Joshua decided to try a different tack. “You married, Lieutenant?” He knew the answer already.
Carter blinked. “Yes,” he said guardedly.
“Children?”
“Yes, four.”
“How old is the oldest?”
Carter was peering at him suspiciously. “He’s twelve.”
Joshua nodded and his voice dropped to a low rumble. “Well, this woman had a twelve-year-old son too. One of Comstock’s men laid a rifle up alongside his head and blew it half away. A twelve-year-old, Carter! They just tossed him into a common grave. You want to be party to that?”
Carter’s mouth opened, but Joshua bored in, not wanting to give him a chance to answer. “She had another son,” he lied shamelessly. “I saw him too. He was eight years old. Eight! Half his hip is gone. Another one of Comstock’s ‘heroes’ shot him at point-blank range.” Now he lowered his voice, letting all the horror he was feeling pour into it. “Her husband’s dead. She’s been shot in the hand. All she has left now is this baby.”
Joshua stepped forward, turning toward Jessica now, half whispering. “Look at her, Carter. She’s in shock. She barely knows where she is.” He turned to look at his men. “Is that what we stand for out here?”
Heads dropped or turned away. He saw two or three heads shake quickly back and forth. These men hated Mormons, but they weren’t the lunatic types that rode with Neil Gilliam or Nehemiah Comstock. They had not come out to slaughter women and children.
Joshua stepped back. “This woman has family in Far West, and I say we take her close enough to the city that she can go the rest of the way in safety.” He let his head swing slowly, staring down each of the men. “We’re gonna drive the Mormons out of the state anyway. Doesn’t this poor wretch deserve to be with them when we do? What do you say, men?”
Now he had them all, and Carter knew it. And it was also obvious that lumping Amanda Smith’s loss with Jessica’s had struck the mark with the lieutenant too. Carter straightened his uniform, not meeting Joshua’s piercing glance. “I’m still going to have to report all this to General Lucas,” he muttered.
“Report what you will,” Joshua said. He turned to Jessica. “Come on, ma’am,” he said gently. “You can ride with me.”
* * *
By seven-thirty on Halloween morning, October thirty-first, 1838, Far West was like a town waiting for a tornado to strike. The Missouri militiamen camped to the south of them now outnumbered the Saints five to one, and more were coming in hourly. Word of the horror at Haun’s Mill had ripped through the Saints like the bolt of lightning that had struck the liberty pole. Fear hung like a heavy fog over everything. The tension was as palpable as static electricity.
Shortly before eight, Colonel George M. Hinkle, the highest-ranking officer in the Mormon militia, sent a message to General Lucas requesting a meeting in which negotiations for some kind of truce might take place. Soon a message came back from General Lucas. He was too busy putting new troops into bivouac. He could not meet with the Mormons until 2:00 p.m.
And so the oncoming tornado was delayed for a time. It did little to change the mood in the town. The people knew that it was still coming, that it was headed straight for them with absolute inevitablity. But, for now at least, it stood off in the distance, dark, ominous, weaving sinuously back and forth, slowly driving everyone to the edge of madness.
Though no one knew it then, in actuality Hinkle had decided to take matters into his own hands. For some time now he had been chafing under Joseph’s leadership. Hinkle had been the one who had led the Saints at DeWitt and defied the mobs. But in spite of that, Joseph had not given him full rein. There was not the slightest doubt in Hinkle’s mind that the militia would roll over the Saints. Their poorly armed and virtually untrained home guard wouldn’t stand a chance. But Joseph wouldn’t listen. He was building the barricades, stiffening the will of the men. He was setting them up for a bloodbath. Being prophet was one thing, but this was war.
By quarter of two in the afternoon, the men and older boys from the city lined the barricades. A short distance away, on a small rise, the white flag fluttered on a staff along with the banner of General Lucas. He had kept his word and come to negotiate. Colonel George M. Hinkle rode out of town, moving toward the general’s camp.
Benjamin, Matthew, Nathan, Derek, and Peter all stood together behind an overturned wagon. They watched somberly as the little party rode away from them. There was not a sound along the whole line.
Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Matthew turned to his father. “Pa?” he said softly.
Benjamin turned.
“What do you think is going to happen?”
