should try to sell our property and come to Nauvoo. He said to tell the mob to burn all the bedbugs that they wish and we shall not hinder them.”
There were a few wan smiles at that. In a settlement like this where most of the mattresses were made of straw ticking, warfare with the bedbugs was a fact of life. Now hundreds of straw mattresses had been consumed, along with their tiny unwanted occupants.
The branch president looked around. “As your presidency, we feel this is a way to defuse the crisis we now find ourselves in. All of you who feel you can support this action, will you show it by raising your hand?”
There was no need to look around or count. Every hand in the room was up. Hancock nodded in satisfaction. “We shall appoint a committee and draft the letter immediately. Go to your homes. Get the sisters and the children ready to leave. Stay away from the mob. Don’t provoke them any more than they already are.” He paused, then nodded one last time. “All right. There is much to do.”
As they came out of the shed and slipped back to their homes—such as was left of them—Brother Hancock came over to Solomon. “When shall you start back?” he asked.
“Immediately.”
A look of concern filled his eyes as he searched Solomon’s battered face, but finally he looked away. When there were no options, it made making a decision easier. “Go saddle up. I’ll have Sister Hancock fix you something to eat on the way.”
Will Steed came racing up onto the porch of the Steed Family Dry Goods and General Store and burst throu
gh the door. Nathan was behind the counter with young Joshua taking inventory. Emily was in a chair in the corner, straightening out the thread and needle box. With the light rain, few people were out, and the store at the moment was empty of customers. “Nathan! You have to come. Brother Brigham’s called a meeting of all the brethren at the Seventies Hall.”
“What is it?”
“The reports are true!” Will cried, bending over slightly to catch his breath. “They’re burning out our people in Yelrome and Lima.”
“How bad?” Nathan asked, setting down the box of buttons he had been counting.
“Bad! More than forty homes have been burned so far.”
Nathan blanched. “Forty!”
“Yes. You heard that Charles Hancock rode back with a letter from Brother Brigham yesterday. Well, President Hancock sent back another report with another rider. It came in last night. There are about three hundred men. Levi Williams is at their head. Frank Worrell and Thomas Sharp are part of it too.”
“Williams?” Nathan sagged back a little. This was the worst possible news. He untied his apron and tossed it at a peg, not caring that it missed and slid to the floor. He turned. “Joshua, you watch the store. Emily, go tell Mama to get some food ready.”
“Savannah is already telling everyone at home,” said Will.
“What about your father? Does he know?”
“Yes. Brigham sent someone to the freight yards to see how many wagons we can spare.”
“Then let’s go.”
Nathan, Joshua, Will, Matthew, Derek, Peter, and Carl all stood in a group just outside the fine brick building located on the northeast corner of Parley and Bain Streets. These were the men of the Steed clan, ranging in age from Joshua’s thirty-eight years to Will and Peter’s twenty-one years. Normally, they would have been presided over by Benjamin, patriarch to the family, but Benjamin was presiding over things in Nashville, Tennessee. Though it was a crisis for the Church, there had not been the slightest hesitation in Carl or Joshua. Families were victims of a tragedy. It didn’t matter that the tragedy was related to their religion. It was the Steed way.
The meeting was over and many of the men were already walking swiftly up the street, headed for their homes and barns, but as they had come out of the meeting, Joshua had motioned to the others to come together, apart a little from the rest. Now he was speaking earnestly.
“I’m telling you, Nathan, it’s not going to stop at Yelrome. This is what Walter Samuelson’s been trying to tell us all along. Now it’s happening. We’ve got to go get Jessica and Solomon and bring them here.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you, Joshua,” Nathan said. “All I’m saying is that it hasn’t spread yet. Those people down south need every wagon we can spare right now. When we get them back safely, then we can go after Jessica.”
“And what if you’re wrong?” he shot back.
Nathan was patient. “If I was wrong, we would have had reports by now. So far it’s only in the south part of the county.”
“Between Joshua and me,” Carl spoke up, the first he’d done so since they came out, “we can spare two wagons to go to Ramus and still send what Brigham is asking for.”
“Can we?” Matthew asked, supporting Nathan on this one. “Brother Brigham wants us to bring as much grain back as possible. If people from all the outlying settlements come in, we’ll need every bushel we can get. How do we know how many wagons it will take?”
Nathan was nodding vigorously, but before he could speak, President Young, Heber C. Kimball, and John Taylor came out the door of the Seventies Hall. When Brigham saw them, he immediately came over. The other two Apostles came with him. President Young was grim. He looked at Joshua. “Thank you for pledging your teams, Joshua. They are desperately needed.”
“We’re glad to help.”
“And you too, Carl. You both could stand back and say this isn’t your problem, but you didn’t. And we appreciate it.”
Nathan had a sudden thought. “Ask Brother Brigham, Joshua. If he agrees with you, I’ll not say another word.”
Joshua was caught off guard by that and his brow furrowed as he considered it.
“Ask me what?”
