by Marian Wells
Corrill shivered and said, “Come on, fellas.”
As they wheeled their horses, Joseph’s voice followed them: “All we lack in number the Lord will match. He’ll send angels to fight.”
When they reached the road, Reed Peck looked at Mark. “Lee told me confidentially he doesn’t believe that Joseph has the least conviction that his little band of men can stand off the army coming against him.”
“Then we’d better get going before Joseph’s battle cry leads his men where his faith can’t take them.”
At noon, Peck reined in his horse and waited until Mark and Corrill halted. “Men, we’ve seen plenty of evidence that Doniphan’s been traveling this route; but at the rate we’re trailing him, we won’t catch up with him until midnight.”
“Any suggestions?” Mark asked.
“We’re under orders!” Corrill snapped. “There’s not one thing we can do except continue to trail him and hope we reach his camp before it’s too late.”
“From the way this trail is leading, I suspect he’s received communication and is going in the back door of Far West.”
“Then let’s stretch these horses’ legs.”
The light of supper fires in Doniphan’s camp informed the three they had reached their destination. Peck stopped and scratched his head. “Well, I’ll be—look at that, we’ve ended up in our own backyard, just like you said, Cartwright. As late as it is, Peck, I suggest you pay Joseph a visit, tell him where we found the camp, and ask if there’s a message. We’ll keep our eye on the place.”
When Peck returned, Mark and Corrill had a small fire burning and supper simmering in a pot. Corrill heard the horse first. He looked up from his work and cocked his head. “If that’s Peck, he’s not riding the horse he left on.”
They stepped back in the trees and waited until they could identify Peck. Corrill stepped out. “Whose horse?”
“Joseph’s.”
“You sure? If you ride into camp on some Missourian’s horse, there could be trouble.”
“I asked Joe if it were consecrated property and he said no.”
Later, as Peck held out his bowl for the stew, he shook his head and said, “In Far West there’s men lined along the edge of town, facing the militia. They looked ready for a fight.”
“Still?”
He nodded. “But then, before I left, I met men on the street wandering around looking like they’d been kicked in the stomach.”
“I’m trying to figure out whether that means Joseph’s leveled with the fellas and told them what’s going on, or if they’re just looking at the bunch out here, scared to death of what could happen.”
He shrugged, and Corrill said, “Well, finish up that stew and let’s get on down to camp with Joseph’s message.”
When they were close to Doniphan’s camp, Corrill said, “Get those white rags up high before they decide to shoot first and ask later.”
They had gone another fifteen yards when a guard challenged them. Stepping from behind a tree, he waved a gun and yelled, “Halt!”
Peck called, “We’re from Joseph Smith with a message for General Doniphan.”
“Well, he’s not taking communications tonight.”
“I’ve an idea if you tell him that Reed Peck is wanting to see him, he’ll be mighty glad to know about it.”
The guard spoke to someone behind him and then addressed Peck. “Might as well settle down and stack your arms. Could be a while, if ever.”
To the tired, impatient men it seemed a long time before the guard stood in front of them and nodded, saying, “Follow me.”
As they walked through the Gentile camp, Mark was aware of Peck’s heavy mood. He tried to ponder the meaning of it, but it wasn’t until they stood before General Doniphan that he began to understand.
Peck handed over the folded paper bearing Joseph Smith’s message. Mark watched the change of expression on Doniphan’s face as he read and slowly refolded the paper.
Then Peck spoke, hesitantly at first. Soon his words began to tumble over each other eagerly.
There was a thoughtful expression on Doniphan’s face, Mark watched him nod in agreement. Stepping closer to listen to Peck, Mark took a deep breath and felt the burden on his heart grow lighter.
Peck was saying, “We’re not all the way you’ve been seeing us. Don’t forget we’re under obligation to obey the Prophet, but there’s some who’s been doing a little thinking for themselves. Many of the people are warmly opposed to the wickedness taking place in Daviess, the plundering and slaughter and burning. They’re also opposed to the oppression being put upon them by the church. Just as much as any man in your army would be. But they’re compelled, even to the place where they must stand and let their blood be shed for measures they don’t approve.”
