The Work and the Glory (236 page)

The aide was looking at him in shock. Doniphan nodded grimly. “Sign it, A. W. Doniphan, Brigadier-General.”

* * *

Matthew pulled back from his face the blanket of his bedroll, instantly feeling the chill of the night air against his cheeks. “What are you doing?” he whispered.

Nathan jumped, then turned around quickly, holding a finger up to his lips. Matthew tossed the blanket aside and rolled into a sitting position. Even though they had reached Iowa Territory now, they hadn’t dared light a fire, and it was so dark he could barely make out Nathan’s shape. Then Matthew jerked forward as he realized what Nathan was doing. “Where are you going?” he hissed.

Nathan gave the rawhide straps around his bedroll a hard yank, then crawled over to his younger brother and put his face close to his ear. “I’m going back.”

“What?”

“Shhh!” he said, punching Matthew on the arm. “Don’t wake the others.”

Matthew grinned. “I’m going with you.”

“No!” Nathan shoved his face up close to Matthew’s. “I’ve got a wife and four children back there. I’ve thought about it all night. I’m going back.”

“I’m going too,” Matthew said stubbornly.

Nathan went up on his knees in front of him. He shook a finger under his nose. “You heard Pa! You’ll be arrested. Tried for murder. Maybe even executed.”

“And what about you? It’s the same for you.”

Nathan sat back on his heels. “I’m just going to have to be very careful. Stay low for a while. Maybe I can take Lydia and the children somewhere.” Now it was
his
voice that turned stubborn. “I’m not running.”

Nathan stood, wiping his hands on his pants. “Now, go back to bed. Tell the others in the morning. Tell them not to feel bad. It’s right, what they’re doing.” He looked away. “Just not for me.”

Matthew didn’t move. “I mean it, Matthew,” Nathan said menacingly. “Get back in your bedroll. Pa will be furious if I bring you back and you get arrested.”

Reluctantly, Matthew crawled back in. He watched in the darkness as Nathan finished gathering his things, then pulled on his boots and stood up. He paused for one moment, looming over Matthew. There was a faint blur of white as he waved a hand, then he disappeared into the blackness.

Matthew counted slowly to thirty. Then, scrambling frantically, he was out of his blankets and rolling his things together. One minute after that, he had his boots on and stood up. He jumped as there was a soft rustle in the grass and a dark figure was at his side. “I knew it,” Nathan hissed.

“I’m going!” Matthew droned stubbornly. Then it hit him what Nathan had done. “Why’d you come back?”

Nathan stood there for a long moment, then reached out and put his hand on Matthew’s shoulder. There was a long sigh of resignation. “I came back to get you.”

Matthew felt a shot of elation, but he just nodded soberly. “Good. Let’s go. We’ve got about five or six hours till dawn.”

Nathan didn’t move. “This is crazy, you know,” he finally said.

Matthew chuckled softly. “I’ve been accused of that before. But you, you’re always the one who’s so steady and logical.” He punched him softly on the arm. “Welcome aboard.”

* * *

Friday, November second, turned out cold and gray. Sometime during the night, the wind had shifted around and started blowing from the north, dropping the temperature ten or fifteen degrees. Now, about an hour after full light, the sky, from horizon to horizon, had no break. And the first drops of what promised to be a steady drizzle were starting to fall.

Derek stood on the porch, gazing out toward the west, forcing himself to keep his thoughts on something other than the day that awaited them. There was a soft noise behind him and he turned. It was his wife. “I didn’t know you were awake.”

She smiled and slipped her arm around his waist. “I was awake when you got out of bed.”

He pinched her arm gently. “Faker. You could have fooled me.”

She laughed softly. It was like music to him. He peered into her face. The haunted look was gone. The lines around her mouth had smoothed. The dimple that had that magical way of appearing in one cheek was back. Relieved beyond measure, he leaned down and kissed her quickly.

“What’s that for?”

“Because I love you.”

“Mmm. Do it again.”

He complied. When he pulled back, the smile slowly faded. “I’m going to go see Mary this morning.”

Derek immediately started shaking his head. “No, Becca.”

She went up on tiptoe, letting her fingertip press the frown from his lips. “Yes, Derek.”

“All the men have to be present to sign over our property. The town will be filled with Missourians. Until that’s over, it’s not safe. I don’t want you out.”

