

### Joseph Smith

### The President Elect

### Book One: The Prophet

Copyright 2013 Kurt F. Kammeyer

Smashwords Edition

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Introduction

This is a book about what might have been. Nearly all the characters depicted in this book were real people, and their actual histories are a matter of record. There are only a very few instances where the characters are completely fictitious. Since I am dealing with real people, I have tried to respect the memory of the many greats and not-so-greats mentioned in this novel. The actual heroes, for the most part, remain heroes, and the villains are still villains.

Most of the scenes in this book are based on real events that took place in America around the years 1844-1845. However, in many cases the dates have been changed to improve the flow of the narrative. In some cases, actual statements made by one person are "quoted" by another. For example, in a few places Joseph Smith "says" things which in reality were said by Brigham Young or others. The recurring theme of this book, so to speak, might be: "History precedes itself."

This book uses an entirely different approach than any previously used by LDS authors who have written about Joseph Smith. Instead of just fictionalizing the Prophet's short life, I have "extended" his life into a work of fiction that explores what could very well have happened, if only he had survived Carthage.

Since the 1930s a discipline has grown up under the name of "Counterfactual History" – the study of what might have been, if only small events were changed at certain key turning points in history. What if Hitler had repulsed the Normandy invasion? What if William the Conqueror had lost the Battle of Hastings? What if Annie Oakley had missed her shot and killed Kaiser Wilhelm II in 1889, when he challenged her to shoot a lighted cigar from between his teeth? In my estimation, Joseph and Hyrum Smith's presence in Carthage Jail was just such a turning point in history. I have no doubt that if they had survived, our nation and the world would be a very different place today.

I have gone to great lengths to make this book as true to life as possible. In particular, I have tried to make these people speak and sound the way they actually did in 1840s America. A quotation from Mark Twain in his introduction to Huck Finn best says what I have attempted:

In this book a number of dialects are used, to wit: the Missouri Negro dialect; the extremest form of the backwoods Southwestern dialect; the ordinary "Pike County" dialect; and four modified varieties of this last. The shadings have not been done in a haphazard fashion, or by guesswork; but painstakingly, and with the trustworthy guidance and support of personal familiarity with these several forms of speech.

I make this explanation for the reason that without it many readers would suppose that all these characters were trying to talk alike and not succeeding.

(Mark Twain, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn)

Would that I were as conversant with these dialects as Mark Twain was! In addition to some of the dialects he mentioned, I have sometimes made use of the broadest, most flap-jawed southern patois of all, as found in the writings of "Sut Lovingood" (George Washington Harris), a contemporary and inspiration to Mark Twain.

Many of the early leaders of the Church came from New England, including Joseph Smith and Brigham Young, and they no doubt spoke with a rather strong West New England "twang" which I have not attempted to imitate here. However, I have tried to mimic the following accents, with varying degrees of success: Southern English, Irish, Cockney, Welsh, Yorkshire/Cumbrian, Yiddish, German, and French. The accents of persons such as William Clayton, Charles Lambert, and Dan Jones were not written haphazardly, but are based on their place of origin in the British Isles.

Writing in dialect is an imprecise business at best, and the overusage of it can get in the way of the narrative. After awhile, the many dropped h's and apostrophes can become a liability. Unfortunately, there are simply not enough letters in the alphabet to portray the subtle nuances of all the English dialects used here. I found that certain dialects were fairly easy to render (Welsh, Cumbrian), while others were nearly impossible (Received Southern Pronunciation, the "Queen's English"). Unless you have actually heard a Yorkie or a Lankie's speech patterns, much of the effect of this dialect may be lost on you. Also, the use of written dialect can mislead us into thinking that the less "proper" (i.e., 21st century American-sounding) a person's speech was, the less educated they were. While this is certainly true of some of the characters in this book (Prudence Bigelow, for instance), it was not generally the case, then or now.

As a final check on the accuracy of this book, I have carefully compared it against Webster's 1828 Dictionary, in order to weed out any 21st-century anachronisms. Whether these efforts have made this a better yarn, I shall leave to the reader to decide.

To the best of my knowledge, no one has ever succeeded in fictionalizing Joseph Smith's life while still respecting his character. How could they? To the non-Mormons, he was and is a complete mystery. At the other end of the spectrum, Latter-day Saint authors tend to treat him with such reverence (and rightly so) that it is well-nigh impossible to explore his true personality.

Those who have written about Joseph Smith – and they are legion – have generally used two approaches. They either turn him into something he was not (a charlatan, a clever but lazy oaf, or a modern Mahomet) or, if they are more honest, they simply write "around" him. In the latter category are several extremely popular series written recently by Latter-day Saint authors, which I would prefer not to mention here by name.

No novel about Joseph Smith can surpass the true history of his life. As he said of himself,

"You don't know me; you never knew my heart. No man knows my history. I cannot tell it; I shall never undertake it. I don't blame any one for not believing my history. If I had not experienced what I have, I would not have believed it myself."

Since this book is an historical extrapolation, no one should assume that it represents the official views of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The views expressed here are solely my own. I have tried to tread lightly when it comes to Church doctrine or sacred matters, and I have relied heavily on historical records concerning polygamy, the Nauvoo temple, Church organization, Joseph Smith's campaign for President, and slavery. In addition, most of the miracles portrayed here are based on historical accounts – they actually happened.

The first chapter of this book is a meticulously accurate depiction of the actual events leading up to the instant of the martyrdom. As near as we can tell from the many written accounts, it really happened this way. After that, all kinds of amazing "alternate timelines" unfold, as Joseph Smith pursues his campaign for the Presidency.

For the record, these are the historical facts: Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum were incarcerated in Carthage Jail, Illinois, where on June 27th 1844, they were both killed by an armed mob. John Taylor was severely wounded in the attack; Willard Richards escaped with just a nick on his left ear. The campaign to elect Joseph Smith President of the United States died with him. In February of 1846, Brigham Young led the first company of Saints out of Nauvoo, and in 1847 the first pioneer company made the long journey to the Valley of the Great Salt Lake. The rest, as they say, is history...

Kurt F. Kammeyer

CHAPTER 1

CARTHAGE, Thursday, June 27 1844, 10:30 a.m.

"Joseph, look!"

"What is it, Hyrum?" said Joseph, as he joined his elder brother at the south window of the Carthage jail.

"'Tis Governor Ford, an' he's leaving town without us!"

John Taylor and Willard Richards came to the window and looked out.

"But 'e promised t' take you an' Joseph wi' 'im", Taylor said in surprise.

Through the south and east windows of the jail the four men had a panoramic view of Carthage and the surrounding countryside. Scattered about the streets of the town were small groups of Carthage Greys, conspicuous in their light blue-gray shirts. A mile to the south, about a hundred Warsaw militiamen were milling aimlessly about. The Governor had ordered them to disband, but about half of them had refused, saying they would "use up ol' Joe Smith first". And directly in front of the jail entrance, on the south side, were seven more Carthage Greys with orders to "guard" the jail – but only against anyone attempting to leave, not enter.

Joseph observed that a company of cavalry was forming up at the west end of Main Street. The four men watched from the upper room of the jail as Governor Thomas Ford took his place at the head of the Augusta Dragoons. Ford drew his sword and gave a signal, and the fifty horsemen started slowly moving in a double column down the road towards Nauvoo.

"It appears we've been left to our own devices", Joseph remarked, as he retreated from the window.

"I would prefer to say, thrown to the wolves", Willard Richards replied. "The only troops we could half trust our lives to are those Augusta militia. The Governor is leaving our worst enemies here to 'guard' us. I find that extremely disquieting."

For the past three days, Joseph and Hyrum had been detained in Carthage by one of their most bitter enemies, Justice of the Peace Robert F. Smith, who was also Captain of the Carthage Greys militia. There was not a shred of legality in their imprisonment, but since Justice Robert F. Smith was also the town judge, jailer, and coroner, the prisoners had little choice but to submit to the outrage. Willard Richards and John Taylor were free to go, and possibly Hyrum too, but they all chose to risk their lives by staying near their prophet and brother.

The morning had been overcast and oppressive, with a light drizzle, which perfectly matched the mood of the prisoners.

"Well", said Hyrum, as he withdrew his head from the window. "We must fend for ourselves as best we can."

They heard footsteps on the stairs. A few moments later, Cyrus Wheelock, John Bernhisel and Stephen Markham entered the room. Joseph's countenance brightened noticeably when he saw his old friends.

Markham spoke. "Brethren, you are well, I hope?"

Willard Richards replied, "The jailer, Mr. Stigall, treats us fairly. I wish I could say as much for the mobocrats that surround us here."

Stephen Markham pondered this for a moment, then he turned to Joseph and said,

"Brother Joseph, I say we put an end to this affray, and quickly! If you wish, I can instantly raise two cohorts of the Nauvoo Legion to guard you home. Why must you submit to this abuse?"

John Taylor exclaimed, "Aye, Stephen is right, they's nae use t'firtlen aboot it! Joseph, if tha'll pairmit, an' say t' word, ah'll have ye out o' this gaol in five hours, e'en if we hesta' tear it doon. We can easy raise enow force t' free thyssen an' Hyrum! If ye ask me, t' whole affair, 'tis a legal farce, an' a flagrant ootrage upon oor liberty an' rights!"

Joseph sat down on the corner of the bed and replied with a sigh,

"Stephen, John, I dare not call out the Legion. Were I to do so, it would be all the excuse the Governor needed to disband the Legion. Or worse, it would ignite the flames that would engulf this town, and all of Hancock County, and finally this whole nation. I'm determined to see this 'legal farce' through to the end. I intend to engage counsel to defend us here in Carthage, and writs are being drawn up to release us from this jail. There's nothing more to be done."

Joseph smiled faintly. "You know brethren, I'm somewhat conversant in the matter of these 'legal farces', having been arraigned some forty times, by my count."

A voice echoed up the stairs. It was the jailer, Mr. Stigall.

"Time's up, gen'lmen", he shouted.

Cyrus Wheelock glanced quickly around, then he drew a small Ethan Allen "pepperbox" pistol from his pocket, remarking softly at the same time,

"Would any of you like to have this?"

Joseph held out his hand. "Yes, give it to me."

He took the pistol and put it in his pocket. Joseph then took a single-shot flintlock pistol which had been given him previously by John S. Fullmer, and gave it to Hyrum, saying,

"Here, you may have use for this."

Hyrum took the pistol, looked down at it glumly and replied,

"I hate to use such things or to see them used."

He pulled the cock back one notch and carefully lifted the pan cover to check the priming.

"So do I", said Joseph, "but we may have to, to defend our lives."

Joseph handed several letters to Cyrus, including one addressed to his wife which read in part:

CARTHAGE JAIL, June 27th, 1844.

20 minutes past eight a.m.

DEAR EMMA:-

I am very much resigned to my lot, knowing I am justified and have done the best that could be done. Give my love to the children and all my friends, Mr. Brewer, and all who inquire after me; and as for 'treason'-I know that I have not committed any, and they cannot prove an appearance of anything of the kind, so you need not have any fears that any harm can happen to us on that score. May God bless you all. Amen.

There was a sense of urgency in Joseph's voice as he handed the letters to Cyrus and said,

"Brother Cyrus, I want you to instruct the commanders of the Legion to avoid all military display or any other movement likely to produce excitement during the governor's visit to the city. And also, tell all my friends, if they value the feelings and welfare of their Prophet and Patriarch, to remain perfectly calm and quiet."

Hyrum then took Cyrus aside and said,

"And make certain that the City Council receives Captain Singleton's certificate for the Legion arms, and make sure that O.H. Browning is agreeable to defending Joseph and myself next week... And remember us to my dear Mary."

John Taylor chimed in. "An' also Leonora an' me bairns..."

Willard approached Cyrus and said, "Brother Cyrus, are you sure you won't forget all this?"

Hyrum glanced at Willard, then he fixed Cyrus with a fierce gaze and said,

"Brother Wheelock will remember all we tell him, and he will never forget the occurrences of this day."

Cyrus left the jail with his letters and messages. A short time later, Willard Richards was taken sick with vomiting. He stumbled over to the bed and sat down heavily, with his head between his knees.

"I'll be alright in a moment", he mumbled, reaching for the chamber pot. "It must be something I had for breakfast."

Joseph looked at him anxiously, then turned to Stephen Markham and said,

"Brother Stephen, you have a pass from the Governor to go in and out of the jail. Would you go and get the doctor something to settle his stomach?"

"Very well, Joseph", said Stephen. "I'll return instantly... Here, you mought find this useful as well."

He handed his large hickory cane, called the "rascal-beater", to John Taylor for their protection; then he went out for the medicine.

Stephen made his way to the Carthage general store and purchased some laudanum. Just as he was arriving back at the jail, elbowing his way through the crowds, a man by the name of Stewart recognized him and called out,

"Old man, you'd best leave town in five minutes!"

Markham replied stoutly, "I shall not do it!" This drew the attention of several Carthage Greys nearby, and before he knew it he was surrounded by a group of drunken, hostile militiamen.

"Damn' wife-stealin' p'ligmast", one of them sneered. "Let's run 'im out'a town!"

The soldiers gathered around him, lifted him up and put him on his horse. Markham resisted, but the soldiers poked him and his horse with their bayonets, driving him away from the jail and out towards the road to Nauvoo. He decided that despite what Joseph had said, the best course of action was to ride to Nauvoo and raise the Legion to rescue the prisoners. He thought,

I know what the Prophet said about not raising the Legion, but I refuse to let him die without a fight.

As he reached the western edge of town, Stephen Markham glanced back along Main Street. In the distance, he thought he could just see Joseph gazing sadly back at him from the upper window of the jail.

NAUVOO, June 27, 2:00 p.m.

The road between Nauvoo and Carthage was a very busy place on June 27, 1844.

The "road" itself was little more than a muddy, rutted path through the Illinois woods, studded with stumps, boulders and branches. Messengers were riding all day along its 25 crooked miles, carrying letters from Carthage and news from Nauvoo. All morning long, militias from Appanoose, Green Plains and Warsaw converged on Carthage along the road. Early in the day, Captain Singleton's state troops took the road to Nauvoo to collect the state arms that were on loan to the Nauvoo Legion. Then they carted them off toward Springfield along the same path.

As he rode along the Nauvoo-Carthage road with his troops, Governor Thomas Ford thought about the turmoil that had flared up in Illinois since he had succeeded Governor Thomas Carlin in 1842:

Carlin was a fool to invite these damn Mormons into the state, and then dump the whole ruckus into my lap. Our treasury is empty, and the state is broke. There is scarcely two hundred thousand dollars in hard currency in all of Illinois. We can ill afford to raise militias, only to have them blow each other to smithereens.

Governor Ford had several reasons for riding to Nauvoo on this day. His official purpose was to look into the events surrounding the destruction of the Nauvoo Expositor press. He planned to warn the Mormons not to try any rash moves while their leaders were in Carthage Jail. Ford also planned to search the city for counterfeiters. If there were other, private reasons for the visit, well, he kept them to himself.

A soggy tree branch slapped him in the face. He wiped the leaves off his face and continued on down the path.

The people of this state should be out plowing and planting, not fighting each other. This spring has been so damp, I would venture to say scarcely an acre of crops has been planted in all of Hancock County. All the streams and rivers are full to overflowing. If the crops aren't in the ground soon, there's a better than even chance of famine this fall.

As the Governor and his troops approached Nauvoo from the east, he noticed that a "marquee" had been erected by the side of the road – a small canvas tent with no front. Two Nauvoo Legion soldiers, a private and a general, stepped out of the marquee and blocked Ford's path.

"Halt! Who goes there?" cried the young private as he brandished his musket. "Present your pass!"

Ford leaned over his saddle, his face even with the sentry's, and sneered,

"I'm Thomas Ford, Governor of this God-forsaken state, and this is Captain Dunn, of the state militia. And just who in damnation do you fancy yourself, you country jake?"

The private backed away, suddenly a little less certain of himself, and his officer stepped in, saluting smartly.

"Governor, sir, you know me – I'm Hosea Stout, Brigadier General of the Nauvoo Legion. I apologize for the delay. As a precaution, we've been asking all those entering Nauvoo to show a signed pass."

"I'll see you in Halifax first, Stout, and then I won't!" Ford growled, spurring his horse forward. His dragoons followed him, brushing by the two foot soldiers.

As Ford and his troops approached the temple, he noticed that the Nauvoo Legion was busy assembling on the parade ground. He recognized many of the Legion officers, who were directing the assembly from Joseph Smith's preaching stand east of the temple. The Governor quickly ran his eyes over the huge assembly and estimated that between two and three thousand armed men were milling about. Horses, wagons, piles of provisions, and stands of muskets told his practiced eye that this was no routine parade-ground drill.

What the devil, he thought, shaking his head in astonishment. When we passed the Nauvoo Charter, we never anticipated this. We foresaw perhaps a few hundred militia here, not Napoleon's "Grande Armee". The Carthage Greys only number about 30; the Warsaw Militia, about 150. With an army this size, Joe Smith could make himself the first American Emperor. Why, the entire U.S. Army has less than 8,000 men.

As Ford's little band rode past, the Legion began forming up in grim silence along the road by companies. Ford noticed a general lack of "spit and polish"; few of the men save the officers had uniforms. Many of the troops were equipped with flintlocks such as the old Harper's Ferry 1816 model, or the even older Charleville musket.

A motley but well-disciplined band, Ford thought. If in nothing else but sheer size, there is not a militia in the State that could whip these ragamuffins, including my Augusta dragoons here.

Ford heard a muffled "Hurrah for Tommy Ford!" from the back of the Legion, followed by catcalls. He ignored them and guided his horse up to the stand near the temple, where several officers were leading the muster. He recognized Major General Jonathan Dunham and John P. Greene, the Nauvoo City Marshall.

"General, what is the meaning of this muster?" Ford said sternly.

Dunham nervously replied, "Why, Governor, your own Captain Singleton called us out for review just this morning. This is but a regularly scheduled drill to maintain our proficiency..."

"Drill, my eye! Do you think I don't know how to spot troops preparing for the field? I have dismissed the Carthage and Warsaw militias, and I hereby order the Nauvoo Legion to do the same! Return to your homes!"

Dunham scowled at Ford for a moment, then he reluctantly signaled to his Lieutenants, who passed the word down the ranks, and the companies slowly began to dissolve, grumbling as they went.

The Governor turned his horse back to the west and continued slowly down Mulholland Street, passing townsfolk and small groups of Legionnaires along the way. Then he turned left on Main Street, rode by the Masonic Hall and the half-finished Print Shop, and finally reached Joseph Smith's Mansion on Water Street.

As he dismounted Ford said, "Captain Dunn, we will bivouac here for now. I have a few things to say to these bumpkins."

By now, a large crowd of curious citizens had gathered near Main and Water Street. Governor Ford and his aides climbed onto the foundation of an unfinished building on the southwest corner. It was the very place from which Joseph Smith had addressed the Nauvoo Legion just nine days before.

A light drizzle began falling as Ford cast his gaze over the crowd. He could see that they were mostly poor, many of them shabbily dressed. He thought,

Just the sort of sincere dupes who would give their all to a man like Joe Smith. Well, here's hark from the tomb for them.

He began speaking:

"Citizens of Nauvoo! A great crime has been done by destroying the Expositor press and placing the city under martial law, and a severe atonement must be made, so prepare your minds for the emergency."

There was a stir in the crowd, and people glanced at each other in bewilderment.

"Another cause of excitement is the fact of your having so many firearms. The public are afraid that you are going to use them against the government!"

Loud boos and expressions of denial followed.

This isn't working, Ford thought, but he plowed ahead anyway:

"I know there's a great prejudice against you on account of your peculiar religion, but you ought to be praying Saints, not military Saints."

He paused for effect, and then shook his finger in the air.

"Depend upon it, a little more misbehavior from the citizens, and the torch, which is already lighted, will be applied, and your city may be reduced to ashes, and extermination would inevitably follow; and it gives me great pain to think that there is danger of so many innocent women and children being exterminated!"

There were a few gasps from the crowd.

He paused again, then he spoke slowly with emphasis.

"If anything of a serious character should befall the lives or property of the persons who are prosecuting your leaders, you will be held responsible!"

By now the crowd was becoming openly hostile. This is hopeless, thought Ford. No sense bullyragging this rabble, and anyhow, the fuse is already lit.

A man separated himself from the back of the crowd and trotted across the street to the Nauvoo Mansion. Ford noticed he had long, scraggly black hair, a full beard, and walked with a limp.

It's that damned Rockwell, Ford noted to himself. He turned his attention back to the now-dwindling crowd.

"I propose to take a vote on the question, whether you will strictly observe the laws even in opposition to your Prophet and leaders. Do I hear yea or nay?"

A halfhearted "Yea!" arose from the crowd.

Good enough, Ford thought.

He stepped down and made his way across the street to the Nauvoo Mansion, followed by his aides. He rapped on the door with the hilt of his sword. Emma Smith met him at the door.

"Such a brave speech, Mr. Governor", she said with contempt. "Just what do you want from us here?"

"Mrs. Smith, we've had a long ride from Carthage, and would like the use of a room for a short time to refresh ourselves", said Ford, as he scraped the mud from his boots. "If you wish, we can reimburse you for it."

"Come in", she said wearily, motioning them in. Dark circles under Emma's eyes showed she hadn't slept for many days. She was also four months pregnant, and not feeling very chipper.

"The bar is on your left", she said with a dismissive wave. Ford's officers entered the bar room, but Emma grabbed Ford's arm as he turned. "Not so fast, Your Excellency, we should like to have a word with you."

Ford and Captain Dunn reluctantly entered the parlor on the right. Emma had been holding vigil there with several of her Mormon sisters: Eliza R. Snow; Mary Elizabeth Lightner; John Taylor's wife Leonora, Willard Richards' wife Jennetta; and Mary Fielding Smith, Hyrum's wife.

Emma looked closely at Governor Ford. She saw a small man, about 110 pounds she guessed, with unremarkable features; a narrow face, and a thin nose that bent a little to one side.

How was this man ever elected? she wondered.

When the Governor and Captain Dunn were seated and introduced, Emma spoke.

"Mr. Ford, why are our husbands still holden against their will in Carthage? They went there, not to satisfy any broken law, but to answer your unjust demand. They have now been remanded to jail at the hands of those who most strenuously seek their death. Why do you persist in this horrid persecution?"

Emma watched Ford look down at his boots for a moment; then he looked up and said,

"Mrs. Smith, the occasion dictates that I explain my course of conduct in this matter. I'm placed in peculiar circumstances and seem to be blamed by all parties. No public officer ever acted from purer or more patriotic intentions than I have. I'm narrowly watched in all my proceedings in this State. I'm supposed by some to have the powers of an emperor to suppress dissent, exile thousands of citizens from the state, et cetera. I assure you, I have no such authority. I cannot, nor would I interfere in a purely judicial matter, such as that in which the two Smith brothers are involved at this time. I must let the law take its course."

Mary Fielding Smith spoke up from across the room. "Gov'nor Ford, we repeat, ah husbands ah guilty of noo crime! The Nauvoo Expositor affair 'as been settled by a non-Mormon Justice of th' Peace, Squire Daniel H. Wells. Joseph an' Hyrum 'ave satisfied the law in every whit. Must they now submit also t' lynch law, courtesy of Judge Robert F. Smith?"

Jennetta Richards turned to Emma and said, "Emma, why don't tha' read that letter from Joseph?"

Emma retrieved a letter from the side table and read:

Carthage, June 25th, 1844.

2:30 o'clock p.m.

Dear Emma. – I have had an interview with Governor Ford, and he treats us honorably. Myself and Hyrum have been again arrested for treason because we called out the Nauvoo Legion; but when the truth comes out we have nothing to fear. We all feel calm and composed.

This morning Governor Ford introduced myself and Hyrum to the militia in a very appropriate manner, as General Joseph Smith and General Hyrum Smith. There was a little mutiny among the Carthage Greys, but I think the governor has and will succeed in enforcing the laws. I do hope the people of Nauvoo will continue pacific and prayerful.

Governor Ford has just concluded to send some of his militia to Nauvoo to protect the citizens, and I wish that they may be kindly treated. They will co-operate with the police to keep the peace. The Governor's orders will be read in the hearing of the police and officers of the Legion, as I suppose.

3 o'clock. – The Governor has just agreed to march his army to Nauvoo, and I shall come along with him. The prisoners, all that can, will be admitted to bail. I am as ever,

Joseph Smith.

Emma dropped the letter in her lap and looked up. "Now, Your Excellency, where are our husbands?"

In the bar room, Orrin Porter Rockwell was reluctantly waiting table for the Governor's aides.

This "bar" was actually the main room of the Mansion's first floor, which Joseph had recently fitted out for Porter with a long counter, stools, tables and chairs. There were two advantages in this odd arrangement: It kept Porter gainfully employed, and it allowed him, as Joseph's bodyguard, to keep a close eye on people as they came and went in Nauvoo. With Porter was Joseph's scribe, William Clayton.

"Gentlemen, what'll it be – malt beer, root beer, switchel, sarsaparilla, or lem'nade?" Porter said.

Colonel Buckmaster snorted. "Jist our luck, we fetch up in a dry town. Don't you Mormons never have no fun?"

Porter's gray eyes flashed, but he replied coolly,

"You bring your custom here, you git what we sell. This ain't a dram shop, true, but then the town ain't really all that dry. Sister Smith just don't allow hard likker in 'er house, that's all. If this bar ain't to your likin', they's always the pump house out back. An' if that don't quench your thirst, why, you kin go jump in the river. It's all wheat to me."

"Lemonade, hell", said William Marr. "I could use a good shot o' forty-rod whisky 'bout now. But I'll settle for a malt beer, I reckon."

As Porter drew the men's drinks, Mr. Coolie said mockingly,

"Why, Mister Rockwell, it jist ain't like the 'Destroyin' Angel' to meeky up to a woman, now is it?"

Porter thought for a moment and replied with a cold smile,

"You don't know Emma. Anyway, you see that foundation 'cross the street, where your numbskull Governor was raggin' us? That's my new barber shop an' tavern, courtesy o' Emma's husband. You come back in six months, I'll serve you a phlegm-cutter that'll set y' back on yer heels jist fine."

William Marr shook his head and said, looking into his cup,

"You are a man of many talents, Mr. Rockwell: Lawman, liveryman, bar-keeper, fugitive from justice..."

Porter slowly set down the beer he was drawing.

"I didn't shoot Boggs!" he said emphatically. "If'n I had, he'd still be dead now. You think I was court'n 'round after a halter? My only mistake was lett'n them Missouri pukes git the bulge on me, whilst I was just pass'n through St. Louis. Then they throwed me in that blithesome Independence Jail for nine months, where I come nigh to starvin'. I wouldn't set foot in Missouri agin, if they made me King of France."

Mr. Marr looked around the room. "Last time I was in this room in April, it was fitted out as a 'court of law'. Times sure do change, don't they, Port? Tell me, what ever happened to that black boy, Chism, what ol' Joe Smith accused me right here of whippin?"

Porter replied, "Don't rightly know, Bill. He mought'a gone south, but then again, he mought'a gone north."

Mr. Coolie fished out a wad of plug tobacco and bit off a chaw, then he looked around.

"Damn, no spittoons, neither", he said. "C'mon, men, this is too various fer me. You got a private room we kin use, Port?"

"Upstairs, on your left", said Porter.

After the men were gone, Porter turned to William Clayton and said quietly,

"What's the drift here, Will? I don't like the feel o' this."

"Port, in truth I dinna ken. Ah'm afeared aboot t' brethren, as well."

CARTHAGE, 3:15 p.m.

The skies had cleared, and the oppressive, steamy heat had forced the men to open all the windows, in the vain hope of catching the slightest cooling breeze.

Joseph looked down at the floor and remarked quietly,

"I've had a good deal of anxiety about my safety since I left Nauvoo, which I never had before when I was under arrest. I can't help these feelings, and they've depressed me. I've not felt the powers of darkness to this degree, since the day I first called upon God near my father's home in Palmyra. The Savior of the World must surely have experienced this same feeling of gloom and astonishment as he entered the Garden of Gethsemane..." His voice trailed off.

The other men stared back at Joseph in fear, but said nothing.

About this time the guards outside the jail began singing an old ditty called "The Hebrew Children", which they set to their own vulgar words:

What shall we do with the Mormon Prophet?

What shall we do with the Mormon Prophet?

What shall we do with the Mormon Prophet?

Blow him straight to Hell!

Joseph bore this indignity for a few minutes, then he spoke up. "Elder Taylor, would you please sing that song that's come lately into Nauvoo, 'The Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief'?"

John was reluctant, but he began singing softly,

"A poor wayfarin' man o' grief

'ad often crossed me on me way,

Who sued so 'umbly for relief

That I could nevair answer, Nay.

I 'ad na' power ta' ask 'is name;

Whither 'e went or whence 'e came;

Yet there was somethin' in 'is eye

That won me' love, I knew not why."

When he had finished the song, the four men sat speechless for a time. An overpowering sense of gloom and foreboding continued to grow in the room. The guards outside continued their raucous song. Finally, Hyrum turned to John Taylor in desperation and said,

"Brother Taylor, would you sing that song for us again?"

"Ah donna' mooch feel like it", he replied.

"Oh, never mind", said Hyrum. "Commence singing, and you'll get the spirit of it."

Elder Taylor reluctantly sang the song again, but the feeling of foreboding remained.

NAUVOO, 3:30 p.m.

Governor Ford had excused himself from the ladies and retreated to an upstairs room of the Mansion along with Captain Dunn. Leonora Taylor sighed with relief.

"I don't trust that man", she said.

"How could anyone trust him?" said Eliza. "He's broken every promise he ever made to us. He's a small man, with small ideas. I shall be glad when this whole Expositor affair is over and done with."

Jennetta turned to Mary Elizabeth Lightner. "Mary, when th' Goovernor arrived, tha' ware just on to tellin' us about how tha' saved the Book of Commandments?"

"Yes, well", said Mary Elizabeth, brightening. "It was like this. I was a young girl, not fourteen years old, livin' in Independence. Just before the troubles began there, I went to work for Peter Whitmer, who was a tailor by trade, an' just married. He was crowded with work, an' Lilburn Boggs offered him a room in his house, as he'd just been elected Lieutenant Governor, an' wanted Peter to make him a suit for his inauguration ceremonies. Peter did make them, an' I stitched the collars an' faced the coat."

"What! Thou stitched a coat for that ninny, Gov'nor Boggs?" exclaimed Mary Fielding.

"Yes'm, an' Mr. Boggs often came in to note the progress of the work. As I was considered a good seamstress, he hired me to make his fine, ruffled bosom shirts, an' also to assist his wife in her sewin'. I worked for them some weeks; during that time, they tried to induce me to leave the Church an' live with them...

"But I digress. One day the mob began tearin' down the printin' office, a two story building, an' drivin' Brother Phelps' family out o' the lower part of the house an' puttin' their things in the street. They brought out some large sheets of paper, an' said, 'Here are the Mormon Commandments.' My sister Caroline an' myself was in a corner of a fence watchin' 'em; when they spoke of the commandments I was determined to have some of 'em.

"Sister said if I went to get any of 'em she'd go too, but said, 'They'll kill us!' Whilst their backs was turned, pryin' out the gable end of the house, we went an' got our arms full, and was turnin' away, when some of the mob seen us and called on us to stop, but we run as fast as we could. Two of 'em started after us. Seein' a gap in a fence, we run into a large cornfield, laid the papers on the ground, an' hid 'em with our persons. The corn was 'bout five, six feet high, an' very thick; they hunted 'round considerable, an' come very near us but didn't find us.

"After we satisfied ourselves that they'd given up the search for us, we tried to find our way outen the field. Soon we come to an old log stable which looked as though it han't been used for years. Sister Phelps an' her children was carryin' in brush an' pilin' it up at one side of the barn to lay their beds on. She asked me what I had, so I told her. She then took them from us, which made us feel real bad. They got them bound in small books an' sent me one, which I prized very highly. I have it to this day."

She fished a small, leather-bound book out of her work bag and showed it to them:

BOOK

OF

COMMANDMENTS

FOR THE GOVERNMENT OF THE

Church of Christ

Organized according to law, on the

6th of April, 1830.

==============================

ZION:

Published by W. W. Phelps & Co.

–––

1833

About this time, Porter went upstairs to retrieve his hat. As he stepped into the room, he saw Governor Ford and his aides seated there. Captain Dunn was standing behind a chair, speaking. Just as Porter entered, Dunn dropped his right hand and said,

"...The deed is done before this time."

The room fell silent as all of them stared at Porter standing awkwardly in the doorway. He retrieved his hat from the peg, and then backed slowly out of the room, his mind racing. Then he tiptoed down the stairs and tore madly out the front door into the street.

As he stepped outside he noticed that some of the Augusta troops, camped across the street, were eyeing him curiously. Trying to act nonchalant, he hobbled as quickly as he could up Main Street in the direction of the Browning gun shop, until he was well out of earshot of them.

What to do, he thought desperately. He glanced wildly around Main Street, and suddenly spied Stephen Markham riding towards him. "They've killed them!" he screeched as Markham approached.

"Who? What?" said Markham.

Porter was caught between shouting and whispering to Markham, to avoid drawing attention. "The Governor and his flatheads, they've hived Joseph and Hyrum! Curse them! I catched them talkin' 'bout it upstairs jist now!"

"I don't think so... They were safe when I last saw them, but I suspicioned something when I was run out of Carthage earlier today", said Markham. "The Greys poked me with their bayonets 'till the blood ran in my boots. I'm raising the Legion even now, so there may still be time to save them. We're meeting on the parade ground."

"I'll get my horse", Porter shouted over his shoulder, as he made a beeline for the stables behind the Mansion. He glanced briefly back at the Governor's troops, still camped across the street from the Mansion. They seemed to have lost interest in him.

CARTHAGE, 4:00 p.m.

The jail guard was again changed, only eight men being stationed at the jail, whilst the main body of the Carthage Greys were in camp about a quarter of a mile distant, on the public square.

At about five p.m. Mr. Stigall returned to the jail, and said that earlier in the day Stephen Markham had been surrounded by a mob, who had driven him out of Carthage, and he had gone to Nauvoo.

Joseph replied, "That would explain why he never returned with the medicine for Dr. Richards."

Mr. Stigall replied nervously, "Mr. Smith, you know I wanted no part o' this! But I'm duty-bound to obey ol' Justice Bob Smith's orders. If my put was wuth anythin' roun' here, y'all'd be free now."

He glanced nervously out the open windows at the distant mobs. "Y'know, jist a word t'the wise, I think y'all'd be safer in the jail cell, 'way from these here open winders."

Joseph thought for a moment and said, "After supper we'll go in."

Mr. Stigall went out, and Joseph said to Dr. Richards,

"If we go into the cell, will you go in with us?"

The doctor answered, "Brother Joseph, you didn't ask me to cross the river with you – you didn't ask me to come to Carthage – you didn't ask me to come to jail with you – and do you think I'd forsake you now? But I'll tell you what I'll do; if you're condemned to be hung for treason, I'll be hung in your stead, and you shall go free."

Joseph said, "You cannot."

The doctor stoutly replied, "My free spirit cries, 'I will.'"

NAUVOO, 5:00 p.m.

Governor Ford and his entourage left the Mansion and rode north up Main Street, with the Augusta troops following. While passing up the street, Ford turned to Captain Dunn with a grin and said, "Let's give these clodhoppers a show."

Captain Dunn spurred his horse, drew his saber and cried, "Company, present arms! Charge!" The dragoons drew their sabers in response, and the whole company went thundering up Main Street, cutting and thrusting, taking up the whole width of the street, until they passed Lyon's Store. Men, women, children and animals scattered wildly to avoid the onslaught.

The troops slowed their horses to a trot as they made the turn onto Mulholland Street.

"There now, Governor, was that whoop-jamboreehoo enough for you?" Dunn said, grinning.

At the Mansion, the women were still sitting in the parlor talking softly. Leonora finally threw down her knitting in frustration and exclaimed,

"How do such despicable men always worm themselves into office? Why, if Mister Governor Thomas Ford had any sand in him, he'd end this whole charade right now!"

"At least he doesn't openly pairsecute us, like Boggs and his extairminatin' order", said Jennetta. "We should be thank-worthy far that mooch."

"Small comfo't, I say", said Mary Fielding Smith. "But I do think we sometimes bring these troubles upon ou'selves. Why, Sister Richa'ds, d' you know why Gov'nor Boggs wrote that exte'mination ordah?"

"Why, did he need a raison t' grind us down?" said Jennetta. "I thought he just plainly despised us."

"Nay, t'was more 'an that", said Mary Fielding. "Things ware passing tense in Far West in thairty-eight. After Sidney Rigdon preached his famous 'salt sairmon', as ye know, many of th' less faithful Saints left th' chairch or waire shown th' door, includin' Oliver Cowdery an' John Whitma', for instance. Well, on July Fo'th, Sidney stood up on a stump and ga'e one o' his famous stem-winder speeches, ye know 'is style. He actually had th' cheek to dare th' mob to come an' drae' us out! He opened his 'ead an' said, as I recall, 'It shall be between us an' them a war of exte'mination, for we will folla' them till the last drop of blood is spilled, or else they will have to exte'minate us...'

"I was fair tekken sick when I 'eard Brother Sidney say those words. T'was all th' excuse Boggs needed ta boot us out of Missouri and drag our 'usbands off to that vile Libe'ty Jail."

Mary Elizabeth Lightner spoke up.

"I'm certain this will all blow over", she said, trying to sound cheerful. "The Nauvoo Expositor affair, and William Law an' his tall tales 'bout 'spiritual wifery' – We all know there's no truth to them, agreed?"

The other women glanced at each other, but said nothing.

At about this time, Governor Ford reined his horse up at the west entrance to the temple and dismounted, saying,

"Gentlemen, as long as we're searching Nauvoo for bogus, we might as well start here."

He climbed the steps of the temple, secretly admiring the architecture as he went.

This would make ever so fine a state capitol, he mused. Even our unfinished capitol building in Springfield can't compare with it.

Ford was met at the door by Hans Hanson and his brother Peter, who were the doorkeepers, and William Sterrett, a temple guard.

Hans and Peter Hanson were big men; their frames nearly filled the two arched doorways of the temple. That, of course was their purpose there.

"Vat do you vont here?" Hans said firmly. "I am sorry, but you vill not enter tis house mitout a search varrant."

Captain Dunn cocked his pistol in Hans' face. "Why, I have six warrants right here, sealed in lead. Does that satisfy you, you dumb Swede?"

"Dane", muttered Hans, as he backed off.

"We have reason to believe there is a bogus printing press in this building, and we intend to find it", said Ford. "Please stand aside."

The walls of the temple were finished to the second story, but the third story and roof were still incomplete. Hans and Peter reluctantly led the way through the portico onto the temporary main floor. Great timbers and blocks of limestone lay about, but no workmen were evident.

Probably all playing tin soldier today, thought Ford. He looked up to the second story walls, and noticed the round windows. Port-holes in a building, he marveled. Well, that just bangs anything.

Just at that moment, there was a faint boom from the east, as if a cannon were fired from a great distance. Ford, Dunn, and the other aides glanced at each other without saying a word. Ford looked up and noticed the afternoon shadows slanting through the roofless building from the west. "No printing presses on this floor, obviously", he declared. "Take us downstairs."

They descended a spiral staircase in the southwest corner, and entered a large basement area, dimly lit by several oil lamps. What Ford saw in the gloom astonished him. In the very center of the room was what appeared to be a huge washbasin, perched on the backs of twelve full-sized wooden oxen. A flight of stairs led up into the basin, and on the inner edge of the basin a chair was attached. Around the outside of the basin was a gallery with several chairs and a table.

"Lookee here, a ducking pond!" Mr. Coolie said with glee, and everyone laughed.

"Nah, this is where they baptize new Mormons", said Mr. Marr. "They holds 'em under water till they signs away all their propity to Joe Smith."

Ford stepped up to one of the oxen and laid his hand on it. Then he broke off one of the horns and passed it around. William Sterrett winced at this outrage, but said nothing.

"This is the cow with the crumply horn", said Ford, in mock solemnity.

"That tossed the maiden all forlorn", Coolie responded, giggling.

Captain Dunn looked around and said, to no one in particular,

"I daresay, this temple is a curious piece of workmanship, and it's a damned shame Joe Smith will never finish it, so we can see what sort of a finish he would have put on it... But he's dead by this time, and he'll never see this temple again."

Sterrett, shocked at his tone, said,

"They cannot kill him until he has finished his work!"

The Governor grinned broadly, while Marr said,

"Whether he has finished his work or not, by God he will not see this place again, for he's finished before this time!"

Captain Dunn pulled out his watch and said,

"Governor, it's time we was off, we been here too long already. Whether you go or not, I'm going to leave, and that damned quick."

Ford replied, "Yes, it's time for us to be going."

CARTHAGE, 5:15 p.m.

Franklin Worrell was the commander of the seven-man guard detail surrounding the jail. Worrell and the guards were all members of the Carthage Greys, and these particular guards had been hand-picked by Worrell to make a pretense of "defending" the jail when it was attacked.

At about this time, Worrell saw the mob approaching from the south and west, their faces blackened with gunpowder. He smiled.

Right on time, he thought.

As the mob encircled the building and rushed the front door of the jail, Worrell cried halfheartedly,

"Halt or we'll shoot!"

Four of his men lowered their muskets and fired their blanks directly at the attackers, who ignored the shots and scuffled briefly with the guards. Then some of the mob rushed by the guards up the flight of stairs, burst open the door, and began the work of death, while others fired in through the open windows.

In the meantime Joseph, Hyrum, and John Taylor had been sitting with their coats off. Joseph sprang to his coat for his six-shooter, Hyrum for his single barrel, Taylor for Markham's large hickory cane, and Dr. Richards for Taylor's cane. All sprang against the door, the balls whistled up the stairway, and in an instant one came through the door.

Joseph, John and Willard sprang to the left of the door, and tried to knock aside the guns of the ruffians.

Hyrum was retreating back in front of the door and snapped his pistol which missed fire, when a ball struck him in the left side of his nose, and he fell on his back on the floor saying, "I am a dead man!"

A shower of balls was pouring through all parts of the room, many of which lodged in the ceiling just above the head of Hyrum...

NAUVOO, 5:16 p.m.

Lucy M. Smith, wife of George A. Smith, was visiting at the house of her brother-in-law David Smith, just up the street from the Mansion. At this same instant, there was a tremendous din as every dog in Nauvoo began barking and howling, and all the cattle began bellowing. Lucy tried to kneel down and pray for the Prophet, but she was struck speechless, for what reason she knew not.

At the Mansion, Joseph's dog, Major, padded into the parlor and lay down, whimpering. The women eyed him curiously.

Eliza looked up suddenly in horror.

"Something dreadful is happening", she said. "I have never felt such an awful presentiment before. I sense that our husbands are in grave danger." She dropped to her knees, her arms upstretched, and cried, "Oh Lord my God!"

The other women followed her example.

Husbands? thought Mary Elizabeth Lightner, as she joined the other women in kneeling.

