The Work and the Glory (98 page)

With this combination of the lawless and the uneducated poor in Missouri, it was not surprising that behavior which the Saints looked upon with horror and disgust was accepted among most Missourians as a matter of course. Profanity, horseracing, gambling, drunkenness, whoring, and other forms of debauchery were viewed by many Missourians as their natural right, and they deeply resented anyone who looked down their long and proper noses at them for thinking that way.

Further complicating matters was the fact that Missouri had come into the Union under the great “Missouri Compromise” of 1820. Although many of the old settlers were not slaveholders, still there was strong pro-slavery sentiment and bitter resentment against any abolitionist tendencies. Since the Saints were mostly from the North and the East, they rejected slavery on both social and moral grounds. Feelings on this issue were running especially high at this time. In Virginia the previous year, Nat Turner had led a rebellion in which over seventy whites and a hundred slaves were killed before it was put down. An irrational but primal fear swept across the slave states, causing deep and pervasive paranoia.

The rapid influx of Mormons did little to resolve these deep and divisive differences in Missouri. One did not have to be particularly astute to see that, with more than a thousand Mormons already present and hundreds flocking in monthly, the political balance in Missouri would quickly swing to the Saints, and the Missourians would lose their political control.

Once in Missouri, the Saints quickly established their own mercantile store. A. Sidney Gilbert, partner with Newel K. Whitney in the dry goods business, was called by the Lord to Missouri for that express purpose. Such a store would help the Saints economically, and provide badly needed goods. Once the store was established, the Saints naturally preferred to trade there whenever possible. Also, many of them had little cash money, and Gilbert allowed them to do business in trade. This deprived other merchants in Independence of the benefits of the burgeoning population. Worse yet, Gilbert chose his location well, placing his store next to the square that was considered the eastern terminus of the Santa Fe Trail. In a short time, the Gilbert store was siphoning off much of the lucrative trail business formerly handled by Missourians.

It was indicative of how high feelings were running when in the spring of 1833 the Saints took a large share of the blame for a trick of nature. After heavy snows in the Rockies and considerable rain on the Great Plains, the Missouri River flooded. It wiped out the steamer landing in Independence and eventually carved a new river channel some distance away from the town. A new village with a better landing was established at Westport (later Kansas City) upstream a few miles, and Independence business sharply declined. Rumors began to fly that somehow the Mormons were responsible for the disaster, though no one ever attempted to provide a rational explanation as to how that was possible.

During this time, the Saints were having their own internal problems. Seven high priests, with Oliver Cowdery as the head, were appointed to lead the Church in Zion. They were to select elders to preside over the five branches of the Church that were established, and were to regulate the affairs of the kingdom. But many of the incoming members ignored the direction of the leadership, and chaos quickly resulted. Others refused to accept the law of consecration and sought to gain property through some other means than properly constituted inheritances. Having the Prophet Joseph some eight hundred miles away did not help. Some even accused Joseph of caring only for the Saints in Kirtland and of seeking “monarchial power.”

Learning of these problems, Joseph wrote a letter of rebuke to the Church in Missouri in January of 1833. “The Lord will have a place whence His word will go forth, in these last days, in purity,” he warned them; “for if Zion will not purify herself, so as to be approved of in all things, in His sight, He will seek another people.” Orson Hyde and Hyrum Smith were appointed to write a letter to the Saints in Zion. “Repent, repent,” they cried, “or Zion must suffer, for the scourge and judgment must come upon her.”

For a time it worked. Solemn assemblies were held in the various branches in Zion and the two letters read to the congregations. A spirit of contrition swept over the Saints. On April sixth, about eighty Saints gathered at the ferry on the Big Blue River to rejoice and thank God for the restoration of his church which had taken place exactly three years earlier on that day. It was a happy time, and for a few weeks harmony and peace prevailed in the land of Zion. But quickly the problems started all over again, and neglect of their godly duties began to creep into the Missouri branches of the Church again. The Lord’s warning had been given; the Lord’s warning had been mostly ignored.