The brethren were scheduled to appear at the public square at eight o’clock this morning. This was another of the conditions agreed to by Colonel Hinkle in his surrender terms with Lucas. The Mormons would make “reparation” for the expenses of the war. It was a thin veneer for what would amount to a monumental grab of some of Missouri’s prime farmland, along with livestock, homes, outbuildings, and anything else of value that was left from the previous day’s rampage. Lucas had promised that if the Mormons cooperated, he would keep his men under control, but Lucas’s promises had begun to ring a little hollow. Derek looked at his wife. “It’s not safe, Becca,” he repeated. “I don’t want you out.”

Rebecca’s jawline tightened a little. “I’m not going ‘out.’ I’m just going over to help a dear friend whose husband has been arrested and taken prisoner, who has several children, including a year-old baby to care for, and who is ready to deliver a child, and who—”

“Becca!” Derek started, shaking his head. The fear in him raised his voice more sharply than he intended.

She clamped her hand over his mouth. “And who,” she went on as if he hadn’t interrupted her, “is very sick herself.” She took her hand away and kissed him quickly. “Now, don’t you think with all that, Mary needs help?”

“Of course, but—”

She sobered, holding up one hand. “And what about Mary Ann Pratt? They tore her home to pieces yesterday. Ripped the roof right off it. Now she’s in a ten-foot hovel that’s barely fit for a litter of pigs, and no husband to help either. Mother is going to see if she can help her.”

“No, Becca. No!” He spoke slowly, enunciating his words as if she had a hearing impairment. “
It . . . is . . . not . . . safe!
”

She stepped around so that she was directly in front of him. Reaching out, she took both of his hands. “Listen to me, Derek.” Her eyes were instantly shining. “Yesterday? It was horrible. More terrible than you can ever imagine. But the Lord was there, Derek. The Lord answered our prayers. He protected us. If Joshua had been even a minute later . . .” She shuddered. One tear squeezed out and trickled down her cheek. “But he wasn’t. And I’m all right today. I’m fine! And because I’m all right, I’m going to go and help those who weren’t quite so fortunate as me. Do you understand?”

He began to nod slowly.

“This is my way of saying thank you to the Lord. And I can’t wait until things are all wonderful again to do that.” Her voice dropped to a small whisper. “Because even if I start this morning, and spend the rest of my life doing it, it won’t be enough.” She reached up and brushed away the tear with the back of her hand. “It won’t be nearly enough.”

* * *

General Doniphan’s departure caused no small stir in the camp on Goose Creek. As his men formed up, Doniphan strode over to where the seven Mormon prisoners stood watching. The light rain had begun, and his boots made soft squishing noises in the prairie grass. One of the guards raised his rifle, as though to prevent him, but Doniphan shouldered it aside roughly, swearing at the man. He came directly to Joseph. There was no greeting, no salutation. His mouth was working, and it was clear that he was in a high state of agitation. “Mr. Smith,” he began abruptly, “you and the others have been sentenced by the court-martial to be shot this morning. But I will be damned if I will have the honor of it or any of the disgrace of it. Therefore I have ordered my brigade to take up the line of march and to leave the camp as a protest. I consider it to be cold-blooded murder, and I shall do all I can to prevent it. I bid you farewell.”

He spun on his heel and stalked away, glaring at the guards who were watching him. “Thank you, sir,” Joseph called after him. “Thank you for your integrity.”

Ten minutes later the sound of wagons brought the prisoners to the alert again. From the direction of the center of camp, two wagons were approaching. General Lucas and another man with general’s stars walked just ahead of them. A full company of militia marched behind the second general. Joseph watched for a moment, then spoke without turning his head. “Do you know who that is?”

Sidney and Parley and the rest of the prisoners were staring, but it was Parley who spoke. “Moses Wilson.”

“Exactly,” breathed Joseph. “This is not good.”

They knew Moses Wilson from Jackson County. Wilson had owned the store on the Big Blue River that had been the site of a major clash between the Mormons and the Missourians back in 1833. He often boasted of his role in driving the Mormons out of that county. He was only marginally behind Lucas in his hatred of the Mormons.

Lucas marched directly to the brethren. His mouth was pulled into a sneer. “All right, Smith,” he said. “Into the wagons. You’re being taken to Jackson County.”