"Our Father, we beseech thee to spare the lives of our husbands", Eliza prayed. "Encircle them in thine arms, and protect them from the hellish designs of those in Carthage who would do them harm. Help us to trust in thy almighty power, and spare the innocent blood of these noble men that they may return unscathed to us, we pray."

"Amen", the women said in unison.

CARTHAGE, 5:16:26 p.m.

When Hyrum fell, Joseph exclaimed, "Oh dear, brother Hyrum!" and opening the door a few inches he discharged his six shooter in the stairway, two or three barrels of which missed fire. There were several cries of pain from the stairway, and the shooting paused for a moment. Then several musket barrels began poking around the gap, and Willard threw his full three hundred pound weight against the door with a crunch. There were more cries and curses from the stairway.

Elder Taylor continued parrying the guns until they had got them about half their length into the room. Joseph shouted to him,

"That's it, Brother Taylor, keep parrying them."

But Taylor shouted back, "Joseph! Ah canna' bray them off ennymore!"

He made a dash for the window opposite the door. Just as he reached the window, a ball fired from the doorway struck him on his left thigh, hitting the bone, and passing through to within half an inch of the other side. He lost all feeling in his left leg and fell on the window sill, which caught the full weight of his body on his pocket watch, smashing the face of it. Then he slumped back onto the floor.

After he fell into the room he was hit by two more balls, one of them traveling up his left wrist, and the other entering just below the left knee. He rolled in agony under the bed, which was at the right of the window in the southeast corner of the room.

Joseph, seeing there was no safety in the room, and no doubt thinking that it would save the lives of his brethren in the room if he could get out, turned calmly from the door, dropped his pistol on the floor, and sprang towards the window...
CHAPTER 2

CARTHAGE, 5:17 p.m.

...The door burst open again, and Dr. Richards retreated to the corner behind it.

John Taylor had rolled onto his right side under the bed, with his feet towards the door. Through the thick, choking smoke, he saw two men appear in the doorway, with their faces painted black. They glanced briefly at Hyrum's outstretched body in the center of the room, then they trained their muskets on Joseph, who was facing the window. He turned calmly to face the door again, his hands raised.

If I can but spare the lives of my brethren here, then lettest thy servant go in peace, Joseph thought.

Dr. Richards saw the look of resignation in Joseph's face. Then he saw the two musket barrels as they poked around the edge of the door, and he swung desperately at them with his cane. He managed to deflect one of the barrels just slightly as it discharged, and the ball struck Joseph in the right shoulder. He fell to his knees, his hands still upraised.

At the same instant, there was a flash and a boom from under the bed. In the confusion, John Taylor had retrieved Hyrum's single shot pistol from the floor, which had misfired on the first attempt, and he felled the other ruffian who had not yet fired. This cooled the mob's ardor for a moment.

As all the men at the top of the stairs had now discharged their weapons, there was a moment of confusion as they milled around the narrow landing, some trying to retrieve their fallen companions, others trying to pass more firearms up the steep, narrow stairs. Each time they tried to force the door open, Willard Richards would kick it closed again.

Suddenly, there was a cry from outside the window:

"The Mormons are coming!"

Instantly, there was a scene of utter bedlam at the top of the stairs, as the men trampled each other to obtain the outer door of the jail. Most of them landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, before fleeing in terror to the south and east.

Out at the edge of town along the Warsaw road, a signal cannon spoke with a thunderous BOOM.

As the smoke cleared in the upper room, Joseph rose to his knees and glanced cautiously out the jail window to the southeast. In every direction, men were scattering toward the woods like chaff before the wind. The blue-shirted Carthage Greys, who had been slow-marching toward the jail from the south, were now fleeing frantically to the east. A volley of fire was heard from the west, and Joseph and Willard observed several of the Greys fall to the ground. There was more firing, and then the prisoners heard at the bottom of the stairs,

"Halloo, the jail! Is anyone upstairs?"

"It's Samuel!" cried Joseph, and a moment later the Prophet's younger brother stuck his head cautiously around the ruined door casing. He was stunned by what he saw there.

The room was demolished – Bullet holes peppered the walls and ceiling, and the furnishings were all smashed and scarified. Chunks of plaster littered the floor. Sulfurous smoke still hung heavy in the room. Hyrum was stretched out on his back, his feet toward the door. John Taylor was lying under the bed on the south side of the room, bleeding from four wounds. Willard Richards came slowly out from behind the door, still brandishing John Taylor's cane.

"Oh, my dear brother Hyrum!" Samuel cried, as he crossed to the center of the room where his eldest brother was lying.

Joseph was kneeling beside Hyrum, weeping at the sight of him. Dr. Richards moved between Joseph and Samuel, felt for a pulse at Hyrum's throat, shook his head, and then moved quickly to aid John Taylor, who was still lying under the bed.

Samuel paused for a moment to catch his breath, then he looked up at Joseph.

"About two-three hours ago, Brother Markham comes riding hell-for-leather into Nauvoo, saying the mob was planning to butcher everyone in the jail. About the same time, Porter Rockwell gets wind that Governor Ford is in on the plot. We managed to raise a detail of the Nauvoo Legion, about twenty in all, and rode back just as fast as we could. If only we could have gotten here sooner..." He wept, gazing at his brother Hyrum.

"We must leave here now", said Joseph. "If the mob returns, the Legion will show them no quarter. I want no more bloodshed!"

"Not much chance of that", said Samuel, looking out the window. "Just the sight of our men was enough to send most of the mob fleeing toward Warsaw." He glanced down at Hyrum again.

"How can we move Hyrum and Brother Taylor to safety? We have no wagons, only horses."

Carefully, they slid John Taylor out from under the bed. He was very faint from loss of blood.

Joseph suddenly winced and sat down on the bed, facing Hyrum. His face was ashen, and his breathing was labored. A large red stain was slowly spreading across his right shoulder.

"My shoulder is hurt", he said weakly.

Samuel carefully lifted Joseph's vest and examined the wound.

"Your collarbone is broken, I believe", said Samuel. "Hold still, I'll bandage it and make you a sling."

Dr. Richards had removed his vest and was tearing it into strips for bandages. He looked up and said,

"Joseph, I hardly dare to move Brother John, here. He's gravely wounded. But I think we can make it as far as the Hamilton Hotel down the street."

There were footsteps on the stairs. George D. Grant and Porter Rockwell entered the room.

"Good Lord Almighty, Joseph", Porter breathed, as he viewed the carnage.

"Port, we need to get away from here now, but Hyrum is dead and John is badly wounded", said Joseph, wincing again at the pain. "If we can make it to the Hamilton Hotel, I think we shall be safe there for a time."

"Just lean on me", said Porter, as he lifted Joseph under the left arm and guided him toward the stairs.

Dr. Richards, who had bandaged John Taylor's arm and leg, now pulled the blanket off the bed and cautiously slid the suffering Elder onto it.

"Help me get him down the stairs", he said to George.

Just at that moment, Samuel doubled over and collapsed, clutching his stomach.

"Samuel! What's wrong?" Joseph cried in alarm.

From the floor, Samuel whispered, "When they rode me out of town earlier today, I bent low over the pommel for several miles to avoid being shot. I fear I may have bruised some internal organ. I'm in terrible pain."

CARTHAGE, 8:05 p.m.

From the Hamilton Hotel, Willard Richards wrote the following message to Nauvoo:

Carthage Jail, 8:05 o'clock, p.m., June 27, 1844.

Hyrum is dead. Joseph and John Taylor wounded, not very badly. Willard is well. Our guard was forced, as we believe, by a band of Missourians from 100 to 200. The job was done in an instant, and the party fled towards Warsaw instantly. This is as I believe it. The citizens here are afraid of the Mormons attacking them. I promise them no!

Joseph Smith

W. Richards

John Taylor

Willard signed for Joseph, whose right arm was in a sling. John Taylor signed the message quickly, so as not to betray the trembling in his hand. Willard handed the message to George D. Grant.

Joseph was very weak, but he raised himself up on one arm and said, "George, make all haste to reach Nauvoo before the news arrives there some other way. Tell the people that there must be no retaliation, otherwise we are all dead men here!"

George rode off along the Nauvoo-Carthage Road, accompanied by Constable David Bettisworth. When they were within about three miles of Nauvoo they met Governor Ford and his posse, who were returning to Carthage.

Ford recognized George. "You, Grant! Where d' you think you're headed?"

"To Nauvoo, with ill tidings I fear. Our Brother Hyrum Smith is dead."

Ford's jaw dropped, and he looked perfectly astounded for a moment.

"No! How can this be? And what of Joseph Smith?"

"He was wounded, but not badly. They are now at the Hamilton Hotel. John Taylor was severely wounded, and we fear for his life. A band of Missourians, as we think, two hundred or so, stormed the jail and then fled afterwards."

Ford thought quickly. Then he pointed and said,

"Captain, seize these men. They must not be permitted to raise the alarm in Nauvoo, at least not yet."

Captain Dunn's soldiers closed around the two men and seized their horse's reins. Then they hustled them back, still protesting, in the direction of Carthage.

CARTHAGE, Midnight, June 27

Hyrum's body had been laid out in an adjoining room of the hotel. John Taylor had finally lapsed into a fitful sleep. Willard watched him anxiously. Samuel was stretched out on a mattress on the floor, asleep. Joseph was still sitting up, but he nodded off from time to time. Porter Rockwell was sitting in the corner, idly honing his Barlow knife on his trousers leg.

Willard looked at his pocket watch, then he shook Joseph.

"Joseph, it's midnight, and still no word from Nauvoo. Brother Grant should've arrived there hours ago."

"I fear he may have been waylaid", said Joseph. "We must write another message and send it. Porter, you must see to it. Make every effort to get through to Nauvoo. Our very lives depend on it."

"No time to waste", said Rockwell. "You kin count on me."

Willard got out his pen and ink again. Just then, there was a sound of horses galloping down Main Street. Willard stepped to the window and looked out.

"It's Governor Ford and his posse!" said Willard.

Porter shouted, "What, that murdering little bastard?" as he jumped to his feet. "I swear, if he comes in here, I'll put him where the dogs don't bite!"

"You must do nothing of the sort", Joseph said urgently. "We will see this affair through the courts, if necessary, but we must keep our heads for now. We dare not give the Governor any reason to believe we suspect him of complicity, at least not yet!"

Porter continued to grumble under his beard.

"I'll show him justice, all six barrels worth, and a knife in the ribs for good measure..."

Ford had released George Grant and David Bettisworth about a mile and a half west of Carthage to continue on their way to Nauvoo. Ford hoped their delay would give him time enough to remove all the county records from Carthage and clear out before the infuriated Mormons reduced the town to ashes.

As he rode into town, the Governor observed the bedlam around him. Nearly the whole population of Carthage, which counted perhaps five hundred souls on a good day, was frantically packing to leave before the Mormons leveled the town. People were running to and fro, dogs were barking, children were crying, and wagons were racing down the streets in all directions. Ford thought,

This brouhaha reminds me of the last hours of Pompeii.

When Ford arrived at the courthouse, he detailed a squadron of troops to move the county records onto wagons. Then he proceeded across the county square and up Main Street to the Hamilton, accompanied by General Deming.

As he arrived at the Hamilton Hotel, Ford was shocked to see a squadron of Nauvoo Legionnaires standing guard around the building, perhaps twenty in number. How did they get here so quickly? he wondered.

Mr. Artois Hamilton met the two men at the door and showed them upstairs. As Ford entered the room, his heart skipped a beat as every eye in the room turned on him.

There was Joseph Smith, still alive, with his arm in a sling; John Taylor with his left leg and side bandaged, lying on the bed; Joseph's brother Samuel, sitting up on a mattress; Willard Richards, as big as life, with only a powder burn on his neck, sitting at a writing table; and worst of all, that damned Rockwell again! pointing a six-shot pepperbox straight at him from a corner of the room.

Ford made a quick mental note:

No Hyrum Smith. They really botched the affair...

It had been a long day. By this time, Thomas Ford was feeling pretty rusty. He wearily thought to himself,

Why do I keep walking into these ambushes?

"Port, put up your weapon, it's all right", said Joseph. Porter carefully let down the hammer and stowed the pistol in his pocket.

"Gentlemen, whatever you may think, I am not your enemy", said Ford, glancing around nervously. "I am as much a victim of this conspiracy as you are."

Porter snorted at this.

Ford continued. "Don't you see? The attack on the jail was carefully timed to coincide with my visit to Nauvoo. Our common enemy, whomever he may be, most probably a Missourian, ah, fully expected the Mormons at Nauvoo to put me away instantly upon hearing of your deaths. By that means, he could get entirely shut of both the Smiths and the governor at once, and blame my death on you! Yes, yes, I see it all now... the public indignation would be so great, the Mormons would be instantly driven from Illinois. Yes, it is a diabolical scheme, utterly diabolical, don't you think?"

Ford stopped rattling on. The Mormons were still sitting stock-still, staring coldly at him. Finally Joseph took a deep breath and said slowly,

"Yes, Your Excellency, it all makes perfect sense. Whoever did this deed must have had accomplices. I sincerely hope you will bend every effort to apprehend my brother's murderers, and bring them to justice. May I remind you, that you gave us your solemn pledge of protection before you rode off to Nauvoo?"

Ford was visibly sweating now. "I deployed the Carthage Greys with the specific charge to defend the jail!" he said quickly. "If they had done their duty, the, ah, Missourians would never have stormed the jail. I could not have anticipated that the Greys would desert their posts, thus leaving the jail open to attack! I expected better of them."

Joseph, seeing it was pointless to continue, decided to change the subject.

"Governor, we must deal with the situation at hand. We have sent messengers to inform Nauvoo of the tragedy, but we fear they may have been waylaid. As you arrived, we were composing a second message to send."

Ford relaxed slightly. "Of messengers, I know nothing", he said blandly. "You must do as you think best to inform your people of the tragedy, but I must emphasize, in a pacific manner."

"Very well", said Joseph. "Brother Richards, you may proceed."

The Governor quickly excused himself and returned to the courthouse.

Dr. Richards began writing again:

12 o'clock at night, 27th June,

Carthage, Hamilton's Tavern,

To Mrs. Emma Smith, Mary Smith, and Major-General Dunham, &c.:

The Governor has just arrived; says all things shall be inquired into, and all right measures taken.

I say to all the citizens of Nauvoo, my brethren, be still, and know that God reigns. Don't rush out of the city – don't rush to Carthage – stay at home, and be prepared for an attack from Missouri mobbers. The Governor will render every assistance possible – has sent out orders for troops. Hyrum is dead. We will prepare to move his body as soon as possible.

The people of the county are greatly excited, and fear the Mormons will come out and take vengeance. I have pledged my word the Mormons will stay at home as soon as they can be informed, and no violence will be on their part, and say to my brethren in Nauvoo, in the name of the Lord, be still, be patient, only let such friends as choose come here to see the dead and wounded. Mr. Taylor's wounds are dressed and not serious. I am sound. Willard is unhurt.

Joseph Smith,

Willard Richards,

John Taylor,

Samuel H. Smith.

At about one a.m., after removing the county records and public documents from the Carthage courthouse, the Governor and his posse went to the public square and advised all who were present to disperse, as he expected the Mormons would be so exasperated that they would come and burn the town. The citizens of Carthage fled in all directions, and the Governor and his posse fled towards Quincy, and did not consider themselves safe until they had reached Augusta, eighteen miles distant from Carthage.

NAUVOO, 2:00 a.m. Friday, June 28

An exhausted George Grant finally rode into Nauvoo with the first tidings of Hyrum's death, in the middle of a tremendous thunder and rainstorm. Many of Nauvoo's citizens were roused from their sleep at the sound of his winded horse galloping down Water Street.

As George approached the Homestead, Mary Fielding Smith and her son, Joseph F., leaned their heads out the upper window. Mary had been up all night tending to her three year old daughter Martha Ann, who had the measles.

"Sister Smith, your husband is dead!" cried George. Then without another word, he abruptly sped off up Main Street toward the home of John Taylor to spread the sad tidings.

Across the street at the Mansion, Emma Smith and her children were also roused by the disturbance. Emma, thinking she was the Sister Smith referred to, ran crying in terror into the street with Julia, Frederick and Joseph the Third clinging to her.

A few minutes later Anson Call, one of the Nauvoo Temple guards, heard the rapid hoofbeats of a horse approaching along the Carthage Road. Out of the night came an unmistakable voice – Porter Rockwell, shrieking,

"Hyrum is killed – they've killed him! Damn them! They've killed him!"
CHAPTER 3

CARTHAGE, Friday, June 28

At about seven a.m. Joseph's sister Catherine arrived in Carthage, along with Leonora Taylor and Jenetta Richards, and a guard of soldiers of the Nauvoo Legion. Leonora nearly fainted when she arrived at the Hamilton Hotel and saw her husband's condition.

"He's gravely wounded", said Dr. Richards. "If we essay to move him now, it could be fatal."

"Then I shall stay here and tend to him", Leonora replied. "As long as necessary, until we can safely move him."

She looked down at her husband again, burst into tears and cried, "Oh, John what have they done to you?"

"They shot me t' pieces, an' kilt Hyrum too", he whispered to her. "But I swear, I shan't dee' until th' mobocrats 'ave ansaired far this."

About eight a.m. Dr. Richards and Samuel Smith carried Hyrum's body out of the Hamilton on a stretcher. Joseph followed close behind. They carefully laid Hyrum in the back of a low-slung buckboard and covered him with bushes to keep him from the hot sun. Then Samuel made a move to take the driver's seat, but Joseph stopped him.

"No, Samuel, I shall drive", said Joseph.

Samuel looked anxiously at his brother. Joseph's right arm was bandaged across his chest, and his face was still ashen from loss of blood.

"Joseph, are you sure you're able? I don't want to fatigue you more."

"I'll be all right, Samuel, just gimme a leg up."

Samuel helped Joseph up, and he took the reins with his left hand and gave them a feeble shake. They started for Nauvoo, accompanied by eight soldiers of the Nauvoo Legion. Mr. Hamilton accompanied them to the outskirts of Nauvoo, then turned back for Carthage.

Samuel anxiously observed Joseph as they slowly made their way to Nauvoo. Joseph appeared dazed and lost, and mostly allowed the horses to make their own way down the rutted path. Several times, Samuel moved to take the reins from his brother, but Joseph refused.

At about three p.m. they were met by a great assemblage of citizens of Nauvoo, on Mulholland Street, about a mile east of the temple, under direction of the city Marshall, John P. Greene. It appeared to Samuel that half the city had turned out to meet them: The City Council, the Lieutenant-General's staff, Major-General Jonathan Dunham and staff, the acting Brigadier-General Hosea Stout and staff, commanders and officers of the Legion, and several thousands of the citizens were all waiting to welcome home their Prophet and Patriarch.

As the wagon slowly approached the town, Samuel heard a low, keening moan arise from the assemblage, and it grew in intensity as the mournful procession reached them and the true horror of what had occurred in Carthage was revealed to them. Grown men and women wept and wailed uncontrollably as the foliage-draped buckboard slowly rolled past them. The sight of their Prophet, still sitting stoically at the reins, with his chest and shoulder bandaged and bloody, only magnified their grief.

Joseph slowly steered the cortege past the temple, with his gaze fixed straight ahead. As they made their way down the hill and turned onto Main Street, the throng continued to increase. Marshall Greene had to ride ahead and clear the way so that the wagon could approach the Homestead, where Mary Fielding Smith, wife of the fallen Patriarch, was waiting. With her were Emma Smith and mother Lucy Smith, who had to be supported on either side as the procession approached. Six-year-old Joseph F. Smith appeared stunned and uncomprehending at the death of his father.

Mother Lucy made the decision to prepare Hyrum's body for viewing at the Mansion, as it was more spacious and better appointed than the old Homestead.

Upon his arrival home, Joseph's strength was completely spent. He was laid upon a day-bed in the bar room by the west windows of the Mansion, while Hyrum's body was laid near him on a second bed. While Emma attended to Joseph's wound, all he could be heard to say was,

"Hyrum, my poor brother Hyrum! Would to God I had died for thee!"

Mary Fielding Smith manifested calmness and composure throughout the trying scene, which was affecting in the extreme. She assisted Emma from time to time and welcomed those who came to pay their respects, but her tear-stained eyes seldom wandered far from the body of her fallen husband. Mother Smith bore her grief stoically for a time, but at last she sank down and cried,

"My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken this family!"

By about noon, the throng within and without the Mansion had become so great that Marshall Greene thought it wise to clear the Mansion of all but the bereaved Smith family and a few of their closest friends.

NAUVOO, Friday, June 28, 12:30 pm

William W. Phelps lingered for a few minutes after most of the crowd had left the Mansion. He stood gazing in disbelief at Hyrum, wishing, imagining that somehow the Patriarch would rise up and take his place again among the Saints. But of course it was not to be.

William was just turning to leave when Mary Fielding Smith approached him from across the room. She looked haggard and completely spent by the ordeal of the last few days.

"Brother Phelps, Joseph 'as a request of thee", she said.

When he hesitated, she motioned for him to accompany her over to Joseph's bed. William was shocked at Joseph's appearance – His ashen face, his bandaged shoulder, the bloodstains still on his clothing.

William steeled himself and said, "Yes, Brother Joseph, what is it? You know I'd do anything for you or for Hyrum."

Joseph looked up at William and said weakly, "Brother Phelps I – we, would ask that you preach the funeral oration for Hyrum on the morrow. I would do it, but my strength fails me."

William swallowed hard, looked back at Joseph with tears in his eyes and said, "I would be honored, Joseph. I thank'ee."

William quickly took his leave of Joseph and made his way home. As he headed up Main Street, he could see that the whole city was in mourning. All about Nauvoo, small groups of people were wandering the streets aimlessly, weeping and in shock. Black bunting was beginning to appear on the outside of shops and houses. The whole front facade of the Post Office was swathed in black, and crowds still mingled outside to glean whatever bits of information they could from Carthage.

William's mind raced as he walked along:

Why me? Why would Brother Joseph ask me to preach Hyrum's funeral? I, who betrayed the two of them in Missouri, and turned my back on the Church? I, the Prodigal Son, whom Joseph welcomed back with open arms, with these generous words:

"Come on, dear brother, since the war is past,

For friends at first, are friends again at last."...

The closer he got to home, the blacker his mood became. His wife Sally greeted him anxiously at the door.

"Will, dear, where have you been? I had begun to worry."

William was nearly incoherent with grief. All he could say was,

"I – I was at the Mansion. I cannot describe to you the awful s-scene there."

Sally held him close as he wept.

He looked up at her. "I have been asked to preach Hyrum's funeral tomorrow."

She gasped. "Oh... William, such an honor..."

"An honor..." he echoed as he sat down near the fireplace. "Sally, I was never in my life so much at a loss for words of consolation, as I am now. How can I comfort the Saints, in the face of this monstrous outrage? I would rather join the Legion in burning Carthage and Warsaw to the ground! Never was there a man less deserving of death or persecution than Hyrum! Did you know, Doctor Richards told me that Hyrum stood directly between Joseph and the assailants, and took the first ball! I feel more inclined to avenge Hyrum's blood, and Joseph's and John Taylor's as well, rather than to preach a funeral sermon!"

"'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord'", she replied softly. "I also heard that Dr. Richards is advising the people to keep the peace, and not stir things up any worse. You would do well to take his advice, Will."

He looked up at her sullenly, but said nothing. She sat down next to him, and took his hand.

"Will, I know you can do this. Just speak from your heart. I know your eloquence. There is no one in the Church who can put pen to paper better than you. You wrote fully half the hymns in our hymnbooks. Give us a poem, a song or something that will lift our spirits and give us hope! Brother Joseph is counting on you, and I know you won't let him down."

She picked up a small lap desk from beside the fireplace and handed it to him.

"I shall leave you to your work. God bless you, my dear." She quietly slipped outside, leaving him alone in the house.

He sighed, opened the desk and took out some paper, ink and a pen, and went to work.

Where to start? He thought. He reached over to a shelf and pulled out a tiny leather-bound hymnbook.

Sister Emma and I labored so hard to publish this little hymnbook back in 1835... Let's see... a tune...

He thumbed through the little book, thinking as he went. The book contained only words, but he had written all of the tune names in the margins.

'Let Every Mortal Ear Attend' – tune, 'Gospel Trumpet', common meter... no, too stiff...

'Now Let Us Rejoice' – tune, 'Hosanna', particular meter... no, this is decidedly not a time for rejoicing...

'Why Do We Mourn For Dying Friends' – tune, 'China', common meter... no, such a comfortless thought there...

He suddenly closed the little book.

'Star in the East', he thought. Yes... Minor key, elevens and tens...

He started writing, gathering speed as he went. By the time Sally returned an hour later, he had finished a four-stanza poem which he showed to her.

"Oh, Will, 'tis beautiful..." she whispered, weeping.

At about two o'clock the word spread that Dr. Richards would address the Saints at the stand on the hill. The people began slowly drifting by twos and threes to the place where Joseph and Hyrum had so often preached to them, until about eight or ten thousand were assembled.

Doctor Richards wearily mounted the steps of the wooden platform and took his place at the stand. As he gazed out at the weeping crowd, his heart sank.

What can I say to assuage their grief? he thought. I can't share with them the awful scenes of blood and carnage I have just been through... But I am the only Apostle in the entire city, and like it or not, I preside here until Joseph recovers. O, Americans, weep, for the glory of freedom has departed!

He briefly recounted to them the events of the past few days – how the four of them had been incarcerated, and the attack on the jail.

"Brother Hyrum was killed instantly. Joseph was wounded, but not seriously", he said. "Elder John Taylor was severely wounded and is still in Carthage, where his wife Leonora is tending to him."

He looked around the crowd, gauging their reaction.

"I admonish you to keep the peace", he said. "I have pledged my honor and my life for your good conduct, and I implore you to trust to the law for a remedy of such a high-handed assassination, and when that fails, we may call upon God to avenge us of our wrongs. Will you all pledge to keep the peace?"

The people with one united voice cried, "Aye."

Doctor Richards then spoke what few words of comfort and courage he could muster, and dismissed the congregation.

NAUVOO, Saturday, June 29

At eight a.m. the Mansion was thrown open for the Saints to view the body of their martyred Patriarch, and it is estimated that over ten thousand persons visited the remains that day, as there was a perfect living stream of people entering in at the west door of the Mansion and out at the north door from eight a.m. to five p.m., at which hour a request was made that the Mansion should be cleared, so that the family could take their farewell look at the remains.

The coffin was then taken out of the box into the little bedroom in the northeast corner of the Mansion, and there concealed and the doors locked. Joseph directed the whole operation. He said to his lifeguards who were assisting him,

"There is still a price on Hyrum's head, as there is on mine. I will not see his grave desecrated, as the mobbers in Missouri did to our fallen Saints. So this is what we shall do..."

An hour later the coffin, weighted down with sand bags, was placed on the hearse and driven past the meeting ground, where William W. Phelps was preaching the funeral sermon. As the empty hearse slowly passed by, Elder Phelps was addressing the congregation with these words:

"Deeply impressed for the welfare of all, while mourning the great loss of President Hyrum Smith, our Patriarch, we have considered the occasion demanded of us a word of consolation.

"As has been the case in all ages, this saint has fallen a martyr for the truth's sake, and his escape from the persecution of a wicked world, in blood to bliss, only strengthens our faith, and confirms our religion as pure and holy."

Elder Phelps looked up from his text, gazed mournfully at the hearse for a moment, and then continued his sermon.

"I implore you, be peaceable, quiet citizens, doing the works of righteousness, and as soon as the Twelve and other authorities can assemble, or a majority of them, the onward course to the great gathering of Israel, and the final consummation of the dispensation of the fullness of times will be pointed out, so that the murder of Abel, the assassination of hundreds, the righteous blood of all the holy Prophets, from Abel to Hyrum, sprinkled with the best blood of the Son of God, as the crimson sign of remission, only carries conviction to the bosoms of all intelligent beings, that the cause is just and will continue; and blessed are they that hold out faithful to the end, while apostates, consenting to the shedding of innocent blood, have no forgiveness in this world nor in the world to come.

"Union is peace, brethren, and eternal life is the greatest gift of God. Rejoice, then, that you are found worthy to live and die for God. Men may kill the body, but they cannot hurt the soul, and wisdom shall be justified of her children. Amen."

Elder Phelps had written a new poem for the occasion, which he sang to the tune "Star in the East". It was a familiar tune, and the congregation gradually joined in, until by the last chorus nearly ten thousand Saints were raising their voices in one tremendous dirge:

...Praise to his mem'ry, he died as a martyr;

Honored and blest be his ever great name!

Long shall his blood which was shed by assassins,

Stain Illinois while the earth lauds his fame.

Hail to the Patriarch, ascended to heaven!

Traitors and tyrants now fight him in vain.

Mingling with Gods, he can plan for his brethren;

Death cannot conquer the hero again.

About midnight the coffin containing Hyrum's body was taken from the Mansion by Dimick B. Huntington, Lorenzo D. Wasson, and seven other men, preceded by James Emmett as guard with his musket.

They went through the garden, round by the pump, and then to the Nauvoo House, which was then built to the first joists of the basement, and buried him in the basement story. Joseph observed the whole scene from an upper window of the Mansion.

After the body was interred, and the ground smoothed off as it was before, and chips of wood and stone and other rubbish thrown over, so as to make it appear like the rest of the ground around the grave, a most terrific shower of rain, accompanied with thunder and lightning occurred, and obliterated all traces of the fact that the earth had been newly dug.

NAUVOO, Sunday, June 30

No public meetings this day, as the city was still in deep mourning.

A few of the brethren met in council, and agreed to send Brother George J. Adams to bear the news of the massacre to the Twelve.

Joseph was still confined to bed in an upper bedroom of the Mansion. Several times his mother Lucy quietly passed the door to his room. Once she saw him sitting up, gazing sadly out the window at the basement of the Nauvoo House. Another time she heard him through the closed door, apparently having a conversation with some unseen person. Later as she passed she saw Emma speaking to him and tending to his wound. She listened quietly from the hallway.

"There, Joseph, is that comfortable for you?" Emma said as she adjusted his sling.

"Quite comfortable", he said as he leaned back. He could see that she was about to leave the room.

"Emma, my dearest, do please stay a moment."

She turned back and silently took a seat next to him. She looked bone-weary and careworn, and not in a mood to talk. She folded her hands and looked down. "Yes, Joseph?"

He reached out and took her by the hand.

"Emma, my affectionate Emma! My every waking thought has been of thee, since I left Nauvoo for Carthage! I prayed, 'If only I could gaze on her face once more, then lettest thy servant depart in peace!' Thou art the wife of my youth, the choice of my heart. And again thou art here, even in the seventh trouble – undaunted, firm, and unwavering – unchangeable, affectionate Emma!"

Suddenly she broke down and sobbed uncontrollably.

"Oh, Joseph, I could not live with myself if you had died!" she wailed. "I was the chief cause of your going t-to Carthage, for that I wrote that awful note calling you a coward, when y-you were preparing to head w-west, and, and..." She trailed off, still sniffling and weeping.

He gathered her close to him with his one good arm.

"Emma, don't berate yourself like that! Hyrum and I could still have gone west, but we freely chose to give ourselves up to the law. We made that decision, not you. I harbor no ill feelings for you! And now I'm safe, and peace has returned to Nauvoo for a little season! If only Hyrum were here to share in it..." Now it was Joseph's turn to weep.

Mother Lucy had been listening from the hallway. She took a deep breath and entered the room. She saw that Joseph was sitting up in bed, holding Emma close.

"Joseph, my son, how are you feeling?" she said as she sat down next to him.

He wiped his tears and looked at her.

"Much better, Mother." He winced as he shifted in bed to view her better. "Dr. Bernhisel and Dr. Richards advised me that I could be on my feet in a week. I reckon to cut that time by half, or better. How is Samuel?"

"Levira says that his stomach still pains him, but he is able to walk about, a little."

"And Brother Taylor?"

Emma responded, sniffling. "Still in Carthage, I hear. His condition is still grave, and they daren't move him yet. Sister Taylor is tending him."

Joseph looked directly at his mother and said,

"Mother, I know not why the Lord has spared my life for a season, but I feel that he has a work for me to do. Of one thing I'm certain, at any rate, and that is that I shall never rest until Hyrum's murderers are brought to justice. And I am even more determined to continue my pursuit of the national Presidency. I cannot achieve the one without the other."

Lucy began to tremble at this news. "Joseph, every time I hear you speak like that, my heart leaps for fear. I know that God is watching over you, but I have lost three sons and a husband now in God's service, and more than once have come nigh to losing you! Oh do take care, my son! Do you please try to stay out of harm's way!"

She buried her face in his chest and wept. "Oh, my son Hyrum, why did they take him, why, why?"

Joseph held her close to him and said, "Mother, you know I would have given my life for Hyrum. I have spoken with him, and he told me he is now at peace. I know how you miss Father, and Alvin, and Don Carlos too. But they are doing a great work beyond the veil now. If we hold out faithful, we shall all be reunited with them again some day. You know that."

She sobbed into his bosom. "I know, but it's so hard, so hard sometimes... Was there ever a mother in Israel who sacrificed more for the Lord than have I?"

Young Joseph the Third peeked his head around the door. "Papa, is something the matter?" he said anxiously.

Joseph's face brightened. "No, son, all is well. Come in."

Young Joseph timidly entered and took a seat at the foot of the bed. Following close behind him were Julia, Frederick, and little Alexander, who climbed up onto the bed and put his arms around his father.

"I feel like Jacob of old, who called his family together and blessed them", said Joseph, placing his hand on his eldest son's head and stroking his hair. "Joseph, thou art a fruitful bough, even a fruitful bough by a well..."

NAUVOO, Monday, July 1

Joseph appeared to rally somewhat this day, as his strength returned. He recounted the events of the attack on the jail to his scribe, William Clayton, and wept frequently as he spoke of the loss of his brother Hyrum.

When William had finished scribing, he turned to Joseph and said,

"Brother Joseph, I was a'thinkin' aboot Bruther Hyrum, an' this couplet came t' mind frae' Pilgrim's Progress, which I found reet proper. I'll see to its insartion in t' next number o' t' Times an' Seasons:

Well, Faithful, thou hast faithfully profest

Unto thy Lord, with whom thou shalt be blest,

When faithless ones, with all their vain delights,

Are crying out under their hellish plights:

Sing, Faithful, sing, and let thy name survive;

For though they killed thee, thou art yet alive.

NAUVOO, Tuesday, July 2

Elder John Taylor was brought home from Carthage, to the joy of his friends. His wife Leonora had been at his side in Carthage ever since June 28th, tending to his wounds.

NAUVOO, 1:00 a.m. Wednesday, July 3

Jennetta Richards turned over in bed and shook her husband. "Willard, wake thee up! Yair havin' that marra agayn!"

"Huh, wha, oh..." Willard stopped thrashing and opened his eyes.

"Tha' wair dreamin' about Carthage again, weren't thee?" she said.

Willard was still breathing rapidly. "Asleep or awake, I can't shake off the awful visions of that day", he said, trembling. "Again and again, I find myself standing behind the door next to the fireplace, striking at the gun barrels with my cane, and watching Hyrum fall. But this dream was different."

"Different? How?"

"I – I'd rather not say."

"Why not?"

"I can't tell you!"

"Willard my dear, please, do tell me."

He was silent for a moment, and still trembling. Then he said, "When I looked down at Hyrum, it was not his face I saw in death, but yours."

NAUVOO, Thursday, July 4

Louisa Taylor Stout, wife of Hosea Stout, gave birth to a baby boy this day. They named him Hyrum Stout in honor of the fallen Patriarch.

At ten a.m. President Joseph Smith mounted the stand to address the Saints, with his right arm and shoulder still bandaged. He noted that it was just one week since the death of Hyrum and the wounding of himself and John Taylor, but he was determined to celebrate the "Glorious Fourth" as the Founding Fathers would have intended it. The grove near the temple was filled, as at least 5,000 people attended this solemn occasion.

The meeting opened with a spirited rendition of "Hail Ye Mormons" by the Nauvoo Legion band and choir:

Hail ye Mormons – chosen band!

Hail ye Saints of our lov'd land!

Who suffered much in freedom's cause,

Who with your blood have seal'd your laws;

And now fierce persecution's gone,

Enjoy the peace your faith hath won.

Let your religion be your boast,

Ever mindful what it cost,

Ever grateful for the prize,

Let its Altar reach the skies.

Be ye faithful, just and true,

Brothers, in the great Nauvoo;

Firm, united without fear,

Worship in your temple here.

Following the choir, Miss Eliza R. Snow stood and recited from memory a poem which had been written for an earlier July the Fourth:

AN ODE FOR THE 4th OF JULY 1788

"Oh for a muse of fire! To mount the skies

And to a list'ning world proclaim–

Behold! Behold! An empire rise!

An era new, as he flies,

Hath enter'd in the book of fame.

On Alleghany's tow'ring head

Echo shall stand–the tidings spread,

And o'er the lakes, and misty floods around,

AN ERA NEW resound.

See! Where Columbia sits alone,

And from her star-bespangled throne,

Beholds the gay procession move along,

And hears the trumpet, and the choral song–

She hears her sons rejoice–

Looks into future times, and sees

The num'rous blessings Heav'n decrees,

And with HER plaudit joins the gen'ral voice.

"My sons for Freedom fought, nor fought in vain;

But found a naked goddess was their gain:

Good government alone, can shew the Maid,

In robes of SOCIAL HAPPINESS array'd."

Hail to this festival! All hail the day!

Columbia's standard on HER ROOF display:

And let the PEOPLE'S Motto ever be,

"UNITED THUS, and THUS UNITED–-FREE."

After Sister Snow took her seat, President Joseph Smith arose again and addressed himself to the congregation in these words:

"My beloved Brothers and Sisters, it is now just seven days since the very jaws of hell gaped open after myself and my brethren. Our beloved Patriarch and brother, Hyrum, has shed his blood in the cause of that very freedom which we solemnly observe this day. Would that I could have died instead! But the Lord in his wisdom hath seen fit to spare my life for a little season.

"The best blood of the 19th century has been spilt in the jail at Carthage, and no unhallowed hand can expunge that noble stain – Neither the President, nor Congress, nor the courts, nor the Governor of Illinois, who acquiesced in that foul deed! No, the blood of the saints shall cry unto God from under the altar, until in his fury he sweeps this nation with the besom of destruction!"

Joseph's voice thundered out over the congregation.

"Who, among all the States of this Union, has stepped forward to defend the cause of our suffering people? Has the President? The disreputable Mr. Van Buren said, 'Your cause is just, but I can do nothing for you.' Have the Governors offered assistance? Our petitions to the state and national legislatures have been in vain. Have we secured redress through the courts? Have they not rather become the tools of our persecutors, to drag us from pillar to post, from one mock trial to another, until we are utterly used up?

"If the government, which receives into its coffers the money of citizens for its public lands, while its officials are rolling in luxury at the expense of its public treasury, cannot protect such citizens in their lives and property, it is an old granny anyhow; and I prophesy in the name of the Lord God of Israel, unless the United States redress the wrongs committed upon the Saints in the states of Missouri and Illinois and punish the crimes committed by their officers, that in a few years the government will be utterly overthrown and wasted, and there will not be so much as a potsherd left!

"The Lord has made it all clear to me, as I have stated to you before, that the Southern States shall be divided against the Northern States, and that war shall be poured out upon all nations beginning here, until the consumption decreed hath made an end of all nations.

"Precisely two weeks ago, I stood in this city and declared that I would never tamely submit to the dominion of cursed mobocracy. Brother Hyrum's blood has been spilt upon the ground like water, and his body has been consigned to the silent tomb. I would have welcomed death in his place; but alas, he has been taken home, and we are left to mourn his loss.

"Inasmuch as this government has failed in its responsibility to secure the blessings of liberty to this people, I now embrace that article of our Constitution which permits me to place my name in contention for the highest office of this land. Win or lose, I shall not cease my labors until the title of liberty is hoisted in every hamlet of this nation. The Whigs and Democrats have never stood for nothing except their own reelection, anyhow. The sectional strife which has festered in this union for sixty years, has never been assuaged by either of the two major parties. They are both of the same stripe, and when we vote for the one, we inevitably antagonize the other.

"I purpose to send missionaries to every state in this Union, to declare our cause and rally the people of this nation in support of our Constitution. As Captain Moroni did, I shall raise the title of liberty in every city and town, until righteousness and truth extend from pole to pole!"

He drew his sword left-handed and raised it above his head.

"Do I have your support in this great cause? I await your reply."

There was one huge, unanimous "Aye!" from the crowd.

NAUVOO, Friday, July 5

Early in the morning, Emma left the Mansion to make her weekly rounds and tend to the poor. With her in the wagon was her counselor in the Female Relief Society, Elizabeth Ann Whitney. They first stopped at Joseph's store to draw provisions from the Bishop's store-house. After they had loaded up the wagon with flour, corn meal, beans, bacon, and several quilts, Emma guided the wagon north up Bain Street toward the river bottoms and old Commerce.

As they approached the riverbank, they could see dozens of tents, huts, and rude shelters of all varieties. On viewing them Emma thought sadly,

The poor are ever with us.

She said to Elizabeth, "When we were first come here from Missouri, we all lived like this, of course. But those shelters were intended to be temporary, against we could arrange for better lodgings. Well, the 'temporary' shelters seem to have become permanent fixtures here. As each wave of immigrants moves out of them, a new wave moves in to take their place. Somehow, we never quite seem to catch up with the need for proper housing in Nauvoo."

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose and said distastefully, "This is such an unhealthful place, down close by the river. How I wish we could persuade these people to move higher up, away from the marsh miasma."

Emma shuddered. "I remember that dreadful summer, just five years ago... There was scarcely a well person in the whole camp here, what with the ague and cholera raging. Even the Homestead was crowded with the ill and dying, clear out into my front yard. Joseph finally arose in the strength of the Lord and rebuked the illness, and from that moment we all began to recover."

She looked around. "This is quite intolerable... I must speak to the brethren again about this."

She halted the wagon in the middle of the camp and stepped down into a sea of mud. Around her was a veritable ocean of tents, wagon-boxes, lean-to's, dugouts, and a few rude log cabins. Smoke curled upward from dozens of campfires where women were cooking breakfast. Dogs, goats, chickens, and children were running wildly in all directions. She noticed the total lack of sanitation, listened to the flies buzzing, sniffed the air with distaste and said to Elizabeth,

"I smell disease and death here if something is not done quickly to help these people. Have they come five thousand miles, only to perish on Zion's shore? Come, Sister, let's see what we can do."

They walked down a muddy, rutted lane between two rows of log huts, just as two men emerged from one of the huts bearing a body on a plank, shrouded in a blanket.

"We're into the sickly season for sure", Emma said sadly. "Of late, we've been losing about two or three a week to the ague here."

The first hut they stopped at was a rude log-pen with no chinking between the logs. It had four walls but no roof – just a few blankets stretched over poles. One corner of the blankets had been drawn back, and smoke was curling up through the hole.

Emma knocked on the doorpost. "Halloo, anyone within?"

A young woman pulled the blanket aside and peered out, squinting in the sunlight.

"Good day to ye both?" she said with a clear English accent. She appeared to be about twenty years old. She was dressed in the remnants of what must have once been an elegant English wool gown, and was barefoot.