This was the state of affairs in Jackson County on July twentieth, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and thirty-three.

Joshua stood at the bar of Clinton Roundy’s saloon on Main Street, watching the noisy rabble around him. The tavern was jammed, and with the liquor flowing freely it was pandemonium. One could sense the rage simmering just below the surface. Good, he thought. That was one of the purposes for starting in the saloons before moving to the courthouse. Every tavern and saloon in Independence was jammed at this moment, and that was not accidental. The committee of leading citizens that was formed to deal with the “Mormon problem” knew full well that liquor would play an important role in the day’s proceedings.

Clinton Roundy, Joshua’s father-in-law—or rather, his ex-father-in-law now—came up to him, a tray of empty beer mugs on his arm. “Do you want them to have another round?” he asked.

Joshua shook his head quickly. “No.”

In April a similar meeting had been called, but someone had furnished a free barrel of whiskey. Before they could settle on any action, the men were blind drunk and the meeting erupted into a good old-fashioned “Missouri row.” They had accomplished nothing more than giving each other some good bruises and a few black eyes. This time the committee wanted to make certain that the liquor stoked the fires, not doused them. Joshua himself held a mug of beer, but he had barely touched it.

He looked over to the table in the corner where four of Jackson County’s leading citizens sat. The most important of these was Lilburn W. Boggs,
Lieutenant Governor
Lilburn W. Boggs. This was a coup of the highest order, to have Missouri’s second highest government official present for the events of this day, and Joshua was justly proud of his role in it. Joshua and Judge Lucas had made a trip to the capital of Missouri, Jefferson City, specifically to persuade Boggs to come back for the meeting. It had not proved to be a difficult task. The lieutenant governor was a resident of Independence and one of Jackson County’s largest landowners. Joshua also knew that the old fox was interested in buying additional land owned by the Mormons, who were refusing to sell. A hint that the land might become available at “a very reasonable price” was sufficient to convince Boggs to lend his support. He kept saying he wanted to “keep a low profile,” which, as near as Joshua could determine, meant he was willing to do everything needed except stand before the public. That was fine, for the word was out that Boggs was there and in full support. It would be enough.

The other three men had been selected to lead out as catalysts in the day’s events. Colonel Richard Simpson was to serve as chair, and James Flournoy and Judge Samuel Lucas as secretaries. Simpson had appointed seven men to a committee whose task was to draft a statement that would be read to the public, then presented to the Mormon leaders. The committee had finished and brought the statement to Boggs for his approval. Boggs finished reading it and sat back, obviously pleased.

Joshua caught the eye of the lieutenant governor and lifted a questioning eyebrow. Boggs shoved the papers back to Simpson, then pulled a pocket watch from his vest pocket and looked at it. He said something to the others, then abruptly pushed his chair back and stood, giving Joshua a quick nod.

Joshua swung around. “Gentlemen,” he shouted.

It took only a moment for quiet to sweep across the room. Every eye turned to Joshua, the expectancy lighting their faces. He let the silence hold for a moment, feeling the tension building like smoke billowing from a blacksmith’s bellows. Then, raising his fist, into the hush he cried, “To the courthouse! Let’s deal with the Mormons once and for all!”

The crowd exploded with a roar and made a rush for the door. Boggs and the other three came over to join Joshua.

“Who’s going to read the statement?” Joshua asked.

Colonel Simpson glanced at the others and they nodded. “Robert Johnson,” Simpson said. “He was chairman of the committee that wrote it. He’s quick with words and well respected.”

“He’ll do the job,” Lucas said flatly.

“Good,” said Joshua. He turned to watch the men clogging the doorway, almost fighting each other to be the first out.

Simpson clapped Joshua on the shoulder. “This time, Steed, there ain’t no one going to stop us.”

“That’s right,” Boggs said with satisfaction. “Gentlemen, let’s be off. You have business to attend to.”

