The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  Joshua’s eyes darkened, but Nathan went on quickly before he could retort. “But you are right. We need a family council. And we need to talk about what the future holds for us. As soon as we get this business settled, we’ll do as you say.”

  Chapter Notes

  The attack on the Yelrome settlement, or Morley Town, as it was also called, started in the late afternoon of the tenth of September, 1845. The next morning, the riders returned and nearly forty homes and other buildings were set on fire. That continued heavily through the twelfth and sporadically after that. Before it was through, over a hundred homes would be burned. The details depicted here, including the names of the Saints in Yelrome, are accurate. (See HC 7:439–43; Edmund Durfee, pp. 14–18.)

  One source says the rider sent back from Nauvoo with Brigham’s letter was James H. Woodland. Another says Charles Hancock, son of Solomon Hancock, was the one who brought it back. It may be that both men were sent to Nauvoo and that both returned with messages at different times.

  Clark Hallett, the man who ran into the cooper shop to try and save it, was feared killed. Fortunately, he escaped through another door unhurt.

  Chapter 18

  It was early morning on the sixteenth of September, three days following the start of the shuttle of wagons to Yelrome to bring back the Saints there. The sun was not yet up. However, a half dozen roosters could be heard crowing heartily, proving that it soon would be. Lydia came out of the bedroom and moved sleepily down the hall toward the kitchen. She still wore her nightdress and her feet were bare. Her dark hair was tousled and there were faint wrinkles on one cheek where she had lain on it while sleeping.

  Nathan looked around as he heard her footsteps and turned from the stove. “Good morning.” He walked over and put his arms around her waist, kissing her firmly on the nose.

  “You’re up already?” she murmured, kissing him back, then laying her head against his chest and closing her eyes again.

  “Yes.”

  “What time was it when you came to bed?”

  “About eleven.”

  That brought her head up. “And you’re up so soon? Why?”

  He bent his head again and kissed her softly, this time on the lips. “I’m going back again this morning.”

  She pulled away from him, the dismay evident on her face. “No, Nathan! You’ve been gone three days.”

  He took her hand and pulled her toward the table. “Come on. Sit down and I’ll explain.”

  As she followed him, she saw the frying pan on the stove and the eggs and potatoes that he was cooking there. “Oh, Nathan. You should have gotten me up.”

  “No. I thought I’d eat first and then come in to tell you. You seemed really tired last night.”

  She looked a little sheepish. “I remember you coming in, but I don’t remember much else. Josiah and Joseph were upset because their papa wasn’t there to say prayers with them and tell them a Book of Mormon story. They were up until past ten.”

  “Oh, dear,” he said.

  She pushed him down into a chair and then moved to the stove and began to stir the potatoes. “I remember asking you if there was any trouble.” There was an embarrassed smile. “I don’t remember you answering me.”

  He laughed. “I did, but when I asked you a question about ten seconds later, there was no answer and I knew I’d lost you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Joshua and Emily said you didn’t sleep much the night before either.”

  “I never do when you’re not here. I’m just like the little ones, I guess.” She walked to the cupboard and got a plate. In a moment she had the eggs and potatoes on it and came over to the table and sat down beside him. “So tell me. How did it go? Why do you have to go back again?”

  “Well,” he said as he started in on the food, “I assume Carl told you why I didn’t come back with the first group.”

  She nodded. “He said you were just a few miles south of town here when you met another group of wagons going back to Yelrome.”

  “Yes. They were short on men to help load the grain, so . . .” He shrugged. “Anyway, we got back with that second group about nine last night. Brother Brigham was waiting for us and had places for them to stay. By the time we got them delivered around to their hosts, it was past ten.”

  “So were there problems?”

  “Not really. As we came into Yelrome a second time, Williams and a small group of his so-called militia were starting to burn another house on the outskirts of town. When they saw the wagons coming and that we had about thirty or forty men, they scattered like ducks before the fox. So much for their great courage.”