A woman of some refinement, thought Emma. Reduced to this...

"I'm Sister Smith, and this is Sister Whitney", said Emma.

"I know who ye air, now go away an' leave me be!" she said angrily. "I 'ave no need of your charity!"

Emma knew utter destitution when she saw it, and she had dealt with this situation before. She took the woman gently by the arm and said,

"The Lord has prayed us here, Sister, and we shan't leave against our errand is done. Please, may we enter in?"

The woman relented and pulled the blanket aside for them to enter. The cabin was tiny, only about eight feet square, and sparsely furnished. In one corner a rude stone hearth had been fashioned. A rough table, two stools, a few pots, and a battered old trunk made up the rest of the furnishings. Emma could see daylight streaming in through the gaps in the logs. There was no sign of any food.

As soon as they entered, the woman collapsed onto a stool and buried her face in her hands. Through her sobs, she told them her story.

"My name, 'tis Sarah Worthingham Davenport. I come frae' a very respectable, landed family near Chatburn, in Lancashire. I lived in a great mansion there, with servants, an' gardens, an' every manner o' comfort. When I joined the Church, my parents disowned me an' cast me out. I traveled to Preston, where I fell in love with a young man named Charles Davenport. We joined a company of Saints an' emigrated last year. Charles had just started on this cabin this spring, when he was called on a mission back east. Now I be alone, with no friends, nor kinfolk, nor even a proper chair on which to sit, nor a roof over my head. There, need I say more?"

Emma looked at her and said kindly,

"Sarah, you have at least two friends here this day."

She gave them a blank stare, then looked down at the floor and whispered,

"I have written a letter to my father, beggin' him to take me back. But if that he insists I forsake my religion, in truth I donna ken what I shall do..."

She started sobbing again. "Why be I here alone in this wretched swamp, why, oh why?"

Emma put her arm around her and said,

"Sarah, was the gospel true when you left Chatburn?"

"Well, aye..." she sniffled.

"Was it true when you crossed the ocean to America?"

"Aye..."

"Does your station in life, good or ill, change the truthfulness of the Restoration one iota?"

She sighed. "Nae, it donna'. But I know of a truth that if I remain much longer in this stinking swamp, I shall die here!"

Emma took Sarah by the hands and pulled her to her feet, and said,

"Sister Davenport, I should like for you to join us on our rounds today. You would do us a great service by aiding us in tending to those who are the more destitute."

Sarah considered this for a moment, then sighed.

"Oh very well, I have naught the better to do", she grumbled, and reluctantly followed them out the door.

The next home the three sisters stopped at was a crude lean-to dug into the riverbank. It was nothing more than two poles, supporting a sloping roof made of loose planks and dirt. The sides were enclosed by more boards and old blankets. This was the home of the widow Bigelow from Georgia. Emma lifted the blanket that served as a front door, peered into the gloom and said,

"Prudence! You in here? May we enter?"

As Emma and her companions crowded into the tiny shelter, the stench nearly knocked her over. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw a thin, middle-aged woman emerge from the back of the shelter. It was Prudence Bigelow. She greeted them cheerily with,

"Lawsamarcy! Hit's Sista' Smif! Wha', y'all's jist in time fer breakfas', 'ceptin' ah got nuthin' ta orfer ye..."

Her voice trailed off, and she glanced anxiously at the back of the lean-to, where a young boy was lying under a filthy blanket. He appeared to be about eight years old.

"Prudence, what's wrong?" said Emma, taking her by the hand. "It's all right, we're here to help you."

Prudence wrung her hands, then she broke down and blubbered,

"Hit's mah boy, George. T'other day he wuz all feverish, an' then he cotched the shakes. Ah lit'a big bomfar 'n fron'o the hut, tryin'a sweat tha' fever out'n him, y' know, but it din't he'p. Na' he jist la's thea', sorter comytose-like."

Elizabeth Ann crawled to the back of the shelter and felt the boy's forehead. He was feverish and sweating, and his skin was jaundiced. She noticed with alarm that he was barely breathing.

"It's the ague for certain", she said. "When was the last time he ate or drank?"

"Mebbe two-three days", said Prudence, as she swatted at a mouse that scurried across the dirt floor. "Enever ah tries'ta feed'im, he jist gives hit all back ter' me, wif intres'."

Sarah Davenport suddenly spoke up.

"Tha' must gie' him water frequently. But boil it first, an' add a wee bit o' salt. Don't fret if he vomits some of it back. Just donna' let him become too desiccated. I shall try to find thee some slippery-elm bark. Tha' must bruise it well, then soak it o'ernight. Then strain the water off an' gie' it him for to drink."

"There is a new cure for the ague", said Emma. "It's called Sappington's Pills. I shall try and get you some, if I can. We have some food for you here as well, in our wagon."

Prudence wept as she was given a side of bacon, some corn meal, and a basket of beans. She hugged the three women and said,

"Ah jist knowed if'n ah prayed y'all here, mah boy wud r'cover! God bless yu' sistahs, an' hurrah fer Zion!"

As the three women proceeded down the road, Emma turned to the other two and said brightly,

"Now, that went rather well, I daresay. How many more can we help out here this morning?"

Later in the day, Emma made her report to the priesthood brethren. Attending the meeting were Joseph Smith, Willard Richards, Bishop Newel K. Whitney, and William Clayton. After Emma had spoken, Joseph sighed and said,

"Sister Emma, we deeply appreciate your service. As you know, I have tried for five years to shut down the poor camp, but more immigrants just keep on filling it up. I shall ask the priesthood quorums to redouble their efforts to raise more houses, however we are expecting a heavy immigration this year. We shall do our best."

In the evening, Joseph met with the Council of Fifty in the Masonic Hall to discuss the upcoming national campaign. Delegates were chosen to represent the National Reform Party in each state in the Union. The local conventions for the remainder of the campaign were scheduled as follows:

Cincinnati Aug 11

Washington City, D.C. Aug 15

National Convention, Baltimore Aug 19-20

Philadelphia, Pa. Aug 22-23

New York City, N.Y. Aug 24-26

Norwalk, Conn. Aug 27

Boston, Mass. Sep 4-5

President Joseph Smith addressed the Council in the following words:

"I would not have suffered my name to have been used by my friends on anywise as President of the United States, or candidate for that office, if I and my friends could have had the privilege of enjoying our religious and civil rights as American citizens, even those rights which the Constitution guarantees unto all her citizens alike. But this as a people we have been denied from the beginning.

"Persecution has rolled upon our heads from time to time, from portions of the United States, like peals of thunder, because of our religion; and no portion of the Government as yet has stepped forward for our relief. And in view of these things, I feel it to be my right and privilege to obtain what influence and power I can, lawfully, in the United States, for the protection of injured innocence; and if I lose my life in a good cause I am willing to be sacrificed on the altar of virtue, righteousness and truth, in maintaining the laws and Constitution of the United States, if need be, for the general good of mankind.

"I also want it clearly understood that this campaign is a purely secular affair, although there is much in futurity about it concerning the Church. I want not one farthing of the sacred Church tithes to be spent on this campaign; rather, the donations which we receive for this enterprise shall be deposited in a separate treasury to be maintained by this Council of Fifty, and to be disbursed solely for that purpose. Let no one accuse me of robbing Peter to pay Caesar, in this matter."

Later that evening, Joseph wrote in his journal:

I wrote a letter to Mr. James G. Birney, leader of the Liberty Party, in Buffalo, N.Y. I commended Mr. Birney on his views concerning abolition, tariffs, the admission of Texas, &c. and requested his permission to address the Liberty Party convention in Buffalo on September 10th.
CHAPTER 4

NAUVOO, Friday, July 5

The following are examples of the rumors that are sweeping the state respecting the death of Brother Hyrum Smith:

From the Illinois State Register:

Hyrum Smith, brother of the Mormon Prophet, Murdered in Prison.

The following particulars of the most disgraceful and cold-blooded murder ever committed in a Christian land, is copied from an extra from the office of the Quincy Herald. Rumors of the bloody deed reached this city several days ago, but were not believed until Tuesday evening, when there was no further room left for doubt. Next week we will have all the particulars. Every effort will be made to bring the assassins to punishment.

From the Sangamon Journal:

Thus far our news seem to be certain. Rumor says further, that on Thursday of last week, Hyrum Smith and Dr. Richards were shot by a mob at Carthage. We are incredulous in regard to the truth of this rumor. We cannot think, under the circumstances of the case, the excitement against these men among the anti-Mormons, Governor Ford would have received them as prisoners, to be tried under our laws, had pledged himself for their protection, and then placed them in a situation where they would be murdered. The rumor is too preposterous for belief. We wait with much anxiety to hear the truth on this subject, and this feeling is general in this community.

From the Quincy Herald:

It will probably never be known who shot Hyrum – but his murder was a cold-blooded, cowardly act, which will consign the perpetrators, if discovered, to merited infamy and disgrace. They have broken their pledges to the Governor – disgraced themselves and the State to which they belong. They have crimsoned their perfidy with blood.

From the Warsaw Signal:

...True, the act of an armed body going to the jail and killing prisoners does appear at first sight dastardly, but we look at it as though these men were the executioners of justice, and their act is no more cowardly than is the act of the hangman in stretching up a defenseless convict who is incapable of resistance. If any other mode could have been devised, or any other time selected, it would have been better; but, as we have heard others say, we are satisfied that it is done, and care not to philosophize on the modus operandi.

WARSAW, Friday, July 5

Thomas C. Sharp was not a happy man. For three years he had been the principal voice of the anti-Mormon movement in Hancock County. It was he who invented the term "Jack Mormon" and applied it to those Gentiles who defended the Saints. His editorials in the Warsaw Signal had done much to fan the flames of anti-Mormon sentiment. The suppression of the Nauvoo Expositor had given him just the excuse he needed to write the following on June 12:

We have only to state, that this is sufficient!

War and extermination is inevitable!

CITIZENS ARISE, ONE AND ALL!!!

Can you stand by, and suffer such INFERNAL DEVILS!

to ROB men of their property and RIGHTS, without avenging them.

WE have no time for comment, every man will make his own.

LET IT BE MADE WITH POWDER AND BALL!!!

Now Sharp's plans to rid the world of the Mormon prophet had been frustrated again. Even worse, with the conspiracy now out in the open, the legal machinery he had used so effectively against the Smiths was now turning against him.

The men who met with him in his printing office this day were an interesting lot:

Colonel Levi Williams was the commander of the 59th Regiment of the Illinois militia, as well as a Baptist minister. He was one of the leaders of the mob that had attacked Carthage Jail on June 27th.

Mark Aldrich was a land speculator and one of the first settlers of Warsaw. He had served in the state legislature and as postmaster of Warsaw.

William Law was a former Counselor to Joseph Smith, and one of the chief instigators of the Nauvoo Expositor. He had turned against Joseph Smith after rumors swept Nauvoo of a "Judas" in their midst. Born and raised in Ireland, he still spoke with a distinct Irish brogue.

Franklin Worrell was a storekeeper in Carthage and a lieutenant in the Carthage Greys. At the time Hyrum was killed, Worrell was commanding the guard which had been ordered to protect the jail.

Dr. Robert D. Foster was also a Mormon dissenter, and one of the Nauvoo Expositor group. In April, Robert and his non-Mormon brother Charles had been in a scuffle with Joseph Smith outside Joseph's office. Charles drew a pistol and threatened to shoot the Prophet. Both men were arrested, fined, and later released.

William Marr was an aide to Governor Ford, and for a brief time had made a living as a lawyer in Nauvoo. Earlier in the year, he had been brought before the Nauvoo city court on the charge of whipping a runaway slave from Missouri.

Sharp looked around the room and said,

"Gentlemen, the die is cast. We are in up to our necks, and we daren't slacken our efforts now to drive out the Mormons. If we do, they will surely use us up."

Levi Williams replied dryly, "Well, whaddya expect, Sharp? You climbed on ol' Tommy Ford's back an' yelled 'boo', an' now you're surprised 'at he bucked you off. Seems to me you made way too big of a boo."

"Indeed", said Marr. "Governor Ford is now making out indictments against several of you for putting Hyrum Smith out of the way. I tried to dissuade him, but to no avail. I must say, you are the most ham-handed, inept bunch of assassins I've ever had the misfortune of meeting up with. In truth, if you really wanted to put ol' Joe and Hyrum Smith out of the way, couldn't you have done it a bit more discreetly? "

Sharp replied angrily, "We tried, Marr! We sent Joe Jackson to Carthage with instructions to do just that, 'discreetly', but he got skeered an' ran away."

Aldrich snorted. "Ford! If things 'ad gone as planned, he'd be out o' the picture too! Them Mormons was altogether too nice to 'im. If they'd a' had any bile in 'em, they would'a strung 'im up from the nearest tree."

William Law finally spoke. "Nevair should ye make the mistake of assumin' the Mormons will behave like 'oother people do. They appear mild an' inoffensive, althoo' they be passionate aboot their beliefs. Ye should 'ave consoolted me afore hatchin' this hair-brained scheme; I mought 'ave improved on it, as I know the Mormon layders intimately. You doon't."

"Huh!" said Worrell. "And just how do we git Joe Smith out o' the way, now that he's on to us, Mister renegade Mormon?"

Law snarled angrily, "The renegade, 'tis not I! 'Tis Smith an' his lackeys who 'ave strayed from the truth! He has abdicated 'is callin' as Prophet to the Chairch, an' 'e now styles 'imself 'a King and a Priest'. Is not his campaign for the Presidency proof o' this madness?"

"A danger's man, indeed", said Aldrich. "But he do seem to lead'a charmed life."

Robert Foster said loftily, "I would consider myself the favored of God for the privilege of shooting or ridding the world of such a tyrant."

"Then why didn't you or your brother Charles pull the damn trigger, when you had the chance last April?" sneered Sharp.

"I daresay our one prospectus of the Nauvoo Expositor did more to harm Joe Smith than three years of your rantings in the 'Warsaw Stinkall'", replied Foster. "Tell me, Sharp, do you buy those little lead exclamation marks in bulk?"

"You talk like a muggins, Foster! It was my Warsaw militia, not your pitiful rag-sheet that nearly put both Smiths under ground!"

Law slapped his hand on the table.

"Dough-heads all! Doon't ye reyalize, ye can't kill an idea? If'n ye kill off Joseph an' Hyrum an' Brigham an' the whole passel of 'em, why, Mormonism will simply cotch its breath an' then keep right on growin'. Ye jist doon't seem ta' fathom that this movement is fair bigger than its layders! Noo, the only way ta' destroy Mormonism is fro' within. Ye 'ave to co-opt it. An' that's why ye need me."

"I'm in", said Sharp. "What's your plan?"

William Law knitted his fingers together and smiled.

"Let me tell ye aboot the 'spiritual wifery' doctrine..."

Marr snorted. "You all think small thoughts, like do most backwoods, country bumpkins. Cain't you see, this thing's bigger'an Hancock County, bigger even'an Illinois! If Joe Smith stands for President, it don't matter if'n he wins or not, he can still stop the Whigs an' Democrats in their tracks! For the sake of our nation's unity, we must stop Smith from interfering in our national body politic, and we must do it now. Why, you provincial clodhoppers, you have no idea how far this conspiracy has spread! As an aide to Governor Ford, I am privy to certain facts that you have no inkling of. Let me show you..."

He pulled a letter out of his pocket and spread it before him on the table.

"I shall not divulge the name of this individual; suffice it to say he is a Southern gentleman of high ranking in our national government. Listen to what he says:"

Flavius,

I have received yours of the 6th inst. and I am obliged to agree, the matter requires our immediate attention. The very survival of our nation may depend on it. I urge you to see it through, and when the deed is done, all America shall sleep better for the knowledge. Many here in Washington are of like mind with me, that the Deacon must be dealt with. Desperate times require desperate means, but rest assured, I have been informed by Cassius that you need have no fear of running afoul of the law; I shall see to it that you are placed above the law, whatever the outcome of the matter. Sic semper tyrannis!

In strictest confidence, I am, respectfully yours,

Seneca.

NAUVOO, Saturday, July 6

Joseph wrote in his journal:

I spoke to the brethren who had been called to fan out across the nation before the upcoming election. I also called on John Taylor. He was still weak, but able to receive visitors for the first time.

Robert Foster, Francis Higbee and Chauncey Higbee rode into Nauvoo to remove their goods from the Nauvoo Expositor office, which was on the block just southeast of the temple. It was their bad luck to find Orson Spencer on guard duty that day on the outskirts of Nauvoo.

In April, the Fosters and Higbees had been involved in an assault on Orson in his own house. When Joseph Smith tried to intervene, Charles Foster drew a pistol and pointed it at him. All the assailants had been tried in the Municipal Court and fined. Robert Foster was also fined for gambling.

"Dismount or we'll shoot!" cried Orson.

"Well, if it ain't the Prophet's postman an' shoeshine boy", said Foster as he dismounted. "Tell me, Spence, you still keepin' company with that damned Willard Richards? You know, don't you, that he tried to proposition my wife last spring on board a steamboat?"

"I heard", said Orson. "You also tried to pin the same lie on Joseph. Sorry Foster, that dog won't hunt. Search them", he said to his three soldiers. They found a loaded pistol on Foster; the two Higbees were unarmed.

"Look, Spencer", said Chauncey. "All we want is to get the rest of our tack out of the Expositor office. After that, you an' your damned city can all go to blazes for all we care."

"You may proceed", said Orson. "Get in and get out. But remember, the city has eyes."

Shortly after sunset, Joseph stepped out the back door of the Mansion, looked around carefully, and walked over to the pump house. He unlatched the door and said,

"Chism! It's safe for you to come out now."

Out of the pitch darkness of the pump house a black man emerged. He was dressed in rags and wore an old straw hat, and looked to be about thirty-five years old. His too-large pants were held up by one rope suspender, and he was barefoot. He said softly,

"Mars Joseph, ah kin' skasely t'ank you enuff fo' savin' mah life. You, an alla' Mormon folk what'as kept me 'way fum dem ba'nty hunta's."

"Chism, I'm determined to see this affair through", Joseph whispered. "Illinois is a free state, and as long as I have a say in it, you shall remain here free. I'll take this to the Supreme Court if necessary."

They walked back into the Mansion, where Emma had supper waiting for Chism in the kitchen. He sat down at the kitchen table and eagerly tucked into his plate of corn bread, fried potatoes, pork, and melon. Joseph took a seat opposite him and said,

"I'm sorry we have to keep moving you around like this, but it's for your own safety, you know. There're slave hunters swarming all over the city and county, and if they so much as get wind of this, we shall all pay dearly. I'll let you know when the time is right to come out of hiding. I've done some 'moving around' myself, you know, so I know the ropes."

"Ah unnerstan', suh", said Chism softly. "Ah only hopes dat sumday ah kin go back'ta Missourah an' fetch mah wife Harriot, too."

They heard a carriage pull up in front of the Mansion. Emma stepped to the front of the house, carefully pulled the curtain aside and peeked out.

"It's Brother John D. Lee", she said.

"Looks like he's your next sight-star", said Joseph, as he escorted Chism to the front door. Emma had prepared a basket of food for him, which she pressed into his left hand while Joseph shook the right one. In a moment, Chism had quietly slipped out the door and was gone.

NAUVOO, Sunday, July 7

Brother Joseph addressed the Saints from the Bowery. Spoke for about an hour on the plurality of Gods, eternal lives, &c. in a most interesting manner. All were edified.

Just before sunset, Leonora Taylor left home to procure some medicine for her husband at Lyon's Drug Store. As she was walking up Main Street toward Hotchkiss Street, she saw two men approaching her. She crossed the street, but they followed her. Just north of the Browning residence they caught up with her.

"Well, if it ain't Mrs. John blown-to-flinders Taylor!" said Robert Foster. With him was Chauncey Higbee. Leonora noticed that they were both drunk.

"Mr. Foster, remove your self from my path, or I shall call a policeman!" said Leonora, as she tried to push past them.

"Now, there's no call for that", said Chauncey, grabbing her by the arm. "We're just here to deliver a message to your poor, crippled husband. Tell me, is he home alone right now?"

Leonora looked back at her home, frightened.

"He is well enough protected from the likes of you, now be off!" she cried.

Foster leaned over and stuck his face close to hers. She could smell his whisky. He hissed,

"Tell him, next time we won't miss. An' that goes for ol' Joe Smith, too!"

She broke free and fled back down the street towards her home. As she ran up the steps and entered the front door, she could still hear the two men whooping and laughing at her.

NAUVOO, Monday, July 8

Joseph wrote in his journal:

I met with Lyman Wight, Peter Maughan, John Saunders, and Jacob Peart at Dr. Richards' home. These men had recently returned from the Pineries on Black River Falls in the Wisconsin Territory, and wished to discuss opening a coal-bed on Rock River. I suggested it would be profitable to employ the Maid of Iowa in the business of carrying the coal, &c; and all approved of the plan. The brethren then reported on the travails of their recent mission to the Pineries to procure lumber for the temple and Nauvoo House.

Lyman Wight spoke for the group. He was a huge, barrel-chested man, who could easily swing a double-bladed axe with one hand.

"Brother Joseph, it is purely through the goodness and mercy of God that we've returned to you safe. We've had a profitable but harrowing mission, both in souls saved and lumber harvested. We've commenced preaching the Gospel among the Chippewa and Menomanee Indians, with no small success.

"We've had many difficulties to encounter; but our main hindrance was the feeding, clothing, and transporting a great many lazy, idle men, who've not produced anything by their pretended labor. Present company excluded", he added hastily. "These brethren before you have distinguished themselves by their unceasing labors.

"When we arrived at Black River Falls, we found a great deal of timber already felled and waiting for us. With our sawmill we were able to dress the logs and assemble a raft amounting to nearly one million feet of lumber, which we completed in mid-April."

Peter Maughan spoke up. "When t' ice finally breaks up, we floats oor raft a'don t' Black Rivver past Galesville t't Mississippi, near t' La Crosse. T'was a gae' big raft, aboot 500 by 200 foot. We 'ad six chaps on sweeps t' steer 'er, an' two tents for sleepin'. T' spring floods was just beginnin', an' we fairly boomed along down t' river. At night, we set a lantairn at each end o' t' raft t' warn t' steamboats an' broadhorns of our comin'.

"We drifts on doon t' river, rather dossin' oursen' for a week, 'til we come t' New Diggins on t' twentyeth o'April. I' happens t' next day war' a Sunday, so we tied up oor raft for t' keep t' Sabbath in town.

"We slept on t' raft, then we gaan inter town on Sunday mornin', knowin' the'se no Saints in town, but hopin' t' find a friendly congregation ennerway. When we gae' ashore, we finds t' town desairted – a boddy could shoot a cannon down Main Street an' nae' cloot a dog. Frae' a handbill we found, we larned there ware a camp meetin' gettin' up just outside o' town, thanks t' a Reverend Phineas Ewing o' Missoura'."

Jacob Peart took up the conversation. "When we gets to the meetin' place, we sees this Reverend Ewing up on a preachin' stand, just like your'n Joseph, only not so big, preachin' to as sorry a congurgation as you ever did see. You know the lay o' the land in these meetins: The womenfolk sittin' mostly near the front on the anxious bench, a few families sittin' together in the center, and on the back row was the usual nabobs an' hecklers.

"Well, this Mr. Ewing was a'goin' on 'bout preforeordestination or some sich, an' purty soon the back-benchers starts loadin' up on plug tobacca', and that really gits him riled up. He starts sailin' in 'bout the evils of tobacca', which I couldn't hardly disurgree with, an' then wha'do you know, these mudcats start passin' the jug! My, he done give 'em down the banks fer that! He was gittin' more an' more red-faced an' distracted, an' the back-benchers was gittin' more cheerfulled-up, courtesy o' the jug, an' the rest of the congurgation just sits there putrified on their benches.

"Well finally, Reverend Ewing runs out o' steam, throws up his hands an' says, 'May the Lord have marcy on yer souls! Ah wash mah hands of you'all', an' then he climbs down from his Rameumptom. He was just on to leavin' when up steps Peter Maughan here, as easy as pie, an' strikes up a conversation with him. In his best Cumberland brogue, Brother Peter tells Mr. Ewing that we're a band o' eye-tinerant missionaries from England, out to save souls in these here parts. Says Mr. Ewing, 'What gospel do y'all preach?' an' Peter says, as mild as goose-milk, 'Why, we preach t' gospel o' repentance an' baptism by immairsion'. Mr. Ewing looks at him curious-like and says, 'Well, if you feel like puttin' in yer shovel, yer welcome; you cain't do any wuss'an me.'

"So Brother Maughan gets up on the stand an' starts preachin'. He did cut a right fine figger in his good Sunday suit an' stovepipe hat. Even the back-benchers thou't as much. Why, it war' the splendidist sermon I ever did hear, right up to the part where he mentions the gold plates an' the Hill Cumorah, an' then up pops Mr. Ewing, sayin' 'Sold! Ah knowed you was Mormons the minute ah laid eyes on yew', an' afore you knowed it he had the whole bilin' of 'em after us, throwin' rocks, sticks, and sich. Things was gittin' purty warm for us, so we lit out o' there an' shinned for the raft."

Lyman Wight spoke up. "After that encounter, we were more cautious about where we tied up and about revealing our identity. But it appears that word had spread; we were harassed everywhere we stopped, so we mostly kept to the raft and traveled day and night.

"We finally came to grief above Molier one night, when I tried to run the chute betwixt Rock Island and the Iowa mainland, where the stream was less'an a quart' mile wide. I should'a stuck to the main channel! Turns out there was a rope ferry line betwixt Molier and Rock Island. Normally the line would just lie on the bottom so boats could pass over? Well, they had that line as taut as a fiddle-string, just layin' for us. The rope caught on the bow of the raft, and then walked its way down to the stern, just erasing ever'thing in its path – lanterns, teepees, sweeps, an' all our tack. Why, it just trimmed that raft down to nothin'. We all jumped overboard, and the four of us made it to the skiff, which had broken loose from the raft.

"The rest of our crew lit out for shore, we reckon, and were captured. The last we saw of our raft, it was saddle-baggsed fast aground on a reef. We stayed with the skiff for four days, and finally made it to Nauvoo."

Joseph said, "Remarkable... A most unfortunate ending to a brave mission, brethren; may the Lord bless you for your efforts. They were not made in vain; I am determined to salvage that raft and rescue your men. We must have that lumber, for without it we can't complete the temple and the Nauvoo House. You shall hear from me soon."

NAUVOO, Tuesday, July 9

Joseph Smith paid a visit to Jonathan Browning, gunsmith, to see about replacing the state arms which the Nauvoo Legion had surrendered. About 220 stand of muskets had been returned to the state, leaving a number of the Legion without arms, although others had their own.

The Browning home and gun shop was a substantial brick building facing Main Street, between Kimball and Munson. Joseph found Browning in his shop working on a new gun for Porter Rockwell, a 15-shot repeating "slide gun".

"Good morning, Brother Joseph", said Browning, setting down the gun.

"Good morning, John. What have we here?"

Browning proudly showed him the rifle. Instead of the usual solid breech block, the gun had a horizontal slot which would receive a rectangular steel bar with fifteen holes drilled in it.

Looks like a harmonica, Joseph thought.

"Each time the gun is fired, you slide the bar to the next chamber", said Browning. "After fifteen shots, you simply remove the slide and reload it, or insert another already-loaded slide. The advantage is obvious – No more standing up to stuff a ramrod down the barrel after each shot. The only difficulty is in the machining, 'cause the fit betwixt the slide and the barrel is very exacting. Also, if you're not careful loading it, you could get a 'chain-fire' where all 15 charges go off together. A very impressive, but dangerous display."

He set down the rifle. "But what brings you here, Joseph?"

Joseph said, "As you know, Governor Ford has demanded the state firearms from our Nauvoo Legion, along with several cannon. The Legion's arsenal is a bit empty. I was wondering what you could do to remedy that?"

"Brother Joseph, this is a small gun shop. I can turn out two, maybe three guns a week, even with my apprentices. If I worked for Colt or Allen, I could re-equip the Legion in two days. You would probably do better to buy the guns from them, than to wait for me to make them one at a time. Or let each Legionnaire procure his own arms."

"I see", said Joseph, disappointed. "For now, we will just have to make do. We have upwards of five thousand men in the Legion, but many of them are poorly equipped, with old flintlocks, shotguns or even pitchforks. The Legion cuts a fine figure on the parade ground, but we could scarcely raise five hundred properly armed troops in an emergency."

"I wish I could help. But since you're here, I have something else to show you", said Browning. He led the Prophet over to a corner of the shop, where a small brass cannon sat on a bench next to the sand-casting box. The barrel was slender, about three feet long, with a two inch bore, and it had what appeared to be an iron sleeve around the breech end.

"John, we already have several cannon in our arsenal, larger than this. What makes this one different?"

"Joseph, this is a rifled cannon. You know how that a Kentucky rifle is more accurate than your common musket, because the ball spins as it travels? I have simply applied the rifling principle on a much larger scale.

"Ordinarily, it takes me two days to score the rifling grooves into a musket barrel – Two days of pushing and pulling a cutting tool up and down the barrel. That would never do here; I had to find a way to cast the grooves in place.

"I started by forging the iron band. That gives the cannon strength to resist bursting, while the rest of the weapon is made of brass, for lightness. Next, I had William Law's brickyard make me a four foot long pottery tube. They thought they were making a drain pipe for my house! Then I made a mandrel, a four foot long iron rod with thin strips of iron wrapped around it to form the rifling. I placed the "drain pipe" over the iron sleeve, inserted the mandrel down the center, and filled the whole assemblage with molten bronze. After it cooled, I simply unscrewed the mandrel from the bore, and here you have it."

"But why all this effort, John? Who needs this?"

Browning looked off in the distance. "This is just a proof, a demonstration model. An actual rifled cannon would be much larger, and cast in iron. My original intent was to patent this and sell it to the War Department. This is only a three-pounder cannon, but it should have nearly the range and hitting power of a six-pounder. And it will be far more accurate than your usual smoothbore cannon. But alas, I fear the War Department has no place for newfangled artillery pieces like this since the Princeton affair."

"The what?" said Joseph.

"You mean to say, you haven't heard? The Princeton is the newest ship in the U.S. Navy, and our first screw-propelled ship of war – no paddlewheels, that is. It was just launched this year. At any rate, on March 6th the crew was testing a new weapon, the "Peacemaker" – a huge smoothbore cannon, with a twelve inch bore, no less. The cannon exploded, killing eight people, including the Secretaries of State and War. President Tyler himself would surely have been killed also, but fortunately he was below deck when the incident occurred. My little brass popgun here is a prototype, designed to prevent those kinds of explosions in the future. But so far, none of the arsenals have shown any interest in it." He sighed.

"I have a better idea", said Joseph. "Brother Jonathan, would you accompany me to the lower steamboat landing? I think we may have a way to break this blockade of the upper Mississippi that has so bedeviled me."

The Prophet and Browning walked down Main Street to the lower boat landing, where the Maid of Iowa was moored. Joseph had recently purchased the Maid from her owners, Dan Jones and a Mr. Moffitt of Augusta. As they passed the unfinished Nauvoo House, Joseph gazed mournfully at the basement where Hyrum was secretly buried.

Captain Dan Jones was busy loading firewood with his crew – Daniel Burbank, Dimick Huntington, and Benjamin Orum. Dan Jones was a small, dark-haired Welshman who spoke very rapidly.

"Good day to ye", cried Dan Jones when he spotted the two. He glanced at Joseph's bandaged arm and shoulder. "An' 'ow is the shoolder, Broother Joseph?"

"Much better, Brother Dan", said Joseph, as he stepped aboard the steamboat. "The good doctor says I should have the full use of my right arm in a week or two."

Dan looked down at his boots for a moment, then he replied sadly,

"Sure'n I wish I could'a been there t' save both you an' Hyrum, Joseph. You know, of course, that I warned that pip'n gooverner for'at your lives ware' in danger. I am noow willin' to testify in coort that he was proper warned."

There was an awkward silence. Finally, Joseph looked up. " Thank you, Dan. You know Brother Jonathan Browning here, I'm sure? He and I have a plan to reclaim the log raft which has been seized north of here. As you may know, one of our logging parties was waylaid, and work on the temple and the Nauvoo House has suffered as a consequence."

"This plan o' your'n, it would'noo involve the Maid, would it na'?" said Dan, frowning.

"We intend to mount a cannon on the foredeck", said Joseph. "Do you remember last year, when Reynolds and Wilson kidnapped me and tried to spirit me off to Missouri? You ran your boat up the Illinois River to intercept them, where you were stopped by the Chicago Belle, which had a swivel gun on the forecastle?"

"Aye, I remembers it well", said Dan, frowning some more. "Tha' twas but a mere punt gun, a blunderbuss. And just how big maght this cannon o' your'n be?"

"A three-pounder", Browning said cheerfully.

Dan Jones exploded. "Ye carn be serious! It takes a bling bit'o cheek ta' perpose soocha caper! Tis not Auld Ironsides ye see 'ere! The Maid is an oold, wanged-out, done-up riverboat, with noo' proper keel, two leaky boilers, an' decks soo thin ye cun see the Mississippi through th' gaps. Ye mount a three-pounder on 'er, she gorra' fell through the deck ar' fly off the stairn when ye light t' fuse!"

"Now calm down, Dan", said Browning. "I still haven't proofed the cannon, yet. It mought just blow up on us e'en afore I mount it here." Dan was not amused at this news.

"I'm sure the two of you can work this out", said Joseph, smiling and patting Dan on the back. "I shall now take my leave of you, in hopes that the new 'Mormon Navy' may soon be launched."

He paused and turned. "By the bye, this is no longer the Maid of Iowa. Brother Dan, you are now the proud captain of the Hyrum Smith. If I win this election, I intend we shall soon have a whole fleet of 'Smith boats' patrolling this river. Good day, gentlemen."

NAUVOO, Wednesday, July 10

Joseph returned to his Red Brick Store with Willard Richards in the afternoon, after visiting the temple site. As they entered, Joseph saw Mary Elizabeth Lightner sitting alone outside the office. She stood to meet them.

"Sister Lightner, thank you for coming. And how is your husband Adam?"

"Very well, thank you", she said rather nervously, as the two men escorted her into the office.

Joseph shut the door. "Please, be seated. Have you considered what we discussed last week?"

"Yes Brother Joseph, and I discussed it with my husband, as you suggested. Bless his heart, after I carefully explained the doctrine to him, he was amenable to the proposal, just as you said he would be – More amenable than I yet am, I own. Adam is such a good man, and I long for him to join the Church, but you know that as yet he will not. Does Emma know about me yet?"

"Emma thinks the world of you", Joseph said.

"Brother Joseph, may I unburden my soul to you?"

"Please do", he said kindly.

She gathered her thoughts. "Ever since you blessed me in Kirtland in 1831, when I first met you at the age of twelve, I have had dreams from time to time that I was your wife. I thought I was a great sinner for it. I prayed to God to take it from me for I felt it was a sin. Never in all my life did I wish for it to come to pass." Her eyes dropped and she blushed.

Joseph replied, "Sister Lightner, the Lord gave me the principle of plural marriage as part of the 'Restoration of all things' spoken of in the scriptures. I resisted the doctrine for many years. Between the years of 1834 and 1842 an angel came to me three times, and said I was to obey that principle or he would slay me"

Joseph's face clouded up.

"They have called me a false and fallen prophet, but I am more in favor with my God this day than I ever was in all my life before! I know that I shall be saved in the Kingdom of God. I have the oath of God upon it and God cannot lie; all that he gives me I shall take with me for I have that authority and that power conferred upon me. It cannot be a sin if God ordains it."

"But how can I possibly be married to two men at the same time? It is against every principle I have ever been taught", she said, blushing again.

"Mary, if Adam were to join the Church, I would most happily preside at your sealing. But as he has elected not to join, your marriage to him is for time only. He shall have you for the duration of your mortal life, but I shall be sealed to you in the eternities, if you are agreed."

"Are there others besides Emma to whom you have been... 'sealed'?"

"Yes, and you shall learn of them at the proper time", he said.

She thought for a moment:

I think I know who some of them are.

She looked in his eyes. "Brother Joseph, I shall never be sealed to you until I have a witness that this is right."

"You shall have a witness."

"If God told you that, why does he not tell me?"

"Will you betray me?" he said.

"I have never told a mortal and shall never tell a mortal I had such a talk from a married man", she said, shocked.

"Well", said Joseph, "Pray earnestly, for the angel said to me you should have a witness. Good day, Sister Lightner."

Willard Richards escorted her out of the office. As they parted, he said, "Sister Lightner, if you have a witness I want to know it."

"Why should I tell you?" she said, curiously.

"Well", said Willard, "Let's just say, I want to know for myself."

NAUVOO, Wednesday, July 10, evening

During the day a committee of nine ladies, among whom were Mrs. Hyrum Smith, Mrs. John Taylor, Mrs. Arthur Milliken and Mrs. W.W. Phelps, waited upon Mr. Robert D. Foster, and told him they would not bear his taunts and insults any longer. They ordered him to leave the city forthwith, or he would be visited by a stronger force tomorrow. These ladies having good reason to believe that Foster was accessory to the murder of the Patriarch, took the liberty of pursuing this course towards him.

Mr. Hiram Kimball obligated himself that Foster should leave before morning, accordingly he got his team ready and took him out of the city this evening.

As Hiram Kimball and Robert Foster rode along the Nauvoo-Carthage road, Foster maintained a sullen silence. Finally, as they approached the Fellows house about midway between the two cities, Foster spoke.

"Just how far you plan to haul me, Kimball? Pittsburgh?"

"Nah, jist far enow' for that you're standin' on someone else's land, not mine", Hiram replied. "You know, of course, that I once owned this whole section. Usta' own much of Commerce, for that matter, afore the Mormons showed up an' purchased it from me."

"Then you have my condolences", said Foster.

"Don't need 'em", replied Hiram. "The Mormons 'ave treated me fair, 'specially since I got baptized last year. Ah, here we are. You kin walk from here, Foster, an' I'd suggest you keep your back turned to Nauvoo from now on."

Robert Foster jumped down from the wagon, Hiram untied his wrists, and he headed off down the road towards Carthage.
CHAPTER 5

NAUVOO, Thursday, July 11

Adam and Mary Lightner were at home in the evening, just finishing their supper. She toyed with her food for awhile, then she set her fork down.

"Miles, when you have finished, please go tend the chickens", she said. Miles Henry Lightner was eight years old.

After Miles was out of earshot, Adam said, "Mary, I knows what's on your mind. Have you prayed 'bout it, like Joseph said to?"

"Adam, if ever a poor mortal prayed this day, I did. I went out and got between three haystacks where no one could see me. As I knelt down I thought, why not pray as Moses did? He prayed with his hands raised. When his hands were raised, Israel was victorious, but when they were not raised, the Philistines were victorious. I have heard Joseph say that when he lifts his hands, the angels cover their faces."

"And?"

"I felt nothing. Adam, I don't know what to think, or feel! I only know that I love you, and I also love Joseph Smith, but in quite a different manner than I do you, of course. Why, oh why, after all you have been through for the Church, won't you be sealed to me? Then you and I, and Miles, could be an eternal family. I don't want to be married to you for fifty years or so, only to lose you and then live with Joseph for the rest of eternity, much as I revere him!"

"Mary, I don't fathom all this 'spiritual wife' doctrine, but..."

She cut him off. "Don't call it that! 'Spiritual wifery' is a wicked distortion of the truth, Adam. The enemies of the Church have made a mockery of this sacred doctrine. They call the Nauvoo Mansion Joseph's 'harem'. Do you wonder that he is so careful to whom he reveals this knowledge?"

Adam continued. "...as I was sayin', I don't fathom it; all I know is, I stake my life on Joseph's integrity. I've resked my life for his'n in Missouri more'n once, and if he says a thing is so, it's so. If he thinks he can marry you in the next life, he's welcome to try. Sounds ta' me like jist a formality, so it don't much hurt me in the here-an'-now. Leastways, I dasn't stop him from it. I know his intentions is honor'ble. If'n he laid a finger on you, sure'n he'd answer to me for it."

She bowed her head. "Oh, Adam, I wish it was that simple. Don't you see? If word of this gets out, the persecutions of Missouri will seem to us like childs-play! If all hell breaks loose on us, as it surely will, can you promise me that you will stay faithful to me?"

He took her hand in his, lifted her chin and said, "I will, Mary. An' I know you will."

NAUVOO, Friday, July 12

The following advertisement appeared in the Nauvoo Neighbor:

GUNSMITHING

The subscriber is prepared to manufacture, to order, improved Fire-arms, viz: revolving rifles and pistols, also slide guns, from 5 to 25 shooters. All on an improved plan, and he thinks not equaled this far West. The emigrating and sporting community are invited to call and examine Browning's improved fire-arms before purchasing elsewhere. Shop located on Main Street, between Kimball and Munson.

JONATHAN BROWNING

Messrs. Bedell and Backenstos, the latter being the clerk of Hancock County, arrived in Nauvoo and reported that Governor Ford had demanded the public arms at Warsaw, and the people there refused to give them up; which action was in harmony with the whole course of conduct on the part of that people.

The Quincy Whig reprinted the following article, which had appeared originally in the Nauvoo Expositor, which had culled much of the same material from an even earlier edition of the Warsaw Signal. The fig-leaf of legitimacy is thereby bestowed upon lies, innuendo and slanders, which otherwise would not merit our attention:

We have received the only number of the "Nauvoo Expositor;" it is rich with anti-Mormon matter, both editorial and communicated. Among other things it contains a lengthy letter from Joseph H. Jackson, giving some items in relation to his connection with the "Mormon Prophet", as also his reasons for the same.

It will be perceived that many of the most dark and damnable crimes that ever darkened human character, which have hitherto been to the public, a matter of rumor and suspicion, are now reduced to indisputable facts. We have reason to believe, from our acquaintance with Mr. Jackson, and our own observation, that the statements he makes are true; and in view of these facts, we ask, in the name of heaven, where is the safety of our lives and liberties, when placed at the disposal of such heaven daring, hell deserving, God forsaken villains!

Our blood boils while we refer to these blood thirsty and murderous propensities of men, or rather demons in human shape, who, not satisfied with practicing their dupes upon a credulous and superstitious people, must wreak their vengeance upon any who may dare to come in contact with them. We deplore the desperate state of things to which we are necessarily brought, but, we say to our friends, "keep cool", and the whole tale will be told.

NAUVOO, Saturday, July 13

At around nine p.m., Mary Elizabeth Lightner walked quickly down the street to the home of Willard Richards. Glancing cautiously around, she knocked on the door. Jennetta Richards opened the door and exclaimed,

"Why, Mary Elizabeth! What art tha' doing out so late, child! Do come in."

"I am so sorry to intrude, Sister Richards, but Brother Richards asked me to notify him the instant I learned something."

She was ushered into the parlor, where Willard met her.

"Sister Lightner, so glad to see you! Do be seated! Have you received your answer yet?"

Mary Elizabeth glanced at Jennetta, to which Willard said,

"It's all right, Jennetta knows all about the Holy Order. Your confidence is safe here."