General Doniphan jumped to his feet. With a muttered oath, he linked his hands behind his back and paced back and forth in front of the fire. When he stopped and faced the three, Mark could see the line of pale faces circling the far side of the fire.
Now Doniphan’s words caught him with their intensity. He was saying, “I promise you that these people will not be endangered when they turn to us for protection.” His voice rose to a subdued roar. “Without a doubt, society must be restructured within this state. It must be the people who will determine whether or not they will be governed by priestcraft. If the people are too weak to fight off the oppression which surrounds them, I promise you they will be protected in their flight out of the state.”
As the three men prepared to leave, a shadow of a smile softened the face of the white-haired general. “We’re here to enforce peace, not to destroy a helpless people. You realize, don’t you, that our numbers make the Mormon force look ridiculous. You might say our strength is only a statement designed for wise people.” As he turned to go, he spoke over his shoulder. “I want to see the leaders of these people early in the morning.”
Mark could hold his tongue no longer. “Sir, Haun’s Mill—”
“Unfortunate,” Doniphan rumbled. “That mob wasn’t under orders. You must believe that.”
Mark, Reed Peck, and John Corrill mounted and headed back to Far West. The men rode silently, each busy with his own thoughts. Mark was feeling a new appreciation for Peck and wondering if his statements would swing the tide of feeling for the Saints.
Corrill turned to Mark, saying, “I know you share the good feelings of the Prophet. I can’t bind you to silence about what was said this evening.”
“No, you can’t,” Mark answered thoughtfully. “If I felt Joseph needed to know, I would tell him. Right now I see it would serve no purpose whatsoever. Both of you are to be commended for your concern for the people.”
Far West seemed to be sleeping as they rode through the streets. Silently they separated. They didn’t need to remind each other of their early morning meeting with Joseph.
Chapter 22
In the morning Joseph’s men were waiting. It was very early as Mark walked down the street toward the store and their meeting with Joseph.
He noticed how the November frost rimmed the mud puddles as he passed the group of ragged soldiers pacing before their breakfast fires. Their faces turned toward him; he saw the questions in their eyes, the lines on their haggard faces.
As he walked, he reminded himself that these were family men. They had children and wives waiting for them, and, without a doubt, they were going to lose everything they owned. His heart squeezed with pity and he turned his face away, lest they asked the questions he dared not answer.
Later in the morning, when Joseph received a dispatch from Doniphan, Mark was there to hear him read it. “Says, ‘No settlement can be approached until the arrival of orders from Governor Boggs, which we expect immediately.’ That’s that.” His voice was filled with despair, “We know how those orders read. He said exterminate.”
Mark watched him crumple the paper and pace the floor of the store. A fire burned, cheerfully crackling under the spider on the
hearth. Joseph faced Reed Peck and said, “A compromise must be made, honorable or dishonorable.”
Peck’s gaze met Mark’s, and again Mark recalled Peck’s statement to Doniphan. He was also remembering his own heartening reaction. Just now he felt his heart lift in a wordless prayer, and at the same time he was accepting the calling. Those men out there must be warned, rescued.
Now Mark could no longer hold back the question. “Have you heard any more from Haun’s Mill?”
“A woman was injured; it wasn’t your wife. I believe Andy Morgan has gone looking for them. I’ll send him to you at first convenience.” He turned impatiently away.
Late in the afternoon the lookout passed the information down. Mark hurried back to the store as soon as he heard the shout. Joseph turned when Mark entered. Slowly he moved and sighed. “I know,” he said heavily. “A runner brought the news ten minutes ago. I guess he expected me to duck out the back door.” There was a touch of bitter irony in his voice. “It’s Lucas out there. That won’t help our cause in the least.”