  “And why is it you have to go back? This will be your third trip.”

  “There are a few people left who were too sick to travel.” And then his shoulders lifted and fell. “Because President Young asked me to,” he said simply.

  She nodded. It wasn’t a happy answer, but it was answer enough.

  “Porter Rockwell and Return Redden will be going too.”

  She reached out and laid a hand on his. “I’m sorry, Nathan. Here we are, safe and warm, eating good food, with our children asleep upstairs. How can I resent you going to help?”

  He took her hand and squeezed it gently. “I know. Yelrome is unbelievable. Everywhere you look there are blackened hulks of buildings, cornfields trampled, cows and pigs shot and left to rot. It’s terrible.” He leaned back, brightening somewhat. “We decided to leave early so we can get back tonight. Then it will be over.”

  She shook her head slowly. “President Young got a letter last night from Backenstos.”

  “The sheriff?”

  “Yes. He told Brigham that he had tried to raise a posse to stop the burnings, to get enough law-abiding citizens together to establish peace again, but he couldn’t do it. Now the citizens are furious with him for even trying. He asked President Young to immediately hold two thousand well-armed men in readiness. He says that if we are not willing to defend our lives and property that he—Sheriff Backenstos—won’t be able to convince those we call Jack Mormons to rise up in our defense.”

  As he let the implications of that sink in, without comment the fear showed in Lydia’s eyes. “Oh, Nathan,” she said in a low voice. “Will it ever end?”

  “We’re better prepared now than we ever were in Far West. We’ll be all right. By the way, what did Joshua and Carl decide about going to Ramus and getting Jessica?”

  “Oh, that’s right. You don’t know. Jessica and Solomon arrived yesterday afternoon.”

  He was dumbfounded. “What? But how could Joshua—”

  “Joshua didn’t go after them. Solomon was in Yelrome four days ago. He got there just as this began.”

  “No! None of those I talked to at Yelrome mentioned he was there. Was he hurt?”

  “They beat him up a little. He has a terrible black eye. But not really. He went right home, packed up their goods, and came here. He hadn’t even heard that President Young was calling everyone in. They’re staying in your parent’s home until we can get their house opened up again.”

  He heaved a great sigh of relief. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear that. I’ve been worrying about them.” He wiped his mouth and pushed his chair back. “Well, I’d better get going.”

  “Yes,” Lydia said in a near whisper. “Please hurry, Nathan. And be careful.”

  He half stood, stretching across the table to kiss her again. A crooked little grin twisted his face.

  “What?” she asked, looking at him closely.

  “I love you best in the mornings.”

  She blushed a little, and one hand went up to her hair. “Like this?” she exclaimed.

  “Yes. Exactly like that.” And then he came around the table and brought her to her feet and took her in his arms. “I love you, Lydia McBride.”

  “No, Lydia Steed,” she corrected him. “I am yours, Nathan. I am totally, joyously, lovingly yours. And don’t you ever forget it.”

/>   He kissed her, hard now and lingering. “I won’t. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t thank the Lord for this wonderful miracle in my life.”

  “Hurry, Nathan. I want you out of that place once and for all.”

  To Nathan’s surprise, when he went out to the barn to saddle his horse, Joshua was waiting for him.

  “Good morning, little brother.”

  “Well, what brings you out so early?”

  “Heard you were headed south one more time.”

  “How’d you hear that?”

  He shrugged. “Want some company?”

  “Sure.” They went inside the barn. Nathan got the saddle, while Joshua led the horse out. “Lydia just told me about Solomon and Jessica coming.”

  “Yeah. How about that?”

  Nathan repressed a grin and threw the saddle up on the horse.

  Joshua watched him with a dour look. “You’re going to bust if you don’t say it,” he growled.

  “Say what?”

  “‘I told you so.’ That we didn’t need to go get them.”