Mary Elizabeth took a deep breath and said slowly,

"I – I'm not sure where to begin... Last night an angel of the Lord came to me, and if ever a thrill went through a mortal, it went through me."

She began to speak more confidently. "I gazed upon the clothes and figure but the eyes was like lightning. They pierced me from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet. I was frightened almost to death for a moment. I tried to waken my aunt, but I could not. The angel leaned over me and the light was very great, although it was night. When my aunt woke up she said she'd seen a figure in white robes pass from our bed to my mother's bed and pass out of the window."

"And did the angel say anything to you?" said Willard.

"No, when he appeared, I hid my face in fear, and then he left."

"Ah", said Willard, disappointed. "Are you now prepared to enter into the new and everlasting covenant?"

Mary Elizabeth was trembling. She raised her head and said, "I'm not – I am not certain yet."

NAUVOO, Sunday, July 14

Later in the day, Joseph came up to the Lightner house along with Willard Richards, to speak to Mary Elizabeth in private.

Joseph said to her, "Have you had a witness yet?"

"No..."

"Well", said Joseph, "the angel expressly told me you should have."

"I have not had a witness, but I have seen something I have never seen before. I saw an angel and I was frightened almost to death. I did not speak."

Joseph studied her awhile and then put his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He looked up and said, "How could you have been such a coward?"

"I was weak."

"Did you think to say, 'Father, help me?'"

"No."

"Well, if you had just said that, your mouth would have been opened, for that was an angel of the living God. He came to you with more knowledge, intelligence, and light than I have ever dared to reveal."

She replied, "If that was an angel of light, why did he not speak to me?"

"You covered your face and for this reason the angel was insulted."

"Will it ever come again?"

He thought a moment and then said, "No, not the same one, but if you are faithful you shall see greater things than that."

They sat in awkward silence for a time. Finally, Mary Elizabeth looked up, took a deep breath and said,

"Brother Joseph, I have forseen this day since I was twelve years old. However much I may kick at the traces, it appears I cannot escape my destiny. I have had witnesses enough. I consent to your proposal."

NAUVOO, Wednesday, July 17

Early in the morning, Jonathan Browning carted his new cannon down to the riverbank to "proof" it. With him were Dan Jones and Orville H. Browning, Jonathan's non-Mormon cousin from Quincy. Orville was a lawyer who had represented Joseph Smith at various times.

Jonathan had fashioned a temporary carriage for the gun, which they set on the bank pointing toward Zarahemla on the opposite side of the river. Through a spyglass, Browning could just see Norton Jacob on the opposite bank, acting as his spotter. Norton was a soldier in the Legion's artillery regiment.

"I plan to test the cannon to destruction, using various charges and rounds", said Jonathan. "That way, we can develop a range table and test the burst strength of my design. I can also determine how well these brass rifling grooves hold up. This is, after all, just a prototype. I would've preferred to cast it in iron, if I could."

Jonathan had cast about twenty "rounds" for the cannon. They were not the usual spherical shape, but shaped more like a beehive. Around the cylindrical end of each round was a strip of lead.

"The lead will engage the rifling in the barrel", said Jonathan as he rammed the first charge into the muzzle. "That's what will give this gun its extraordinary accuracy and range – I hope. Well, we're ready to begin."

He picked up the semaphore flags and wigwagged to Norton, across the river.

"...He says 'Fire when ready'", said Orville, looking through the spyglass.

The three men took cover behind a sand bank, and Jonathan pulled the lanyard. The gun roared, and a sound like tearing cloth echoed across the river. Looking up, they could just make out the round arcing across the river. After about ten seconds it fell with a small splash about a hundred yards short of the opposite bank.

"Not quite a mile. Looks like I should increase the charge", said Jonathan.

At about this same time, Joseph and Emma were sitting together in the parlor of the Mansion. There was a frosty silence in the room. Finally, Emma spoke up.

"Joseph, I cannot sanction it."

"Emma, we have had this conversation before. You know my heart. You know I would never enter into such a bond for licentious purposes, nor unless the Lord sanctioned it?"

"I believe you, Joseph. I trust you implicitly on that point. But you know I cannot bear to share you with another woman, no matter how honorable your intentions or hers may seem."

BOOM. The windows rattled.

"What in heaven's name was that?" she said, startled.

"That? Oh, Brother Browning is trying a new cannon down by the river."

She composed herself again. "Joseph, for twenty-six years I have followed you from state to state, borne your children and watched them die, fed you in prison, and scraped the tar from your bleeding body. I crossed the frozen Mississippi River, with your precious revelations sewn into my skirts, and your children in my arms! We have moved more than twenty times, and the Mansion is the first proper home we have ever had! Has any wife ever waded through more toil and sorrow for her husband's sake, than I have for you?"

"And you have borne it all patiently, save for this one doctrine", said Joseph. "I heard of how you seized Sister Eliza by the hair, and threw her out in the street! Why must you be so adamantean and jealous? How can I be diminished to you, by increasing my eternal inheritance?"

She bowed her head. "My jealousy, call it what you will, is grounded in my utter devotion to you, Joseph. It is how I am constituted. I cannot help it."

"My dearest Emma, you know the word of the Lord on this matter. If you accept it, 'thou art still an elect lady'. If not, you stand condemned. I must have your consent, otherwise I cannot proceed. This sealing is not for time, but solely for eternity. The young woman is already married."

She suddenly exploded. "Which is precisely my point! Suppose word gets out that you are married to another man's wife – Not that there aren't enough rumors about 'spiritual wifery' already! Oh, why must you set yourself up as a lighting rod for more persecution?" She hid her face and wept.

BOOM. This time, the china rattled in the cupboards.

"I must do as the Lord commands", Joseph said meekly. "I was taught that lesson a very long time ago. No one knows better than I the torrent of rumors and slander that have swept this city of late. I was obliged to discontinue the Female Relief Society meetings, because of the smut mill some of the sisters were ginning up there."

Emma had no fight left in her. Without looking up, she whispered, "Very well, Joseph, you have my consent."

Joseph gazed sadly at Emma for a moment, then he turned and said, "Mary Elizabeth, you may come in now."

Mary Elizabeth Rollins Lightner, soon to be Smith, nervously entered the room.

Joseph said, "Emma and I will cross the street to my store. Sister Richards and Sister Kimball will meet you here and escort you to the store in a few minutes. There we will perform the ceremony. Are you ready?"

"I am."

Back at the firing range, Browning was still fiddling with the cannon's elevation and charge, trying to find the maximum range. "Three eighths of a pound, thirty-five degrees", he mumbled to himself, scribbling notes.

Dan Jones loaded the charge and adjusted the elevation with a quadrant and plumb line. They all took cover once more, and Jonathan pulled the lanyard. This time there was a tremendous explosion, and the top of the sand bank caved in on them. When the smoke cleared, the cannon was gone.

"Looks to me like we found our maximum range..." Orville said in awe, as he shook the sand from his hair.

Bits and pieces of brass and iron were embedded in the cottonwood trees around them, and a large chunk of the breech was half buried in the side of William Law's house, twenty yards to the east. "Per'aps ye should ha' pointed the barrel t'other direction", Dan observed dryly. "That way, ye mout 'ave wrought more destrooction."

In the afternoon, Joseph paid a visit to the temple quarry at the north end of Main Street. He was pleased to find about twenty men hard at work, cutting and hauling rough blocks of limestone up the hill to the temple site. Hyrum had been the quarry foreman until his death, and now Reynolds Cahoon had taken his place. Reynolds greeted Joseph at the entrance to the quarry.

"Brother Joseph! So good to see you up an' about!" said Reynolds. "Come, see our progress!"

The quarry was a beehive of activity, with some men hammering wooden staging in between the slabs of limestone, while others worked to pry the huge blocks of stone free from the rock face. The air was filled with the constant ching... ching of hammer on chisel. Limestone dust was everywhere – in the air, on the workmen's clothing and faces, and under foot.

Charles Lambert jumped down from his springboard perch where he had been working the top stone course. He wiped his hands on his leather apron, then shook hands with Joseph and said in his broad Yorkshire accent,

"Gie' day t'thee, Brouther Joseph! 'Tis a fair ta' middlin' quarry yer 'ave 'ere – 'ardly the equal o' some in England, but good enow. An' t'limestone 'ere cuts like cheese, nawt like 'at chawky English marl!"

Joseph smiled, then he cast his gaze across the quarry face. "Brethren, I see a temple in outline here. Each rock and outcropping you see here has a special place in the Lord's house. As you 'raze' this quarry, you shall 'raise' God's temple."

Charles Lambert grinned and said, "Aye, but 'ere's just one 'itch – this 'ere temple's upside-dahn!"

Joseph climbed up on the staging, with some difficulty because of his bandaged arm, and examined Charles's handiwork. The Yorkshireman had incised a long, straight groove in the upper face of the limestone, about ten feet long. Steel wedges had been driven into the groove at intervals. This section of the rock face had been undercut and was ready to be broken loose from the surrounding rock. Joseph looked at the outcropping and estimated that about ten tons of stone were waiting to be dropped to the quarry floor.

"A fine piece of work you've done here, Charlie", Joseph said.

"A few more taps wi'me 'ammer should pry 'er loose", Charles said hopefully, as he turned to resume his work.

"Hold up, Charlie, and let me give it a try", Joseph said suddenly.

Charles looked concerned and said, "But Joseph, I been delvin' on 'is rock far three days, wi' both me dawks! 'Ower ye goin' ter swing an' 'ammer wi' naught but one 'and?" But Joseph was already unwinding the sling from his right arm and shoulder. He threw the sling away, spit on his hands and rubbed them together, then smiled and said,

"Charlie, hand me that beetle, there."

Charles handed Joseph his twenty-pound sledge, and Joseph positioned himself on the plateau just back of the rock face, looking south, near the first steel wedge. He looked up the hill to the temple site, grinned, then looked back down at the mass of limestone before him.

Charles looked in disbelief at the Prophet; then he shouted down to the other workmen in the quarry:

"Avast, ye mates! She's comin' dahn!"

Charles retreated to a spot behind Joseph, safely out of range of the sledge. The other quarrymen below withdrew to a safe distance and looked up in amazement as their Prophet cried, "For Hyrum!", swung the hammer in a mighty arc over his head, and struck the wedge with a loud CHING.

Peter Maughan turned to Reynolds Cahoon and whispered,

"Two quid says 'e cain't break it free".

Joseph continued hammering on the first wedge until it was flush with the rock, then he moved on to the second wedge.

CHING... CHING...

He paused to remove his vest and wipe his brow, then he went right back to work.

CHING... CHING...

Now he was working on the third wedge. Suddenly, with a sound like the crack of doom, the massive slab began to separate from the rock face. The ground trembled, and Joseph sprang back and watched the enormous boulder slowly peel away and fall with a thunderous roar to the quarry floor twenty feet below, where it split into several massive blocks. As it came to rest in a cloud of dust and broken staging, the quarrymen cheered and waved their hats.

"Hurrah for Zion! Hurrah for Joseph!"

Joseph caught his breath and wiped his brow, then he triumphantly handed the sledge back to Charles Lambert, who clapped him on the shoulder and cried, "Brawther Joseph, yer a proper quarryman, ye air!"

The quarrymen threw a chain around one of Joseph's limestone blocks and began skidding it onto an ox-drawn sled, which would transport it up the hill to the temple site. As they heaved and pried at the huge block of stone, they kept time by singing an old sea chanty:

Pipe all hands to man the windlass,

See our cable running clear.

As we heave away the anchor,

For old England we will steer.

Rolling home, rolling home,

Rolling home across the sea.

Rolling home to dear old England,

Rolling home, fair land, to thee.

Man the bars; heave with a will, lads,

Let all hands that can clap on;

And while we heave around the capstan

We will sing that well-known song.

Rolling home, rolling home,

Rolling home across the sea.

Rolling home to dear old England,

Rolling home, fair land, to thee.

NAUVOO, Thursday, July 18

In the morning Joseph rode out to view the progress on the temple. Upon his return to the Mansion, to his surprise he found Emma packing her bags to leave. He could tell she was in a high dudgeon.

"Emma! What is the meaning of this? Where are you going?"

"Joseph, I will not stay another minute in this house while those other women are under foot here. Oh, you know the ones: Zina, and Eliza the First, and Eliza the Second, and Sarah Ann, and Helen, and Martha, and now Mary, and... Goodness knows, I can't keep track of them all, how can you?"

"But where are you going? Where will you live?"

"I'm going to visit my sister Elizabeth Wasson in Dixon. I don't know when I'll be back, peradventure after the birthing in November. I just don't know. But there's no use arguing with me about it, my mind is set. Perhaps there, I can find the peace that eludes me here."

Joseph was downcast, but he said, "Very well, Emma. If you wish, I'll make arrangements to have you ferried up Rock River to Dixon. That will save you from traveling by land. Captain Jones and the Hyrum Smith are leaving on the morrow, and I shall accompany you. I'll see to it that your baggage is on board in the morning."

"Thank you, Joseph. That will be acceptable", she said frostily.

NAUVOO, Friday, July 19

At about eight in the morning Porter Rockwell hauled Emma's baggage down to the Hyrum Smith and secured it in the cabin. Joseph came down early to inspect the boat.

The former Maid of Iowa was showing its age. Despite the crew's best efforts, the boat was wearing out. Joseph noticed the peeling paint, the broken windows, and a large burn mark on the left side.

"Some villain tried ta set fire ta the boot last year in Memphis", said Dan Jones. "He hid a lighted cigar under a mattress oo'tside o' the lady's cabin. Ufft! An' ware' it not far Sister Staines soundin' the alarm, we would'a lost th' entire boot."

"I hadn't heard", said Joseph

"Tis an adventure, ever' trip up the Mississippi", said Dan. "Ever-one noo's us on sight as the 'Mormon boot', an' we get more'n our fair share o' rocks an' rifle balls aimed at us at ever' landin', it seems. She lost her lighter-boat back in June on the Iowa River. We ware haulin' a load o' corn an' loomber, an' the lighter hit a snag an' split right in two. Aye, t'was a bad job! But thank the heavens, an' the boot 'erself missed the snag!"

"How are the boilers?" said Joseph.

"Mighty frail", said Dan. "These auld fashion barrel-stave boilers leaked even when noo', so we nae gorra raise the steam pressure too high for fear o' springin' more leaks. The water tubes 'ave been swillin' fro' the Mississippi fer four years now an' are badly encroosted. An' joost last week we 'ad a chimney fire – the flues an' chimneys is full o' creosote. At least the roonin' gear is in godd shape. The bearin's, shafts, an' cylinders air' well maintained. But the paddlewheels air' badly chawed up, fro' walkin' the boot ovair too many sandbars."

Joseph put his hand on Dan's shoulder. "Just keep the Hyrum running for another six months, Dan. If I win the election, I promise I'll buy you a new steamboat."

Dan's face brightened at this news.

Joseph noticed the new swivel-gun on the foredeck. It was one of Jonathan Browning's new rifled cannons.

"When folks see this, you may get fewer rocks hived at you", Joseph remarked.

Porter Rockwell came up behind them. "You're all packed, Joseph, in the best cabin on board, which on this scow ain't none too grand."

"Thank you, Porter. Once Emma is delivered safely to the Wassons, the Legion has some unfinished business with that log raft near Rock Island. We must have that wood."

The men could see a platoon of Nauvoo Legion riflemen approaching them from up Main Street. As they arrived at the landing, General Hosea Stout strode smartly up the gangplank and saluted Joseph.

"Permission to come aboard, sir!" said General Stout.

"Relax, Hosea, Captain Jones informs me this isn't Old Ironsides, and I'm no admiral, and you're an army general to boot", said Joseph, smiling. "However, as Admiral Nelson once said, 'England expects every man to do his duty'. Permission granted." He returned Hosea's salute.

The troops started filing on board. In the distance, Joseph could now see Emma as she left the Mansion and walked down Main Street toward the pier, accompanied by Julia and young Joseph. Their father strode down the gangplank to meet them.

Emma said, "Joseph, I – I'm sorry, I wish it were otherwise, but I simply must get away for a time. Try to understand." They embraced.

From the hurricane deck, Captain Jones cried, "Steam's oop, Joseph!"

"Very well", Joseph shouted back, as Emma and the two children headed up the gangplank.

Jones swung into action with his speaking trumpet. "Raise the gangplank! Cast off bow! Cast off stairn! Ahead stabboard! Ahead labboard!"

With a great belch of smoke from the two chimneys and a loud hissing and chuffing of steam, the Hyrum Smith headed out into the Mississippi.

MISSISSIPPI RIVER, Saturday, July 20

The Hyrum Smith was hugging the Illinois shore, trying to avoid the main channel's swift currents, as it thrashed its way upstream. Emma and young Joseph the Third were taking in the scenery along the river near Oquawka. From the Texas deck, they had a splendid view up and down the river. Young Joseph seemed to delight in pointing out the gnarled branches of each cottonwood tree, or the occasional stately oak or beech tree.

"Look, ma, a deer!" he exclaimed, as a doe bounded through the underbrush.

Down on the main deck, Lyman Wight had prepared his "circulating library" – a stack of shingles with a variety of tracts tied to them: The Voice of Warning, Views on the Powers and Policy of the Government of the United States, Heaven on Earth, and extracts from the Nauvoo Neighbor.

Before long, an "ark" hove in sight upstream – a long timber raft, about twelve feet wide and fifty long. On one end was a covered pen for cattle, and at the other end was an equally rude cabin for the human inhabitants. Lyman could see smoke curling from the cabin's chimney. An old man and his wife, dressed in homespun, were sitting outside the cabin on rockers smoking their pipes. At the stern of the raft, a younger man was working a long sweep to steer the raft. A cow could be seen poking her head out the window of her pen. About a dozen half-naked children as well as dogs and chickens were running aimlessly around the raft. Some of the children stopped to gape at the grand steamboat approaching them, and the cow gave a loud moo. It was a perfectly idyllic scene, straight from the canvas of The Peaceable Kingdom.

As the ark approached the larboard side of the Hyrum, Lyman could hear the cry, "What news!" across the water. He selected a shingle and waited until the two boats were nearly abreast, then he carefully laid the shingle on the water and gave it a good shove.

The steersman – apparently the person who had cried out – waited eagerly for the steamboat to deliver him his newspaper. The shingle reached him just as the two boats passed each other. As the ark drifted downstream and the Hyrum Smith resumed its journey, a stream of profanity erupted across the water from the raft.

Lyman Wight shrugged. "Must be a Quincy Whig subscriber", he said. "Or a Campbellite. Looks like he didn't care much for Brother Parley's Voice of Warning."

Emma and young Joseph had observed the whole affair from the Texas deck. Joseph turned to her and said earnestly, "Ma, why do people hate us so?"

Emma thought for a moment, then she looked at him and said,

"Joseph, we have something the rest of the world has not, and that is the fullness of the gospel. When some people hear that, they resent us, even if we offer the truth to them on a silver platter. Some people just plainly don't want to change, so they take a disliking to anyone that's different from them."

"But why can't we be like other people? Do you really think God likes us better'an everyone else?"

"No, Joseph, but he expects more of us. He gives us a little more light and knowledge, to see what we will do with it – line upon line, here a little and there a little, until we finally comprehend the mysteries of God. My son, there is no greater gift in the world or out of it than that."

He stared at the river. "I dunno... Sometimes I wish I could just jump ship, y'know, head down the river on a flatboat or ark like them folks, 'till I found a place where no one had never heard of 'Joseph Smith'. Everywhere I go, my name is bad luck!"

She seized him by the shoulders and looked fiercely into his eyes.

"Joseph, don't you ever talk like that! You, your father, and your father's father have a good, honorable name! You bear the name of the greatest man living upon the earth at this time!"

"But I don't wanna be great! I just want to live peaceable-like an' not bother nobody, like them folks on that ark!"

She stared at him fiercely and tightened her grip. "Joseph, you cannot escape your destiny. 'The ends of the earth shall inquire after thy name'. Though you should travel to far-off India, yet the world would search you out. Some day you shall take your place at the head of this Church, which is your patriarchal right and duty."

"But what about what I want?" he replied.

She hugged him close to her. "Oh, Joseph, my young Joseph... I wish you could understand. The Smith family brought this Church forth out of obscurity and darkness, and we have sacrificed far too much to turn it over to the likes of Brigham Young and The Twelve."

NAUVOO, Saturday, July 20

Jennetta Richards spent several morning hours weeding and tilling her garden – one of the finest in Nauvoo, in her estimation. At last she wiped her brow and sat down on an overturned bucket to gaze contentedly at her labors: row after row of squash, peas, melons, cabbage, and a row of pumpkins that would surely win her the first prize at the Nauvoo fair next fall. She felt immensely peaceful and grateful for God's bounteous blessings in her life – not the least of which was the sparing of Willard's life in Carthage just the month before. She laid her hand on her stomach and thought,

And another Richards on the way... Surely God is good to us.

When she stood up to head back to the house, she took a few steps, but then the ground started spinning under her feet.

This is peculiar, she thought, as she sat down heavily on the bucket again. She paused for a moment, then she stood up again.

"Sister Jen, wake up!"

Jennetta opened her eyes and looked straight up at Sarah Longstroth, her sister-wife. It slowly dawned on her that she was lying flat on her back in the garden next to her bucket. Sarah was kneeling next to her, patting her cheeks and calling to her.

"Huh, wha', how long 'ave I been here?" Jennetta mumbled

"I don't know, but I found you sprawled here, out cold!" Sarah said anxiously.

Jenetta sat up slowly and carefully. The earth had stopped spinning under her. She picked up her straw hat, took a deep breath, stood up and declared firmly,

"I be well enow', thank'ee. An' not a word o' this to Willard, y'hear? It'll pass."

"Yes, Jen, I promise", said Sarah, as she picked up the bucket and helped Jennetta back to the house.

ROCK RIVER, Sunday, July 21

The Hyrum Smith moved slowly up the Mississippi River near Muscatine. At this point, the Mississippi made a great, sweeping bend, running from west to east as far as Moline, twenty miles upstream. On their right was the mouth of the Rock River, and about five miles upstream was Rock Island.

"Keep to the south side 'ere, Mistair 'untington, 'till we reach 'ampton", said Dan Jones.

"I hear tell some of our apostate 'friends' are living in Hampton now", said Joseph Smith. "The Laws, Fosters, John C. Bennett, even old William McLellin. Such fine upstanding citizens... Must be something hereabouts that attracts them."

"Prob'ly all the flies", said Rockwell as he came up the stairs. "I'd like to take that swivel gun an' hive a round through M'Lellin's front door 'bout now. Maybe that'd persuade him to give back Emma's goods and bedding, what he smouched from her whils't you was in Liberty Jail, Joseph."

As they proceeded, the channel narrowed to less than half a mile's width. Rock Island loomed toward them like a great warship jutting out of the river.

"You see that stockade at the lower end of the island?" said Lewis Barney, pointing. "That's Fort Armstrong. We built it durin' the Black Hawk war 'bout twelve years ago, then abandoned it. That mout' be where they're holdin' our men. We had a cell there for holdin' Injuns an' slaves an' sich."

Lyman Wight kept a close eye out for the place where his log raft had come to grief. Dimick Huntington, who was piloting, kept to the main channel on the south side of the island, while Lyman scanned the north shore with the spyglass.

"I see it", Lyman said finally. "Looks like they're starting to dismantle it right where it ran aground, just downstream of Molier." He shook his head. "Lordy... There's enough lumber in that raft to rebuild St. Louis..."

As they approached the lower tip of Rock Island, Dan called out,

"This be close enow. Revairse coorse, Mistair 'untington. We'll get the raft on the retairn trip, after we delivers our passengers to Dixon."

The Hyrum Smith headed back downstream and made the turn into the Rock River. Immediately, Lyman noticed a difference: Rock River was a small, shallow stream compared to the great Mississippi, but its current was much swifter. The water was clear, not muddy.

Dan Jones noticed the difference too. "Against this current, we be lucky ta make two, maybe three mile an 'ooer", he said. "At least the water is still high. Most o' the year, ye canna' roon a boat alla way ta' Dixon far 'at the river shallows oop too soon."

Dimick rang the bell three times, 'ding ding...ding', then he shouted down to the main deck,

"Leadsman to the bow! Sound off!"

Daniel Burbank ran to the bow with a weighted line and cast it ahead of the boat. When the line hung vertically in his hand, he took the depth. "Quarter mark three!" he shouted.

"Nineteen and a half feet", Dimick said to Joseph. "The boat draws five feet, so we're fine for now. But the river shallows fast. Carry on, Mr. Burbank!" he cried.
CHAPTER 6

NAUVOO, Monday, July 22

Sister Leonora Taylor wrote to Governor Ford as follows:

Nauvoo, July 22, 1844.

To His Excellency Thomas Ford.

Sir – The peculiarity of my situation will, I hope, plead my excuse for troubling your Excellency on the present occasion.

Mr. Taylor, who was severely wounded in the jail at Carthage, is still ill, and obliged to be lifted in and out of bed; his wounds are slowly healing, and we hope he will finally get well, if suffered to do so. But, sir, I am sorry to say the murderers and mobbers are still at large in our neighborhood; as there has been no steps taken to bring them to justice, they have taken fresh courage and held meetings to carry out their work of destruction. I have been told they have sent messengers to Missouri to collect all the force they can, to come and exterminate the Mormons after harvest.

Your excellency was warned of our brethren's danger, before the murder, but could not believe that men were so base and degraded. The same men are now plotting our destruction.

As an individual who feels herself injured, and also in behalf of an oppressed, injured and persecuted people, I again beg your official interference. Your Excellency cannot now be mistaken in the men nor their design; I beseech you then, for the honor of our bleeding country, for the sake of suffering innocence and the cause of humanity, by the wounds of my husband and the blood of that murdered victim Hyrum Smith, to use prompt measures for our protection and the bringing to justice of those murderers.

Sincerely praying that you, sir, may become a terror to evildoers and the praise of those that do well, with great respect,

I have the honor to be,

Your Excellency's humble servant,

Leonora Taylor.

NAUVOO, Tuesday, July 23

At about two in the morning Jenetta Richards suddenly awoke, sweating profusely. She tried to move, but realized to her horror that she was paralyzed – all she could do was to make little whimpering sounds, hoping that Willard would awaken and rescue her, but he slept on unawares.

As the hours slowly passed, she felt her body finally relax and her fever broke. By the time dawn arrived, her strength had returned and she arose and went about her daily labors, as if nothing had happened the night before.

What is happening to me? she thought.

STERLING, Tuesday, July 23

The Hyrum Smith made it up the Rock River as far as Sterling, when they could go no farther. Ahead of them was Rock Falls, an impassable series of cascades, chutes and rapids.

"One fathom!" cried the leadsman.

"Six feet... Well, noo sense killin' the boat", said Dan. "We ran aground aboot here back in May, an' nairly lost two men ovairboord while lightenin' the load. We're naught but three-four miles from the Wasson's, at any rate. We needs ta' wood up, too. We'll tie up at Stairling 'ere an' let go air passengers."

NAUVOO, Wednesday, July 24

Willard Richards, W.W. Phelps and Lucian Woodworth met in council. They anointed and administered to Elder Samuel H. Smith, who was very sick.

They received also a letter from Brother Brigham Young, who says, among other things,

...Since I left Nauvoo I have heard a great many expressions about the Prophet, but the prevailing opinion is, that he is the smartest man in the Union, and the people are afraid of his smartness. Some will vote for him for the novelty of the thing, and some to see what a Prophet will do at the head of government...

In the afternoon Willard Richards returned home for his dinner, only to find that Jenetta was confined to her bed, with Sarah holding a cold compress to her forehead.

"She had another fainting spell", Sarah explained, looking up.

"Another?" Willard said.

Sarah sighed, then she reluctantly explained,

"She swore me to secrecy... I found her lying in the kitchen 'bout an hour ago, with a spilt water-bucket aside her, what she must've been hauling in from the pump-house."

"Oh, Willard, I'm so sorry, I didna' want ye to worry thysen", Jennetta sobbed.

She rehearsed to him her previous fainting spells and paralysis. Then she asked plaintively,

"Now, Doctor Richards, out with it – what ails me?"

Willard thought for a moment, and laying his hand on her forehead, he said cheerily,

"Hmmm... symptoms of fainting, catalepsy, dizziness, fever, hysteria... I fear a derangement of the blood, brought on by your pregnancy. I'm certain it will pass. There's a new blood purgative that I'm sure will help."

But as he smiled at Jennetta, Willard's mind was drawn back to his dream of her lying on the floor at Carthage.

ROCK RIVER, 7:00 p.m. July 24

Joseph bid farewell to Emma, their two children, and Porter Rockwell at Sterling. Now the Hyrum Smith was headed back to Rock Island to see about their log raft and the missing men.

"All stoop!" Dan shouted into the speaking tube as they passed Molier and approached the upper end of Rock Island. The paddlewheels stopped churning and the boat fell silent, except for an occasional hiss from the relief valve and the lapping of the river.

Looking to the east, Dan could see storm clouds gathering over the Illinois side.

"We'll hold 'air position 'ere till dark", said Dan. "General Stout, this be yair show, noo'."

At about nine p.m. the skiff quietly cast off from the Hyrum Smith, carrying four Legionnaires to scout the island: Lyman Wight, Alpheus Cutler, Reynolds Cahoon, and Lewis Barney. The four men drifted quietly downstream for about fifteen minutes, then they landed near the middle of the three-mile-long island on the Iowa side. As they scrambled ashore, they could see the bluffs rising toward the west end of the island, and beyond that through the trees, Fort Armstrong.

"It's dark as the inside of a cow out here", Alpheus muttered as they struggled through the underbrush and grapevines, and then began climbing the hill.

As they approached the fort, they could make out its dimensions in the gloom. It consisted of two log buildings facing each other, about seventy-five feet long. The buildings were connected by walls at the east and west ends to form an enclosure. On the east end was a large gate, and on the two east corners they could see empty gun emplacements.

"Once the Sac an' Fox Indians was gone, they warn't much use for a fort in the middle of an island", Lewis said softly. "Captain Dawson told us to remove the cannons, strip the place, an' put for home. Since then, I hear tell folks 'round here've used it for a cattle pen."

"Where would our men be?" whispered Lyman.

"The southwest corner, prob'ly", replied Lewis. "We had a jail there, 'case we ever cotched us any Injuns, which we never done. After we left, they usta keep runaway slaves in there, I hear."

They crept around the back of the fort to the southwest corner. As they approached, they could hear voices through the chinks in the logs.

"No, dadblame it, you still got it all wrong! Nephi was the son of Nephi, who was the son of Helaman, who was the son of Helaman, who was the son of Alma, the son of Alma!"

"I thout' Nephi wuz the son of Lehi..."

"No, you pea-brain, that was a diff'rent Nephi!"

"You sure? Wisht' I had the book here now, so's you could prove it to me."

Lewis Barney crept up to the wall and peered in through the chink. He could just make out Bishop George Miller, who was speaking to someone – Allen Stout, he guessed from the other voice.

"Psst! George!" Lewis whispered through the chink.

George crawled over to the chink and whispered back. "Lewis Barney! What in the nation are you doin' here, tryin' to git us all kill't?"

"We're here to rescue you. I cain't explain it all just now. How many guards be there?"

"Three, right now. But we's all five of us in shackles. I think they plan to sell us down the river into Missouri. They're just waitin' for a boat to arrive."

Lewis thought quickly. "You just stay put, George, an' play 'long with us. I'll be back 'n awhile."

Meanwhile, the Hyrum Smith had drifted quietly down the channel to the lower end of the island, with its lights out. As they approached the sand bar at the tip of the island, they could just make out the log raft through the gloom. It appeared to be abandoned for the night.

Dimick Huntington carefully brought the boat alongside the raft, and the rest of the Legionnaires scrambled aboard it, armed with axes, crow-bars, and long sweeps to steer with. The raft was held together by raft-shackles – sections of chain with spikes on either end, driven into the logs. The men set to work prying out the spikes and rearranging the floating parts of the raft into smaller sections. As each section was set loose, six men would guide it down river, over the shoals and into the main channel towards Nauvoo.

"We can't save it all", said Joseph, observing the work. "We'll have to leave a few thousand feet fast aground here, but that's a small price to pay." He glanced up the bluffs toward Fort Armstrong.

At the top of the hill, Lewis Barney crept back to the other three men, and they all disappeared into the woods on the north side of the fort. There, he discussed his plan with the others.

"What, are you crazy?" hissed Reynolds Cahoon. "That's the dumbest scheme I ever done heard. But it just mought work..."

Lyman pulled out a folding tin lantern, struck a lucifer-match and lit the candle, then he swung the lantern over his head. A short time later the Hyrum Smith appeared in the channel with every fire-pot ablaze.

A minute later, Lyman strode up to the gate of the fort and pounded on it, with his friends close behind him.

"You in thea'! You got them lowlife, aig-suckin', wife-stealin' Mormons fer us yit?" he shouted.

"An' jest who mout' you be, this time o' night?" a drowsy voice replied from inside.

"Sheriff Joseph H. Reynolds, of Jackson Cah'nty Missourah!" replied Lyman. "Ah heah' tell they's a price on thet Bishop Millah's haid, an' ah'm heah' ta c'llect on hit!"

The gate opened, and a man holding a musket cautiously stuck his head out. He looked them up and down, then said,

"Do tell. And jist how you plan to git 'em there, by flyin'?"

"How you think ah got heah', you saphead? Theah's mah boat yonda', the Lilburn W. Boggs. Ain't she a beauty?"

The guard looked down at the steamboat, and then he motioned them into the compound. In the gloom, Lyman could see the two other guards sleepily stumbling to their feet and grabbing their muskets. As they approached the back of the stockade, he saw the five men from his logging party lying on the ground in shackles. They were a pitiful sight.

"Well, if'n it ain't his holiness, Bishop George Millah!" said Lyman. "On yo' feet, you an' yo' scabrous friends, theah! They's a haltah' party awaitin' you in Missourah, an' ah plan to co-llect ma ree-ward!"

The prisoners struggled to their feet and formed a ragged line. At that instant, Lyman swung the muzzel of his rifle around and pointed it at the head guard. Alpheus, Reynolds, and Lewis followed suit. One of the guards reached for his pistol, and Lewis laid him out cold with the butt of his rifle.

"Boys, there's been a change of plans", Bishop Miller said to his men, smiling. "I don't think we'll be going to Missouri today."

Reynolds Cahoon disarmed the guards and retrieved the keys to the shackles, and in a few minutes the prisoners were set free. Lyman motioned to the two guards to pick up their comrade, and the whole procession headed down the hill.

When they arrived at the riverbank, they found the Hyrum Smith waiting for them, still lit up like a saloon. General Stout and Joseph Smith were there to greet them. As Allen Stout came aboard, Hosea hugged his brother joyously.

As the boat cast off and headed downstream, the Mormons got their first clear look at the three men who had been holding the logging party captive.

"Well, dog my cats, if it ain't old William McLellin!" exclaimed Lyman Wight. "And who's this hobbledehoy – why, it's Joseph H. Jackson, renegado extraordinaire! And who's this last nabob?"

The last of the three men stepped out of the gloom, nursing his bruised forehead. "I'm William Marr, Aide-de-camp of Governor Thomas Ford, and you men are in a peck of trouble!" he snarled.

Lyman was unimpressed. "You don't say. And just what sort of trouble mought that be, Marr?"

"Kidnapping, trespassing on federal property, assault, piracy... Need I go on?"

"That'll do for now", Lyman said; then he suddenly seized Marr by the throat and slammed him against the bulkhead.

"Have it for breakfast, Marr! 'Aide-de-camp' be damned, you're nothin' but a low down, slave-beating, Nauvoo-gentile lawyer! What were you doing rustling my lumber here on Rock Island?"

Marr had lost some of his bluster, but he was still defiant.

"You don't know how big this affair is. If you did, you would put us off the boat right here", he said with a leer.

Lyman tightened his grip on Marr's throat. "What affair!?" he roared. "I heard about your meeting with Ford at the Mansion. What did Captain Dunn mean, 'The deed is done before this time'?"

Marr glanced sideways at Joseph Smith. "I'm not at liberty to say", he choked out. "If I or any of these men reveal it, we're all dead men."

"I'll be happy to oblige", said Lyman. "Tell me, or I'll make catfish bait of you!"

"The logging affair was just a diversion", Marr said desperately. "We hadn't planned it, but when we spied your raft heading downstream we figured we could put a halt to your temple-building by seizing it. It was Jackson's idea to sell your men down the river to Missouri, not mine. I wanted no part in that!"

As they were all interrogating the prisoners, they failed to notice the two riders on the Iowa bank, galloping south on the river road towards Missouri.

NAUVOO, Thursday, July 25

Elder Samuel H. Smith remained very sick. Elder Erastus Snow, and many other elders, returned home today; all seemed weighed down with gloom.

MISSISSIPPI RIVER, 9:00 a.m. Friday, July 26

The Hyrum Smith was just upstream of Pontoosuc, about ten miles north of Nauvoo. One by one, the boat had overtaken the log rafts that had been cut loose at Rock Island on the night of the 25th. Dan Jones "counted his sheep" in Welsh as the steamboat passed each raft:

"Yahn, tayhn, tether, mether, mimp..."

"That's raft number eight", Dimick said to Joseph Smith. "The last one. All present and accounted for, sir."

As they steamed past the raft, the steersmen waved their hats and shouted, "Hurrah for Zion!" The crew of the Hyrum Smith waved back, and Dimick tooted the whistle.

Downstream, they could just make out a faint plume of smoke rising from the river. "Steamboat a'comin'! Labboard side!" cried Dimick.

"Then we gorra' keep ta' th' Iowa bank", responded Dan. "We doon't want any trooble, e'en this close ta' hoom."

Presently, they could make out the superstructure of the boat approaching them. Dan picked up the spyglass and studied it for a moment. "Tis the Boreas", he said. "of St. Louis. We've 'ad roon-ins with 'er 'afore."

About that same time the Boreas spotted the Hyrum, and started cross-channel to intercept them. "Oh, deuce..." Dan said. "I doon' like this... try ta' pass 'em."

Dimick spun the wheel and shouted down to the engine room for more steam, but the Boreas matched their every move. Before long, the Boreas had "crossed the T" on the Hyrum, and Dimick shouted into the speaking tube, "All stop!"

The paddlewheels groaned to a stop, and the two boats drifted with the current, about twenty yards apart.

From the hurricane deck of the Boreas, a man shouted at them through a speaking trumpet.

"You thea'! Ha'rum Smith, ex Maid o' A'owa, are illegally holdin' three agents o' the state o' Missourah! We knows they's on boa'd, an' we heahby ordahs' you to han'em ovah', elst' we will boa'd you an' take'em ourse'fs!"

Joseph looked through the spyglass. "It's Sheriff Joseph H. Reynolds. The real one. He's mad as a wet hen, and he has about twenty riflemen aiming straight for us."

Lyman Wight swore. "How did they find out?"

"Beats me", said Joseph. "We made quite a ruckus up at Rock Island. Somehow they must have gotten word. General Stout, what do you suggest?"

"My troops are scattered all up and down the river, steering rafts" said Hosea, raising his hands. "We can't put up much of a fight, not with eleven men. We have our prisoners to guard, too."

"What about our cannon?" said Dimick.

"Why, it's loaded, but – You can't be serious!" exclaimed Hosea.

"Maybe we should give them what they want, just hand the men over. We already have everything we need out of them", said Lyman.

"I agree", said Joseph. "But we'll row them over in the skiff. I wish to keep a safe distance between us and those muskets."

Lyman headed down to the main cabin to untie the prisoners, while Alpheus Cutler untied the skiff from the sternpost and brought it forward.

"We agrees to your tarms!" Dan shouted to the Boreas. "We'll release the men, but oonly if ye keep yer' distance!"

McLellin, Marr, and Jackson had been securely tied to stanchions in the main cabin. As Lyman reluctantly untied McLellin's knots he grumbled,

"Looks like it's your lucky day, boys."

He led the three men down the stairs and seated them in the skiff, their hands still tied behind their backs. Then Alpheus started rowing the skiff across the divide between the two boats.

"I hope this works..." muttered Lyman.

Dan spoke into the engine room tube. "Ease 'air back, Mr. Burbank, we're pigan' ta' drift together."

The Hyrum's paddles slowly reversed, and the gap widened.

Alpheus was halfway to the Boreas now; through the spyglass, Joseph could see about twenty muskets still trained on his boat and crew.

As soon as the skiff reached the Boreas, the three men scrambled aboard. At that instant, a shot rang out and Alpheus Cutler slumped in his seat, dropping his oars. Suddenly, the whole starboard side of the Boreas seemed to erupt in flame and smoke. Glass and wood crashed and splintered all over the Hyrum, and balls ricocheted off the boilers.

Dan Jones screamed into the speaking tube, "Fool back, Mistair Burbank!" but there was no response.

The Boreas was approaching for another volley.

"They're gonna board us!" Lyman shouted.

Joseph tore madly down the stairs to the engine room, where he found Daniel Burbank lying on the deck, bleeding from his chest. Joseph grabbed both crossbar levers and threw them into reverse. The paddles creaked and began to turn, very slowly.

Too slow, Joseph thought. The steam pressure's dropped.

On the foredeck, Lyman was trying to dodge rifle balls and unlimber the cannon. He checked the firelock. No firing cap, he noticed in alarm. He dropped to the deck again and fished desperately in his coat pocket for his pistol, just as another volley tore at the pilothouse and main deck of the Hyrum.

I hope this fits, he thought as he removed the cap from his pistol and reached up to the cannon. It fit. He cocked the hammer and waited for a lull in the firing.

I'll only get one chance, he thought.

The firing ceased, and he grabbed the tiller, swung the cannon around to aim at the Boreas's boiler deck, and pulled the lanyard.

The cannon boomed, and a moment later there was a thunderous, volcanic roar from the Boreas as her boilers exploded. The forward third of the deckhouse rose straight up in the air and crashed back flaming onto the main deck. The two chimneys took off in opposite directions like rockets and landed in the water with a loud hiss, a hundred yards on either side. Smoke, fire and scalding steam engulfed the boat. The concussion rocked the Hyrum Smith and blew out all the remaining windows on the larboard side. Seconds later, flaming debris rained down on the Hyrum's decks.

The crew of the Hyrum Smith watched in stunned amazement as fire engulfed the wreck of the Boreas. A few survivors could be seen diving overboard and striking out for the Illinois shore. The flaming hulk drifted south until it ran aground just south of Pontoosuc.

Lyman ran back to the engine room, where Joseph was still filling in as the "striker". Daniel Burbank was lying on the deck, bleeding from a chest wound but still alive.

"Stoke the fire!" Lyman shouted. "The steam pressure's dropped, an' Dan says the wheel's not responding! The steering lines must've been severed! We'll have to steer with the paddlewheels, but we need to get them turning first!"

Joseph started feeding chunks of wood into the fireboxes. Lyman watched the steam gauges anxiously, and kept one eye on the approaching shore. They were soon joined by Dimick, who ran a practiced eye over the machinery, then tended to Daniel Burbank's wound.

"Revairse booth, an' make it sharpish!" they heard Dan cry through the speaking tube. "We needs ta' cael the skiff!"

