“Good-bye, Joseph,” Benjamin answered in a voice equally choked with emotion.
Chapter Notes
When John Taylor and John Bernhisel returned from Carthage with the governor’s letter and the gloomy report of how they were treated, Joseph immediately felt impressed that fleeing Nauvoo was the solution to the dilemma. He and Hyrum, along with Willard Richards and Porter Rockwell, crossed the river during the early morning hours of 23 June in a leaky rowboat. While they waited for horses (which Porter went back across the river to obtain) and prepared for their departure, they received a delegation from Nauvoo. The three men mentioned here came across the river with Porter Rockwell to ask Joseph to return. They carried with them a letter from Emma. That letter no longer exists and it is not known exactly what Emma said. She did ask Joseph to return. While it is not recorded exactly who said what at that point, the record does state that “Reynolds Cahoon, Lorenzo D. Wasson and Hiram Kimball accused Joseph of cowardice for wishing to leave the people” (
HC
6:549).
Chapter 42
Carthage Jail, Hancock County, Illinois
June 27th, 10:00 a.m.
My dearest Lydia,
This may be brief, as Joseph is sending Cyrus Wheelock back to Nauvoo to gather witnesses in his behalf and Cyrus will carry this with him. When he is ready to leave, I will have to close. Much has happened in the day and a half since Father left us. I shall try to catch you up on the most important things.
Yes, as you see, I am in the Carthage jail, but do not be alarmed. I am not a prisoner, only a companion to Joseph and Hyrum, who are now in jail. When I last wrote, we were being billeted in the hotel, but much has changed since then. Shortly after Father and the others left on Tuesday evening, a constable came with a mittimus in hand. A mittimus is a legal order committing a person to jail or prison. This came as a great shock to us all. Mr. Wood and Mr. Reid, the lawyers who are representing Joseph, said this was completely illegal, since prisoners are entitled to be brought before a justice of the peace for examination before they can be sent to jail.
Mr. Wood and Elder Taylor immediately went to Governor Ford to appeal. But to their amazement, the governor said it was purely a judicial matter and that the executive branch could not interfere. Remember, Ford is a former state supreme court justice. He knows that this is totally wrong, but will do nothing against it. So illegal or not, we are now in jail. Fortunately they allowed the others of us—John Taylor, Willard Richards, Stephen Markham, Dan Jones, John Fullmer, and myself—to stay with them and give them some protection.
And it is a good thing. As the guards marched us to the jail, the mobs lined the streets, screaming and shouting, trying to get at Joseph and Hyrum. Stephen Markham has a stout hickory cane which he calls the “rascal beater.” Dan Jones also carries a walking stick. We used both to fend off the crowds as we walked to the jail. I know this report will worry you, but in a way, we are glad now for the mittimus. We are actually safer here than in the hotel. We have at least some protection and there is a guard posted outside.
Yesterday, the legal farce continued. Joseph spent over an hour with Governor Ford trying to explain our case. He also told the governor that we are in great danger here. Ford brushes that aside and says there is no danger here with his troops to protect us. I find it hard to believe that he takes the threat so lightly. He has been here for several days. He has seen the troops in near riot. The governor is no fool, and therefore that leaves me only one conclusion—he has no intention of interfering.
Last night was both a wonderful and a terrible experience. The jailer, a kind man, has allowed us to sleep in an upstairs bedroom rather than forcing us into a cell, so we are somewhat comfortable. There is only one double bed, but we have some straw mattresses to sleep on. The bedroom is not secure, and that worries us somewhat, but it is far more comfortable than being in a cell.
We read scriptures together, particularly scriptures from the Book of Mormon that talk about prophets being in prison, such as Alma and Abinadi. In this setting, that was most touching. Then sometime after we had retired—Joseph and Hyrum in the bed, the rest of us on the mattresses on the floor—we heard a gunshot fired outside. That caused us some consternation but things quieted again. Joseph came and lay down on the floor with us, I’m sure to quiet our fears. As we were lying there, he turned to Dan Jones. I don’t know if you know him. He is from Wales. A fine man. Anyway, Joseph asked Brother Dan if he was afraid to die. That brought us all up short, but Dan answered without hesitation. “Engaged in such a cause,” he said, “I do not think death would have many terrors.” Joseph seemed pleased with that, then surprised us all by saying, “Brother Dan, you will yet see Wales again and fulfill the mission appointed you before you die.”