Joshua took a quick breath. “As you know, Jessica and Solomon Garrett live out in Ramus. We . . . I think this trouble down south is going to spread. Carl and I would like to take a couple of wagons and go bring Jessica and her family into Nauvoo. We’d still send other wagons south, of course.”
“And I said there is no danger to the other settlements yet and we need every wagon we can spare to go south,” Nathan explained.
Brigham looked thoughtful and he pulled at his lower lip. He glanced at his companions, but they said nothing. Finally, he looked directly at Joshua. “I cannot tell you what to do, especially when it involves a family member.”
“I know,” Joshua said, surprised and pleased that Brigham, who certainly was not hesitant to speak his mind, wasn’t going to make some hard declaration. “But we’d like to know what you think.”
“All right. Let me say a couple of things, then you can decide. First”—he was looking at Nathan now—“in a way Joshua is right. There is danger.” He motioned toward his brethren. “We in the Twelve have already decided to send out a call to all the Saints to come into the City of Joseph as soon as they possibly can.”
He held up his hand as Joshua started to crow a little bit to Nathan. “However, that danger is not immediate. And the problem in the Morley Settlement is urgent. We have forty or more families without homes. The weather is turning cold. The mob is still on the rampage, though we believe they have about exhausted their spleen at this point. Can we get by without those two wagons? Of course. Will two more wagons be of value to us? Most definitely.”
Carl spoke now. “And you feel that if we wait, Jessica and her family won’t be in any immediate danger?”
That was a difficult question and Brigham did not take it lightly. He turned to Heber, then to John Taylor. “Brethren, if you disagree with me, please speak your mind.” Then he looked back to Carl. “No, I don’t think the eastern settlements are in danger yet. I feel they will be all right until you return. You may go to Yelrome with a calm heart.”
“You’re really going to ask everyone to come into Nauvoo?” Matthew asked, a little dazed by the enormity of what he had just heard.
“Yes. It’s no secret. We plan to go west in the spring. We were hoping that our enemies would leave us in peace until then, allow us time to finish the temple, but we were not planning on it. We have already started stockpiling grain. If we bring everyone in here, not only will it keep them safe, but it will show the antis that we mean what we say about leaving.”
“You’re telling us that if we go to Yelrome, there’ll be no trouble in Ramus?” Joshua asked, still not convinced.
Brigham shook his head slowly. “I cannot tell you what I do not know, only what I feel, Joshua. And I told you what I feel. Now you must make up your mind. Just know that if you choose to send wagons to Ramus, we will still be very grateful for whatever you and Carl can send south.”
With that, he straightened and motioned to his brethren. “Well, we have much to do. By tomorrow or the next day, I think we’re going to have several hundred people to house and feed. Good day, gentlemen, and again, thank you for your help.”
The three of them started away, but about ten paces was all the farther they got. Brigham turned back. “Brethren, you might be interested to know that as part of the call to gather here for safety, we’re going to ask all the high priests we sent out to return home as well, and to bring as many Saints as possible with them.”
Nathan was bowled over by that comment. “Do you mean . . . ?” he started.
Brigham laughed softly. “Yes. We’ll be asking your mother and father to return to the City of Joseph as soon as possible.” Then he waved briefly and he and the other Apostles continued on their way.
“Well, well,” Carl said. “That is g
ood news.”
“The women will be pleased to hear that,” Derek agreed.
Nathan looked at Joshua. “So? What is your decision about the wagons?”
“You still think we ought to go south with everything, don’t you?”
Nathan shook his head. “I told you I would accept whatever Brother Brigham said. Brigham said it was your decision. I agree. Whatever you feel is best, I’ll support it.”
Joshua looked at Carl. “Well?” he asked.
Carl took off his hat and rubbed his hand through his hair. Finally he put it back on, and shrugged. “I’m willing to go south first. But I’d like to have Lydia or Melissa or someone write Jessica a letter and tell them we’ll be there for them in a few days. We’ll need to open up their house and get it ready for occupancy again.”
Joshua looked at Will. “It’s your freight business too. What do you say?”
“I say go south.”
He made up his mind. “All right, south it is. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.” As Nathan visibly relaxed, Joshua lifted a finger and pointed it directly at him. “But on one condition, Nathan. Once we get this business done and get Jessica and Solomon here from Ramus, then we’re going to talk about what happens next. We’re going to talk about the family leaving Nauvoo.”
A look of great sadness descended on Nathan’s face, and he turned and looked out across the fields and houses of the City of Joseph. “We know we’re leaving Nauvoo, Joshua.”
“I’m not talking about some colony out in the Rocky Mountains. I’m talking about finding a safe haven, a place like St. Louis, where we won’t have to worry about being hated and driven out every time you stick your plow in the ground.”
Nathan’s eyes were downcast, his mouth in a slight frown. “I know what you’ve been doing in St. Louis, Joshua—working it out so we’ll all have a place to go and something to do to make a living—and we’re very grateful for that. You have always been completely generous in your willingness to help the family. But St. Louis is not the answer for us, Joshua.”
The Work and the Glory Page 370