In the confusion, the skiff carrying Alpheus Cutler's body had drifted into the main channel, and was now about 150 yards west of them.

Joseph was still furiously stuffing wood into the fireboxes. The steam pressure slowly rose, and Lyman carefully worked the valves.

"Ahead labboard! Back stabboard!... Naur, ahead booth!" shouted Dan.

They were back in the channel and rounding the bend near Niota before they finally caught up with the skiff.

About eleven a.m., the battered Hyrum Smith finally docked at the upper boat landing in Nauvoo. Willard Richards was there to meet them, along with several hundred citizens. They gaped at the destruction on the boat: Practically every window was blown out, the wheelhouse and Texas deck were peppered with bullet holes, and scorch marks from pieces of the Boreas were everywhere. As the boat finally sighed to a stop, Willard ran up the gangplank.

"What happened?" he said. "We heard a noise like thunder just up the river, followed by a great cloud of smoke, and now this...?"

Dan Jones came staggering down from the wheelhouse. "Mam Duw!" he cried. "Mae dau griw lladd, ac un eu hanafu, ac mae'r cwch dinistrio..." he sobbed.

Willard listened to the little Welshman for a moment; then, baffled, he turned to Lyman for enlightenment.

"Willard, we been attacked!" Lyman cried. "Alpheus Cutler and Lewis Barney are dead, an' Daniel Burbank is sorely wounded! Dimick Huntington took a ball in the arm, but not bad."

"We ran into some old friends from Missouri", Joseph said wearily, leaning his hand on Willard's shoulder. "The steamer Boreas attacked us, so we had no choice but to sink her. Our 'Mormon navy' has drawn its first blood, Willard."

Willard was aghast. "You did what?" he cried.

Joseph took a breath, then he said sadly, "Will, just as the Lord has said, 'In the last days I have cursed the waters'. And I fear lest this may be the start of more troubles for the Saints. Come, brethren, let's see to our dead and wounded."
CHAPTER 7

NAUVOO, Saturday, July 27

At dawn, the only evidence of life on the island just opposite Zarahemla was a faint curl of smoke above the trees. Joseph Smith had sought refuge on this same island in 1843 when he was forced to go undercover, and today another fugitive was camped out here.

On July 23 Joseph had decided that it was too dangerous for Chism to hide in Nauvoo, so he asked young Charles Stoddard to row Chism across the river and camp out with him on the north end of the island. Charles had helped to uncover William Law's conspiracy against Joseph earlier in the year, and he was only too happy to comply with the Prophet's request if it would get him out of school. In yet another twist of fate, the island just happened to be owned by William and Wilson Law.

Charles awoke to the crackling of a small fire, and as he opened his eyes he saw Chism cooking breakfast.

"Mo'nin, Cha'lie", said Chism. "You gwine sleep de whole day away? Ah ketched us a mess'o catfish fo' breakfas'. Foun'us sum wile' strawbries, too."

Charles sniffed. "Mmm, that smells mighty good, Chism. Where'd you larn to cook like that?"

"You kiddin'? You kin larn a lot waitin' on white folks whater' too lazy ter shif' fer demselbs – Cookin', an' cleanin' an' sewin' an' sich. Ah reckin ah got mo' usable skills'an ten white men, on ab'ridge."

Charles stood up, stretched, and wandered down to the river to wash up. In less than a minute he was running back to camp wide-eyed, shouting,

"Chism, there's a body down there on the riverbank! An' I think it's stone cold dead, to boot!"

Chism set his frying pan down and said,

"Who? Wha'? You ain't pullin' ma laig, chil'?"

"No, honest, I swear!" said Charles as he dragged Chism toward the upper end of the island. "He must'a washed up here overnight!"

The two of them ran down to the riverbank, where sure enough, a man's body was lying in the mud. Chism rolled the man over onto his back. He was unconscious, but still breathing. He was dressed in a dark suit and vest and was wearing boots. He had dark hair and a mustache, and a rather long, narrow face. Chism scratched his chin and said,

"Nah, how do a body run agroun' ona i'lan' in de middle o' de night? Mebbe he be a gambler, get frowed offen'a ribberboat?"

Charles opened the man's soggy vest and noticed that he was wearing an empty holster. This did not set well with Chism.

"Oh lawsy Cha'lie, he got lawman written all ober'im!" Chism exclaimed. "Ah seed dis kine befo' in Missoura'. Ah tell you, dis feller's bad luck fo' sho'."

"Well, we cain't just leave 'im here", said Charles. "Help me get 'im up the bank."

They dragged the man up to their camp, laid him out and searched his pockets, but all they found was a set of keys and a soggy letter, which neither of them knew how to read.

"Awright, here's what we do", said Charles. "I think we better tell the Prophet, so I'll take the skiff an' row over to Nauvoo while you keep an eye on this feller."

At about this time, Sheriff Joseph H. Reynolds slowly came to. He kept his eyes shut and played dead while listening to the conversation.

"You crazy?" said Chism. "Whadife' wake up an' you still gone? Whad'I do den? Bop 'im on de noggin wid'a fryin' pan? Nah, you stay year an' watch im, an ah'll go tell de Probbet."

"I'm not half as crazy as you, Chism! The minute you show your black face in Nauvoo, they'll clap you in irons an' run you off to Missouri! You know the town's swarming with bounty hunters! An' not just for slaves, but for white folk too, like Brother Joseph hisself!"

"Den dere ain't no choice", said Chism. "We bop'im on de yead and dump'im back inder ribber."

"I cain't do that, neither! You want we should hive a man, just 'cause he washes up on our island?"

Chism sighed. "Awright chil', den you go fetch de Probbet. But afore you go, we tie dis mudcat up good an' tight, hea'?"

Charles reluctantly agreed with this plan, so they dragged the seemingly unconscious man over to a tree and tied him securely to it.

"Take care, Chism", said Charles. "I'll be back in two hours or less, I promise." He took the soggy letter and headed down the bank to the skiff, and Chism went back to cooking his breakfast, while keeping an eye on the stranger.

As soon as Charles was gone, Reynolds opened his eyes and said,

"Y'all know he's lyin' t' y'all."

"Who be lyin'? An' who you be?" said Chism, startled.

"Ah'm, uh, ah'm Obadiah Dewgood, a agent o' the un'ergroun' railroad", Reynolds replied smoothly. "Ah ben lookin' fer you, Chism. Ah'm heah ta escoat y'all ta Canada."

Chism eyed him narrowly. "Y'all don' soun' like a 'blishnist, speckly. Mo lak'a Geo'gia boy, ah reckon. An' how you know ma name eneyhoo?"

"Wha, ah knowed you the minute ah laid eyes on yew", said Reynolds. "You see, that's ma callin' in life. Ah roams the length an' breadth o' this year lan', up an' da'n, to an' fro, an' leads the po', benighted sons o' Africa ta thea' free-dom in Canada. You think them Mormons'll evah' take you thea'? Not afore hell freezes ovah!"

Chism was still not convinced. "So how you come ter fetch up ona mudbank year? You lookin' fo' crawdads ta foller y'all ta Canarda, too?"

"Ah was headin' noath ta Canada on the steama' Boreas with a couple'a run'way slaves", Reynolds lied. "Roun' bout Rock Riva', some Missourians foun' me out an' dumped me ova'boa'd."

Reynold's face clouded up and he blubbered, "Alas, ah fea' mah po' trav'lin' c'panions is back in a'rns, an' headed back'ta in-dentured sarvitude in Missoura'!"

"Do tell", said Chism. "Ah ben'ta Rock Ribber afo', an hit'sa good thutty-fo'ty mile norther year. Wha' you pick dis year 'tickler i'lan' ter fetch up on?"

Reynolds smiled. "Look, ah'l 'splain it ta y'all, but ya gotta untie me fust, savvy?"

He thought, I cain't lose... If he unties me he's mine – I'll get a fortune in bounty for him in Missouri. If he don't untie me, I'll swear out a warrant against Joe Smith for false imprisonment. If only I could reach my boot derringer...

Meanwhile, in the forenoon the Nauvoo City Council met to take affidavits and testimony in the Boreas affair at Joseph's Red Brick Store. It was thought prudent to gather as full an account as possible for their defense, and apprise Governor Ford, as news of the affair was already sweeping Illinois.

Hosea Stout fished a rumpled letter out of his pocket.

"Brother Joseph, I hate to bring you more grief, but I think you should read this letter that we found on Joe Jackson t'other day."

Joseph took the letter and read it. His hands began to tremble as he reached the end.

Dixon, July 23, 1844

To Mssrs. William Law, Wilson Law, et al,

Your agent, Mr. Joseph H. Jackson, has come to me bearing information of your religious movement in Nauvoo and its environs. While I would not deign to impugn your motives, and feel the same anxiety as you about "setting the old ship aright", as you so delicately put it, I must point out that you have absolutely no right or authority to take this charge upon yourselves. There is but one man at the head of this Church, at least until God should direct otherwise.

My husband's life has been threatened from several quarters of late, and I shall do nothing for you, nor will I allow any other person to endanger him further. I am hopeful that through strong reasoning, I can convince him of his folly with respect to the doctrine in question, but more than this I shall not agree to.

I am, respectfully,

Emma H. Smith.

P.S., You will please inform Mr. Sidney Rigdon with regards to this matter.

Joseph dropped the letter on the table and sat in silence for a time, with his head bowed.

The Missouri River was over a mile wide, and it took Charles Stoddard nearly an hour rowing against the current before he reached the lower landing in Nauvoo. He tied up his skiff and ran up Main Street past the Nauvoo House until he reached the Mansion. He sprinted up the path and knocked on the door. Eliza R. Snow answered it and said in surprise,

"Why, young Charles! Are you coming back to school? I thought you were out on Law's Island?"

"I was, Sister Snow", Charles said, breathless. "But I gotta see President Smith right away. Is he in?"

"No, he left about an hour ago; I believe he was headed to his store... Yes, you should find him there."

Charles rolled his eyes. "Thanks, ma'am", he said, then he ran back down the path and up Water Street to Joseph's store. He quickly explained the situation to Bishop Newell K. Whitney, who immediately escorted him up the stairs to where the City Council was meeting.

"Well, hello, Charlie, what brings you here?" Joseph said in surprise. "And where's Chism?"

"Still on the island", Charles Stoddard panted. "But we got company. A man washed ashore there overnight, and we don't know who he is. But we foun' this on him."

He handed the letter to Joseph, who unfolded the still-damp sheet and tried to read it. The ink was badly smeared, but he could still make out:

Reynolds... Warrant for... Rock Island...

hereby authorized...

Meredith M. Marmaduke

-vernor of Missouri...

"No!" Joseph cried, dropping the letter. "It's Sheriff Reynolds, for sure. I thought we were quit of him, but the man seems to have nine lives."

Joseph, Hosea Stout, and several other men sprinted for the stairs.

"C'mon, Newell, there's trouble brewing!" Joseph cried as he dashed out the front door of the store.

The hastily assembled posse ran down to the boat landing, and Joseph gazed quickly at the various riverboats for signs of life. The only boat that had steam up was the ferry New Purchase, an open-decked flatboat with a small donkey engine for propulsion.

Joseph ran up to the captain of the New Purchase and said,

"We must have the use of your ferry!"

"Hit's gon'ter cost ye", the grizzled old captain from Montrose drawled. He was obviously not in any hurry to leave.

"Very well", Joseph said, pointing. "You see that island there? We need to land at the north end of it."

"Then, hit's gon'ter cost ye extra", replied the captain, pointing to a wagon already on board the ferry. "This year feller's headed ta Montrose, not 'at fool island. An' he wuz 'ear afore you." He spit over the railing.

"Very well then, just get us to the island!" Joseph said desperately.

"Ten cents a passenger", replied the captain, holding out his hand. "Cash on'a barrelhead."

Joseph quickly counted noses and handed the captain a silver dollar.

"Now, may we go?" he said anxiously.

"Ayup", said the captain, after biting the coin to make sure it was genuine.

The men crowded on board, the captain lowered the gate and untied the boat from the dock, and then he shuffled slowly up to the steam engine and turned a valve. With an agonizingly slow CHUG-hiss-CHUG-hiss the flatboat pulled away from the bank and headed out into the river.

Joseph anxiously scanned the far shore as the New Purchase slowly puffed and chugged its way across the river. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the distant island drew near. Joseph estimated they were doing about three miles per hour cross-channel, even with the current favoring them.

"Can't you go any faster?" Joseph said to the captain, as two men in a rowboat glided past them.

The captain threw a chunk of wood into the firebox and slammed the door.

"You kiddin'? This years'a broadhorn, not the USS Consteetution", the captain drawled. "Wha', afore I fixed 'er up wi' this steam engine, hit yuster take me twice't as longter cross over, ayup. She wuz ox-powered back then. Wha', hit tuk me so long once't, them bulls had calves halfway 'cross the river. An' ba' the time I 'rived on 'tuther shore..."

"Never mind", Joseph said in resignation.

Hosea Stout suddenly shouted, "I think I see Chism!"

"Where's Reynolds?" said Joseph.

"I dunno", Hosea replied. "Looks like Chism's sitting down, holding his leg."

As soon as the ferry reached the island, Joseph and the others jumped ashore and ran up the bank. Chism was still sitting at the campsite, with a rag tied around his leg.

"Chism! You all right?" said Charles Stoddard. "What happened?"

"Yas'm, ah's fahn", said Chism. "Ah wa'nd you, Cha'lie, 'bout dat polecat. Soon's you gone, he pulla gun on me an' try ter' run me ofta' Missoura'. So ah tells 'im, 'Fa'r 'way, but ah ain't gonter Missoura', an' ah ain't no goodter y'all deed. So he up an' shoots me in de laig! Den'e grab me'an try ter' tie me up, but he pooty rusty afta' spendin' de night in de ribba, soter say, so ah grab dis year jint'o far'wood an' whang 'im on de yead, an'e run off an' jump in de ribber. He prolly half wayta Montrose ba' nah."

"That was no common polecat, Chism", said Joseph. "That was Sheriff Joseph Reynolds from Missouri. He tried to run me off to Missouri last year, 'most the same way as you. Well, the game's up. They know we're hiding you now, so we'll have to make other arrangements for your safety."

In the afternoon, Willard and Jennetta Richards had their likeness taken by Lucien Foster at his daguerreotype shop on Main Street. Jennetta had protested, saying that she didn't feel well enough to go, but Willard had insisted.

Willard was dressed in his Sunday best, and Jennetta had her long, dark hair beautifully done up in ringlets. Jennetta sat to the left of Willard and placed her hand on his shoulder, then she rested her head on it at an angle. Between them on the floor sat their five year old son, Heber. When Lucien had the family posed to his satisfaction, he said,

"Hold it right there... don't move... this will be an image for the ages."

He uncapped the camera lens and slipped the copper sleeve off of the daguerreotype plate. He observed the second hand on his watch, as the Richards family collectively held their breath. After what seemed like an eternity, he replaced the sleeve and said,

"That will do. You may relax, now."

"There now, my dear, that wasn't so bad, was it?" said Willard, as he helped Jennetta to her feet. She was still feeling rather weak and light-headed. Willard was thinking,

One for the ages... indeed, this image may be all I have to remember her by, soon.

In the evening, Joseph worked in his office with William Clayton. Joseph wrote in his journal:

I wrote a letter to John S. Reid, Esq., of Chemung, New York, inviting him to stand as the Vice-Presidential candidate of the National Reform party this fall. Mr. Reid is an old acquaintance and friend of my family, as also of Joseph Knight and his family, and is well acquainted with the early rise of this Church and the coming forth of the Book of Mormon.

I also wrote a letter to Sidney Rigdon in Pittsburgh, explaining my reasons for dropping him as my Vice-Presidential candidate. Elder Rigdon has been of no service to me as a counselor since our escape from Missouri five years ago. During his tenure as postmaster of Nauvoo, he has repeatedly hindered the timely delivery of the mails. He aided and abetted Wilson and Reynolds last year, which led to my kidnapping while in Dixon. For these and other reasons too numerous to mention, but which I explained to him in my letter, I have determined to offer the Vice-Presidential seat to Mr. Reid instead.

I have thrown Sidney off my shoulders for the last time; let no man presume to place him back on.

Joseph also received a letter from Mr. James G. Birney:

Buffalo, July 15, 1844.

To Mr. Joseph Smith, Nauvoo, Illinois

Sir. – I received yours of the 5th ult., and have presented the matter to our committee. It is the decision of this committee that you be permitted to address the convention, provided that the views you present are in strict harmony with the Liberty Party platform, and that your sole purpose in speaking is to endorse the candidacy of Mr. Birney and Thomas Morris for President and Vice President, respectively, and not for your own self-aggrandizement.

I have the honor to be,

Your friend,

James G. Birney.

After William Clayton read the letter to Joseph, William commented,

"T'would appear that Mr. Birney sees ye as somethin' of a threat."

"As do Van Buren, Polk, Tyler and Clay", said Joseph. "No matter, I expected as much of him. We'll go it alone with our own party and convention. We shall meet in Baltimore on August 19th as planned, in our own venue and on our own terms. Please write and inform the delegates, William."

Joseph also received a letter from Emma, which brought him great joy:

Dixon, July 23, 1844.

My Dearest Joseph,

Myself and the children arrived safely in Dixon within the hour, accompanied by Brother Rockwell. The Wassons are most kind and generous to us and say we can remain here as long as we please.

Joseph, you asked me from Carthage to write out a blessing for myself, exactly as I would like it, and you would sign it when you returned:

I desire the Spirit of God to know and understand myself, that I might be able to overcome whatever of the tradition or nature that would not tend to my exaltation in the eternal worlds. I desire a fruitful active mind, that I may be able to comprehend the designs of God, when revealed through His servants without doubting. I particularly desire wisdom to bring up all the children that are, or may be committed to my charge, in such a manner that they will be useful ornaments in the Kingdom of God. I desire prudence that I may not through ambition abuse my body and cause it to become prematurely old and care-worn, but that I may wear a cheerful countenance, and be a blessing to all who may in any wise need aught at my hands.

I desire with all my heart to honor and respect my husband as my head, ever to live in his confidence and by acting in unison with him retain the place which God has given me by his side, and I ask my heavenly Father that through humility, I may be enabled to overcome the curse which was pronounced upon the daughters of Eve, that whatever may be my lot through life I may be enabled to acknowledge the hand of God in all things.

Julia and Joseph send you their love. Our newest child, "David" you have named him, is well as I suppose and most anxious to arrive.

With our deepest affections,

Emma Smith.

DIXON, Saturday, July 27

Emma and her children had settled in at the home of her sister and brother-in-law, Elizabeth and Benjamin Wasson. Porter Rockwell and Benjamin had gone off to the stable to tend to one of Ben's horses, which had gone lame. With them was young Joseph the Third.

The women were setting to work on a bolt of calico cloth which Emma had brought from Nauvoo. Emma and young Julia were removing the stitches from one of Emma's dresses to use as a pattern for her sister.

"Such a beautiful print!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "Where on earth did you find it?"

"I bought it in St. Louis last year, when I went to buy furnishings for the Mansion", Emma said proudly.

She put down her thread-pick and sighed.

"My dear sister, please don't misunderstand me. You have been ever so kind and generous to take me in at this time of difficulty in Nauvoo. But I miss the Mansion, and I miss Joseph. I pray that I do not cumber you overmuch."

"Cumber! How you do talk! Why Emma, you are perfectly welcome to stay here through your confinement and the birthing, or longer if necessary. T'is such a pleasure to have another member of the Hale family under my roof!"

Julia said, "Auntie Elizabeth, I like very much being here. There are not nearly so many other women under foot as there are at the Mansion."

Emma quickly steered the conversation back. "I have seen little enough of my own kin these last fifteen years. I still remember our father's parting words to Joseph in Harmony: 'You have stolen my daughter and married her. I had rather have followed her to the grave.' ...Tell me, did he ever soften towards Joseph or the Church?"

"No, he was adamantine to the last", said Elizabeth.

There was a sound of horses approaching from down the street. Emma tensed, then she relaxed.

"Forgive me, for a moment I was reminded of Joseph's kidnapping here last year", she said softly.

A moment later they heard footsteps and a knock on the door. Elizabeth opened the door and saw two men standing there. One of them doffed his hat.

"Good dee', Mrs. Wasson? I be William Law, an' this be Mr. Robert Foster. You know me not, but we 'ave a mutual acquaintance, a Mrs. Emma Smith. Would she be 'ere today?"

"Why yes, come in", Elizabeth said.

Emma gave a start when she saw the two men, but quickly composed herself.

"Why, Mr. Law, what a surprise! How did you find me, and what business brings you here?" she said nervously.

"Y' donna' ken? Me broother Wilson an' I air' residin' in Hampton now, just up frae' Rock Island. I 'eard ye ware in the area, and I was detairmined to call on ye."

Emma glanced around the room nervously, then she said,

"Elizabeth, will you please excuse us for a spell? I shall be out of doors if you need me."

Once they were safely outside, Emma turned on William Law and said fiercely,

"What are you doing here? Don't you understand, you place me in great danger simply by revealing our acquaintance! No one here must suspect we even know each other!"

"Did ye receive our communication by Mr. Jackson?" said Foster.

"Yes, and I replied by the same. He as much as admitted his complicity in the murder of Hyrum, and I wanted nothing to do with him. He is an evil man."

Robert Foster spoke up. "Sister Smith, I was there in Carthage when the two Smith brothers was dragged by the law from pillar to post, an' I tried to put a stop to it. But the passions was so inflamed already, I couldn't prevail. I am truly sorry."

She rounded on him. "Don't you soul-butter me with your 'Sister Smith'! You and your Nauvoo Expositor! I heard how you and that Higbee boy accosted Leonora Taylor in the street!"

William Law intervened. "Mrs. Smith, may I continue? Shure'n we air agrayed on one point , air we not? We all wants ta' put a stop ta' the spread o' this occairsed 'plooral marriage'. If'n the Chairch be not set aright, this doctrine will surely lead ta' its utter destrooction."

She hesitated a moment. "You still haven't explained why you are here."

"Doon't ye see, ye maught be the best pairson to put an end ta this vile practice! Ye knows the names of all'o the leading figures who air secretly practicin' polygamy! If'n ye will but add yair voice to ours, we can restore the chairch to its true an' proper course."

Emma began trembling like a leaf. "What do you want me to do?"

"We 'ave some affidavits in our carriage, which we would like for ye ta sign."

She hesitated. "Let me see them."

Foster stepped to the carriage and pulled a sheaf of papers out of a valise. Emma gasped when she read the first page:

Dixon, Lee Cnty. Ill., July ____ 1844

Appeared before me, Robert D. Foster, attorney-at-law, in the aforesaid county, Mrs. Emma H. Smith, who being duly sworn according to law, deposeth and saith that beginning on or about the month of October, 1841, and continuing until the month of July, 1844, that her husband Mr. Joseph Smith, a resident of Nauvoo, Hancock, Ill., entered into polygamous marriages with each of the following persons, to wit,

Zina Huntington,

Presendia Huntington,

Desdemona Fullmer,

Eliza R. Snow,

Sara A. Whitney,

Helen M. Kimball, and

Lucy Walker.

And further this deponent saith not.

Signed,

____________________

Just as Emma finished reading, William Law felt something tickle his ear, followed by a loud CLICK.

"You so much as twitch, I'll blow your fool brains out", said Porter Rockwell, brandishing a pistol.

Emma thought quickly. "Porter, thank goodness you're here!" she cried. "These men had just lured me out of the house, and were in the very act of apprehending me!"

Porter eyed her warily, then he said,

"Just like with Reynolds and Wilson last year, eh? Well, Emma, I guess you won't be goin' to Missouri today. These are MY boys now."

He raised the barrel of his pepperbox and fired a shot in the air. William Law grabbed the affidavit from Emma's hands, then he and Foster scrambled into their carriage and whipped their horse. As they sped down the road, Rockwell fired another shot after them.

"Why did you do that?" Emma cried.

"That was jist for effect. When I aims on purpose, I don't gen'rly miss."

As the carriage headed down the road toward Sterling, Robert Foster turned to William Law and said breathlessly,

"I tell you, that damned Rockwell nearly gave me the fantods, sneaking up on us like that! How does he do it?"

"I donna ken, but he knows we're aboot now. I suggest ye watch yair back for awhile. Dash it all, we didn't get what we ware come for, naither... No matter; there be othair ways of procurin' Emma's signature."

NAUVOO, Sunday, July 28

Joseph wrote in his journal:

A.M. Meeting in the grove. Preached for about two hours on "The kingdom of God" and "The kingdom of heaven", the differences between the two, &c. as this seemed to weigh most heavily upon my mind.

P.M. the Quorum of the Anointed met at the upper floor of my store. Prayers were offered up for Samuel Smith, who is still very sick. A general spirit of gratitude was expressed by many present, for that my life had been spared once more. A great outpouring of the spirit was manifest, and several of the sisters spoke in tongues.

Joseph turned to face the three Apostles who were present – George A. Smith, Willard Richards and John Taylor, and said to them,

"As you recall, this past spring I cast upon the shoulders of the Twelve the responsibility of leading this Church hence forth, until you shall appoint others to succeed you. Brethren, you have many storms to pass through, and many sore trials await you. You will know what it is to be bound with chains and with fetters for this cause' sake. God knows I pity you and feel for you; but if you are called to lay down your lives, die like men, and pass immediately beyond the reach of your enemies. After they have killed you, they can harm you no more. Should you have to walk right into danger and the jaws of death, fear no evil; Jesus Christ has died before you."

Joseph cast his gaze around the room at the other attendees, then he said solemnly,

"I prophesy that while I am gone east, 'grievous wolves shall enter the flock', and I warn you to accept none who pretend to lead this Church contrary to the oracles of God.

"I remind you that this council is not a temporal body, as is the Council of Fifty, but is ordained rather for the purpose of unfolding the mysteries of godliness to the Saints, and all spiritual blessings appertaining to the temple when it is completed. The President and the Twelve Apostles are ordained to hold all the keys of the Kingdom of God on the earth, consequently they are the only men on earth who belong to all three councils – the Twelve, the Fifty, and this body. And in my absence, the President of the Quorum of the Twelve presides, namely Brigham Young, on his return."

COLUMBIA, Monday, July 29

At his home in South Carolina, "Seneca" received a letter of great interest from "Flavius":

Springfield, Illinois, July 20th 1844

Information has now come to me that the Deaconess is now estranged from the Deacon, and is living in northern Illinois. From all reports, the two are deeply divided over the spiritual wifery doctrine. Brutus informs me that he has drawn up affidavits and needs but her signature, in order to put the Deacon out of the way for several years, at the least. We may yet succeed in reaching him through her. I shall inform you at the earliest, when I learn of the outcome.

Didymus sends you his regards. He still maintains that the attack on the jail was aimed at him, not the prisoners – that it was an attempt to shame him and unseat him in the next election. As to his true innocence or culpability in the matter, only time will tell.

I am, respectfully yours,

Flavius

NAUVOO, Monday, July 29

William Clayton finished measuring the last raft of lumber for the temple, from the Pineries, amounting to 87,732 feet.

Joseph Smith, Willard Richards and George A. Smith visited Elder Samuel H. Smith and laid hands upon him. He expressed a strong desire to live: he was very low, being in the last stages of bilious fever.

Orson Spencer was dispatched to Quincy with affidavits and testimonies about the Boreas affair, to present to Governor Ford.

Hosea Stout reported that Charles Stoddard and Chism were missing. They had been instructed to row back to Nauvoo from Law's Island on Saturday night, so that Hosea could escort Chism to another safe house; however, no sign of them could be found and their skiff was missing from the island. Joseph was greatly disturbed at this news.

"I pledged to protect to Chism from bounty hunters, and now he's gone, to where is anyone's guess. Mr. Benton posted a $200 bounty for his capture and return to Missouri, so he may have been spirited off to there. But where is Charles? His parents, Amos and Leah, trusted me to watch over him. I fear greatly for his safety."

Joseph immediately directed that search parties should be sent out on both sides of the river, to search as far south as Quincy if necessary, in order to find Chism and Charles.

NAUVOO, Tuesday, July 30

On this day, Samuel Smith died.

Rumors and half-truths are sweeping the state concerning the Boreas affair:

From the Illinois State Register:

Steamer BOREAS explodes near Nauvoo

We have just learned that the steamboat BOREAS exploded and ran aground north of Nauvoo on the 26th inst. with great loss of life. It is difficult to ascertain the particulars of the incident, but rumors are sweeping the state that the Boreas was attacked and sunk by another steamer, reported variously to be the Maid of Ottowa or the Irene Smith. We find these rumors far from credible, but have taken the liberty of printing them anyway for our readers, pending the results of a full and impartial investigation.

From the Sangamon Journal:

We take space here to reprint an excerpt from the Quincy Whig, who copied it from the Missouri Republican, whose sources are still unconfirmed. As we learn more about this curious incident, we will continue to inform our readers:

Steamer BOREAS victim of boiler explosion

'On the 26th of July, the steamboat BOREAS, of St. Louis, was headed north to Rock Island carrying about 100 fare-paying sightseers. Just north of Montrose and apparently without warning her boilers exploded, killing everyone on board.'

It would be superfluous to mention that this paper has chastised our state legislature for many years now, for not enforcing stricter safety measures aboard our steamboats. Explosions, fires, groundings, and hazards to navigation are all too common on the rivers of our state. We hope that this latest incident will 'raise the pressure' under our legislature for the enactment of stronger safety regulations, on both the state and national level.

From the Warsaw Signal:

HIGHS SEAS PIRACY!!!

STEAMER BOREAS ATTACKED WITHOUT WARNING BY

MORMON NAVY!!

General Joe Smith, whose dreaded Nauvoo Legion has laid waste the entire countryside around his own benighted city, has now embarked on a new crusade. Not satisfied with ruling Hancock County with an iron fist, he has now launched his 'Mormon Navy', as he styles it, to scourge and terrorise the Mississippi River.

Captain Joe's latest depredation took place on July 26th, when the steamer BOREAS was attacked without warning within hailing distance of Nauvoo. The old Mormon scow 'Maid of Iowa', renamed 'Hyrum Smith' and flying the Jolly Roger, as we suppose, let fly with a 12-pound cannon on the hapless and defenseless Boreas. The destruction was instantaneous, and we are commonly informed that survivors of the attack, many of them innocent women and children, were fired upon by this Captain Blackbeard as they desperately swam for the Illinois shore.

How can our GOVERNMENT stand idly by and allow such RUTHLESS DEPREDATIONS!!! to take place on our rivers!! We call upon our state and national governments to PUT AN END to the mad career of the Mormon prophet, now turned PIRATE!!!!! and once more make our rivers safe for navigation!!

Thomas C. Sharp

At about noon Hosea Stout rode into Nauvoo from the south, with young Charles Stoddard on the saddle in front of him. Since Joseph Smith was attending to his brother Samuel in his last hours, he sent Willard Richards to inform Charles's parents that he had been found and to interview him. In the afternoon, Willard and Hosea met Amos and Leah Stoddard at their home to find out what had transpired with their son, and with Chism.

Charles had been cleaned up, but was still scratched and bruised from his ordeal. He looked around the room nervously, then he swallowed hard and began speaking.

"You 'member last week when that Missouri Sheriff washed up on Law's Island? Brother Stout here tol' us he'd find 'nother place for Chism to hide, an tol' us 'at we was s'posed to row ashore 'at same night. Well, we set out 'bout midnight, just like we was told, with me rowin' an' Chism under a blanket, so's no one kin see him. We was 'bout midway cross the river when ker-BLAM, we gets run over by a snag boat! That double-hull was just a'boomin' down river wi' no lights, hell for leather – sorry Ma... an' smashed our skiff all to flinders. I couldn't swim, and I was threshin' round in the river while the skiff sorta come apart 'round me, but Chism grabbed me by the collar an' flang me onta' the deck, then he clambered on hisself.

"We tried to lay still, but the crew seed us an' took us for stowaways. They cotched us an' tied us up, an' when they get a good look at Chism, they figger he must be a runaway slave. He thought he was a goner for sure, but good thing for us, they was ab'litionists, not slavers, so after they palavered a long time, they decided to put us off at Warsaw, what we reached 'bout dawn on Sunday. The crew turned us over to Mr. Hamilton, who put us up at his hotel for the day 'till someone could come an fetch us back to Nauvoo."

Charles started to blubber. "An then, the bad policemen came an' took Chism away..."

Hosea Stout took up the narrative. "It happened that Sheriff Deming and Mr. Marr were riding through Warsaw on Monday, and Chism was turned over to their tender mercies just before I arrived there. I told Chism not to worry, that Brother Joseph had promised his safety, but I dunno if he believed me or not. I trust Deming will see that Chism is treated fairly, but Marr, as you know, would be only too happified to run him back to Missouri and collect the bounty."

Willard was greatly relieved to hear this. "I shall report this to Brother Joseph", he said. "And we will bend every effort to protect Chism's legal rights. Joseph guaranteed him as much."

NAUVOO, Wednesday, July 31

The doors of the Mansion were opened at 9:00 a.m. so the people of Nauvoo could view the body of Samuel Smith. A continual stream of mourners filed through the house until the doors were closed at 5:00 p.m. His brother Joseph Smith, his wife Levira Smith, and other members of the Smith family and friends were on hand all day, to greet the mourners who came to pay their last respects to this great man. This is the second son that Mother Lucy Smith has lost in a little over a month. Later that evening, Joseph dictated a letter to Emma informing her of the sad news.

QUINCY, Wednesday, July 31

Orson Spencer arrived in Quincy at about one p.m. aboard the steamer Mermaid. The whole town was in an uproar over the Boreas incident. The Mermaid had to tread water near shore for nearly an hour, and then it jockeyed with several other steamboats for a landing space at the lone dock.

"What's the problem?" Orson said to the captain of the Mermaid as he disembarked.

"No room to land", said the captain. "Boats'r refusin' to steam any futh'r north, at the resk o' bein' blowed to kingdom come by that infernal 'Mormon Navy'! Soon's I wood up, I'm headin' straight backta' St. Louis!"

Orson shook his head in amazement.

Looks like I have my work cut out for me, he thought.

As he headed down the dock, he met Joseph Heywood and Judge Richard M. Young, who were both residents of Quincy. Heywood was a Mormon; Judge Young was a former state senator and member of the Illinois Supreme Court.

"Elder Heywood, I'm glad I found you here!" said Orson. He pulled out a sheaf of Nauvoo Neighbor broadsides. "I have some campaign ballast here for you."

After the introductions, Orson was invited to accompany the two men to the home of Judge Young on Spring Street, where Governor Ford was visiting. As the buggy headed south along Water Street, the judge turned to face Orson and said sternly,

"Mr. Spencer, I sincerely hope you have a rational explanation for this so-called Boreas incident. You simply would not believe the wild rumors that are being cried up across the state, fanned in part no doubt by that infernal Thomas Sharp and his wretched rag-sheet."

"Indeed I would", said Orson. "I have been reading the papers, and I find nearly all of them to be far less credible than the truth."

"Mr. Spencer, I shall try for now to be an impartial judge of the matter. I am not here to play my fiddle for you, nor will I challenge your story before Governor Ford against all the facts are in. However, I will say confidentially that I believe the Mormons are innocent in this case. I have had a most favorable opinion of Joseph Smith since I first met him in Washington City back in '39... Oh, by the way, I think you should know that the governor is considering appointing me to pursue the case against the assassins of your Mr. Hyrum Smith."

Judge Young's home was one of the largest in Quincy, befitting one of its most prominent citizens. It was considered by many to be the social center of Quincy. The three men climbed the front steps and Judge Young ushered them in. As they turned the corner into the sitting-room, Orson recognized Governor Ford and several prominent citizens of Quincy, including Sylvester Bartlett, editor of the Quincy Whig. Ford was surrounded by his usual flock of lackeys, one of whom looked familiar to Orson. As the man turned his head, Orson was shocked to see that one side of his face was blood red. It was William Marr.

"Surprised to see me, Spencer?" said Marr. "You should be. I was nearly boiled alive by that exploding steam boiler. Yes, take a good look, 'cause I'm one of the lucky ones. I survived."

Governor Ford cut in. "Ahem, ah, Mister Spencer, there seem to be conflicting accounts of what happened on the river just north of Nauvoo, on July the 26th. Peradventure you could enlighten us on the Mormon version of the event?" he said with a slight sneer.

"Certainly, your excellency", said Orson, as he took a seat. "I have affidavits here from the crew of the Hyrum Smith, as well as several testimonials of persons who witnessed the event from the riverbank." He pulled out a sheaf of papers and began thumbing through them, then he handed several of them to the governor. He recited Lyman Wight's account of the seizure of the log raft and the capture of the logging party; how the men were imprisoned at Fort Armstrong, and their subsequent release by the Nauvoo Legion.

Orson was frequently interrupted by Mr. Marr and others saying, "It's a lie! It's a damned infernal lie!" In the end, however, the governor and Judge Young seemed convinced that the Mormons had acted in self-defense. Thomas Ford turned to William Marr and said angrily,

"Will, whatever possessed you to fall in with those two dough-heads M'lellin and Jackson? I warn you, if you so much as breathed my name during this affair, I'll personally finish boiling you myself!"

"What I done was on my own hook", Marr muttered. "I was pay'n the Mormons back for some wrongs they done me..." He glared angrily at Spencer and Heywood, then he raised his voice.

"And I don't care a button for what Sheriff Deming says, that boy Chism is goin' back to his master in Missouri! I'll see it to the Supreme Court if I hafta!"

NAUVOO, Thursday, August 1

Samuel H. Smith was buried this day. The following extract is from his obituary notice, published in the Times and Seasons:

The exit of this worthy man, so soon after the horrible butchery of his brother Hyrum, in Carthage jail, is a matter of deep solemnity to the family, as well as a remediless loss to all. If ever there lived a good man upon the earth, Samuel H. Smith was that person. His labors in the Church from first to last, carrying glad tidings to the eastern cities, and finally his steadfastness as one of the eight special witnesses to the Book of Mormon, and many saintly traits of virtue, knowledge, temperance, patience, godliness, brotherly kindness and charity, shall be given of him hereafter as a man of God.

Jennetta Richards died on this day, of symptoms listed as "general debility". Her last words to Willard (referring to her maiden name of Richards) were,

"Richards... 'tis a fine name... I'm glad I ne'er changed it."

HAMPTON, Friday, August 2

William and Wilson Law were working on the house they had taken over in Hampton. "Mormon War" or no, they still had to make a living. Wilson was up on the roof replacing the shakes, while William was repairing the "worm fence" that surrounded the house and garden.

From the top of the roof, Wilson spied a man approaching the house on horseback. He scrambled down the ladder and joined William at the front gate just as the man reined up in front of them. He was very tall and gaunt, with a graying mustache. He was wearing a long black slicker that covered most of his saddle.

"William M'Lellin! What in nation brings ye here? What 'appened to ye?" said Wilson, shocked.

McLellin's face was covered with blisters. He dismounted, then turned to the two men and said in a raspy voice, while cupping his hand over his ear,

"Cain't hear you – eardrums'r blowed out. I'm deef. My lungs's burnt, too."

They helped him into the house and sat him down. There he haltingly told them of the escapade on Rock Island, of his capture, of his release to the Boreas, and the sudden explosion that had blown him into the water. He finished by saying bitterly,

"I should'a used ol' Joe up when he was in Richmond jail, whilst I had the chance. I ast' the sheriff if'n I could flog Joe, but he wouldn't let me do it 'less he could take the irons off'n him fust. I could'a whupped him with my bare hands, but that no good Missouri puke sheriff wouldn't allow me..."

He suddenly bent over double, retching and coughing.

"Boys, I'm dyin'", he gasped. "I'm coughin' my lungs up. Doctor says I 'ave a month, mebbe three..."

William Law put his hand on his McLellin's shoulder. He winced, and Law quickly removed the hand.

"Sure'n ye look most awful Will, why, it takes two o' you ta' make a shadow", Law said, concerned. "You just sit tight 'ere for th' bye, an' we'll fix you up. We'll deal with Joe Smith an' his 'navy'... Wilson, how fare ye wi' that bogus Kirtland Safety Society scrip?"

Wilson was working near a small printing press in the corner of the room. "Already finished", he said. He held up a single piece of paper. "But this, my dear William, is my pièce de résistance."

William came over to the table where Wilson was working. Mounted on the table was a "duplicating machine", a pantograph of hinged rods with a stylus at one end and a pen at the other. Under the stylus was an old letter to Joseph Smith, signed by Emma. Wilson held up his paper for William to see. It was one of their "affidavits", complete with a near-perfect copy of Emma's signature.
CHAPTER 8

QUINCY, 9:00 a.m. Saturday, August 3

The uproar over the Boreas incident had subsided somewhat, and river commerce was returning to normal on the upper Mississippi.

The steamer St. Croix tied up to load wood, and Sidney Rigdon stepped off for a few minutes.

While strolling up and down the landing he happened to spy Joseph Heywood in the crowd.

"Brother Heywood! So good to see you", said Sidney. "And how is your wife and family?"

"Very well, Brother Rigdon. But what brings you to Quincy? I thought you and your family had moved to Pittsburgh?"

"I am only here until the boat leaves again for Nauvoo. When the dreadful news reached me in Pittsburgh of Brother Hyrum's death, I determined to return to Nauvoo and again offer my services to the Church and the nation. My health is much improved. I feel better than I have in years, and I am now ready to take to the campaign trail as Joseph Smith's running-mate."

"Running-mate? What ever are you talking about?" said Heywood.

Sidney looked perplexed. "Why, the Vice-Presidency, of course... Surely you recall, I was nominated by the convention at Nauvoo on May the 6th?... What are you babbling about, man?"

Joseph Heywood looked embarrassed and glanced nervously away.

"Joseph, what is it? What has happened in Nauvoo during my absence?"

Heywood reached into his valise and pulled out a broadside of the Nauvoo Neighbor, and reluctantly handed it to Sidney:

FOR PRESIDENT,

GENERAL JOSEPH SMITH,

Of Nauvoo, Illinois

"A Western man, with American principles"

For Vice-President

JOHN S. REID

Of New York

STRONG TARIFFS

SOLID CURRENCY

ABOLISH SLAVERY

ANNEX TEXAS AND OREGON

"SUPER HANC PETRAM ÆDIFICABO"

Sidney gaped at the broadside for a moment, then he abruptly dropped it on the ground. Without a word, he turned on his heel and marched back to the steamboat, his cane loudly thumping on the gangplank.

NAUVOO, 1:00 p.m. Saturday, August 3

Joseph Smith, William W. Phelps and William Clayton boarded the steamer Osprey, bound for Washington City. A huge crowd was present at the landing to see them off. The Nauvoo brass band and chorus performed "The Gallant Ship":

The gallant ship is under weigh, to bear me off to sea,

And yonder float the streamers gay, that say she waits for me.

The seamen dip their ready oar, as ebbing waves oft tell -

They bear me swiftly from the shore: My native land farewell.

On the opposite side of the dock, Joseph could see the battered Hyrum Smith. Dan Jones and his small crew were busy chipping paint, removing broken glass, and ripping out damaged woodwork. Dan looked up sadly at Joseph from his work as the Osprey got underway.