There was a momentary flicker of surprise. “I understood we were to be shot, general.”

“You are. However, the court-martial has changed your sentence. General Wilson is going to take you to Jackson County. You will be tried and executed then.”

“So Doniphan prevailed?” Parley said in amazement.

“General Doniphan will be dealt with,” Lucas snarled. “He’ll learn not to disobey a direct order.”

Wilson leaned forward and grabbed the sleeve of Joseph’s coat. “You’ll be shot soon enough. Now, into the wagons.”

“Sir,” Joseph said, “two days ago we came here, thinking we were to only speak briefly with General Lucas. We brought nothing with us. We have no other clothes, no bedding, none of our toilet articles.”

“What is that to us?” Lucas retorted. “You are prisoners.”

Joseph ignored Lucas. “General Wilson, will you give us leave to return to Far West to bid our families farewell and get some of the supplies that we will need for this journey? If we can obtain our own supplies, your men will not have to give us any of theirs.”

“Absolutely not!” Lucas shouted. “Do you take me for a fool?”

Joseph’s face remained calm. Lucas was furious, but it was obvious that Wilson was wavering. Joseph went on earnestly. “And if we are truly to be executed, have we not the right to see our families one last time? Would you deny us that fundamental privilege?”

Wilson looked at Lucas. Lucas was staring at his fellow general in disbelief. Then he threw up his hands and snorted in disgust. “Do what you wish,” Lucas said. “Just get them to Jackson County. Send me an express when they are all dead men.” He spun on his heel and stalked away.

Wilson turned to Joseph. “All right, we’ll go into the city, but only long enough to get what you need.”

He swung around to the lieutenant who stood at the head of the company of men. “I want a heavy guard on every one of these men. They may go to their homes and get essentials only. See to it that they are not allowed to speak or say anything. Two minutes at their homes. Then I want them on their way immediately. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Wilson nodded and the lieutenant waved the first rank of men forward. But as they approached the prisoners, there was a shout from behind them. Everyone whirled. “No! Kill them! Kill them all!”

Five men had broken from the back ranks of the surrounding troops. They raced toward the wagons, waving pistols. They were howling with rage now, breaking through the few men who stared at them in amazement.

Sidney fell backwards into the wagon. Hyrum Smith and Parley Pratt, already in the wagon box, threw themselves to the floor. Joseph had one foot on the rail that provided a step up. He was closest to the attackers. He threw up one arm and fell back against the canvas. There were screams, and some of the Missourians whirled away, seeing they were in the line of fire.

There was the snap of pistol hammers. The pistol pointed at Joseph’s head flashed brightly, but there was no explosion. The powder had ignited in the flash pans, but the main charge in the chamber did not catch. Nothing happened. Every one of the five weapons misfired.

Swearing and cursing, the men fell back a step. Now Wilson sprang into action. “Seize those men!” he roared. The guards leaped forward, rifles high. In moments the five men were corralled. “Idiots!” Wilson screamed. “What are you trying to do?” He grabbed the nearest guard. “Put these men in chains and keep them there until tomorrow morning.”

He stopped, his chest rising and falling, watching as the five men were shoved forward roughly and marched away. Wilson turned to Joseph Smith. “Fools!” he muttered. “No one’s gonna cheat me out of the chance to march you up the streets of Independence. Now, get in the wagons, before I change my mind and shoot you myself.”

Joseph nodded and climbed up into the wagon bed. He sat down between Hyrum and Parley. Sidney was white and shaking. Parley looked sick. In the next wagon they could see only Amasa Lyman, who had his head down and his eyes closed. Lyman Wight and George Robinson were not visible.

Joseph said nothing, just folded his manacled hands in his lap. In a moment, the teamster climbed up into the wagon seat in front of them and snapped the reins. As the wagon lurched forward, Joseph’s head came up. “Brethren,” he said, speaking just loud enough for them to hear over the creaking of the wagon, “be of good cheer. The word of the Lord has come to me. Our lives are to be given us.”

The heads of those who were in the wagon with him jerked up. His brethren stared at him in disbelief. He nodded and gave them a thin smile. “Whatever else we may suffer during this captivity, the Lord has promised that not one of our lives shall be taken.”