They poured from every saloon and tavern along Main Street, every shop and business. Farmers had come from as far away as twenty miles. For weeks now a “secret constitution” had been circulating. The document denounced the Mormons and called for all concerned citizens to meet at the courthouse on July twentieth. The Mormons were going to be removed, “peaceably if we can, forcibly if we must.”

In moments, the fifty or so from Roundy’s saloon swelled to a hundred, then two hundred, then five. They milled about the new brick courthouse, talking angrily, shaking their fists, filling the air with their threats. It was evident that the liquor had done its job. The crowd had been transformed into a mob. All that was needed now was someone to crack the whip and point them in the proper direction.

Robert Johnson was that man. As he stood on an overturned crate, the crowd instantly quieted.

“Citizens of Jackson County,” Johnson cried, waving the sheaf of papers he had received from Colonel Simpson, “we are gathered here together to deal with a problem of the greatest magnitude.” He paused for effect. “I speak of the problem of the Mormons.”

The crowd erupted with jeers, catcalls, angry insults. Johnson did not try to stop it. He nodded, letting the noise of the crowd rumble outward.

“As you know, we have formed a committee to deal with this problem. You know us, the men on that committee. We consider ourselves to be loyal, concerned citizens of Jackson County.”

He raised a hand, acknowledging the smattering of applause and a cry or two of good-natured acceptance.

“We have done our work.” He tapped the papers with his other hand. “This is our statement.”

Joshua watched the man with open admiration. It was not hard to see why Simpson had recommended him. Johnson knew people, and played to a crowd like one of those traveling dramatists that went through the countryside from time to time. He read slowly, pronouncing the words distinctly and carefully, sometimes dropping his voice for emphasis, but never to the point where the men on the periphery of the crowd could not hear him.

The document started with a catalog of all the evils which the Mormons represented. They were a lazy and an indolent people. They came to Missouri in the most abject poverty, wishing to get their “inheritances” without money and without price. They were interfering with the practice of slavery, stirring up trouble like that which had occurred in the East, inviting free people of color to settle in Jackson County.

At each charge there was an answering cry from the crowd, but at the last one the rage exploded, and for almost a minute Johnson had to let it run its course. This was a particularly sensitive issue, and the committee knew it. The statement had been deliberately calculated to capitalize on it.

Earlier in the month, the
Evening and Morning Star,
a newspaper printed by the Mormons in Missouri, had run an article on “free people of color.” Free people of color were Negroes and mulattos who had either purchased their freedom somehow or been freed by the kindness of their masters. The article, written by W. W. Phelps, editor and proprietor of the paper, outlined the laws of the state concerning these freed slaves and counseled the Saints to use prudence in dealing with them. Instantly, the populace of Jackson County interpreted that as a call for all free people of color to settle in Jackson County.

On the sixteenth of the month, a special issue of the
Star
was printed which denied the charge and tried to explain that just the opposite was true. But the damage was done. The emotions had been triggered, and the retraction fell on deaf ears.

Johnson stood silent and majestic as the rage vented itself. His expression managed to convey sympathy, outrage, understanding, and determination all at the same time. When the noise finally quieted, he lifted the papers again, but now he didn’t bother to read; he knew what was written on them.

“It is further obvious,” he cried, “that the evils which threaten our community, brought on by the rapid influx of these Mormon settlers, could not have been foreseen. Therefore our laws are not prepared to deal with these problems.” His face hardened. “And if we wait for legislation to resolve them, the delays will put the mischief beyond all remedy.”

Again the muttering and cries from the crowd began to rise, but this time Johnson rode over them, his voice rising sharply with indignation. “If the migration of these Mormons to our community is not dealt with forthwith, the day will not be far distant when the civil government of this county will be in the hands of the Mormons.”

He dropped his arm to his side. “Is that what you want?” he shouted.

The answer was instantaneous. “No!”

“Do you want your county judges to be Mormons?”

“No!”

“Do you want your sheriffs and your constables to be Mormons?”

“No!”