As Captain Anderson backed the Osprey away from the landing the crowd cheered:

"Hurrah for America!"

"Hurrah for Zion!"

"Joseph Smith, our next President!"

Joseph, W.W. Phelps and William Clayton waved back until Nauvoo slipped out of sight. Phelps then excused himself, as he said he had some writing to do – something about a hymn text he suddenly felt inspired to write.

"Well, Joseph, noo it begins", said William Clayton as he leaned on the railing. "Did evair ye think that ye would truly be standin' for President o' t' United States?"

"No, William, I did not", said Joseph. "I care but little about the presidential chair. I consider it my duty to run for the office, not my privilege. I would not give half as much for the office of President of the United States as I would for the one I now hold as Lieutenant-General of the Nauvoo Legion."

"But 'ave we a fightin' chance of succeedin', think ye?"

"When I get hold of the eastern papers, and see how popular I am, I am afraid myself that I shall be elected", Joseph said with a laugh. "But if I should be, I would not say as did Mr. Van Buren, 'Your cause is just but I can do nothing for you.' But win or lose, this campaign is the best hope left to us of pleading our case before the American people. And if that fails, the Lord has a sore vexation ready to pour out upon this nation."

William shook his head. "Martin Van Buren, 'at popinjay – 'Old Kinderhook' they called 'im, or simply 'OK'. 'Tis a shame 'e won't gie' up on t' campaign. My old English grandmum could whip him, I wager. An' Mr. Polk, if he stands, will nae be any different."

"That would be 'OK' by me too", said Joseph, smiling. "But if you 'Polk' the two leading candidates, you shall find they both have feet of 'Clay'. They only appear strong because no one has stood up to them, afore now."

Joseph looked fore and aft at the steamboat. "The Osprey is a fine vessel, William, much larger than the Hyrum Smith. When I return from my campaign, I must speak to Captain Anderson about purchasing it – in remembrance of my brother Samuel."

Both men were lost in thought for a time, gazing at the scenery. As they rounded the bend at Keokuk, Joseph pointed excitedly to the Iowa shore.

"Look there, William, where the riverbank is building up! As the river deposits its silt, new land is formed, and if you look closely you can see new cotton-trees springing up out of the mud. Just behind them is a taller line of year-old trees, of a darker shade of green, and yet another line behind them. If you look carefully, you can sometimes count eight or more tiers of trees, each the evidence of a year's deposit of silt from the river.

"The kingdom of God is like those trees, William. As the 'old timber' begins to crown out, new shoots spring up, and the forest continues to grow. Here and there a tree falls, but nothing can stop the nourishing power of the river.

"As well might man stretch forth his puny arm to stop this river in its decreed course, or to turn it up stream, as to hinder the Almighty from pouring down knowledge from heaven upon the heads of the Latter-day Saints."

William pondered this for a time. "Joseph, do ye think 'twas wise t' leave Nauvoo so soon after Samuel's death? Th' city is summat bereft o' leaders, what wi' t' Mayor an' Prophet gone, an' only four o' the Twelve present."

"I'm confident that the Church will not be led astray in my absence", said Joseph. "The Twelve are gathering to Nauvoo, and the storm of persecution has largely subsided. I never saw a better feeling amongst the Saints than at the present time. No, William, the greatest threat to our peace has always been from within our own ranks, when dough-heads like William Law raise their heel against us..."

William leaned on the guard-rail and watched idly as the steamer St. Croix passed them on the Illinois side.

Joseph paused for a moment, then he spoke. "As for poor Rigdon, I am glad he's gone to Pittsburgh out of the way. Were he to preside he would lead the Church to destruction in less than five years."

NAUVOO, 5:00 p.m. Saturday, August 3

As the steamboat St. Croix docked at the lower landing, Sidney Rigdon was the first passenger to disembark. There was no one waiting to greet him, but if there had been, one look would have told them that Sidney had a full head of steam. He strode furiously up Main Street, turned left at Water Street, and headed straight for Joseph's Red Brick Store.

Bishop Newell K. Whitney and James Rollins were receiving and disbursing tithing in the store this day. They were astonished to see Sidney Rigdon suddenly burst in through the front door waving his cane, red-faced and out of breath, saying,

"Where is he? I shall have it out with Mister Smith this very instant!"

Newell replied coolly, "Why, Brother Sidney! We thought you were still in Pittsburgh! What can I do for you today?"

"Don't trifle with me, Mister Whitney. I'm here to see Joseph Smith. I want to know why he dropped me from the Vice-Presidency!"

Newell was taken aback by this. "Now, don't bust your boiler, Sidney. Joseph left Nauvoo for Washington on the Osprey, just hours ago. I'm sure there's an explanation for this... As I understand it, Brother Joseph wrote you back around July 25th or so, informing you of his decision. Did you not receive it?"

"No, I did not, but if I had, I should have come here the sooner. He had no right to take the candidacy away from me, Newell, no right at all!" he ranted, pounding his cane on the floor. "I might have known it would come to this. First he chose Bennett for Vice President, then Copeland, then me, now this Reid chap from New York. What does he want with me?"

James Rollins tried to mollify him. "I'm sure there's a copy of the letter somewhere; you know how thorough Brother Clayton is about these matters."

"Small comfort for all the years I have supported the man!" said Sidney. He thought for a moment, then he turned and started toward the back of the store, where Joseph's office was.

Newell left his counter and ran after him. "Whoa, Sidney, you can't go in there. You know this is Joseph's private office, and he left instructions that no one is to enter in his absence."

Sidney thrust his cane in Newell's chest. "Stand off, Buckeye, or I'll whip you here and now! I am Joseph's Counselor, and I can prophecy as good as any man, and I tell you no one shall take my rights from me, least of all some pettifogging Bishop!"

He opened the door and walked in. William Clayton had tidied up the room that morning, and most of the records were locked safely away in drawers and cabinets. In the south wall was a window overlooking the Mississippi River. Through the window, Newell noticed the steamer St. Croix just pulling away from the dock.

Sidney spied the Book of the Law of the Lord in a cubbyhole. He pulled it out and started thumbing quickly through it.

Newell was getting flustered. He said nervously, "Mister Rigdon, I must ask you to leave, else I shall call the police!"

"Ask away", Sidney muttered over his shoulder.

Now, where is it? he thought. June 1, 1841 – Joseph ordained me a Prophet, Seer, and Revelator. I must have that certificate back...

Something else caught his eye. It was a blessing pronounced upon young Joseph the Third on January 17, 1844:

Blessed of the Lord is my son Joseph, who is called the third, – for the Lord knows the integrity of his heart, and loves him, because of his faith, and righteous desires. And, for this cause, has the Lord raised him up; – that the promises made to the fathers might be fulfilled, even that the anointing of the progenitor shall be upon the head of my son, and his seed after him, from generation to generation. For he shall be my successor to the Presidency of the High Priesthood: a Seer, and a Revelator, and a Prophet, unto the Church; which appointment belongeth to him by blessing, and also by right.

Verily, thus saith the Lord: if he abides in me, his days shall be lengthened upon the earth, but, if he abides not in me, I, the Lord, will receive him, in an instant, unto myself.

When he is grown, he shall be a strength to his brethren, and a comfort to his mother. Angels will minister unto him, and he will be wafted as on eagle's wings, and be as wise as serpents, even a multiplicity of blessings shall be his. Amen.

Sidney looked up just as two policemen entered the front door of the store. He tore the blessing out of the book and quickly stuffed it into his pocket.

Good enough... he thought.

NAUVOO, Sunday, August 4

Elders John Taylor, Willard Richards and George A. Smith met in council, and waited an hour for Elder Rigdon, who excused himself afterwards by saying he was engaged with a lawyer.

Ten a.m. Meeting at the stand. The congregation sang a hymn:

Let thy kingdom, blessed Savior,

Come and bid our troubles cease;

Come, oh come! and reign forever,

God of love and prince of peace;

Visit now poor bleeding Zion,

Hear thy people mourn and weep;

Day and night thy lambs are crying,

come, good Shepherd, feed thy sheep.

Some for Paul, some for Apollos,

Some for Cephas – none agree;

Jesus let us hear thee call us;

Help us Lord to follow thee;

Then we'll rush through what encumbers,

Over every hindrance leap;

Not upheld by force or numbers,

Come good shepherd feed thy sheep.

Elder Rigdon preached from the words, 'For my thoughts are not as your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord':

"It is with no ordinary degree of satisfaction I enjoy this privilege this morning. Want of health and other circumstances have kept me in silence for nearly the last five years. It can hardly be expected that when the violence of sickness has used its influence, and the seeds of disease have so long preyed upon me, that I can rise before this congregation, only in weakness. I am now come forth from a bed of sickness, and have enough of strength left to appear here for the first time in my true character. I hardly promise myself lungs to make this congregation hear me. I shall do the best I can, and the greatest can do no more.

"When I heard the sad news of the death of Brother Hyrum, I was determined to rise from my bed of sickness and again apply myself to the cause of Zion. The Lord opened the heavens to me, and he showed me concerning the dire situation of the Church. He told me that unless the ship of Zion was set back on her proper course, she would run aground upon the shoals of false doctrine and dissension.

"But what was my astonishment when I arrived in Nauvoo, only to find that the mighty captain of our ship had jumped overboard, and abandoned the ship of Zion to the wind and the waves! Yes, our mighty captain, to whom we had entrusted our very lives as it were, has gone a lusting after worldly fame and glory. The man to whom God spoke from the heavens, in whose presence I witnessed the heavenly vision, is now on his way to 'Babylon on the Potomac', seeking to become our next national President!"

This line of attack did not sit well with the congregation, who had just seen Joseph off on his campaign, and they grumbled and stirred in their seats, unconvinced. But, Sidney plowed on:

"The ship of Zion is now rudderless, and I as her first mate shall not stand idly by, as she is dashed upon the rocks! I now step forth in my position as Joseph's Counselor, and offer myself as your new guardian, to steer this Church back to safer waters where she belongs!

"I am the identical man that the ancient prophets have sung about, written about and rejoiced over. I have been sent to do the identical work that has been the theme of all the prophets in every preceding generation."

At this, George A. Smith, who was sitting on the stand, turned to Willard Richards and whispered, "I am the identical man the prophets never sang nor wrote a word about." Willard smiled at the joke, but in the mean time Sidney was just hitting his stride:

"The Lord's ways are not as our ways, for the Lord said he would 'hiss for the fly from the uttermost part of the rivers of Egypt, and for the bee that is in the land of Assyria,' and thereby destroy our enemies.

"There is danger here, grave danger if Joseph Smith should be elected President. He will destroy the fragile balance which has been maintained between the Whigs and the Democrats in this nation for so many years. The Lord has warned us that 'The Southern States shall be divided against the Northern States, and the Southern states will call upon other nations, even the nation of Great Britain, as it is called, and they shall also call upon other nations, in order to defend themselves against other nations; and then war shall be poured out upon all nations.'

"The time is near at hand when you shall see a hundred tons of metal per second thrown at the enemies of God, and the blood will be to the horses' bridles, but those that stand in holy places shall have no need to fear.

"I expect to walk into the palace of Queen Victoria and lead her out by the nose, when none would have power to say, 'why do ye so?'"

He pulled young Joseph's blessing out of his pocket and waved it in the air.

"If it were not for two or three things which I know, this people would be utterly destroyed, and not a soul left to tell the tale! I shall have more to say to you later. Good day to you all."

Sidney Rigdon had said his piece. He sat down breathless and wiped his face with a handkerchief. Elder William Marks, President of the Nauvoo Stake, arose and said,

"There will be a special meeting of the Church at the stand, on Thursday the eighth, for the purpose of choosing a guardian. You are all dismissed following the prayer."

As George A. Smith was walking down from the stand, Charles C. Rich approached him and said earnestly,

"George, I'm dissatisfied with the hurried movement of Elder Rigdon. I consider that, inasmuch as the Twelve have been sent for and are soon expected home, the notice for meeting is premature."

"I fully agree", said George. "It seems to me to be a complot laid to take advantage of the situation of the Saints, before the Twelve can arrive and set things aright. But I hardly think that Sidney succeeded in turning the hearts of the children, let alone their fathers, with that bombastic speech. It is Sidney, not Joseph or the Twelve, who is essaying to steer the 'ship of Zion' into uncharted waters."

NAUVOO, Monday, August 5

Elders Willard Richards, John Taylor, George A. Smith, Amasa Lyman and Bishop Whitney waited upon Elder Rigdon in the morning. He said he would meet them in council at Elder Taylor's after dinner. They accordingly met in council.

When Elder Rigdon came in, he clasped his hands behind his back, paced the room and said grimly,

"Gentlemen, you're used up; gentlemen, you are all divided; the anti-Mormons have got you. The brethren are voting every way, the Church is breaking up and scattering before your eyes!"

George A. Smith said mildly, "Brother Rigdon, you are entirely mistaken. There is no division; the brethren are united; the election will be unanimous, and the friends of law and order will be elected by a wide majority."

Willard Richards said, "I fail to see the cause of your alarm, Sidney. There was no division in the Church before your arrival, and when you return to Pittsburgh, you needn't bother looking behind you, for no one from here will be following you."

"But the anti-Mormons have got you, you cannot stay in the county, everything is in confusion, and you can do nothing without a leader!" Sidney cried hysterically.

"We 'ave a leader, Sidney", said John Taylor. "Why, just tedae we received a letter frae' Brother Joseph mailed frae' St. Louis. Wair in constant correspondence wi' oor Prophet, an' whatever matters t' Twelve canna' resolve will be laid ower against 'is retairn."

Sidney scoffed. "Do you honestly believe that this kingdom can be governed by correspondence? You know how uncertain the mails are!"

"No one knows better than we the fickle nature of the postal department", George said dryly. "Why, when you were postmaster of Nauvoo, we rang bells and shouted hallelujah whenever a letter actually made it to the proper addressee!"

"You shall answer for that remark, Mr. Smith. I came here not to be insulted, but to offer you my services. You lack a great leader, you want a head, and unless you unite upon that head you are blown to the four winds."

"Mister, er, Brother Rigdon", said Newell K. Whitney. "When you barged into Joseph's store the other day, your only concern was for the Vice-Presidency. You were most incensed that Mr. Reid had usurped your divine right to that office. Now, you 'offer your services' to us as, how did you put it, a 'guardian', whatever that may be. What high and noble position will you aspire for next week – the Grand Rajah of India?"

Amasa Lyman spoke up. "That's right, Brother Whitney. We read in the scriptures where the Lord called 'some apostles, and some prophets, and some evangelists', but try as I might I cannot find where 'some guardians' are mentioned."

Willard Richards spoke for the group. "Brethren, there is no occasion to be alarmed. President Rigdon is inspiring fears there are no grounds for."

Sidney dug in his heels. "Gentlemen, if this people reject me, I will go on my way, for there is a people numbering thousands and tens of thousands who will receive me."

"Then begone, an' may the Lord bless ye", said John Taylor. "Because we most sairtanly shan't."

CARTHAGE, Monday, August 5

Today was state election day in Illinois. A large number of the brethren rode to Carthage to vote for their state and county candidates for office. The brethren, hoping for the best, gave little heed to the warnings of mob violence, and repaired to the polls at Carthage without weapons. Among the group were Generals Charles C. Rich and Hosea Stout of the Nauvoo Legion; Hiram Kimball, Theodore Turley, and non-Mormon Daniel H. Wells.

A lively scene greeted the men as they rode into Carthage from the west at about eleven a.m. Among the crowd waiting to vote were many of the mobbers who had taken part in the attack on the jail in June, including Joseph H. Jackson, William Marr, Augustine Spencer (Brother of Orson and Daniel Spencer), Levi Williams, and Calvin A. Warren. Major Mark Aldrich of the Warsaw Militia was standing on a barrel, haranguing the crowd who were assembled near the courthouse. He said,

"The Mormon leaders'r a set of horse thieves, liars, counterfeiters, an' you know they profess to heal the sick, an' cast out devils, and you all know that's a lie. They tried to fleece me out o' my land in Warsaw back in forty-one. Ol' Joe Smith promised me he'd settle his dupes on my land down in Warren, and what does he do? Why, he moves 'em all to Commerce instead! When I ast 'im 'bout it, you know what he tol' me an' Cal Warren? He says, an' I quote, 'The first thing toward buildin' up Warsaw is to break it down, to break down them that are there.' Now I ast' you, is this the kinda neighbors you want fillin' up our county?"

"No!" the crowd responded. Several whisky bottles appeared and were passed quickly among the men. Aldrich continued:

"These Mormons are dupes, I tell you, dupes, an' not too good to take a false oath on any common occasion neither! You let 'em vote here, pretty soon they'll be tellin' us how to vote, or not vote! Is this what you want?"

"No! Run 'em out!" the crowd roared. Aldrich kept whipping the mob:

"I say, damn Joe Smith! Damn ever'one who won't damn Joe Smith! Damn everyone 'at won't put lights in his winda's an' sit up all night damning Joe Smith!"

It was at this unfortunate moment that the Mormons from Nauvoo rode up. Mark Aldrich pointed to them from his whisky barrel pulpit and said,

"Why, here they are now! Let's show 'em how we ol' citizens vote!"

Augustine Spencer, an apostate Mormon, was just drunk enough for the occasion. He walked unsteadily up to Theodore Turley, stuck his face in Theodore's and said with a belch,

"You Mormons ain't 'lowed ta vote roun' here, no more'an the slaves," and attempted to strike Turley, who gradually retreated. Spencer continued to press upon him, calling him a liar and a damn fool, and repeatedly tried to strike him.

Hiram Kimball sought to suppress the difficulty by holding Spencer's arm, when five or six of the mobbers seized Turley and commenced beating him with clubs and boards, and crying, "Kill him, kill him", when a general scuffle commenced with fists and clubs, the mobbers being about ten to one of the brethren.

Hosea Stout was knocked down, and had his clothes torn off, and while trying to get up was attacked again, when his brother, Allen Stout, ran in amongst them, and knocked the mobbers down with the butt of his whip.

Daniel H. Wells struck Spencer on the head with a pine board, which brought him to the ground. The mob cried out, "Augie Spencer's dead; who killed Augie?" And they fell upon Wells, knocked him down, kicked him, crying, "Kill him, kill him; shoot him," and they would have killed him, had not Charles C. Rich sprung in amongst them and knocked them down. During about five minutes it was one succession of knock downs, when the mob dispersed to get fire arms.

Very few of the brethren voted. Wells had his wounds dressed, and returned home.

Charles C. Rich called the brethren together outside the courthouse and made a speech, saying,

"We are American citizens; our fathers fought for their liberty, and we will maintain the same principles!"

Sheriff Minor Deming finally came to the brethren, and requested them to withdraw, stating that it was a premeditated thing to prevent the "Mormons" from voting. The brethren finally returned to Nauvoo that evening without having cast their ballots.

NAUVOO, Tuesday, August 6

Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, Orson Pratt, and Wilford Woodruff finally arrived in Nauvoo from the east aboard the steamer Amaranth at about eight in the evening. The boat docked at the upper stone house, after which Brigham hired a coach to deliver the brethren to their respective homes.

Wilford Woodruff shook hands with Brigham and Heber, grabbed his valise, and stepped wearily out of the coach in front of his new home on Durphy Street.

I have been gone so long, I scarcely know this place, he thought as he opened the gate of his new picket fence. His wife Phoebe ran joyously out the door to greet him.

"Oh, Wilford, Wilford!" she cried as she hugged him and escorted him into the house. "I've missed you so much! Wait 'till you see the improvements we have made!"

Wilford looked in admiration at the interior of his new house: a new table and chairs, rag carpets, even curtains on the windows. The walls had been whitewashed, too.

"My dear Phoebe, you have done well. We moved in on May the fourth, I left on the ninth, and in my absence you have turned this house into a home."

She beamed at him. "The upper rooms are still unfinished, but our children have beds, and we have enough to eat. Welcome home, Wilford", she said tenderly.

He pulled off his boots, collapsed into a new settee, and idly fingered the chair's ornate upholstery. Then he looked up at her and said wearily,

"Do you know, my dear, that this will be the first summer in ten years that I have spent at home?"

NAUVOO, Wednesday, August 7

Elders Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, Orson Pratt, Willard Richards, Wilford Woodruff, George A. Smith and Lyman Wight met in council with Elder Taylor at his house. They found him recovering from the wounds he received in Carthage.

Election reports are coming in from all counties of the state. As expected, the Mormon-supported candidates swept Hancock County, as follows:

J.B. Backenstos: State Representative

Almon Babbit: State Representative

Minor Deming: County Sheriff

Daniel H. Wells: County Coroner

Joseph Hoge: U.S. Representative

NAUVOO, Thursday, August 8

At a special meeting of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints held in Nauvoo, at ten a.m., by the request of President William Marks (who was then presiding over that stake of Zion) to choose a guardian, or President and Trustee, Sidney Rigdon took his position in a wagon, about two rods in front of the stand, and harangued the saints for quite some time upon choosing a guardian for the Church.

Sidney Rigdon strode confidently down the aisle to the wagon, which was situated in the middle of the congregation's seating area. President Marks gave him a 'leg up' onto the wagon box, where he teetered unsteadily for a moment before gaining his footing.

Sidney was dressed in a black wool suit, with a swallow-tail coat and gold buttons. He was a rather short, portly man, and his hair had nearly all turned white. Many in the congregation were startled at the change in his appearance. Since his last sermon from the stand in April he had lost weight, his skin appeared gray, and his eyes were sunken. But he pulled himself up to his full height, steadied himself with his cane, and began speaking:

"It is with no ordinary degree of satisfaction I enjoy this privilege this morning. Under ordinary circumstances, I would address you from the stand, but my lungs are quite feeble today and I think I can more easily cause the people to hear me from this position.

"I must speak of events that trouble me most deeply. I have known for some years that Joseph Smith has not been led by the spirit of God, and this is the reason why I did not attend with him as his counselor. Now behold, how he is fallen! The Church is bereft of leadership, and without a helmsman to guide her!

"The object of my mission is to visit the saints and offer myself to them as a guardian. I had a vision at Pittsburgh, June 27th. This was presented to my mind not as an open vision, but rather a continuation of the vision mentioned in the Book of Doctrine and Covenants.

"It was revealed to me in Pittsburgh, and confirmed upon my arrival in Nauvoo, that the right to the Presidency of this Church rests with the posterity of Joseph. And who is that posterity? Why, he is living in Dixon at this time, with his mother – young Joseph the Third."

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his coat pocket. "I have here a blessing pronounced upon the head of young Joseph this past January. Listen to what it says!"

'...For he shall be my successor to the Presidency of the High Priesthood: a Seer, and a Revelator, and a Prophet, unto the Church; which appointment belongeth to him by blessing, and also by right.'

"It was shown to me that this Church must be built up to young Joseph, and that all the blessings we receive must come through him. I have been ordained a prophet, seer, and revelator, and I have come to Nauvoo to see that the Church is governed in a proper manner.

"The Church is not of age to do business for itself, being only about fourteen years old, and as I am now first in authority, it is my duty to act as guardian until the Church is twenty-one.

"We may have a diversity of feelings on this matter. I have been called to be a spokesman unto young Joseph, and I want to build up the Church unto him; and if the people want me to sustain this place, I want it upon the principle that every individual shall acknowledge it for himself.

"I propose to be a guardian to the people; in this I have discharged my duty and done what God has commanded me, and the people can please themselves whether they accept me or not, but if you do not, you shall be damned. I am in haste to get the assent of the Saints in this matter, as I must be in Pittsburgh in a short time..."

At this moment Sidney's speech was interrupted by the entrance of several of the Apostles, who walked down the aisles and took their place on the stand. A general feeling of relief swept over the congregation at this event.

Sidney looked around uneasily as Brigham Young marched past his wagon without so much as a glance at him.

This will not do, Sidney thought as he teetered on his perch. He turned his eyes back to the congregation, whose attention was already starting to drift away from him and migrate toward the stand. He said quickly,

"You are dismissed! I shall have more to say on these matters this afternoon."

But Sidney had already lost their attention. It was Brigham Young who walked up the steps to the pulpit, but someone else entirely who appeared before them. He was tall, with light auburn hair, blue eyes, a prominent nose, and a slight whistle to his speech.

"Ahem", said Joseph Smith. "Attention all!"

He cast his gaze across the crowd before him and smiled. "This congregation makes me think of the days of King Benjamin, the multitude being so great that all could not hear."

Brigham had been wearing a dark broadcloth suit, and was hatless. "Joseph" was dressed in a light linen suit with a light "leghorn" top hat such as he often wore in the warm weather.

Joseph said, "I request the brethren not to have any feelings for being re-convened this afternoon, for it is necessary; we want you all to be still and give attention, that all may hear. Let none complain because of the situation of the congregation, we will do the best we can."

Striking his hand on his bosom, Joseph said,

"Right here is the authority to lead this Church."

The vision faded, and Brigham Young was standing before them again. Not everyone saw the vision, and Brigham himself seemed unaware of the transformation, but a large portion of the congregation witnessed the miracle.

Brigham Young continued by saying,

"I do not care who leads the Church, even though it were Ann Lee; but one thing I must know, and that is what God says about it. I have the keys and the means of obtaining the mind of God on the subject.

"The first position I take in behalf of the Twelve and the people is, to ask a few questions. I ask the Latter-day Saints: do you, as individuals, at this time, want to choose a guardian? Inasmuch as our Prophet is absent from our midst, do you want some one to guard, to guide and lead you through this world into the kingdom of God, or not? All that want some person to be a guardian, a spokesman or something else, signify it by raising the right hand."

No one raised their hand.

"When I came to this stand I had peculiar feelings and impressions. The faces of this people seem to say, we want a shepherd to guide and lead us through this world. All that want to draw away a party from the Church after them, let them do it if they can, but they will not prosper.

"There has been much said about President Rigdon being Guardian of the Church, and leading the people, being the head, et cetera. Brother Rigdon has come 1,600 miles to tell you what he wants to do for you. If the people want President Rigdon to lead them they may have him; but I say unto you that the Prophet and the Quorum of the Twelve have the keys of the kingdom of God in all the world.

"The Twelve are appointed by the finger of God. Here is Brigham, have his knees ever faltered? Have his lips ever quivered? Here is Heber and the rest of the Twelve, an independent body who have the keys of the priesthood – the keys of the kingdom of God to deliver to all the world: this is true, so help me God. They stand next to Joseph, and are as the First Presidency of the Church.

"Do you want a patriarch? We have Brother William Smith; here is Uncle John Smith, uncle to the Prophet Joseph; it is their right. The right of patriarchal blessings belongs to Joseph's family. Young Joseph the Third has that right, if he proves himself worthy and continues faithful.

"Do you want the Church properly organized, or do you want a spokesman to be chief cook and bottle-washer? Elder Rigdon claims to be spokesman to the Prophet. Why will Elder Rigdon be a fool? Who knows anything of the priesthood, or of the organization of the kingdom of God? I am plain.

"I will ask, who has stood next to Joseph and Hyrum? I have, and I will stand next to him. We have a head, and that head is the Apostleship, the spirit and power of Joseph, and we can now begin to see the necessity of that Apostleship.

"Brother Rigdon is at his side–-not above. No man has a right to counsel the Twelve but Joseph Smith. Think of these things. You cannot appoint a Prophet; but if you let Joseph and the Twelve remain and act in their place, the keys of the kingdom are with them and they can manage the affairs of the Church and direct all things aright.

"Now, all this does not lessen the character of President Rigdon: let him magnify his calling, and someday Joseph will want him beyond the veil – but let him be careful what he does, lest that thread which binds us together is cut asunder. May God bless you all. Amen."
CHAPTER 9

NAUVOO, Friday, August 9

The Nauvoo Neighbor reprinted the following article of interest, which was culled from one of the eastern newspapers:

MORMON TEMPLE

The Mormon Temple, it is said, is still in progress of erection. It is about one-fourth the size of Solomon's temple, and can accommodate 12,000 persons, being 4,000 on each floor. Three hundred and fifty men are zealously at work upon the building, which it is supposed will be finished in a year and a half, probably at a cost of half a million of dollars.

NAUVOO, Monday, August 12

The Twelve Apostles met in council at the home of Brigham Young and made the following appointments:

That Elder Amasa Lyman, who was ordained an Apostle by the direction of President Joseph Smith August 20 1842, stand as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve;

That Elder John Taylor hire the printing office and establishment of the Nauvoo Neighbor and the Times and Seasons from the Church;

That Elder Wilford Woodruff go on a mission to England and preside over the churches there and on the adjacent isles and continent, taking charge of the printing and take his family with him;

That Willard Richards continue the history of the Church and be supported.

As Wilford left the meeting and walked up Kimball Street to Durphy, his mind raced:

England? What will I tell Phoebe? I just returned from the East scarce a week ago. Our house is still unfinished. Who will look after it in our absence? How long shall we be away? How will my wife and children bear the long ocean voyage?

He walked through his newly whitewashed picket gate, and found Phoebe in the garden on her knees, weeding her tomatoes. She looked up at him and said, smiling,

"So, my dear, how was your meeting with the brethren?" Then she looked at him again and froze, the panic rising in her.

"Wilford, you have that 'Farewell, Our Friends and Brethren' sort of look about you again. Tell me, which verse are you singing this evening? Where are they sending you?"

Might as well put the best face on it, he thought. He took her hand, took a deep breath and said, smiling,

"My dear, I am off to England, and you and the children are to accompany me!"

She laid down her trowel and bowed her head for a moment, lost in thought. Then she turned to the north and slowly swept her gaze down the length of their new home and sighed. She looked back at Wilford and said wistfully, with tears in her eyes,

"Well, my dear, I never cared much for this shade of whitewash, anyhow...You start the packing, and I'll announce to the children that we're all off to jolly old England."

NAUVOO, Tuesday, August 13

Brigham Young walked down to the lower boat landing just before noon. He found Dan Jones and his small crew still toiling to make the Hyrum Smith seaworthy. Dan was on the forecastle, fruitlessly chipping away at loose paint.

"Mornin', Brother Dan, how goes the battle?" said Brigham.

"Broother Brigham, I tell ye, it's jest 'opeluss!" said Dan, throwing down his paint chipper in disgust. "Ach-a-fi, this boot's completely fagged oot. I gorra pump oot the bilge each dee', else she'd sink straight ta' the bottom o' the rivver. We're soo busy tappin' er up, we cain't use 'er ta' airn' eno' cash ta' fix 'er up proper. An' e'en if we could, there's noo more custom on this stretch o' the rivver, ever since 'Dangerous Dan th' Pirate' drave off all t'other steamboots. Na' you tell me, wot does Broother Joseph want me to do wi' this frazzled ol' steamboot?"

"What Brother Joseph wants you to do is plain enough. Let the boat sink, Dan. Joseph has instructed me to tell you that now is the time for you to fill that mission to Wales, what you covenanted to in Carthage Jail."

Dan looked as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He grinned at Brigham, then grabbed his hand and pumped it. Then he turned around to face the boat, cupped his hands and shouted,

"Boys, wa're doon' far the dee! Let 'er settle ta' the bottom, I doon't care! I'm off ta' Cumreigh, me native land!"

DIXON, Tuesday, August 13

At dawn, Porter Rockwell got up from his bed in the barn and wandered into the house, gaping and stretching. He found Benjamin Wasson and young Joseph sitting near the fireplace, casting bullets and cleaning Benjamin's guns.

"Mornin', Port", said Benjamin. "You sleep good?"

"Not half bad", said Porter, picking the straw out of his shirt and beard.

"You know, Port, we can always make up a bed fer you in the house 'ere, if'n you ever tire of the barn."

"Nah, it don't bother me none. 'Sides, I ruther like sleepin' with the horses an' mules. Leastways, they don't seem to mind me." He thought:

It also lets me keep a sharp eye for any strangers who might drop in.

Benjamin was cleaning his "mantle-shelf" gun, an ancient Brown Bess musket.

Porter looked at it and said, "Ben, why you keep that ol' smoke-pole? Why, it must be a good seventy year' old. That ol' smoothbore barrel is so derned unaccurate, you'd be lucky to hit a cow broadside at fifty paces."

"That may be", said Benjamin. "But one thing's fer sure, that cow wouldn't stand up agin. Why, jist look'a that seventy-seven caliber bore – So big you kin stick your thumb in it!"

Young Joseph was casting a batch of lead balls for the Brown Bess. Benjamin turned back to help him.

"Now, make sure the lead is good an' hot afore you pour it. An' warm the mold a bit, else the rounds'll come out all lumpy-like. There you are... Now quickly, pour your lead."

Joseph carefully ladled the lead into the mold, waited a moment, then cut the sprue and split the mold open.

"Finished", he said proudly, dumping two lead balls out onto a leather pad. They were as big as marbles.

"Derned waste of lead, I say", Porter grumbled as he examined them.

This was more than Benjamin could take. "Boys, it's time fer a little dee-monstration", he said. "Joseph, you ever fired a musket like this afore?"

"No sir!" Joseph said in awe, as Benjamin handed the gun to him. He looked at the long, graceful maple stock which was stained a deep reddish-brown, darkened with age. The lockplate was stamped with the letters "GR" and "46 REGT".

"My pappy borrowed it off'n a dead Redcoat at the battle of Saratoga", Benjamin said proudly. "Somehow, he jist never got around to givin' it back to King George, and I got the use of it in the War of 1812. Since then, it's sorta been part o' the family."

"It's heavy", Joseph said, startled at its size. "And long. Why, it's taller'an me!"

"Yep... 'Bout ten pounds, and 'most five feet long", said Benjamin as he escorted the two others outside. He fetched a shingle from the woodpile and stood it on the fence about seventy feet from where Joseph and Porter were standing. Then he came back, took the Brown Bess from Joseph, and proceeded to load it.

First he poured a measured charge of gunpowder into the barrel from a horn; then he inserted a small wad of paper, followed by a lead ball. Then he shoved them down the barrel with the ramrod. As Benjamin worked the ramrod down and up, Joseph observed that the muzzle of the gun stood nearly as high as Benjamin's chin.

Next, Benjamin cradled the gun in his left arm and shoved the frizzen and pan cover forward. He poured a small amount of powder into the pan and pulled the frizzen back. Then he handed the weapon to young Joseph, who was seated on the ground.

"I jest knapped the flint, so you should git a good spark", said Benjamin. "Jest palm the cock back two notches, line up the bead sight on the shingle, an' let fly. Make sure ya close your right eye to keep the sparks out. If you git a flash in the pan, but no boom, jest sit tight! Don't wave the dern thing 'round till I've secured it. Private First Class Smith, you may fire at will."

Emma and Elizabeth came to the front door to watch the demonstration. By this time, Emma was obviously "great with child" as she leaned against the doorpost.

Young Joseph leaned the musket on his knee, nestled the stock into his shoulder, and carefully drew back the cock, click-click. He squeezed his right eye shut, took careful aim, then squeezed the trigger.

Instantly, there was a crack-BOOM! followed by a cloud of white smoke. When the smoke cleared, the shingle was gone, and Joseph was lying on his back, the musket pointing skyward. He struggled to his feet and rubbed his sore shoulder.

"Did I hit it? Did I hit it?" he shouted excitedly, jumping up and down.

"You sure did", said Benjamin, grinning proudly. "If''n that shingle was a Hessian sojer, he'd be flat on his backside by now!"

Porter snorted. "Hmpf! In the time it took you to kill that one shingle, I could'a emptied fifteen rounds with my slide gun."

"Yeah, but it wouldn'a been nowhere near as much fun!" Benjamin cackled gleefully.

"Ma! I done it!" Joseph cried, as he ran to meet his mother at the door. His face was black from the gunpowder.

She smiled at him. "Joseph my son, you look like you've been whipped by the soot-boy from Hell. Now go wash up your face, breakfast's on the table."

NAUVOO, Wednesday, August 14

Brigham Young attended a meeting of the Twelve, Temple and Nauvoo House Committees and the stonecutters for the temple at the Seventies' Hall. They agreed to raise the wages of the windlass men to $1.50 per day. The meeting terminated in a feeling of renewed determination to prosecute the work upon the temple.

WASHINGTON, Thursday, August 15

Joseph Smith, W. W. Phelps and William Clayton arrived in Washington City. William Clayton wrote the following for Joseph:

Washington City, corner of Missouri and 3rd St.

August 15, 1844.

To my well beloved brother Willard Richards and all the Saints –-

I take this opportunity of giving you an abridged history of my travels, together with Brother Joseph Smith, my fellow traveler. We left Nauvoo the 3rd day of August, amidst the acclamations of three cheers from the shore, 'Joseph Smith, the next President of the United States!'

We reached St. Louis on the 4th at 10 a.m. Here the Prophet called the Church together and instructed them spiritually and politically. We learned that the Church at St. Louis numbered nearly 700 souls.

We arrived at Pittsburgh on the 13th at 6 p.m. From thence we traveled by steamer, stage and railway, over hills and dales, arriving at Washington City on the 15th of August, preaching to, and thorning everybody with politics that came in our way. Upon our arrival here we met Brother Orson Hyde, who has labored mightily to plead our cause before the national government.

Thus after a journey of thirteen days we arrived in the great metropolis of the United States; which, by-the-by, with the exception of the Pennsylvania Avenue, more resembles the Methodist "slough of despond" (read Pilgrim's Progress) than any thing like a decent city. The noble capital of our nation is scarcely larger than Nauvoo, and with Congress out of session, it more nearly resembles the ancient ruins of Pompeii. The high and mighty senators and congressmen are all fled to their respective districts to seek reelection, and there is scarcely a yellow dog left to wag his tail on Independence Avenue. However President Tyler is still here at the Executive Mansion, as we believe. We hope to have an audience with him on the morrow.

I must close for now.

We are,

Yours in the bonds of truth and righteousness,

William Clayton

W. W. Phelps

Joseph Smith

WASHINGTON, Friday, August 16

In the morning Joseph met with his delegates and planned his campaign strategy. He expressed his thanks to the many individuals who had worked tirelessly in his behalf.

In the afternoon, Joseph Smith, Orson Hyde and William Clayton hired a carriage and rode to the Executive Mansion at the south end of 16th Street, to meet with President John Tyler. As the carriage pulled up on the north side of the Mansion, William remarked,

"In truth, I thought t'was larger 'an this. I was thinkin' more o' the palace at Buckingham, per'aps..."

"Some passing big men, and other very small men have lived here", said Joseph. "Few who have occupied this mansion have ever risen to the full stature of the office. Strange it is, but each succeeding tenant seems to be more diminished in height. Why, Martin Van Buren scarcely reached to my knees... Come, let us take the measure of 'His Accidency', John Tyler."

Joseph presented his carte de visite to a white-gloved doorman, who escorted them into the grand entrance hall and up a wide staircase to the second floor. Orson admired the furnishings.

"'Small', mayhap, but well appointed", he said to William.

Joseph mused, "Do you realize, I may be living in this 'palace' in just a few months? I must say however, I greatly prefer my Nauvoo Mansion to this Executive Mansion... Emma, on the other hand, would adore this heap..."

"Sure'n she'd make a fine Fairst Lady, Joseph", said William.

At the head of the stairs they were met by a lovely young woman dressed all in white satin. The doorman presented Joseph's card to her and withdrew.

"Good day to you, sirs", she said, extending her hand in greeting. "My name is Julia Tyler, and I shall be pleased to escort you to an audience with my husband, the President."

Julia and Mr. Tyler had been married in New York on June 26th of this year, after the death of the President's first wife, Letitia.

The First Lady turned and escorted them down the cross hall, which was flanked by large marble colonnades. Most of the furnishings were of a French classical revival style. Several paintings of Presidents and other notables hung on the walls. Orson noticed in passing that many of the carpets were stained and worn, and paint was peeling from some of the walls.

Julia knocked lightly on a door near the center of the cross hall, opened it, and said,

"Mister President, Sir, a Mister Smith and his companions request an audience with you." Then she quietly withdrew from them down the long cross hall.

Joseph, Orson and William entered a large oval salon with a view onto the south lawn of the mansion. On the mantle was a French gilded bronze clock, and at the side of the room were two small pier tables holding marble busts of Christopher Columbus and Amerigo Vespucci.

President John Tyler was seated in the center of the room at a small marble-topped French table. He was of medium height, with a slender build; he had a thin face and a beaked nose. To Joseph, he appeared to be a very plain, homespun, familiar, farmer-like man – a sharp contrast to that pompous dandy, Martin Van Buren. He had a more than passing resemblance to Joseph's late counselor, Frederick G. Williams.

President Tyler stood to greet them, and Joseph introduced himself and his companions. Then Joseph looked around the room with some amusement. The President raised an eyebrow, to which Joseph said,

"Forgive me, Mr. President. It's just that the last time I saw this room, the walls were buff colored, not blue."

"I know... dreadful, isn't it? A previous inmate o' this room, Mr. Van Buren, had it all done up in blue silk – The draperies, th' upholstery, e'en the walls. I'm a simple man, Mr. Smith, an' I find this kind o' frippery rather tedious. We ah' fortunate he didn't choose bordello red... But what may I do for you this day?"

William Clayton presented several letters to Mr. Tyler. He read the first one:

CITY OF NAUVOO, ILLINOIS, June 20th, 1844.

SIR.–I have just enclosed to the Governor of the State of Illinois copies of the enclosed affidavits and extra. I am sorry to say that the State of Missouri, not contented with robbing, driving and murdering many of the Latter-day saints, are now joining the mob of this state for the purpose of the "utter extermination" of the Mormons, as they have resolved. And now, sir, as President of the United States, will you render that protection which the Constitution guarantees in case of "insurrection and rebellion", and save the innocent and oppressed from such horrid persecution?With great respect, I have the honor to be your obedient servant,

Joseph Smith, Mayor.

The President looked up with a frown, handed the letters back to William and said,

"Mayor Smith, I am aware of yo' situation, but I can offer you little more than did Mr. Van Buren. Congress has heard yo' petitions, they have deliberated on them an' tabled them, an' they are now adjourned. They will not reconvene until December the second. I cannot propose legislation to an empty House. What would y'all have me do?"

Joseph said, "Mr. President, we ask nothing more than the same rights enjoyed by every citizen of this nation, which our Constitution guarantees us. The members of our community have spent several hundred thousands of dollars to purchase lands in Missouri, lands which they were forcibly evicted from. The state of Missouri has waged war against twelve thousand of her own citizens, sir, and forcibly expelled them. Now they are sending armed mobs to Illinois to pillage and burn us there. You, Mr. President, have as much power to suppress this rebellion as Washington had to march against the 'Whisky Boys' at Pittsburgh, or General Jackson had to send an armed force to suppress the rebellion of South Carolina."

Tyler replied coolly, "Mr. Smith, what you ask is impossible. May I point out that even President Washin'ton consulted with Congress before callin' out the troops to put down the Whisky Rebellion? D' you understand the position I am in? I am th' most unpopular man in this city. Over the last three years, whatever I've proposed to Congress, they have voted pree-cisely th' opposite. The Democrats despise me; the Whigs have disowned me; e'en my own Cabinet have abandoned me. Did you notice the worn carpets in the hall? Congress will not even vote me th' funds t' maintain this Executive Mansion in a fittin' manner. D' you think, therefore, that they would vote t' provide me with an army, solely at yo' beck an' call?"