  Nathan gave him his most innocent look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

  Orrin Porter Rockwell in some ways looked like a wild man of the mountains. Nathan watched him as he led to the small brook the team which was pulling the wagon and let the horses drink. Rockwell’s mustache and beard were thick and straight, the beard coming down now to three or four inches below his chin. His hair was thin on the top of his head, but from the sides the hair grew long and with a natural curl to it. And long meant more than the usual neck-length hair that many men wore. It was as long as a woman’s, falling in thick bunches over his shoulder and partway down his back.

  “Have you ever cut your hair since that night at Christmas when you broke in on Joseph’s party?” Nathan suddenly asked.

  Porter looked up in surprise and then smiled. “Nope! Were you there that night?”

  “I was. That was quite a stir you created.”

  They were stopped at a small brook near the old railroad crossing about three miles north and east of Warsaw. They had met at Return Jackson Redden’s place at seven a.m., but by the time they got a wagon and team and the necessary supplies, it was almost eight before they left Nauvoo. Now it was ten-thirty and time to let the horses rest a little. Joshua still sat astride his horse, though it was drinking at the brook with the others. Joshua’s head would lift from time to time and sweep the surrounding countryside. This was not by assignment, but by unspoken agreement. This close to Warsaw, all four of them were a little nervous, especially in light of the events of the past few days. They would bypass the actual town, but if there were still some of Levi Williams’s militia out, they wanted to know it as soon as possible.

  Return Redden was on the wagon seat, holding the reins of the team loosely. A former private detective and bodyguard to Joseph Smith, Brother Redden was as competent a man as Porter Rockwell. He looked down at Porter. “What stir was that, Port?”

  Porter looked up and shrugged. “Nathan’s talking about the night I arrived in Nauvoo after getting out of prison in Missouri. I ended up walking in on Brother Joseph’s big Christmas party at the Mansion House.” There was a droll smile. “They thought I was a Missourian and tried to throw me out.”

  “So what is this about cutting your hair?” Joshua asked. He hadn’t been at the Christmas party that night, but he remembered Nathan telling them about it.

  “May I tell him, Port?” asked Nathan.

  “Just keep it simple,” Porter said amiably.

  Nathan laughed, knowing that that was Porter’s way of saying yes but don’t make too big a deal out of it. For all Porter Rockwell’s fearsome reputation, and his looks which seemed to support it, he was really quite pleasant of personality. He was soft-spoken and not given to garrulousness. He said what was on his mind when he felt it important but otherwise didn’t say much.

  “Well,” Nathan began, “when Porter crashed the door, walking right past the marshal, everyone panicked. You’ve got to remember, he had been in jail for nine months.”

  “And on the road for almost two weeks getting out of Missouri,” Porter added.

  “His clothes were tattered and filthy. He had a hat low over his face. No one knew that he had been released from jail. So, like I said, he created quite a stir. But he didn’t scare Joseph. Joseph grabbed him by the arms and pinned them to his sides. Then Porter began to laugh and Joseph finally recognized him.”

  “Joseph and I go way back, you know,” Porter inserted. “Our farm was just down the road from the Smith farm in Manchester Township south of Palmyra.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Joshua said in surprise.

  And then Nathan remembered that Joshua had left Palmyra before the Church was organized and therefore didn’t know who was part of that early history. And since the Steeds lived north of Palmyra, they didn’t know many of the people down around Joseph’s family farm.

  “Yep,” Porter said. “I knew Brother Joseph before he ever walked into that grove of trees and came out a prophet.”

  “But what does all this have to do with you cutting your hair?” Redden asked.

  “Well,” Porter answered, “it was at that party that Joseph told me if I wore my hair long and was faithful, my enemies would never have power over me. They would not be able to take my life.”

  “Really?” Redden blurted. “He actually said that?”

  “Yes.”

  “When was this?” Joshua demanded.

  “Christmas Day, 1843. Almost two years ago now.”