Benjamin’s shoulders lifted and fell. Nathan and Derek were watching him closely too. He wanted to unburden himself, tell them of the dark cloud of oppression that seemed to fill his own soul, but he knew they were looking to him for strength, for hope, for courage. But then he was spared the need for answering. Behind them, there was a cry. Turning as one, they saw Rebecca running hard toward them, coming up the street from their cabin.
“Papa! Papa!”
Her hair was flying. Benjamin felt a lurch of fear, and he leaped forward to see what was wrong. But then he realized her voice was joyous and triumphant. “Jessica’s here! Jessica’s here!”
* * *
Colonel George M. Hinkle held a commission in the Missouri militia from the governor. So as he walked up and saluted General Lucas, he moved with confidence and boldness. He knew what had to be done. There came a time when a man had to take the reins and put things in order.
They went through the formalities quickly, then Hinkle went straight to the point. “General Lucas, as senior officer in the Caldwell County militia, I am here to negotiate surrender terms. This insanity has gone on long enough.”
General Lucas looked at him narrowly, then withdrew an envelope from inside the jacket of his uniform. “I think that is wise, sir, especially in light of the order we just received. It is signed the twenty-seventh day of October, just four days ago, by His Excellency, Governor Lilburn W. Boggs.”
“Order, General?”
“Yes.” Lucas took the paper out of the envelope and began to read, his voice hard and cold. Hinkle and his companions rocked back a little at the bluntness of the governor’s order, but when Lucas read the words, “The Mormons must be treated as enemies and must be exterminated or driven from the state, if necessary for the public good,” they went absolutely white. Hinkle barely heard the rest of what Lucas read to him.
Lucas stopped and folded the paper. “So you see, Colonel,” he said, barely disguising his triumph, “it is a wise thing you have done to come now to negotiate. Actually, you have no choice.”
“What terms do you require?” Hinkle whispered.
Lucas considered that for only a moment. “Four conditions. Number one, all Church leaders are to be given up for trial and punishment. Number two, the Mormons are to make an appropriation of their property for the payment of their debts and to indemnify the state for damages done by them. Third, the balance of the Mormons must leave the state. We will protect them with the militia, but they must leave.”
Hinkle was deeply shocked. He hadn’t expected warm terms, but there was no mercy here at all. “Immediately, sir?” he asked.
Lucas shook his head. “They can remain until I receive further orders from the governor.” He looked at Hinkle sharply. “Fourth condition. Your people must give up arms of every description. These shall be receipted for.”
Colonel Hinkle frowned. Lucas gave him a withering stare, and Hinkle immediately caved in. He began to nod. “And if I agree, there will be no attack upon our people?”
“You have my word, sir. And you will personally be treated as an officer should. There will be no incriminations of any kind against you.”
Hinkle took a deep breath, then blew it out quickly. “Those terms are reasonable, sir. I can agree to them.” Hinkle’s lips pursed slightly. “It is already late in the day. I would suggest, therefore, that the surrender take place tomorrow.”
“Agreed.” Then a thought came to Lucas. “But I demand that you immediately bring to me hostages as pledge to guarantee your faithful compliance with these terms.”
A little surprised, Hinkle leaned forward. “Hostages? Who, sir?”
Lucas was triumphant. He began to tick them off with his finger. “Colonel Lyman Wight of Daviess County. George Robinson of Far West. Parley P. Pratt and Sidney Rigdon.” He paused, and a wicked grin pulled back his lips, revealing his teeth. “And Mr. Joseph Smith, Junior, of course.”
For several moments Hinkle stared at the ground. Then he looked up. “Of course,” he murmured.
* * *
“Be especially careful, Joseph.” Hyrum Smith had been seriously ill for several days, and he looked drawn and tired. The thoughts of Joseph walking into the enemies’ camp did little to help his weariness.
Joseph turned to his brother. “I will, Hyrum. Lucas just wants to talk. I’m sure he wishes to set forth the terms of our surrender.”
“And will you surrender, Joseph?” Benjamin Steed asked quietly.
Joseph turned to his old friend. “Benjamin, all this time we have thought that the militia was acting as a mob. But you heard the report. General Lucas is acting under direct commission of the state. He has an executive order from the governor.”