Joseph frowned, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he said, "Mr. President, I will say to you what I said to your colleague, Mr. Calhoun."

Tyler scowled. "And that is...?"

"The eighth section and first article of the Constitution sets forth what can be done to protect the lives, property and rights of a virtuous people, when the administrators of the law and law-makers are unbought by bribes, uncorrupted by patronage, untempted by gold, unawed by fear, and uncontaminated by tangling alliances! May God raise your mind above the narrow notion that the General Government has no power, to the sublime idea that Congress, with the President as Executor, is as almighty in its sphere as Jehovah is in His!"

Tyler was livid. "If we as a nation eva' arrive at that 'sublime idea', Mister Smith, we shall be no better than th' monarchies of Europe! How dare you sit there an' browbeat me with the Constitution! You, who ah' shamelessly stumpin' fo' the very office which I hold! It may surprise you to know that I have perused your Views on the Powers an' Policy o' the Government."

"And?" said Joseph.

"And, I find yo' whole position untenable, yo' arguments fallacious! You are a demagogue, sir! I, like you, am fo' Texas, but Oregon must be left alone! We cannot fight both Mexico an' England at the same time!"

He pointed to a large portrait of George Washington hanging on the west wall of the room.

"D' you see that paintin' of Gen'ral Washin'ton up there? That is the only furnishin' that was rescued befo' the British burned this house thirty years ago. What yo' propose would plunge us into civil war ova' th' slavery issue, embroil us in war with Mexico, an' bring down th' wrath of England upon us ova' Oregon. I shall not risk losin' that portrait of ah' great foundin' father a second time! Good day, Mr. Smith!"

After Joseph and his friends left the Blue Room, John Tyler walked to the curved French windows facing the south lawn and watched their carriage roll away. Then he returned to his desk and resumed reading his correspondence. He idly picked up an already-opened letter from one pile and reread it:

Dear Sir,

Recent disquieting events taking place in our body politic, have led me to the conclusion that we must all act quickly, else the Union is doomed to dissolution. There is no mistaking the signs. I am satisfied in my judgment even were the questions which now agitate Congress settled to the satisfaction and the concurrence of the Southern States, it would not avert, or materially delay, the catastrophe. The mode by which it will be is clear enough to me, although it may be brought about in a manner that none now foresee. But the probability is it will explode in the next Presidential election.

The crux of the difficulty, as you well know sir, is this new National Reform party, and the nexus of this new faction is Mr. Joseph Smith, the self-appointed "Mormon" prophet. If left to his own devices, this deluded fanatic may well tip the election into Congress, thereby throwing into utter Bedlam our precarious balance between Northern, Southern and Western interests. Many here in Washington are of a like mind with me, and we are determined that we must stop this charlatan now, by whatever means necessary, else our national and sectional interests will be irreparably harmed. We look to you, the head of our body politic, for aide in this cause. Desperate times require desperate means. Sic semper tyrannis!

I await your reply in strictest confidence,

Seneca.

President John Tyler dropped the letter on the desk, leaned back in his chair, and gazed for a long time at Gilbert Stuart's painting of George Washington.

WASHINGTON, Saturday, August 17

Joseph Smith, William Clayton, W. W. Phelps, and Orson Hyde took the cars of the B&O Railroad to Baltimore. While the train clattered along, Orson discussed the trials and tribulations he had had while working with Elder John E. Page.

"Brother Joseph, I only wish to be quit of him. As you recall, you sent Brother Page and myself on our mission to Washington six months ago, to petition Congress for redress. Well, no sooner had we arrived here than John left me, to tend to his sick wife in Pittsburgh.

"Ever since 1840, Brother Page has fallen short of my expectations. He bears a powerful testimony of the Book of Mormon, and then abandons me and runs up jackass hill. You are aware, are you not, that when we were both called to go to Jerusalem, he had sufficient money even without collections to have taken him through to England? And yet he dallied and moped around Pittsburgh until long after I had taken ship from America, for whatever reason I know not. He means well, but he cannot take counsel."

Joseph sighed. "We have labored long and hard with Brother Page. He is a good man, Orson. Why, I gave him the coat off my back so he could go on a mission to Canada, where he baptized six hundred souls. I still have hope for him."

After a moment's thought he said, smiling, "I shall direct the Twelve to send him to Liberia, or some other place, in order to save him."

Joseph noticed that the train was loosing speed as it climbed a small rise, and in a few moments it came sighing to a halt.

The conductor rapped on their carriage door. "Ever'body out! Gotta lighten the load!"

Joseph leaned his head out the window. "What's the matter?" he said.

"This ol' tea-kettle cain't make the grade with this load!" said the conductor. "Why, this engine's so old an' slow, we mounts the cowcatcher on the hind end, jist in case!"

The passengers dismounted, and the train snorted and wheezed up the shallow acclivity to the top, after which they reboarded and rode down the hill. They repeated this process several times, walking uphill, riding downhill, until the track leveled out near Beltsville.

About five p.m. the train finally rattled its way into Baltimore. As the train rolled slowly past the Inner Harbor, the four men could see Fort McHenry in the distance. A forest of masts rose from the sailing ships docked along Ostend Street. On the ships, a procession of black stevedores could be seen loading and unloading cargo.

The Saturday slave market was still in full swing. As the train rolled slowly by, the four men cringed as they watched a slave couple, presumably husband and wife, as they were forcibly torn apart and placed on separate blocks for sale. The woman was nearly beside herself, crying and shrieking as the auctioneers dragged her husband away.

"Under the shadow of Fort McHenry and the 'Star-Spangled Banner'", Joseph said, shaking his head. "Where is the conscience of our nation?"

A few minutes later the train clattered into the Mount Clare Station, a two-story, octagonal brick building.

As they left the train, Orson said excitedly,

"Joseph, there is something over here you simply must see!"

He led the other three men over to a small booth in the corner of the station. Over the booth was a sign which read,

Morse, Vail &Cie, Telegraphy

"So this is the fabled electric telegraph", said Joseph. "I've been looking forward to a demonstration of it!"

On a table in the booth was a curious apparatus: Two brass "keys" were mounted on wood blocks, with copper wires running to two small pottery urns on the table. Two more copper wires led from the keys to two glass "thimbles" mounted on the wall, and then disappeared through the wall. A man was tending the booth.

"This is Mr. Alfred Vail", said Orson. "He assisted Doctor Morse in the invention of the device."

"Good day to you, sirs", said Mr. Vail. "Permit me to explain. These urns contain strips of zinc and platinum suspended in a solution of sulfuric acid. This serves as a galvanic 'accumulator' for the electric fluid. The copper wires transmit the electric impulse to the sender key, which acts as an interrupting device. When the key is depressed, the electric fluid flows instantaneously from here to the remote receiving key. Under that key is a clockwork mechanism, through which feeds a paper roll. A pencil mounted on the key impresses a series of dots and dashes onto the paper. The receiving operator interprets the dots and dashes and writes down the message in English.

"Doctor Morse and I found that the electric fluid tends to dissipate after about twenty miles, so we set up a relay station with more galvanic cells betwixt here and the Capitol building at Washington, fourty-four miles away. The whole process happens with the speed of lightning."

"And how quickly can you interpret these characters?" said Joseph, entranced.

Vail showed them a strip of paper, upon which was a long series of dots and lines.

"Doctor Morse's code is contrived such that the most frequent letters are the shortest. An experienced telegrapher, such as myself, can send from fifteen to twenty words per minute."

Orson Hyde spoke excitedly. "Joseph, the first message sent by Doctor Morse back on May 24th was, 'What hath God wrought'."

"...What hath He wrought, indeed..." said Joseph, as he examined the device. "And how much might an instrument like this cost?"

"Congress appropriated thirty thousand dollars for the construction of this line", said Vail. "That's roughly seven hundred dollars to the mile. But since May, it has had but little use, only during the Democratic and Whig conventions. We are considering abandoning the experiment."

"I see", said Joseph. He looked disappointed for a moment, then he brightened.

"Would it surprise you to know that in a very few years, these telegraphic lines shall reach from here to California, and even to England?"

"It would indeed", said Vail, astonished.

"Mark my words", said Joseph. "You shall see it come to pass."
CHAPTER 10

NAUVOO, Sunday, August 18

Brigham Young wrote in his journal:

I went to the stand in the forenoon. Elder Sidney Rigdon preached. His discourse was complicated and somewhat confused; he said he had all things shown to him from this time to the winding-up scene, or the great battle of Gog and Magog; there were great things to take place, but he did not tell what the Saints should do to save themselves.

BALTIMORE, Sunday, August 18

Joseph Smith, William Clayton, W. W. Phelps, and Orson Hyde had taken a room at Mrs. Ritchey's boarding-house, on Henrietta Street. At 10:00 a.m. a conference was held at the Friends Meeting House on Fayette Street, and several hundred saints and spectators attended. Joseph spoke for about two hours on the history of the Church, the political campaign, and his Views on the Powers and Policy of the Government.

BALTIMORE, Monday, August 19

Early in the morning, W. W. Phelps showed Joseph a sample of the lies and rumors that were circulating about him in Baltimore.

"'Tis a handbill tha' twas circulatin' ootside in th' street", he said with distaste.

Joseph took the sheet and read it:

Hampton, Rock Isl. Cnty. Ill., July 20 1844

Appeared before me, John C. Bennett, attorney-at-law, in the aforesaid county, Mr. Charles C. Weil, who being duly sworn according to law, deposeth and saith the following, to wit:

On the 15th of July 1844, having occasion to cross the river to Montrose, on leaving the ferry-boat, I heard a voice which sounded like that of the prophet, and looking over a fence I saw Joseph Smith himself lying alone on the grass, with a whisky bottle by his side, and decidedly far gone in a state of intoxication. He was talking and laughing, and evidently congratulating himself, in a soliloquy on the success of his devices.

"I am a prophet", he said, "a profitable prophet, a profitable prophet indeed I am. Prophetical profits are good profits, very good profits, capital good profits, I'll be hanged if they ain't. The saints are a pack of fools; but I am a prophet, a profitable prophet, a prophetical, prophesying, profitable prophet. What was Mohammed compared with me? He was a jackass. What was Napoleon? He was a numskull. What was Alexander? He was a blockhead. I am a greater man than Moses – hurrah! I am a greater man than Moses! hip! hip! hip! hurrah!"

I might have heard more, but I retreated precipitately, full of horror and consternation. And further this deponent saith not.

"Now tell me, Will", Joseph said. "Does this rub sound even remotely like the Joseph Smith that you know?"

"Of course not", William said emphatically.

"Did you know, they also accuse me now of abandoning my wife? I am accustomed to this kind of slander, Will. John C. Bennett could not scare an old setting hen with this. It will pass." He wadded the handbill up and threw it away.

At nine a.m., Joseph had his likeness taken by Lucian Foster, who was one of the delegates to the convention. Foster had recently opened a daguerreotype studio in Nauvoo.

Joseph was dressed in his best dark broadcloth suit, with a white shirt and black cravat. Lucian seated him on a stool, about ten feet in front of the camera – a wooden box about one foot square, with a large glass lens mounted on the front.

Lucian positioned himself behind the camera where he could look downward into a mirror, and adjusted the camera until Joseph's image was centered. Then he took a small silvered glass plate encased in a copper sleeve, slipped it into the back of the camera, and carefully rotated the mirror up out of the way.

"Ready, Joseph", he said. "Don't move a muscle."

Joseph struck a studious pose, and Lucian slipped the copper sleeve off of the glass plate, at the same time noting the time on the second hand of his pocket watch.

"Sixty seconds..." he said. "Thirty... twenty... ten... Don't move..." Joseph was starting to turn blue.

He carefully slipped the copper sleeve back on the glass plate and removed it from the camera. "All finished", he said.

Joseph let his breath out with a whoosh. "That went much faster than the daguerreotype you took of me last April", he said, catching his breath. "At that sitting, after about two minutes without breathing, I found myself thinking, 'A painting would be quicker than this!'"

"The light is much better here", said Lucian. "Also, I now have an improved emulsion for my glass plates. Your image shall be ready for you at ten o'clock tomorrow, Brother Joseph."

At 7:00 p.m. that evening, a lyceum was held at the Carroll Mansion on Lombard Street. Many distinguished citizens of Baltimore and the nation were on hand to discuss Joseph Smith's candidacy and meet him for the first time.

Joseph and Orson's carriage pulled up in front of the stately Georgian brick mansion shortly before seven. Joseph shook hands with each of the guests at the door as their arrival was announced. A list of the guests included some of the most prominent men in America:

Josiah Quincy, the self-appointed chairman of the lyceum. He had served six terms as Mayor of Boston and was currently the President of Harvard University. Mr. Quincy had visited Nauvoo in April 1844 and met Joseph Smith there.

Dr. George Goforth, chairman of the National convention and close friend of both Josiah Quincy and Joseph Smith.

John Wentworth, editor and proprietor of the Chicago Democrat.

Henry Ward Beecher, perhaps the most prominent abolitionist and preacher in America.

Horace Greeley, editor of the New York Tribune. Greeley was opposed to the annexation of Texas. Two years previous, Greeley had collaborated with John C. Bennett in the publication of a scandalous exposé of Joseph Smith.

William Seward, former governor of New York State from 1839 to 1843. Seward was a prominent Whig, and a close associate of Thurlow Weed and Horace Greeley.

Charles Francis Adams, grandson of President John Adams and son of President John Quincy Adams. He was a close friend of Josiah Quincy and had visited Nauvoo with him in April.

Thurlow Weed, publisher of the Rochester Telegraph and the Anti-Masonic Enquirer. Weed was the leader of the Whig party in New York, and one of the most powerful politicians in America. For good reasons, he was often called the "King Maker."

Weed shook Joseph's hand and said,

"Yes, I thought I knew you... Well, Smith, it's been a long time, what, twenty-five years since ye 'proached me about publishin' that Gold Bible o' yours in Rochester? I turned ye down cold, an' my opinion of you ha'nt changed one quid since then."

Weed then turned to the man accompanying him.

"Mr. Smith, I'd like to introduce ye to a new friend o' mine. Allow me to present to you the editor o' the Warsaw Signal, Mr. Thomas Sharp."

Orson Hyde pulled his hand back as if offered a snake, but Joseph was unfazed. He pumped Sharp's hand and said,

"Mister Sharp, I am pleased that you have come! Mayhap you'll now find that I'm less of a demon than what you've portrayed me."

Sharp was not taken in by this show of generosity.

"Smith, you fraud, I'm not here to parley. I'm here to destroy you", he said coldly, and stalked off.

"I think he's starting to soften to you a bit, Joseph", said Orson.

"He is a murderer and a liar", Joseph replied softly. "I don't welcome his presence here. He is up to some mischief, I guarantee."

To open the event, a sumptuous buffet had been prepared for the guests in a side room. As Orson was loading up his plate with cold beef, pork, cheese, apple cobbler, watermelon, and a crystal goblet of iced cream, he remarked to Joseph between bites,

"You know, Joseph, I believe I could learn to enjoy politics. This sure beats corn pone and buttermilk."

"To the victor, the spoils", Joseph said with a smile, patting him on the back. "Stock up, Orson, we have a long campaign ahead of us."

Following the repast, the guests took their seats in the salon, and Josiah Quincy stood to address the group.

"Gentlemen, welcome! We thank you for your attendance here, and hope we now might satiate your minds as well as we have your bodies", he said, patting his ample stomach. This brought chuckles from some of the crowd.

"We are gathered this evening at the home of the great Charles Carroll, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence. When Mr. Carroll passed away twelve years ago, he stipulated that this home should continue in perpetuity as a forum of free thought and debate. To that end, we are met this night."

He assumed a more serious look. He glanced at a large portrait of Carroll, who glowered sternly down at them from the wall. After a moment he said,

"Gentlemen, it is by no means improbable that some future text-book, for the use of generations yet unborn, will contain a question something like this: What historical American of the nineteenth century has exerted the most powerful influence upon the destinies of his countrymen? And it is by no means impossible that the answer to that interrogatory may be thus written: Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet.

"This man, who has established a religion in this age of free debate, who is today accepted by thousands as a direct emissary from the Most High, – such a rare human being is not to be dismissed by pelting him with unsavory epithets. Fanatic, impostor, charlatan, some may consider him..."

"Amen to that", Thomas Sharp said in a low voice. Quincy gave him a hard look, then continued.

"...but these hard names furnish no solution to the problem he presents to us. The wonderful influence which this founder of a religion exerts throws him into relief before us, not as a rogue to be criminated, but as a phenomenon to be explained. The most vital questions Americans are asking each other today, both in religion and the body politic, have to do with this man.

"I have selected as the theme of this lyceum the following proposition, which I am sure the honorable Mr. Carroll would approve of: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.' Mr. Smith, we shall be pleased to hear your views upon this subject."

Josiah Quincy sat down, and Joseph took his place before the group amid polite applause. Joseph was dressed in a light linen suit, and was hatless. The windows had been thrown open, as the day's heat was still oppressive.

"Ahem", he said, clearing his throat. "Attention all! I was not much given to making public speeches until about five years ago. Until that time I preferred leaving the task to my spokesman, as did Moses long ago. However, I learned that there was some things that only I could express, or rather that God could express through me, at any rate. I may never surpass the Reverend Beecher here for the eloquence of my sermons. Nevertheless, the feelings I have for that noble document, the Declaration of Independence, cannot be overstated by any man.

"Unfortunately, at the age of seventy years, our blooming Republic has begun to decline under the withering touch of Martin Van Buren and his successors! Disappointed ambition, thirst for power, pride, corruption, party spirit, faction, patronage, perquisites, fame, tangling alliances, priestcraft, and spiritual wickedness in high places, strike hands and revel in midnight splendor."

Joseph raised his hands to his audience. He seemed to grow taller before them, as his voice boomed:

"Now, O people! People! Turn unto the Lord and live and reform this nation! Frustrate the designs of wicked men. Reduce Congress at least two-thirds. Two Senators from a State and two Congressmen to a million of population will do more business than the army that now occupy the halls of the national Legislature. Pay them two dollars and their board per diem. That is more than the farmer gets, and he lives honestly.

"Petition, also, ye goodly inhabitants of the slave States, your legislators to abolish slavery by the year 1850, or now, and save the abolitionist from reproach and ruin, infamy and shame.

"Pray Congress to pay every man a reasonable price for his slaves out of the surplus revenue arising from the sale of public lands, and from the deduction of pay from the members of Congress.

"Give every man his constitutional freedom and the President full power to send an army to suppress mobs, and the States authority to repeal and impugn that relic of folly which makes it necessary for the governor of a state to make the demand of the President for troops, in case of invasion or rebellion.

"Seventy years have done much for this goodly land. They have burst the chains of oppression and monarchy, and multiplied its inhabitants from two to twenty millions, with a proportionate share of knowledge keen enough to circumnavigate the globe, draw the lightning from the clouds, and cope with all the crowned heads of the world.

"Then why – oh, why will a once flourishing people not arise, phoenix-like over the cinders of Martin Van Buren's power, and over the sinking fragments of smoking ruins of other catamount politicians, and over the windfalls of Benton, Calhoun, Clay, Wright, and a caravan of other equally unfortunate law doctors, and cheerfully help to spread a plaster and bind up the burnt, bleeding wounds, of a sore but blessed country?

"We have had Democratic Presidents, Whig Presidents, a pseudo-Democratic-Whig President, and now it is time to have a President of the United States; and let the people of the whole Union, like the inflexible Romans, whenever they find a promise made by a candidate that is not practiced as an officer, hurl the miserable sycophant from his exaltation, as God did Nebuchadnezzar!"

The audience sat in stunned silence. As Joseph scanned their faces, he could detect a different reaction in each one:

Josiah Quincy was pleased and delighted that Joseph had more than lived up to his expectations as an orator.

Charles Francis Adams was flattered that Joseph had mentioned his illustrious father and grandfather.

John Wentworth and Horace Greeley were still madly scribbling notes for insertion in their newspapers.

Reverend Henry Ward Beecher sat scowling, realizing he had finally met his match in oratory. He was not a man who enjoyed being upstaged, especially by this self-styled "prophet".

William Seward and Thurlow Weed were very displeased. Joseph Smith had just pulled the rug out from under their Whig party and left them without a cause.

Thomas Sharp just sat stone-faced, grinding his teeth.

George Goforth finally broke the silence by applauding. Suddenly everyone in the room was on their feet, talking at once:

"General Smith! What is your view on – "

"Reverend Smith! If elected, what will – "

"Mayor Smith! How do you justify – "

Josiah Quincy finally stood and restored some order to the meeting. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, please! I'm sure all of you have questions for Mr. Smith, and I'm certain he will be happy to oblige, but please, one at a time!"

The men took their seats again. Henry Ward Beecher was the first to speak.

"General, er, Reverend Smith, is there not a great danger in combining both the sacred and secular powers in one head of state? Surely you are aware of how sensitive our founding fathers were on this point."

"In your hands or that of any other person", Joseph replied, "so much power would, no doubt, be dangerous. I am the only man in the world whom it would be safe to trust with it. Remember, I am a prophet!"

This was hardly convincing to most of the group, and Joseph knew it. He continued,

"Gentlemen, I am a living witness to the abuse of religious and secular power, in all its hellish forms. I have been beaten, tarred and feathered, poisoned, thrust into prison, and last of all shot because of my beliefs. I have had over forty unjust lawsuits brought against me. I have lost four brothers as martyrs to the cause I espouse. I have watched helplessly as more than twelve thousands of my followers were unlawfully driven from Missouri in the dead of winter. You will never find a greater champion of civil rights than in me, nor a more perfect ensample of the denial of those rights. If elected, I shall uphold impartially the rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all men, be they white, black, red, or any other hue."

Reverend Beecher persisted. "Mister Smith, do your people believe the Bible?"

Joseph replied, "If we do, we are the only people under heaven that does, for there are none of the religious sects of the day that do. All other sects profess to believe their interpretations of the Bible, and their creeds."

Beecher scowled, then he asked darkly, "Then, will everybody be damned, but Mormons?"

Joseph thought for a moment, then he replied,

"Yes, and a great portion of them, unless they repent, and work righteousness." This brought snickers from a few of the more religious among them.

Horace Greeley looked up from his notes and asked, "Ah, Mister Smith, do you actually claim to be a prophet?"

"Yes, and every other man who has the testimony of Jesus. For the testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy."

From the back of the room Thurlow Weed spoke up. "Do the Mormons believe in havin' more wives than one?"

Instantly the room fell silent. Joseph paused for a moment, as if choosing his words very carefully. Joseph thought, I was wondering when this question would come up. He finally said,

"I believe that a man has a right to only as many wives as God and the law of the land allow him."

Instantly, Thomas Sharp was on his feet pointing. "Did you hear that? He finessed the question! Why, he as much as admitted he has more than one wife! What proof more do you need?"

He pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket and waved it. "I have here an affidavit, signed by his first wife, proving that Mr. Smith has secretly married at least five other women!"

A gasp ran through the room, and Josiah Quincy motioned for order. "Mister Sharp, may I remind you, Mister Smith is our guest here. This is not a trial!"

"Oh, I assure you, Mr. Chairman, it most certainly is", said Sharp, as he approached the front of the room. "'General' Joe Smith an' his Mormons have terrorized the State of Illinois for five years now, an' I tell you it is high time he was made to account for the wicked and abominable secret practices he foists upon his deluded followers."

He turned and faced Joseph. "Well, Smith, would you mind explaining to the court your doctrine of 'spiritual wifery?'" he sneered.

Joseph took the affidavit from Sharp and replied coolly, "There is no such doctrine, and any rumors to the contrary were hatched by my enemies. I have constantly said no man shall have but one wife at a time, unless the Lord directs otherwise."

He looked at the paper. "This document is a base fraud, hatched by the stepfather of 'spiritual wifery' himself, William Law. Why, he couldn't even get my wife's signature right!" he said with disgust, throwing the paper away.

This set Sharp back a notch or two. Joseph turned and faced him, his eyes blazing.

"And you, Thomas Sharp, are a co-conspirator in this deception. Gentlemen, this man is already under indictment in Illinois for the murder of my brother Hyrum, and the attempted murder of myself and two of my brethren. He is the chief instigator of the assault on Carthage Jail this last June. This scape-gallows is not to be trusted, and I shall now give him his dismission without further argument!"

Joseph raised his arm and said, as if with a voice of thunder,

"Thomas Coke Sharp, I command you to depart!"

The whole building seemed to tremble. Sharp recoiled as if struck by lightning, then turned and made a beeline for the rear door. A moment later, Thurlow Weed followed him out the door.

Joseph turned and faced his remaining audience.

"Now gentlemen, are there any more questions?" he said placidly.

Most of the group were sitting stock-still, and trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. There were a few mumblings of,

"No questions, sir."

"...I never seen the beat of it."

"Did you see how he took the tuck out of Sharp?"

"You can have all my custom, General."

Joseph stepped down. "Gentlemen, I have truly enjoyed this evening, and I thank you for hearing me out. Please remember me when you vote this November."

Some time later as Joseph and Orson were riding home in the carriage, Orson turned and said,

"Brother Joseph, how long do you think we can continue hiding the truth about plural marriage? It would seem that half the nation already suspects you of some unspeakable sin or other. Wouldn't it be easier to simply declare the doctrine, straight out, and put an end to the lies and half-truths that are bruiting about?"

Joseph sighed. "Orson, 'tis sometimes necessary to hide the truth to protect it. The New and Everlasting Covenant is far too sacred to reveal to the world at this time, and I'm under strict command from the Lord not to reveal it. No, if we were to declare it now, the world would still misconstrue it and debase it. They simply cannot comprehend it. When the Lord commands me to reveal it openly, I shall be only too happified to oblige. God has not revealed anything to Joseph, but what He will make known unto the Twelve, and even the least Saint may know all things as fast as he is able to bear them. I know what a struggle it was for you to accept this doctrine, Orson, and it was no easier for me."

Orson replied with a shudder, "Yes indeed Joseph, it nearly drove me to madness when I heard from others the vile rumor that you had propositioned my wife."

"An angel came to me three times, Orson, commanding me to take more wives, and I resisted until I was nigh unto destruction. But I have since learned what a blessing the covenant can be, although a difficult burden at times."

BALTIMORE, Tuesday, August 20

Early in the morning William Clayton came running into the boarding-room, waving a copy of the Baltimore Gazette. Joseph was just polishing his boots.

"Joseph! Joseph!" he cried. "Tyler 'as been dethroned!"

"What?" said Joseph, astonished.

"The Whigs ha' cast their support t' James K. Polk, Speakair o' th' Hoose! But Tyler is detairmined ta' carry on th' fight!"

Joseph laid down his blacking-brush and said,

"I shouldn't be surprised. Tyler was a most unpopular pseudo-Democratic-Whig. Now we have to contend with Polk, Clay, Van Buren, Tyler, and Birney. The arithmetic's changed, but the whole lot of 'em still adds up to naught."

At ten a.m. the National Reform Convention met in the Odd Fellows' Hall, Baltimore.

Outside the hall, some National Party supporters were rolling a huge papier-mâché ball up and down the street. The ball was about six feet high and was painted with various slogans, such as:

SMITH & REID

UNIFORM LAND LAWS

SOUND CURRENCY

ABOLISH SLAVERY

ANNEX TEXAS

ANNEX OREGON

There was pandemonium outside the hall as Joseph's carriage pulled up. With him were William Clayton, W. W. Phelps, and Orson Hyde. As he stepped from the carriage, Joseph saw John S. Reid waiting for him, together with Joseph's younger brother, William Smith.

"General Smith! What a pleasure to see you again, after all these years!" Reid said.

"John Reid! The years have treated you well, my old friend. Come, together we will rid this country of cronyism, pettifoggery, and slavery!"

Joseph turned and fondly embraced his brother William. In a moment they were both near tears.

"My dear Joseph, what a joy it is to see you once more! You are well, I take it?"

"A little stiffness in the shoulder yet, but the Lord has blessed my recovery. Emma and the children are in Dixon, at the Wasson's. And how is your wife Caroline?"

"Still afflicted with the dropsy. I had hoped the move to Philadelphia would cure her, but I see no improvement. Still, I'm hopeful for her recovery."

William grew more solemn, and looked earnestly at his brother. "Joseph, you must promise me to not place yourself in harm's way again. I couldn't bear to lose you, my last brother..."

Joseph was touched. He said cheerily, "Fear not, William. Look around you, surely we have no enemies here today!"

The three men locked arms and strode briskly into the hall, thronged on all sides by delegates and supporters. William Clayton and W. W. Phelps followed closely behind them. The crowd chanted,

"Smith and Reid!"

"Smith and Reid!"

"Honest government's what we need!"

Inside, the hall was bedecked with flags, bunting, and banners. Over the pulpit was a huge banner that read,

SUPER HANC PETRAM ÆDIFICABO

"On this rock we will build, indeed", Joseph Smith said, admiring the banner.

Dr. George W. Goforth took his seat in the convention as chairman. He was a non-Mormon resident of Hancock County, and was well acquainted with Joseph Smith and the Saints. Dr. Goforth rose and briefly addressed the convention. He dealt chiefly with the past glories of the republic, and the wrongs suffered by the Latter-day Saints in Missouri. Following his remarks, he said,

"Our first item of business is to ratify our central committee of correspondence, namely: Dr. Willard Richards, Dr. John M. Bernhisel, William W. Phelps, William Smith, and Lucian R. Foster. All those in favor, say aye."

The convention responded with a loud "Aye".

"Our second item of business is to seat the delegates from each state who are in attendance here. You will please to respond with 'aye' or 'nay' following the reading of each state's delegation:

"Dr. G. W. Goforth, St. Clair, Illinois,

Henry G. Sherwood, Hancock, Illinois,

A. Lincoln, Springfield, Illinois,

F. Merryweather, Hancock, Illinois..."

Dr. Goforth droned on, reading the roster of delegates from each of the twenty-six states. Each time, the delegates responded with "Aye".

"The voting appears to be unanimous, or nearly so, on all of the names. I thank you."

Dr. Goforth sat down.

It was time to liven things up. W. W. Phelps took the stand and led the delegates in a song which he had just written that morning:

There's great commotion in the land about the weighty questions;

The National Party's got the pill, to cure our land's digestion.

Our country needs a President, who'll clean the House and Senate,

Of Whigs and Democrats and such, and prove he really meant it!

Old Kinderhook and Henry Clay are timid to a fault, sir!

While James K. Polk and Tyler too, are scarcely worth their salt, sir!

There's great commotion in the land about the weighty questions;

The problems are, to say the least, too much for their digestion.

Now Joseph Smith and John P. Reid have settled on a plan, sir!

To rid our land of slavery, and free the colored man, sir!

For squatter's rights, and sailor's rights, our delegates are plighted,

And Oregon and Texas too, must join the states united!

There's great commotion in the land about the weighty questions;

The National Party's got the pill, to cure our land's digestion.

The delegates sang it through three times with great enthusiasm, accompanied by the brass band. Each of the state delegations waved their state banners enthusiastically. Joseph noticed one delegate in the Illinois group that stood head and shoulders above the others. He leaned over to Orson Hyde and said,

"Who is that tall drink of water in the Illinois delegation?"

"Him? Oh, that's Abe Lincoln of Springfield. He's a circuit-riding lawyer of some repute. If you recall, we voted for his opponent, Mr. Ralston, for the state senate four years ago."

William Smith then stood to give the keynote speech:

"Mr. Chairman, gentlemen and delegates, this is a momentous occasion. I should like to begin with a quote from my English namesake:

'Be of good comfort, Master Ridley; play the man; we shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out.'

"I do not feel it my prerogative to enter into a discussion of religious principles here. I know very well that the people called 'Mormons' are thought to be a very strange people. I come right from among them, and you can all judge whether or not they seem to have the appearance of a strange animal of seven heads and ten horns. You can all decide for yourselves whether, from the appearance I present, I should be numbered among outcasts, or be ranked among human beings.

"I know that considerable political capital has been made by the question of Mormonism and anti-Mormonism. The same could be said of the question of slavery versus abolition, or Indian rights versus President Jackson's 'Trail of Tears'."

William pounded the pulpit.

"We cannot be a truly 'United States', so long as our political parties sidestep these issues! Is this truly a land of liberty and justice for all, or just for some? How say you?"

"ALL!" the crowd roared.

"We know of no person that would be more qualified to fill the Presidency than General Joseph Smith. General Smith is a man of sterling integrity, deep penetration and brilliant talents. He is well versed in politics and as unchangeable as the everlasting hills. He is a man of probity and virtue, and an unwavering patriot.

"If General Smith will allow his name to be brought forth, we go it for him; and we know from the confidence and respect that are entertained for him as a gentleman and a patriot, he will be elected. What say you, General?"

Joseph said in a loud voice from behind the pulpit, "I accept."

William Smith then shouted, "I move that General Joseph Smith, of Illinois, be the choice of this convention for President of the United States!"

The clapping, cheering, and stomping of feet that followed nearly brought down the house. They began chanting,

"Jo-seph Smith!"

"Jo-seph Smith!"

The chanting went on for about five minutes before William was able to make himself heard again.

"By the rules of order, I must put this to a vote. All those in favor, say 'aye'".

A thunderous "AYE!" went up from the convention floor.

"All those opposed, say 'nay'".

Several faint 'nays' were heard.

William continued. "Mr. Chairman, the motion is passed in the affirmative. I now move that John S. Reid, Esquire, of Chemung, New York, be the choice of the convention for Vice-President of the United States."

This motion was also passed amid great acclamation.

Lucian Foster then stood and presented the official platform of the National Reform Party. The following resolutions were adopted:

1. Resolved, that from all the facts and appearances that are now visible in the United States, we believe that much imbecility and fraud is practiced by the officers of Government; and that to remedy these evils it is highly necessary that a virtuous people should arise in the panoply of their might, and with one heart and one mind correct these abuses by electing wise and honorable men to fill the various offices of Government.

2. Resolved, that to redress all wrongs, the government of the United States, with the President at its head, is as powerful in its sphere as Jehovah is in His.

3. Resolved, that the better to carry out the principles of liberty and equal rights, Jeffersonian democracy, free trade, and sailor's rights, and the protection of person and property, we will support General Joseph Smith, of Illinois, for the President of the United States at the ensuing election.

4. Resolved, that we will support John S. Reid, Esq., Chemung, New York, for the Vice-Presidency.

5. Resolved, that all honest editors throughout the United States are requested to publish the above resolutions.

6. Resolved, that the electors be instructed to make stump speeches in their different districts.

7. Resolved, that the thanks of this meeting be given to Mr. Phelps for his patriotic song.

The Honorable John S. Reid then stood to address the convention.

"Mr. Chairman:

"I cannot do justice to my own feelings and the character of General Smith, without giving a short history of the first persecution that came upon him in the counties of Chenango and Broome, in the State of New York, commenced by that class of people calling themselves Christians.

"The first acquaintance I had with General Smith was about the year 1823. He came into my neighborhood, being then about eighteen years of age, and resided there two years; during which time I became intimately acquainted with him.

"I will now speak of the persecutions which followed General Smith, when his cheeks still blossomed with the beauty of youth, and his eyes sparkled with innocence. The bigots in the neighborhood soon made up a false accusation against him, and had him arraigned before Joseph Chamberlain, a justice of the peace, a man who was always ready to deal out justice to all, and a man of great discernment of mind.

"Mr. Chairman, little did I think that I was defending a boy that would rise to eminence like this man – a man whom God delights to honor as a Prophet and leader of His people – one to whom He has given the keys of heaven and earth, and the power of David, and said to him: Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against you. And may he live to put his foot upon the neck of his enemies in love and meekness! I know, sir, that God has made him a leader of many thousands of people; and may he teach them in meekness and with that wisdom and judgment that God shall direct. I add no more."

Joseph Smith then stood and took his place at the pulpit. Dr. Goforth also stood up, placed his hand on Joseph's shoulder, and said,

"I first have an announcement to make. An old friend of General Smith, from Palmyra, New York, has a gift to make to the convention."

Two men came marching in from the back of the hall, bearing two old fence rails on their shoulders. Dr. Goforth said,

"On these rails is written the following inscription: 'Joseph Smith, the rail candidate for the Presidency in 1844. Two rails from a lot of two thousand, made in 1825, by Hyrum Smith and Joseph Smith for Josiah Stoal'."

The hall erupted with cheer after cheer for Joseph Smith and John Reid. The delegates clapped, stomped, and hollered for another five minutes. Finally, Joseph raised his hands for order.

"Ahem! Mr. Chairman, delegates, and friends all:

"My brother William may not think it his prerogative to enter into a discussion of religious principles, but I have no such qualms. The religious history of this land, although less bloody by far than that of Europe, is replete with bigotry, intolerance and persecution. From the Quakers and Joanna Southcott to Ann Lee, the Owenites, Irvingites, and all manner of -ites, and lastly the Mormons, a regular flood of persecution has swept this land from the day Columbus first set his foot hereon.

"As all creeds and religions should be alike tolerated, they must, of course, all be justified or condemned according to merit or demerit. But why – tell me why are all the principal men held up for public stations so cautiously careful not to publish to the world that they will judge a righteous judgment, law or no law? For laws and opinions, like the vanes of steeples, change with the wind.

"Where is the strength of Government? Where is the patriotism of a Washington, a Warren, an Adams? And where is a spark from the watch-fire of '76, by which one candle might be lit that would glimmer upon the confines of Democracy?

"Shall Missouri, filled with slave-drivers and white men stealers, go 'unwhipped of justice' for her sins? No! verily, no! While I have powers of body and mind – while water runs and grass grows – while virtue is lovely and vice hateful; and while a stone points out a sacred spot where a fragment of American liberty once was, I or my posterity will plead the cause of injured innocence, until Missouri makes atonement for all her sins, or sinks disgraced, degraded, and damned to hell, 'where the worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched'."

Joseph paused to catch his breath. "Let us, in building our new party, let us make our corner-stone the Declaration of Independence – let us build on this rock, with liberty and justice for all, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against us. Shall we falter now? Now, when our enemies are wavering, dissevered, and belligerent?"

"NO!" the delegates roared.

"My friends, the result is not doubtful. We shall not fail – if we stand firm, we shall not fail! Wise counsels may accelerate, or mistakes attempt to delay it, but, come November, the victory will assuredly be ours!"
CHAPTER 11

BALTIMORE, 6:00 p.m. Tuesday, August 20

After the convention had closed, Joseph and his companions returned to their boarding-house for supper. As they were eating, they heard a commotion outside in the street. William Clayton stood up and peered cautiously out the window.

"What is it?" said Joseph.

"I dinna ken, it apairs ta be a crowd o' blokes muckin' aboot in t' street", said William, as the others joined him at the window.

"They sound awfully cheerful", W.W. Phelps said hopefully.

"I hope as much", said Joseph, stepping cautiously to the door. "I have a strong disliking of mobs."

As soon as Joseph stepped outside onto the porch, a shout went up from the crowd.

"Jos-eph Smith!

For Pres-i-dent!

Jos-eph Smith!

For Pres-i-dent!"

Suddenly, Joseph found himself hoisted into the air and carried on the men's shoulders. A firemen's band struck up W.W. Phelp's "Great Commotion" song, and the whole procession marched twice around a barrel of tar that was burning in the street. Several of the men toasted Joseph with a bottle of whisky, which they passed around freely.

"To Jos-eb Smiv, pres' nezerda – uh, nes' prezerdin ofa' Yoo-nighta' Zdayz!" one of the less sober revelers declared, waving the bottle above his head.

After the crowd had deposited Joseph on his doorstep and marched back down Henrietta Street, Orson turned to Joseph and said,

"Well, that just beats all. I've never met a friendlier mob than that before..."

"I've seen all kinds", said Joseph, dusting himself off. "I much prefer this sort."

The throng outside their apartment thinned a bit, but did not disperse. At about seven there was a knock on the front door. When William Clayton opened the door, he found a young lady standing there. She had on a red satin corseted dress trimmed in black lace, with a wide flounced skirt and a shirred, low-cut bodice, and she was carrying a parasol made of the same red material. Her hair was piled high in waves of black curls. She had dark eyes and a slightly olive complexion.

William was momentarily flustered, but he managed to blurt out, "Uh, may I help ye, Madame?"

"Monsieur Smees', I pre-zhume?" she said in a broad Cajun-French accent, as she sashayed into the front room.

"Eee, I'm sorry, ye mistake me", said William nervously. "This be Monsieur, er, Brother Smees' over 'ere."

Joseph stood to greet her, and she politely held up the back of her hand for him to kiss. He quickly took her by the fingertips, made a nearly imperceptible bow, and stepped back. "Madame, I am Joseph Smith. And you –

"My nayme ees' Monique", she breathed. "I haf' haird an' read veree' much about you, Monsieur Smees'. Tell me, ees' eet true zhat you haf' feefty wives? Bee-cause I vould like verry much to bee-come nombair' feefty-wan..." She dropped her parasol, moved slowly towards him and began unbuttoning her dress.

Joseph retreated across the room, but Monique followed him.

"Madame, I assure you, I have no need of more wives. In truth, one in particular is more than I can handle. I mean you no disrespect, but I must ask you to leave this instant!"

She quickly realized that a different approach was in order with this man. Suddenly, she stopped advancing toward him and began screaming, then she fell to the floor at his feet and began tearing at her clothes. Joseph and his companions watched the spectacle, dumfounded. Glancing around, Joseph noticed half a dozen men outside with their noses pressed to the window glass, watching as Monique peeled her clothing off, layer by layer. Just as she got down to her corset and bloomers, two men burst in the front door, bundled the woman up, and carried her out. As they reached the door, Monique looked back and blew them a kiss, then she waved her dress above her head.

"Au revoir!" she said gaily.

As the three disappeared out the door, Orson heard the two men say to each other, chuckling,

"Sure'n you seed the whole affair?"

"Sure'n I did, by jings..."

Phelps noticed the lady's parasol was still on the floor. He picked it up and cried,

"Ah, Madame, you forgot your para – oh, never mind..."

Orson and William Clayton were still standing gape-jawed. Joseph finally moved to close the front door, and discovered Thurlow Weed just raising his hand to knock on it.

"I'm sorry, I din't know 'twas open. May I come in?" he said cheerily, pressing his way through the door.

"Who was that strumpet?" Orson said in disbelief.

Weed looked back over his shoulder.

"Oh, her? Ah, Monique Levesque is her cognomen, I hear. She tries this scam on most ever' greenhorn politician that comes along. Why, she even tried it on me, once't. I'm still not sartin' who she works for, but my suspicion is John C. Calhoun. Whatever the case, it's sure't ye'll read about it in this Friday's paper", he said grinning, as he took a seat in the front room.

"Mr. Weed, what do you want?" Joseph said wearily.

"Want? Why, nothin'! I jest have a wee bit o' friendly advice for you, that's all."

"And just what would that be?" said Joseph.

"Drop this futile campaign o' your'n. You han't a prayer o' winnin', and you'll but end up dividin' the nation."

"I see... And why, exactly, are you sharing this 'friendly' advice with me?" Joseph said, looking at him narrowly.