Do you remember what I said some time ago about having a prophet as your next-door neighbor? I have thought of that often these last few days. Here we are in the most terrible of circumstances, and even now, prophecy comes as natural to him as hammering steel does to a blacksmith. Though I find myself anxious at times, I consider it a great privilege to be at his side.
When we rose this morning, Joseph sent Brother Jones to inquire about the gunshot. He encountered Frank Worrell of the Carthage Greys outside. Worrell openly bragged that he was a better prophet than old Joe Smith, for he (Worrell) prophesied that before the day is over, Joseph and everyone with him will be dead. He warned Jones that he’d better flee. Jones went directly to the governor and reported this conversation. Ford told him that he was unnecessarily alarmed, that the people “are not that cruel.” Then he refused to give Jones a pass to come back inside the jail. We talked to him briefly but they wouldn’t let him stay.
Most alarming to us, however, is that we received word just a few minutes ago that the governor has left for Nauvoo this morning. He took Captain Dunn’s troops with him. This is not good. Captain Dunn and his men are the one militia group that has remained impartial in all of this. The governor also dismissed all the other militia groups except the Carthage Greys, who are left to guard us. This is very much like leaving the fox to guard the henhouse.
Twice yesterday the governor talked about going to Nauvoo today, but both times he pledged his word that if he went, he would take Joseph with him. Once again we learn that the solemn word of the highest executive of our state means nothing.
Just a few minutes ago, we learned that— Never mind. Brother Wheelock is here. I must close. I know not what this day shall bring, my beloved Lydia. I am determined to stay by Joseph’s side and see it through. I love you and rejoice in the knowledge that not even death can separate us, for we are bound together by eternal ties. Kiss the children for me. Pray that all will be well. I love you.
Nathan
There were just six of them now. In addition to Joseph and Hyrum and the two Apostles, only Nathan Steed and Stephen Markham remained. John Fullmer had left with Cyrus Wheelock to help secure some witnesses for the upcoming trial. The morning had been a little rainy, but it had cleared now and the early afternoon air was heavy and humid. The jail was sweltering and the mood was one of dark depression. When lunch was brought up, they ate mostly in silence.
Earlier that morning, wearing a long coat because of the rain, Cyrus Wheelock had managed to smuggle in a pistol to Joseph. It was called a “pepperbox” because it had six barrels which fired in succession. As they finished lunch, Joseph went and got the pistol and brought it back to where they were sitting. He also got the single-shot pistol which John Fullmer had left with them. He laid both weapons on the table and looked at his brother. “We may have to use these, Hyrum.”
Hyrum looked distressed. “Joseph, you know how I hate to use such things, or to see them used.”
“I know, so do I. But we may have to defend ourselves.”
With reluctance, Hyrum reached out and took one of the pistols. Joseph took the other pistol for himself and looked at it with distaste. “You know, we are much like the Savior in this regard. We have the revelations of Jesus and the knowledge within us to organize a righteous government on the earth and to give universal peace to all mankind. But we lack the physical strength to do so, just as Jesus did when he was a child. We have of necessity, therefore, to be afflicted and persecuted and smitten. And we must bear it patiently until Jacob, or Israel, comes of age. Then we shall be able to take care of ourselves.”
It was just a short time later. They were stretched out on the floor or the bed, each man either sleeping or withdrawn into his own thoughts. From the bed there came a soft moan. Nathan and Joseph, lying side by side on one of the mattresses, went up on one elbow. Willard Richards groaned again, rolling over on his side.
“Willard?” Joseph said. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know, Joseph. My stomach is greatly upset. It must have been something I ate.” With some effort, he turned onto his other side, holding one arm across his stomach. Joseph sat up now, and for several minutes watched the Apostle with growing concern. It was obvious that Elder Richards was greatly distressed. Finally, he turned to Markham. “Brother Stephen, would you be willing to go out and try and find some medicine for Willard?”