“And that order says that we are to be exterminated or driven from the state,” Nathan said hotly.
Joseph looked very tired too. His eyes were dark with sorrow. “It is still an order from the legal executive of this state.”
Colonel Hinkle stepped forward. He was angry. “Enough of this talk. I have told you. The general only wishes to confer with Brother Joseph and our other leaders to see what can be done. They have pledged their sacred honor that you will not be abused or insulted.”
Sidney Rigdon nodded. “We have no choice, Joseph.”
Joseph looked at his couselor, then at Hinkle. Finally he nodded. “Yes, let us go.” He quickly shook hands all around the circle. When he got to Hyrum they embraced. Parley Pratt stuck out his hand to Nathan. “Wish us luck, old friend.”
“We’ll be praying for you,” Nathan said in return.
Joseph turned to Colonel Hinkle. “I’m ready,” he said.
* * *
As they walked toward the gentle rise that led to Lucas’s camp, Joseph and those with him could see the line of militia-men coming to meet them. It looked as though the whole of his army was marching to attack. General Lucas was in the lead. Directly behind him was a company of artillerymen. They had a four-pounder hitched behind a team of horses. On both sides of this group, infantry and cavalry stretched out behind them. There was at least a thousand men, maybe more.
Most chilling was the sight of one body of men. Led by Cornelius Gilliam—or Neil Gilliam, as he was more commonly known—they were dressed like Indians and had their faces painted black or red. Gilliam liked to fancy himself as the “Delaware Chief.” He and his men had been terrorizing the countryside for several days. It was a sight to make the blood run cold.
The two groups closed quickly, and Lucas moved out ahead of his men. As they finally met, Joseph stepped out ahead of the others, extending his hand. “General Lucas,” he said pleasantly, “we understand you wish to confer with us. It is late in the day. Would not tomorrow morning do just as well?”
But Colonel Hinkle stepped quickly up beside Joseph. “General Lucas,” he said loudly, “here are the prisoners I agreed to deliver to you.”
Joseph whirled around, staring at his leading commander in shocked dismay. Parley, Sidney, Lyman Wight, George Robinson—they all were thunderstruck.
Lucas raised one hand and instantly the soldiers nearest him leaped forward, surrounding the small body of Mormons, leveling their rifles. Like a battering wave of sound, a roar of triumph went up all along the line of Missourians. The company of artillerymen directly behind Lucas jumped up and down, waving their weapons and howling in jubilation. Neil Gilliam’s men began to shriek wildly, spurring their horses and firing their rifles into the air. As Parley Pratt would later write, “If the vision of the infernal regions could suddenly open to the mind, with thousands of malicious fiends, all clamoring, exulting, deriding, blaspheming, mocking, railing, raging and foaming like a troubled sea, then could some idea be formed of the hell which we had entered.”
Several hundred yards away, Benjamin and Nathan and the other brethren lining the barricades stood in stunned horror at the scene unfolding before them and the horrible shrieking that rent the air. After a moment, Nathan turned to his father. Benjamin was stricken to the core. “God help us now,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “They’ve taken Joseph.”
Chapter Notes
The surviving Saints at Haun’s Mill were fearful that the mob would be returning and did bury their dead in the newly dug well (see
CHFT,
p. 204).
The treachery of Colonel Hinkle, the conditions set for the surrender, and the betrayal of Joseph and the other leaders is accurately portrayed in the novel (see
HC
3:188–90 and
Mack Hist.,
pp. 272–73). Of this act, B. H. Roberts wrote, “So long as treason is detested, and traitors despised, so long will the memory of Colonel Hinkle be execrated for his vile treachery” (
Persecutions,
p. 243).
The quote from Parley P. Pratt can be found in his autobiography (see
PPP Auto.,
p. 160).
Chapter 20
But, sir!” Lieutenant Carter was sputtering in his outrage. “The general asked me to report to him directly about Captain Steed. I demand to see him.”
The man who served as the aide-de-camp to General Lucas was well aware of Carter’s assignment. It made no difference. He had his orders too. “I will tell the general that you are back and wish to see him.” He gave Carter a thin smile. “Or if you wish, you can give your report to me and I’ll pass it on as soon as the general is free.”