  Joshua was eyeing him strangely. “And you haven’t cut your hair since?”

  Porter shot him a look that made Joshua flinch a little. It was answer enough. Then Porter straightened and walked around to the wagon. “Well, we’d best be going. We’ve jawed here long enough.”

  The others nodded. Nathan took the reins of his horse and pulled her head up, getting ready to mount. Porter put a foot on the hub of the wagon wheel, ready to swing up. It was at that moment that Joshua stiffened in his saddle. He was staring at something to the south of them. “Someone’s coming!” he hissed.

  In three steps, Rockwell made it around to the back of the wagon and grabbed his rifle from its holster. “Get down!” he commanded.

  Neither Joshua nor Return Redden needed further prodding. Both were down behind the wagon in a hurry, Joshua pulling his rifle from its leather case as he did so. Nathan didn’t own a rifle, but he had a pistol, and now he laid his hand on the butt of it, feeling glad that he was not unarmed.

  About a quarter of a mile away, a buggy was coming toward them. The horse was running hard and they could see the buggy bounce wildly, its back end fishtailing back and forth, threatening to overturn.

  “Someone’s put a burr in his back pocket,” Redden commented, squinting to see better.

  “Look!” Porter said, pointing off to the west. “Someone’s after him.”

  He was right. Coming just as hard toward them was a band of eight or ten men on horseback, angling toward the road where the four of them now were waiting. They were coming fast too, their horses stretched out in a hard run, trying to cut the buggy off.

  The buggy was close enough now that they could see the man inside. He had a buggy whip and was lashing at his horse, all the time his head jerking around to gauge the oncoming speed of his pursuers. Even from this distance—down to about a hundred yards now—it was clear that they were watching a very frightened man in a race for his life.

  “I don’t like the look of this,” Nathan murmured. He drew his pistol out of his belt and made sure it was at the ready.

  Porter Rockwell suddenly cried out, pointing toward the oncoming buggy. “I think that’s Jacob Backenstos.”

  “The sheriff?” Redden asked.

  “Yes. I’m sure that’s him.”

  As they watched, the buggy careened to one side as it took a slight curve in the road, spewing mud and dirt from off t
he outer wheels. Suddenly the sheriff spotted the wagon and the four men up ahead of him. Waving frantically he shouted something and whipped the horse all the more. Behind him, the riders were closing the distance fast and were now just a couple of hundred yards away themselves. At that same moment, they also saw the wagon and the four men waiting by the crossing. Startled, the lead rider threw up his hand and cried out. There was a melee of horses and riders as they pulled up hard, trying not to crash into one another.

  The buggy splashed across the narrow creek where the road forded it and wheeled in behind Rockwell’s group. The horse’s eyes were wild and frightened, its neck covered with the lather of its sweat. Flecks of foam dripped from the two sides of the bit between its teeth. Backenstos, pistol in hand, was out of the buggy and running towards them before it even came to a halt. There was an immense relief on his face now. “Rockwell!” he gasped. “Am I glad to see you!”

  “What is it, Sheriff? Who is that after you?”

  He had to bend over slightly. His chest was rising and falling like a blacksmith’s bellows. “Men from Warsaw!” His words came out between huge gulps of air. “They’re determined to kill me. I command you in the name of the state to protect me.”

  Porter and the others turned to peer at the riders, who were now milling around in confusion as they tried to determine what to do. Porter and his companions all had the same thought: this was the same group of men who had been burning out the Saints. Rockwell’s mouth was tight. “We will protect you. We have two rifles here and about fifty rounds.”

  “Thank the Lord,” Backenstos breathed. “I thought they had me.”

  “What’s going on?” Joshua demanded. “Why are they after you?”

  Backenstos removed his hat and wiped at his brow with the sleeve of his jacket. “A mob drove me out of Carthage yesterday afternoon. They were so enraged at me for trying to raise a posse to stop the burnings. I finally went to Warsaw last night.”