“Of course.” Markham sat up and began to pull on his boots.
Nathan sat up now too, glad for a chance to do something. “Perhaps I should go with him, Joseph. It may be safer if two of us go rather than just one.”
“Yes,” Joseph said immediately. “Both of you must go. But go with care.”
They went downstairs and explained their mission to the jailer, and he unlocked the door and let them out. After being inside the jail all day, they found the light outside to be blinding, and they stopped there for a minute, blinking and shading their eyes.
There were some thirty or forty of the Carthage Greys deployed around the jail, languishing in the hot sunshine. A sergeant, on hearing the door open and seeing Nathan and Markham come out, sprang to his feet. “Hey! What are you doing?” He reached for his rifle. Others were coming to their feet now and doing the same.
“One of our number is sick,” Nathan said evenly. “We are going out to obtain some medicine.”
Markham showed him the pass which allowed them to go in and out of the jail.
“Let him die,” one of the guards snarled. “Serve him right.”
The sergeant muttered something under his breath but, after examining the pass closely, nodded and stepped back. With hearts pounding, Nathan and Markham pushed through the Greys, ignoring the catcalls and the jeers all around them. Once free, they walked swiftly away. “This is not good, Nathan,” Markham muttered under his breath. “Not good at all.”
“We shall see it through, Brother Markham.” But even as he spoke, Nathan had to lick his lips, feeling a sudden dryness in his mouth.
It took them nearly an hour to find what they needed. As they rounded the corner and started back toward the jail, they were met by a line of guards blocking the street. Nathan and Markham were cut off, with the jail still a block away. It was obvious that the guards had made a decision since the two men had passed through the ranks before. Without any verbal command, the guards tightened ranks, completely cutting off any passage farther up the street. The sergeant watched Nathan and Markham for a moment through hooded eyes; then he turned and shot a stream of tobacco into the dust. Nathan took a deep breath, feeling the prickle up and down his spine in spite of the fact that he was sweating heavily. He looked at Markham. “Are you ready?” he said in a low voice.
“I am,” Markham answered. “Let us be resolute.”
They moved forward. The sergeant spat again, then stepped forward, looking at Markham. “Hey, old man,” he shouted at Markham, “you’re not going back there. You’ve got five minutes to leave town.”
Just then, two men came around the corner behind them leading two horses. To his surprise, Nathan saw that one of them was the mount he had stabled at the Hamilton House. From Markham’s sudden intake of breath, Nathan guessed that the other horse was his. “What is this?” Nathan whispered.
Markham just shook his head, still moving forward. Nathan stayed with him, feeling his heart thumping heavily in his chest. The Greys had unshouldered their rifles now, and the tips of their bayonets glinted in the sunlight. “I have medicine for the prisoners,” Markham said firmly. “I have a pass from the governor that allows us to go in and out of the jail. Please step aside.”
“Please step aside,” another man mimicked.
“Wait, wait!” another man cried in a mocking voice. “They have a pass from the governor.”
“Ain’t that too bad?” jeered a third. “The governor ain’t here no more.”
The sergeant lowered his rifle so that the bayonet pointed straight at Markham’s stomach. “You two have only got one pass that’s good today,” he snarled, waving to the men with the horses to come forward, “and that’s your pass out of town.” He made a menacing gesture with his bayonet. “Mount up and git!”
Markham didn’t move, and Nathan stood shoulder to shoulder with him. “We have every legal right to go in,” Nathan said, fighting to keep his voice steady. The men were circling in, and their mood was growing uglier with every passing second. More were coming from the jail now. This was more than just the usual taunting. They were determined not to let them pass.
“Show them their legal rights, men,” the sergeant shouted.
A man lunged forward, bayonet flashing. Nathan jumped but not quickly enough. The tip of the blade caught him in the calf just above his boot. There was a searing pain and he jumped back, backing into the side of his horse. “You heard the sergeant,” the man screamed into Nathan’s face. “Now, git!” From behind him, unseen this time, a second man jabbed in. Nathan yelped as the fiery pain slashed through his other leg. He saw Markham fall back, men rushing in on him like boys jabbing sticks into a dying rabbit.