Mark thought of all the things which could be said, but he knew he was looking at a beaten man and he turned away as Joseph added, “There are several other generals out there too. Boggs is going to make certain his order is delivered and enforced.” He nodded his head toward the door. “I’ve sent Corrill, Phelps, Cleminson, Peck, and Hinkel. I hope they’ll use their heads.”
There was a stir at the door. “Sir,” the youth said timidly, “I have a request here from General Lucas. He requests that Joseph Smith, Sidney Rigdon, George Robinson, Parley Pratt, and Lyman Wight present themselves as hostages until tomorrow morning.” He took a deep breath and lifted his chin. “At such time, if a treaty is not forthcoming, these men will be returned. Also I am sent to inform you that if such men are not forthcoming, the army will be forced to march into Far West and take them.”
Joseph winced. “Kindly inform Lucas that we shall be there shortly.”
They watched the door close softly. Mark sighed. “You realize that the first term of the treaty will likely call for the immediate removal of the Saints from the state.”
Joseph turned and said, “I don’t care. I’ll be most happy to get out of this damnable state.” After a pause he added, “There’s not much point in resisting the militia acting under Boggs’ orders. The church is over a barrel, and it’ll have to comply.”
Mark stood at the window, watching the men mill restlessly about the streets, but again he recalled Joseph’s brave words, I am above the law. He turned. “Joseph, those men out there don’t know what’s going on. How much longer are you going to leave them in the dark?”
Joseph didn’t answer. Neither did he move from his position at the table. Uneasy now, Mark sat down and waited. When Mark finally spoke again, he tried to keep his voice light. “It’s getting late; do you want me to round up the men?”
“No.”
At the sound of footsteps, Joseph raised his head and waited. Mark was relieved to see Corrill and Peck, but he also saw they looked as worried as he felt. “Joseph, Lucas is getting mighty edgy. He meant what he said. They’re prepared to march in here and take you if you don’t come along.”
Joseph’s grin was ragged, and Mark turned back to the window. He was busy thinking, and it was a moment before the flurry of activity began to have meaning. When the drums and bugles sounded, he sprang away from the window. “Joe, the fellows are preparing to fight. That means the militia’s heading this way.”
Corrill whirled, “Haven’t you told the men what’s going on?” When Joseph didn’t answer, Corrill and Peck ran out the door. Mark watched them dashing toward the oncoming troops.
He took Joseph’s arm and snapped, “Get out there right now before there’s more bloodshed. I’ll round up the rest of the men.”
As Mark ran into the street, he collided with George Robinson. “Get Rigdon and head for Lucas’ camp. Where’s Wight? Bring Pratt. He’s got to come, too.”
When Mark reached the conference grounds with Pratt and Wight, Joseph was still talking to Lucas. Mark winced as he heard Joseph pleading for permission to stay the night with his family. He saw the general shake his head, and immediately the troops surrounded the men. As they were escorted away, the militia began to shout.
Slowly Mark walked back to Far West. He was aware of the silent, staring men as he entered the store. Mike was behind the counter. “Wanna stiff one?” Mark shook his head and wandered aimlessly about the store, worried and confused. Mike, his sleeves bunched above muscular arms, stopped in front of him. “Have they included you in on it?”
“I’m not certain I know what you’re talking about.”
“The bunch who fought at Crooked River are running scared. Have been since they found out they were fighting Doniphan’s men. Avard, too.” Mark frowned and Mike said hastily, “They’re gone.”
“Just pulling out, leaving?”
Mike nodded and said, “Joe told them to head out.”
Slowly Mark said, “They’re family men. How are they getting their women and children out?”
“They aren’t. Sounds like they’re leaving their families to take care of themselves. Might be it’s the only way,” he said apologetically. “By the way, Andy Morgan was in last night and said to tell you the womenfolk are all right. They’ll be coming in as soon as they can safely pass the troops.”
“Jenny, she’s safe?” At Mike’s nod, Mark turned away with a deep, thankful sigh.
The next day, after another sleepless night, Mark was back in the store office at dawn.
As he had walked toward the store, he realized that Far West had become a restless camp, bearing the marks of fear and discouragement. For the first time, he noticed that the tidy cabins and gardens looked neglected, while wagons and cattle still crowded the streets. It seemed the breastwork erected about the town was the only sign of real activity. He studied the block houses Joseph had ordered built. As he marveled at the extensive fortification, he couldn’t help thinking that the breastwork had become the most significant landmark in the town.
“Mister?” Mark turned to face the woman picking at his sleeve with nervous fingers. “What’s going to become of us?”
He took a deep breath, “Ma’am, I don’t know. There’s to be a meeting between our men and the generals in charge. Right now there’s nothing I can tell you.”
She swallowed with difficulty and whispered, “What’s going to happen to Joseph?”
“I don’t know.” Mark saw the darkening of her eyes, the fear. Hastily he added, “All you can do is hope that Governor Boggs will be compassionate.”
She wrinkled her brow, thinking. Slowly she said, “Some’s saying we’ll be sent out of state, losing our homes, ever’thing we’ve worked for. Mister, I’ve been here since ’32. We’ve been pushed around for so long. Seems the revelations about Zion are amiss. Begging your pardon. But could you just tell Joseph we’re tired of it all? Please, just let us go home.”
She started to move away and then looked back. “We can stand to lose our homes, Zion. But how’d we ever get along without Joseph? We’d not have much to hope for. Seems we’d be adrift, not knowing which way to turn.”
“But you’d still have God.”
She looked blank. “That’s true, but we did before, too. Seems kinda pale to go back.”
At midmorning Colonel Hinkel came into the store carrying a sheet of paper. “Since you seem to be the only one around with a part of his mind left; here, read it.”
It was a copy of the treaty. Mark ticked off the items. The Mormons were to deliver up their leaders for trial. Those who had carried arms were to surrender their property in payment of war debts. Arms were to be surrendered immediately, and the Mormons were to leave the state.
Thinking of the people, Mark sadly shook his head. Hinkel said, “It could have been worse. Lucas turned out to be fair-minded. He said he thought treaty could be had instead of the route Governor Boggs had advocated. It was fortu
nate for us all that he was willing to overlook even Joseph’s last high-handedness.”
Mark looked at the man and remembered the talk of the men. They had called Hinkel a fair-weather Saint, saying that in the thick of battle they had seen him turn his coat inside out. Studying the man, Mark saw only the elegant figure, the charming smile. He seemed every bit the southern gentleman. “What a motley group we Mormons are,” he said softly and watched Hinkel blink in surprise.
Hinkel moved toward the door. Then he stopped and turned, “By the way, the charge against Joseph is treason.”
“Of course, it must be,” Mark murmured, “I—” he stopped, realizing that he had been hearing sounds of activity, and suddenly he understood. The militia was moving. Those were shouted orders, the thud of feet. He started for the door, and Hinkel said, “They’ve come.”
Standing on the steps, they watched the army of Israel march out of town. Slowly they followed. Out on the prairie, where November had left the landscape a blank page, the army of Israel stopped and the state militia surrounded the men on three sides.
Distance blurred the shouted command, but Mark saw the men slowly surrender their arms. Within a short time, the men were marched back into Far West and placed under guard. “Well, that’s that for the day,” Hinkel said. For a moment Mark wondered if he detected a note of satisfaction in his voice.
****
Jenny had no clear remembrance of the walk from Haun’s Mill back to Morgans’ cabin. But sharp images had been etched on her mind: a mass of people, suddenly all kin in tragedy; the wounded and the dead. And she had found it impossible to shrink away from the ugliness and the need.
Much later there was the sensation of stumbling through the darkness with someone leading the way. And now, with soiled frock and blood-stained hands, Jenny knelt on the hearth in Morgans’ cabin and blew life into the slumbering coals.