"Don't ye see? With you out o' the race, Polk don't stand a chance. Clay's a shoo-in, and that's how we wants it. The Whig party is ready an' willin' to pay you to drop out, an' maybe even guarantee you a high cabinet position."

Weed's eyes narrowed, as he said with a smile, "Tell me, Mr. Smith, how does ten thousand dollars in cash sound to you?"

"It sounds", said Joseph, his fury rising, "It sounds as if the Whigs are skeered of me. They want to maintain the status quo, and I'm spoiling it for them. I tell you, I have every intention of winning this election. Weed, you're not the first man who's ever tried to buy me. Now hear me, and tell your friends in Albany as well: I'm not for sale! There's the door, and the street! I suggest you make quick use of them both!"

After Weed had made a hasty departure, Joseph wiped his hands and said wearily,

"Well, gentlemen, we have met three of the seven deadly sins this evening, and come out spotless. Orson, are you still as enamored of politics as you were previously?"

"Perhaps not", said Orson. "The food was good, but the entertainment is a bit shabby."

He looked carefully at Joseph. "Brother Joseph, are you well?"

"I don't know... My mind has been somewhat ill at ease this evening concerning my family. I have not heard from Emma for some time now. Well, we must retire for the night. William, would you see that a guard is posted at the door? I want no more uninvited callers."

BALTIMORE, Wednesday, August 21

Early in the morning Joseph and his companions packed their bags and prepared to leave Baltimore. The landlady, Mrs. Ritchey, seemed only too glad to see them gone. She was a short, middle-aged woman of Scots-Irish background.

"Mis-tair Smith, ay thout' ay'd seen tha' last o' ye in thairty-nine, whan ye descended on me boardin-'ouse in Washin'ton, but noo, ye followed me ta' Baltimare, too! Ay niver 'ave been so incommoded in me life, what with yair comin's an' goin's at all hours of tha dee' an' night, an' revelers in tha' streets, an' women o' questionable breedin' droppin' in alla time! Would ye be so kind as to take yair custom elsewhare fro' now on!"

Joseph smiled at her. "Mrs. Ritchey, you are a jewel. I must confess to you, I think so highly of your boarding-house that I now recommend it to all my friends and associates." She snorted at the flattery.

Before they left the boarding-house, Orson paid a visit to the Post Office to check for mail, and he brought back with him the morning edition of the Baltimore Gazette. He was chagrined to see a lurid, front-page article describing the "affair" with Joseph Smith and Miss Levesque from the evening before.

When William Smith saw it, he remarked, "I know as well as anyone just how long it takes to typeset this much text, make the plates, and pull the sheets off the press. This rag-sheet had to have been set several days ago, before 'Miss Levesque' ever showed up on our doorstep. In fact, the style is remarkably like that of Thomas Sharp's Warsaw Signal – right down to the excessive use of exclamation marks."

Joseph replied, "Well said, William. This is doubtless a complot, contrived by someone in the Democratic or Whig party to destroy my reputation and stir up opposition to our National Reform party. I suspect that Sharp, Weed, and Seward had a hand in this. Well, as Brother Kimball would say, 'The Truth Will Prevail'. And since our business in Baltimore is complete, we can now take our leave of this city – the sooner the better, I say."

The men all grabbed their valises and left the boarding-house. When they were all seated in the carriage, Joseph took the reins. He steered the carriage up Henrietta Street and turned north at Eutaw.

Orson said, "Joseph, why are we heading north? The train depot is on Pratt Street."

"I know", said Joseph. "But something tells me we're not welcome at the Mount Clare Station. Have you noticed how unusually quiet the town is this morning? I'm heading for the Susquehanna Depot instead."

Orson knew better than to second-guess Joseph's feelings. But no sooner had they passed Hill Street than Orson looked back and saw the reason for Joseph's presentiment. A large crowd of very angry men was running up the hill toward them from the harbor, armed with whips, clubs and belaying pins.

"They don't look quite as friendly this time around", Phelps said nervously.

Joseph shook the reins and shouted, "hee-YAW!" but the two horses just looked back at him and resumed their plodding pace.

Clayton looked back and said anxiously, "Joseph, they're gainin' on us..."

William Smith said, "I didn't think it worth the mention the other day, but as you know, Maryland is a slave state. They don't much care for abolitionists here."

"Or this could be Mr. Weed's doing", said Joseph as he snapped the reins again. "We didn't exactly part on the best of terms."

"No time for swapping knives", Orson said in fear. "Joseph, what should we do?"

By now the mob was about a hundred yards south of them and gaining fast. Joseph looked back one more time and said,

"When we reach the top of the hill here, take your bags and split up. Wait for fifteen minutes, then board the train for Philadelphia. The Lord will protect you. Now!"

Four of the men grabbed their bags and jumped out of the still-moving carriage, then ran in various directions. William Smith grabbed the reins and gave the horses one last futile lash, but they just kept on plodding up Eutaw Street.

As he reached the station, Joseph slowed his pace and strode nonchalantly into the depot, and took a seat on the platform. William Clayton headed straight north on Eutaw, then doubled back and came south on Howard. Orson ran east toward St. Mary's College, accompanied by W.W. Phelps.

"Don't look back!" Orson said to Phelps as they slowed to a walk. "Try not to look out of place."

"Try to blend in... at a Catholic seminary... Oh, Orson, you have a wicked sense of humor", Phelps puffed and wheezed as they passed a line of nuns.

When the five men split up, the mob also scattered in all directions. Some of them caught up with William Smith, pulled him out of the carriage and dumped him on the ground.

"Whar' is he?" shouted one of the roustabouts, raising his club over William's head.

"'Whar' is who?" William replied tartly.

"That aig-suckin', low-down, wife-stealin', ab'litionist Joe Smith, that's who!" the lumper responded, as he cracked William over the head with his club. Half-dazed, William replied,

"Mister, you got the wrong pig by the ear. Last I heard, he was headed for Mount Clare Station. You mought still catch 'im there."

"Let's go, boys!" shouted the leader, and his group headed back down Eutaw Street.

William Clayton ran into some more of the mob as he was heading south on Howard. "You seen that polygamizin' ab'litionist, Joe Smith?" one of them cried.

William pointed east and shouted back, "Sure 'nuff, e's 'eaded east on Franklin! A short bloke 'e is, wearin' a tall white hat! Hurry!"

Clayton walked back to the station and sat down on a bench next to Joseph, who was coolly reading his copy of the Niles Register:

Steamboat nomination.

The Nauvoo Neighbor of the 8th, asserts, that the whole matter is already settled with Clay, Tyler, Van Buren, and all the rest; the perambulations of the former in the south, – the "immediate annexation" project of Tyler, – the "sober second thought" of Van, are all in vain. "General" Joseph Smith, the acknowledged modern prophet, has got them all in the rear, and, from the common mode of testing the success of candidates for the Presidency, to wit – by steamboat elections – he Smith, will beat all the other aspirants to that office, two to one. We learn from the polls of the steamboat Osprey, on her last trip to this city, that the votes stood for:

Gen. Smith, 29 gentlemen, 5 ladies.

Henry Clay, 16 gentlemen, 4 ladies.

M. V. Buren, 7 gentlemen, 0 ladies.

"Any news this fine mornin'?" William said nonchalantly, as Joseph handed him a ticket.

"Yes, I seem to be taking Baltimore by storm", said Joseph. "They either love me or hate me, there's no middle ground." He went back to perusing his newspaper.

Just then, the train to Philadelphia rattled into the station and hissed to a stop. The two men could see that it was swarming with mobbers who had boarded earlier at the Mount Clare Station.

"I donna' like t' looks o' this..." Clayton whispered uneasily.

"Just follow my lead, and not a hair of our heads shall be touched", said Joseph. He stuffed the newspaper under his arm, stood up, and walked over to the first car. There, he mingled with some of the other passengers who were boarding. William trailed timidly a few steps behind him. As they boarded the car, William glanced back and noticed William Smith, Orson Hyde and W.W. Phelps boarding the second car.

Clayton scanned the interior of the car and figured that about a dozen ruffians were on board. Most of them appeared to be roustabouts and "lumpers" – dockworkers and stevedores from down on the harbor. They were an evil, brutish-looking lot.

As Joseph and William took their seats on the wooden benches, the conductor came down the aisle to collect the tickets. He stopped beside their bench, eyed them closely and said,

"Your names, please?"

William swallowed hard, just as the train started clattering noisily out of the station.

"Mr. Clayton and Mr. Smith, Sir", Joseph said cheerily as he handed the conductor his ticket.

"Very well", the conductor said idly, and continued down the aisle. No one seemed to have taken notice of them.

William started breathing again. The two men could overhear some of the conversations between the ruffians:

"Y'all know whut we'all's doin' heah, Shamus?"

"Nay, t'was sumat aboot' an abolitionist, name o' Smyth or some sooch", replied Shamus. "Our 'arders was ta' kitch 'im an' roon 'im outa' toon."

"Damned ab'litionists, tryin' ta' steal our slaves!" said another. "If I ketch'im, there'll be an idiot short, that's fer sure. Anyone know what he look like?"

"Short fella I hear, not too bright, look like he left his brains a'hind the door."

"Nah, I hear tell he's 'bout six foot, tow-headed, an' wears a tall white hat, like a jint o' stovepipe. He has his own hay-rem out west, som'eres near St. Louie. Say, Fergus, kin you loan me a chaw?"

"Why, Luke, I gie' you a plug jist las' week an' you still ain't paid me back, you fool!"

"Did so..."

"Say, O'Donough, whut's polig'mee, anyhow?"

"Why, 'tis when a lad marries more'n one lass, ye fool Mick!"

"An' whut's wrong wi' that?"

This brought guffaws from the other men.

This conversation went on for about a mile. William was sweating bullets, but Joseph just kept reading his newspaper. Finally, one of the lumpers turned to Shamus and said,

"Well, this is jist plumb frivolish. I got a ship ta' unload, an' slaves sittin' on'er backsides 'stead o' lumpin' bindles. I'm gittin' off at the next station. You kin tell Mr. Weed ta' find 'is own damned ab'litionist, an' if he don't like it, well, he kin lump it." The rest of the ruffians grumbled in agreement with this, and when they reached the North Susquehanna Depot they all left the train.

At about six that evening the train pulled into Philadelphia without incident. William Smith was still nursing a bruised head, but felt fine otherwise. The men proceeded directly to William Smith's home, where his wife Caroline greeted them joyously.

BALTIMORE, 9:00 p.m. Wednesday, August 21

"He must be stopped. There ain't noo other way aboot it."

"But how? He's too derned pop'lar already, and it jist keeps growin'. We use 'im up now, they'll be hell to pay. Lord knows, I've already tried more'n once. 'Sides, I have no connections here."

"I nae be talkin 'bout pluggin' 'im, you dolt! Besides, it ain't enow' ta kill the man, ye gotta stop his whole movement to boot! But if we kill 'im p'litically, it amounts ta the same thing. Some'ow we must unmask the fool, an' bring 'im down a peg so's people can see 'im for the charlatan he be!"

"Tell me more."

"I jist happen ta know, he's headed ta Philadelphia, an' then New York. That's my bailiwick. When he gits there, why my boys'll have a leettle surprise waitin' for 'im." He smiled.

NAUVOO, Wednesday, August 21

The Council of the Twelve Apostles gathered at Brigham Young's house to meet Elder Lyman Wight. Elder John Taylor went after him with a carriage; found him sick and unable to attend.

That evening, a sociable gathering of a number of the Twelve was held at Wilford Woodruff's. The brethren were accompanied with their wives. Elder Woodruff was blessed and set apart for his mission to England under the hands of the members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles present.

DIXON, Wednesday, August 21

The Wassons, the Smiths, and Porter Rockwell were all gathered at home in the evening. Lorenzo Wasson, Benjamin's son, had just arrived from Nauvoo with news and letters.

"I tell you, this campaign of Brother Joseph's is taking fire across the length and breadth of the country", Lorenzo said excitedly. "This is not just a show he is making; he is deadly serious about winning the Presidency, and there is a strong expectation that he shall. What that will mean for the Church and our nation, only God knows."

"He kin certainly have my vote", said Benjamin. "But as for the Church, you already knows my feelin's on that subject."

Lorenzo replied, "Father, I only wish you could feel the magnitude of what Brother Joseph is about doin'! This is not just another protestant church, but the kingdom of God on the earth! Why just recently, Joseph has organized the Council of Fifty to govern the earth when the Savior comes. Don't you wish to be a part of that?"

"I have my own religion an' politics. I'll take my chances with them", Benjamin said sternly. Lorenzo knew better than to press the subject.

Emma had just finished reading a letter from Joseph, postmarked from Washington the 15th of August.

"Lorenzo, is there any news from Baltimore yet?" she said anxiously.

"No, the convention was but yesterday. I expect word of the outcome to reach Nauvoo late next week."

"Son, earlier you were speakin' about Brother Hyrum's funeral", Benjamin said sadly. "Tell me, was it a worthy tribute to him?"

"Aye father, worthy indeed. Brother Phelps gave a wonderful sermon, full of peace and consolation. 'Tis the aftermath of the funeral that still gives me the shudders."

Lorenzo paused and looked at Emma, who nodded her consent.

Lorenzo continued. "I was sworn to secrecy at the time, to tell no man that the coffin in the cemetery was empty, and that we had secretly interred Hyrum's body in the basement of the Nauvoo House. Of late, Sister Mary Smith has contemplated moving the body to a more fitting site on her homestead, but the last I heard, no action had yet been taken."

Emma looked down, and folded her hands on her ample stomach. "Well do I remember those dreadful nights", she said softly. "When Brother Grant rode down the street hallooing that 'Sister Smith's husband' was dead, I felt as if a knife had pierced my heart. Learning that it was Sister Mary's husband, instead of mine, scarcely relieved the anguish. I was taken with such a fit of trembling, I feared I might lose my little David here as well."

The room fell silent for several minutes as the evening darkness gathered. Finally, Porter picked up his slouch hat and said,

"Well, guess I'll turn in fer the night. I'll make sure the livestock's secure an' the gate's closed. 'Night, Ben, Lorenzo, Sister Smith, Miz' Wasson, children."

After Porter was gone, Benjamin unhooked a grease lamp from the wall, lit it, and placed it on the table. Then he sat back down and said,

"Emma, has anyone asked you what your feelin's are 'bout your husband's latest campaign? It must be hard, what with him bein' away from home an' all."

"I have grown quite accustomed to Joseph's absences", she said with a faint smile. "Why, he has missed the birthing of nearly every one of his children, what with missions, imprisonment, Zion's Camp, and on and on. I don't expect this confinement of mine to be any different. You must understand, my dear Benjamin. Joseph is a man who lives his life in ascendancy. Each disaster is followed by a greater triumph, followed by another disaster, and so on. Where it will all climax, I cannot imagine. I sometimes feel as if my sole purpose is to pick Joseph up off the floor, dust him off and bid him farewell, as he embarks on yet another mission from God. But I vowed when we were married that I would never forsake him, and I have been true to that promise."

She dropped her hands in her lap and sighed. "I do love him though, and sorely miss him..."

Suddenly there was a grinding crash as a fence post came ripping through the window, scattering wood and glass in all directions. It came to rest on the table right in the center of the dumfounded group.

Lorenzo sprang to the window just as a shot came whistling past his head. Emma and Elizabeth both screamed and dropped to the floor. Emma groped desperately for her children in the semi-darkness, as more shots came in through the shattered window.

Lorenzo peeked carefully around the edge of the window. "There are men out there with torches", he shouted. "I think they mean to burn us out!"

Emma had gathered her children into a far corner of the room behind a bed. Benjamin suddenly sprang to his feet and made a dash for the fireplace where his Brown Bess was hung. At that instant, the front door burst open and a tall, gaunt figure appeared, silhouetted in the torchlight. Benjamin was just reaching for his musket as the stranger fired at him. Benjamin staggered back, clutching his stomach, and fell to the floor.

The stranger took several steps into the room, then he pointed his pistol directly at Emma. In the lamplight, she caught a glimpse of his ruined face and gasped.

"William McLellin! Are you here to plunder me once again, just like in Missouri?" She said this half-defiantly, as she tried to shield her children from him.

McLellin couldn't hear her. He said in a raspy voice, "You! Missus Smith, out o' the house, now! The rest of you so much as blink, I'll blow your infernal brains out!"

Outside, more gunfire could be heard, and several cries. Julia and Frederick screamed and hid behind their mother. Peeking from behind her skirts, they could see the light from flames that were starting to lick at the eaves of the house.

Emma stood her ground. "So, this is an abduction, is it? I tell you, I'm not leaving this house! You'll have to shoot me down where I stand, McLellin!" She stamped her foot for effect, but McLellin just looked at her blankly.

At that moment there was a voice outside. "M'lellin! Drop your damned weapon and step out of the house, now!"

It was Porter. At the sound of his voice, Emma fell in a dead faint beside the table. As McLellin continued to approach her, Porter fired from just outside the door, hitting him square in the back. His knees buckled and he toppled slowly to the ground, gasping his last.

Lorenzo, Elizabeth, and the terrified children slowly appeared from their various hiding places. Lorenzo dropped to his knees at his father's side and examined his wound. Elizabeth and Julia hurried to aid Emma, who was lying under the table unconscious, and Porter ran outside to douse the flames. He seized the water bucket and desperately heaved it at the burning corner of the roof. With a whoosh and a hiss of steam, the flames were quickly doused.

Good thing it rained earlier, he said to himself, as he walked back into the house. With the toe of his boot he rolled McLellin onto his back. He stared down at his face and was shocked by what he saw.

"What the devil", he muttered. "He looks like a scarecrow boiled in oil. Wonder why he didn't listen to me..."

He fished around in McLellin's pockets and found a piece of paper, which he handed to Lorenzo.

"You'll hafta read it to me", Porter said apologetically. Lorenzo held it up to the lamp:

To Mr. Joe Smith, Nauvoo:

Yor wife is in our kustode. Do Not try to folow us.

If you Do we will kil her. We are desperet men.

We wil free Her in retern for $5000 in gold koin.

You wil here from us agin Very soon.

Brutus

By this time, Lorenzo had helped his father over to the bed. Emma was struggling to get to her feet, dazed and bleeding from a gash on her forehead.

"Emma, are you all right?" Elizabeth said as she tried to help her up from the floor.

"Don't know... feel faint... head hurts. Hit table when I fell..." she said, falling back to the floor again.

With some help from Julia and Joseph, Elizabeth finally got Emma seated in a chair. She was still groggy and breathing rapidly.

"Emma, can you hear me? Are you in labor?" Elizabeth said anxiously.

"Don't think so... still can't see straight", she said, brushing her hair back from her face. She took a deep breath and looked up. "I'm feeling a little better, thanks. How's Benjamin?"

"He's not well", Lorenzo replied anxiously from his father's bedside. "He has a stomach wound, and he's bleeding bad. We have to find help for him soon!"

"It ain't safe out there tonight", Porter replied. "There could be others waitin' for us. My put is, we stay here till mornin', then clear out for Sterling. Likely there's a doctor there, an' maybe even a steamboat bound for Nauvoo." There was reluctant agreement with Porter's plan.

PHILADELPHIA, Thursday, August 22

In the morning another political convention was held. In the afternoon, Joseph and his companions toured Philadelphia. They visited Independence Hall, where the Declaration of Independence had been signed and the Constitution had been framed. Joseph gazed in reverence at the desks where the Constitution's authors had toiled just fifty-seven years before. He spoke to a small crowd of listeners about his Views on the Powers and Policy of the Government of the United States. Joseph quoted to them from a letter written by James Madison to Daniel Webster in 1833, just three years before Madison's death:

"It must not be forgotten, that compact, express, or implied in the Constitution is the vital principle of free Governments as contradistinguished from Governments not free; and that a revolt against this principle, leaves no choice but between anarchy and despotism. Such is the Constitution of the United States de jure and de facto; and the name, whatever it be, that may be given to it, can make nothing more or less than what it actually is."

"The Constitution embodies the highest principles of freedom that man can attain to in this life", said Joseph. "In Mr. Madison's view, which I espouse, anything that is not in accordance with the Constitution leads to either anarchy on the one hand, or tyranny on the other. Gentlemen, there are no other choices.

"There has been a progressive revolution since the close of the Revolutionary war, but not in virtue, justice, uprightness, and truth. It has become quite a custom, and by custom it has the force of law, for one party to mob another, to tear down and destroy churches, drive citizens from the ballot box, and persecute, plunder, drive from their possessions, and kill a great people. Revolution in the United States is progressing; but to the true spirit of Democracy and the science of government, the Revolution I refer to is strictly opposed."
CHAPTER 12

DIXON, Thursday, August 22

At first light, Porter and Lorenzo stepped cautiously out of the house to survey the carnage of the previous night. Lorenzo was surprised to find three dead bodies lying in the yard.

"M'lellin's pals, I reckon", said Porter. "When I first heard the ruckus, I peeked out of the barn just as he kicked in the front door. I hid behind the woodpile an' dropped the other three with my rifle. They never figgered out where I was firing from."

They rolled the first body over and looked at him.

"Chauncey Higbee", Lorenzo said sadly. "His father Elias was a good man. Well, I'm sure he's giving his son hark from the tomb about now."

The other two turned out to be Chauncey's brother Francis, and Charles Foster.

"Why would they try such a half-cocked scheme?" said Lorenzo, amazed.

"I dunno, per'aps just to get back at Joseph", said Porter. "They sure seemed to have a bone to pick with him."

"Tell you what, Port. I'll stay behind and sorta clean up the property, y'know, while you take my pa and the two women and children to Sterling. That way, I can keep an eye on the place in case anyone else comes calling."

"Sounds wheat to me", said Porter. "I'll hitch up the mules."

A few minutes later, the family was ready to leave. Porter and Lorenzo helped Benjamin out the door and laid him on a blanket in the buckboard. He looked deathly pale and was moaning softly. Elizabeth, Emma, and the children followed him to the wagon. Emma was still dizzy and weak as Lorenzo helped her onto the seat next to Porter. Elizabeth took a seat in the back, next to her husband.

"You sure this is gonna work, Port?" Lorenzo said anxiously.

"Don't know what else we can do", replied Porter. "If'n I ride to Sterling by meself for help, it'll take twice as long to get back here, assumin' they even have a doctor there. We'll just hafta make it." He gave the reins a shake, and the wagon started rolling west.

After the buckboard had jarred down the road for about a mile, Elizabeth suddenly cried,

"Porter, hold up! Ben can't take this jarring! You'll have to slow down!"

Benjamin was starting to tremble, and his breathing was shallow.

"Hold on, Ben, you'll be all right, just hold on!" Elizabeth cried desperately.

No one had noticed the stranger at the side of the road. Elizabeth looked up and saw a middle-aged man, well proportioned, with white hair and a close-cropped white beard. He was wearing a yellow buckskin suit with fringes and beadwork, and he was carrying a buckskin knapsack over his shoulder. In his right hand was a long walking stick.

Elizabeth thought, Probably one of the old Sac or Fox Indians who used to own this land.

The man approached the wagon and said in a mild voice,

"May I help you?"

There was no trace of accent in his words, and he seemed to have an instant calming effect on the group.

Porter turned to him and said,

"We was attacked by house-burners last night, an' Mr. Wasson here was wounded in the fight. We're headed to Sterling to find help for him."

"Yes, I know", said the stranger as he approached Benjamin and laid his hand on his head. He spoke to him in a strange tongue for a moment, then he said to him,

"This wound is not unto death. Benjamin Wasson, thou shalt yet live."

By now, all eyes were on the stranger. He moved to the front of the wagon and took Emma's hand, and said,

"Emma Smith, the Lord has heard thy prayers. Thou shalt be reunited with thy husband, and David thy son shall grow to manhood."

Emma smiled back at him through her tears, nearly overcome with joy. "Thank you", she whispered.

"Sir, will you ride with us?" Elizabeth said in wonderment.

He smiled again. "I thank you but no, duty calls me elsewhere. I must return to Cumorah!" Instantly, he vanished.

Elizabeth turned to Emma in astonishment and said,

"Who was that curious man? Do you know him?"

Laughing through her tears, Emma said,

"Yes, I know him well. Many years ago I met him on the road from Palmyra to Harmony. He was dressed exactly the same, and do you know, he hasn't aged a day?"

PHILADELPHIA, Friday, August 23

Joseph addressed a small congregation of Saints for about two hours. He spoke about the kingdom of God, the kingdom of heaven, and the kingdoms of this earth, &c. He expressed his satisfaction at the steady progress of the Church in Philadelphia, since the difficulties with Elder Benjamin Winchester two years previous.

"The Saints need not think because I am familiar with them and am playful and cheerful, that I am ignorant of what is going on", the Prophet said. "Iniquity of any kind cannot be sustained in the Church, and it will not fare well where I am; for I am determined while I do lead the Church, to lead it right."

In the afternoon, Joseph and his brethren boarded the trains for New York City.

At Trenton, the train stopped to "wood up". As Joseph was walking the platform to stretch his legs, to his great surprise he met an old friend.

"James Arlington Bennett, by my life!" said Joseph. "What brings you to Trenton?"

James was equally surprised. "Why, evidently I'm riding the same train as you, Joseph, two cars back, by my count. I secretly attended your convention in Baltimore, and was just on my way back to New York. I figured I owed ye that much at least, as your former Vice-Presidential running-mate." He smiled at this dig at Joseph.

Joseph blushed slightly. "I regret that I was forced to drop you from the ticket, James, because of a mere Constitutional quibble! Had I but known at the time that you were Canadian, I would have appointed you Prime Minister instead!"

Bennett smiled. "Ah, that would lose ye the election for sure, Joseph. But John Reid will serve you well, of that I have no fear. As I read the papers, both the Democrats and Whigs in Baltimore seem to fear you like a second Redcoat invasion. You truly have a knack for upsetting the status quo ante. And how is your beloved city of Nauvoo? 'Tis many weeks since I have seen a copy of the Times and Seasons."

Joseph sighed, then he replied, "When I left Nauvoo, the mobbings had abated. But I fear this peace is short-lived. Thomas Sharp, John C. Bennett and others are still whipping up anti-Mormon feelings there. I met Sharp in Baltimore just this week, and the meeting was hardly convivial."

Bennett leaned forward. "Joseph, do you really think ye have a tinker's chance in Hell of winning this election? I mean no disrespect, but you have precious few friends in the press or public, nor many who are inclined to vote for you, I'll wager. And as a newsman I should know – I have my finger on the pulse of this nation as well as any man, I daresay."

Joseph sighed. "James, what more can I do? All the eastern papers are against me, saving yours. How else can I battle the tide of oppression that's engulfing me?"

The train whistle tooted twice.

James said, "Come Joseph, join me in my car. We have much to discuss."

Joseph waved to his companions, who were looking for him out the window of their car, as Bennett steered Joseph toward the last car of the train. They mounted the steps, and Joseph found himself inside a most unusual railroad coach. Much of the interior was taken up by several rows of typesetting stations, each one with a typesetter busy laboring over his copy. The back end of the car was an elegantly appointed "saloon" with velvet upholstered seats, a bar, and even an icebox.

James explained, "This is my rolling press room. It gives me great advantages over t'other newspapers, as I can travel to, say, Baltimore, get my story, and typset it on the way back to New York. By the time I arrive, the plates are ready for the presses. It gives me a full day's lead over the other papers in getting the Sun onto the streets."

He looked in the icebox. "Can I offer ye something Joseph? I know you don't imbibe liquor. Say, a malt beer or sarsaparilla? Some cold chicken, perhaps?"

Joseph looked around, impressed. "I had no idea... cold water will do nicely, thank'e."

He took a seat near the back of the car, and James drew two glasses of ice water from a decanter and sat down next to Joseph as the train chuffed out of the station.

"We were speaking of the odds of your surviving this election", said James. "My apology, perhaps 'surviving' is not the best choice of words, I meant to say..."

"I still have hopes of winning", said Joseph. "I reckon more people have heard of me than of James K. Polk, at any rate. This is no sham battle, James – I shall give it my all. But win or lose, I purpose to change the face of politics in this country forever. And there's no other way than this to place the cause of my suffering people before the whole nation. This is truly our last appeal. If they reject me, they will have rejected the Latter-day Saints as well, and we'll quit this nation before its God-ordained destruction comes."

Bennett pondered this for some time. Then he leaned back in his chair and said,

"So, if you lose, you intend to remove your people entirely from the States? Where will you go? Oregon, or maybe Texas? Or peradventure Vancouver's Island, eh?"

Joseph smiled, and looked off into the distance. "None of those. A place so remote and desolate, no one will dare follow us to cause us harm. In truth, if the Latter-day Saints were all sent to Hell, why, we would turn the Devil out and make it a Garden of Eden. You shall see."

Bennett looked perplexed. "Surely not Mexico? Joseph, you know perfectly well you have the largest militia in the land at your disposal. You don't need to leave! Your Legion could enforce your will on this country by force of arms, if ye but spake the word. Ah, I most ardently wish that I had the command of your men at Nauvoo, times and things would soon alter. I hope to see the day, before I die, that such an army will dictate terms from Nauvoo to the enemies of the Mormon people. On the whole, you will only be made a greater prophet and a greater man – a great Emperor, by the affliction and consideration of your good friends."

Joseph was shocked. "James, you know that I cannot do that. If I essayed to rule this nation by force of arms, God would remove me out of my place. It must be by the voice of the people. Do you really think we need a 'divine right' monarchy here, ruling by blood and thunder? Why, they already accuse me in the press of being a 'modern Mahomet'."

Bennett nodded. "Still, it is a tempting prospect... I say this in the most perfect candor, as I have nothing to gain by the Mormons, yet I regard you in as favorable a light as I do any other sect. In fact, I consider myself a philosophical Christian, and wish to see an entire change in the religious world."

Joseph laughed. "Almost I persuade thee to be a Mormon, eh?"

"I have been long a Mormon in sympathy alone, yet I feel that I am a friend of the people, as I think them honest and sincere in their faith; and those I know are as good and honorable men as any other professing Christians."

His voice lowered, and he idly wiped a droplet from the side of his glass.

"In truth, Joseph, I was secretly baptized by one of your sect two years ago, but doubt I will ever be a practicing Mormon. I find your creeds a bit, ah, too peculiar. But I will always be your friend."

Bennett raised his head and looked Joseph in the eyes.

"Ah, and Joseph, a word of advice... When ye get to New York, be careful. You have many enemies there, not just in the press, but in high places in government. If they so much as get wind that you're there, ye could be in severe danger."

NAUVOO, Friday, August 23

From the Nauvoo Neighbor on this day:

NOT SO POOR AS I MOUT BE

One day as Judge Parsons was jogging along on horseback over a destitute road, he came upon a log hut, dirty, smoky and wretched. He stopped to contemplate the too evident poverty of the scene. A poor, half-starved fellow, with uncombed hair and unshaved beard, thrust his head through a square hole, which served for a window, with, "I say, Judge, I ain't so poor as you mout think me to be, for I don't own this 'ere land."

With all due respect to Judge Parsons, we would submit that "Brother Jonathan" would be better served if Congress passed a homesteading law, in order that those who work the land could receive clear title to it. If such a law were passed, the real property of this nation would double in value overnight.

VOTE FOR JOSEPH SMITH

VOTE FOR UNIFORM LAND LAWS

STERLING, Friday, August 23

Early in the morning, Benjamin's doctor came out of the bedroom where he had been tending to him all night. Elizabeth had spent a sleepless night just outside the room, and she was fearful of the doctor's prognosis. She stood and said,

"Dr. Brink, how is he? Will he recover?"

The doctor ushered her into the bedroom, where she saw Benjamin awake and sitting up. The doctor said,

"Recover? Well, I daresay. Why, it's just the beatenest thing. I ain't never seed a wuss' stomach wound than his'n, an' I've seed a few. There warn't nothin' I could do for him, an' I mought as well have quit on him and called for the coroner. But I righted him up some, and after coughing up a quantity of blood an' a .44 caliber lead ball, he rested peaceful all night." He handed Elizabeth the lead ball.

Elizabeth was overcome with joy. Benjamin looked up at her and said weakly,

"Beth, just tell me straight out. That was an angel who laid his hand on me, warn't it?"

"Yes Benjamin, I believe it was", she whispered, beaming at him adoringly.

By noon Benjamin was able to take a little nourishment, and with some assistance even made it down to the steamboat landing. At about two o'clock the party left Sterling on board the steamer Meteor, bound for Nauvoo. Porter Rockwell parted ways with them at Rock Island, saying he "had some bidness to take care of" up the Mississippi River.

NEW YORK CITY, Friday evening, August 23

Joseph Smith, William W. Phelps, William Clayton and John M. Bernhisel arrived in New York City in the afternoon, after taking the trains from Philadelphia. They took a ferry from Hoboken to Castle Garden at the southern tip of Manhattan Island; then they crossed the Battery on the way to their boarding house on Pearl Street.

From the Battery, the four men had a splendid view of the Upper Bay, Governor's Island, Castle Clinton, the star-shaped Fort Wood on Bedloe's Island, and the skyline of Manhattan itself.

"The growth is remarkable since I was last here in thirty-six", said Joseph. "Since the great fire in thirty-five, a whole new city has sprung from the ashes."

"Indeed", said William Clayton. "'Tis here I landed wi' the Saints fra' England in October 1840, wi' Elder Turley. 'Twas verra' grand then, bu' 'tis e'en a fair sight grander, now."

They gazed in wonder at the skyline of the city – block after block of shops, factories, warehouses, church steeples, and hotels, many of which were as much as five stories high. Along the Hudson and East River, a forest of ships' masts stretched as far as they could see.

As they were preparing to cross Broad Street, the four travelers were impeded by several long processions of rough-looking men, some dressed as pioneers, others as Indians, carrying placards with titles such as "Clay's Sharpshooters", "Second Ward Fencibles", and "The Dead Rabbits". At the head of one column was a black man carrying a target on a pole, and at intervals the "Sharpshooters" would fire at the target, with little regard for the danger to all the spectators about them. Some of the "Sharpshooters" were rolling a huge papier-mâché "Clay ball" down the street, painted with slogans supporting Henry Clay. Other bands of men brandished pokeweed stocks, in honor of candidate James K. Polk. Many in the processions wore silver plates, cups, or other tableware suspended around their necks, and an occasional passerby would donate more silver coins or tableware to the cause. Numerous trumpets and bass drums added to the general din.

"Mardi Gras? In New York in August?" William Clayton wondered.

"Hardly", said Phelps, who was familiar with the town's customs. "New York does have its 'Krewes', but here they are simply called 'gangs', and they all support one candidate or another for office. They're mostly common laborers, sailors, or lumpers, and many owe allegiance to Tammany Hall."

Phelps pointed to the men in the last procession, who were wearing black stovepipe hats, red shirts, and black vests. "This group here are the Bowery Boys, a particularly thuggish gang of ruffians. They could put the Carthage Greys to flight in an instant, I'll wager."

Joseph said, waving his hands around,

"Gentlemen, the center of power in America is not in Washington, but right here in Manhattan. From here, all the reins are pulled to direct political discourse in this nation – Tammany Hall, the various newspapers such as the Herald, the Sun, and the Tribune, the political parties – it all centers here in the 'secret combinations' that wield the real power.

"Little wonder that in an election year, this should be such a hotbed of politics, what with the Mayor elected by the Native American Party, the Democrats split between 'Hunkers' and 'Barn Burners', in addition to the Whigs, abolitionists and Catholics – all laboring to elect Clay or Polk or someone else. Why, we couldn't get up a public convention here if we tried, what with the iron grip Tammany has on the city. 'Let God sort them out', I say, and then we'll do baptisms for their dead. But first, there are a few New Yorkers here I would like to pay a visit to, as well as our brethren of the Church. Then, on Monday, we shall convene privately at the Military Hall to pursue our own brand of Mormon politics."

That evening, Joseph wrote a letter to Emma:

My Dear Emma,

We arrived here at the Pearl Street House this PM. There is about one hundred boarders and sometimes more in this house every day, from one to two from all parts of the world.

This evening I have been walking through the most splendid part of the City of New York. The buildings are truly great and wonderful to the astonishing of every beholder, and the language of my heart is like this: Can the great God of all the Earth, maker of all things magnificent and splendid be displeased with man for all these great inventions sought out by them? My answer is no, it can not be, seeing these works are calculated to make men comfortable, wise and happy, therefore not for the works can the Lord be displeased.

The Croton Canal, opened just two years past is truly the wonder of the age. It supplies an abundance of healthful water to the city, in consequence of which there are now but few cases of the cholera in this city, and if you should see the people you would not know that they had ever heard of the cholera.

The business stringency continues here and wages are scarce, and a feeling of gloom and perplexity overhangs the city. There is much strife and bedlam about the election, and gangs of men are constantly roaming the streets, collecting money, plated ware, &c in support of one candidate or another, and firing their guns in the air. Indolence and greed are manifest in every quarter of the city.

I feel as if I wanted to say something to you to comfort you in your peculiar trial and present affliction. I hope God will give you strength that you may not faint. I pray God to soften the hearts of those around you to be kind to you and take the burden off your shoulders as much as possible and not afflict you. I feel for you for I know your state, but you must comfort yourself knowing that God is your friend in heaven and that you have one true and living friend on Earth, your Husband.

I must conclude. I remain your affectionate Husband,

Joseph Smith

NEW YORK CITY, Saturday, August 24

Just before sundown, Joseph and John Bernhisel arrived at Shearith Israel, the Jewish synagogue on Crosby Street. They were met there by Alexander Neibaur, a recent Jewish convert to the Church.

"Brother Neibaur, thank you for preparing the way for me here", said Joseph, rubbing his hands. "Gentlemen, I have some important business to conduct this evening. I have looked forward to this meeting for quite some time."

Alexander Neibaur gazed up at the imposing façade of Shearith Israel.

"Mein Gott, I haf come zo far", he murmured. "Zince I vas converted to ze Gospel in Preston, ze door of a synagogue I never haf darkened. Only half a Jew I vas den, but now I am whole, tanks to you, Bruder Joseph."

He pointed at the building. "Ze first zynagogue in America vas built here in 1730. Zo, de zenter of Judentum in America hast alvays been recht hier. Ze most respektiert Rabbiner in America ist hier – Jacques Lyons. He is expectink you, Joseph."

The Jewish Sabbath was just ending, and the evening synagogue services were breaking up. Joseph and his friends worked their way upstream against a tide of bearded men in prayer shawls and skullcaps, until Joseph spied a familiar face.

"Joshua Seixas, my old friend! Shalom aleicha, we have traveled far since Kirtland, no?"

"Shabbat shalom, Joseph. Come in, come in", said Joshua excitedly, ushering them into a corner office near the sanctuary.

"I had been awaiting your arrival for quite some time, Joseph, since you wrote to me from Nauvoo. I should like to introduce to you my uncle, Isaac Benjamin Seixas, former Rabbi. Also my close friend, Jacques Judah Lyons, Chief Rabbi here at Shearit Israel."

The two old Rabbis eyed Joseph with contempt.

"Nu, is this the 'Mormon Prophet', the 'Modern Mahomet' you spoke of, plimeniki?" sneered Isaac, addressing his nephew Joshua rather than Joseph. "This farsholten goy, who like Solomon lives with his five hundred wives, in his heichal in Illinois?"

Rabbi Lyons weighed in.

"We have also heard that the Moshiach you claim to be, the Chosen of God", said Jacques. "You dare to blaspheme the Blessed Name? We have suffered much at the hands of you 'Christians' and your leaders, over the ages. Would you another pogrom unleash on us? Tell us, who are you?"

Joseph finally spoke up. "I am not the Moshiach bin David", he said meekly. "In truth, I am the Moshiach bin Yoseph spoken of in your Zohar. My name is Joseph, and my father's name is Joseph. I am of the lineage of Ephraim. I am come to restore all things in preparation for the Moshiach bin David. Indeed, I am the Root of Jesse spoken of in Isaiah, the eleventh chapter, tenth verse".

He recited it from memory:

"V'haya bayom hahu shoresh ysai asher omed lneys amiym goyim yidrshu vhaytah mnuchato kavod."

A dead silence fell on the room. Joshua Seixas let out a soft, whistling breath. At last, Isaac replied darkly,

"Very few Jews there are who know the tradition of the Moshiach bin Yoseph, and even fewer goyim", he said. "How did you, a goy, by this knowledge come?"

He turned to his nephew. "Joshua, when with this shmok you were in Ohio, his head did you fill with tales from the Kabbalah?"

"I did not", said Joshua, offended. "Self-taught Joseph is, or maybe, schooled by angels, as he claims. His 'School of the Prophets' was a grammar school for his followers, not for him. When in Kirtland I arrived, Joseph already knew more languages, history, and might I say, Kabbala, than you or I shall ever know! Why, he even for me translated the ancient hieroglyphics, from the catacombs of Egypt."

"You don't say", Isaac replied cooly. He turned and faced Joseph. "Laken, atah mdaber ivrit?"

"B'emet, ani mdaber ivrit", replied Joseph. "I speak Hebrew, and also German, Latin, Greek, Chaldean, and several ancient languages I'm sure you've never even heard of. And my – heichal or temple that you advert to, is indeed patterned after Solomon's. The name of my city, Nauvoo, is Hebrew as well: Ma navoo al ha'harim – 'How beautiful upon the mountains'. But that is not the reason I came here today."

"Surely you did not all this way come, just our vote for to beg?" Jacques said sarcastically. "So, your message, will you tell us, goylem?"

"I am Asaph, the gatherer", said Joseph. "The keys of the gathering of Israel have been committed to me from heaven. I am here to declare to you that it is time for you to gather in from your long dispersion:

"The remnant shall return, even the remnant of Jacob, unto the mighty God."

Rabbi Lyons guffawed. "That promise we have heard, how many times through the ages?" He started ticking off names on his fingers.

"Let's see... The Haskalah movement, started by Moses Mendelssohn a hundred years ago. Next his follower, Solomon Maimon. They all preached heshiv, the Return. Now we have in this very city Mordecai Noah, who twenty years ago tried to sell lots for his 'City of Ararat' up on Grand Island. But it was all a shod! Even he, a Jew, one shekel from that piece of land couldn't make! In this very synagogue in 1818, he spoke of the "triumphant return of Israel", as if imminent it then was."

The Rabbi was getting quite red-faced and angry. "So, mister Mormon rabiner, tell me, when should we our bags pack?"

"Soon", said Joseph, pulling a sheet of paper out of his pocket. "Several years ago, one of my Apostles, Orson Hyde, paid a call on you on his way to Jerusalem. He told you of his errand to the Holy Land, and you didn't believe him then. I am here to declare to you, in all solemnity, that he has completed his mission. While in Jerusalem, on the Mount of Olives, Orson Hyde built an altar of stones and dedicated that land for your return. Here is what he said, in part."

Joseph read from a copy of Orson Hyde's dedicatory prayer:

"Thou, O Lord, did once move upon the heart of Cyrus to show favor unto Jerusalem and her children. Do Thou now also be pleased to inspire the hearts of kings and the powers of the earth to look with a friendly eye towards this place, and with a desire to see Thy righteous purposes executed in relation thereto. Let them know that it is Thy good pleasure to restore the kingdom unto Israel – raise up Jerusalem as its capital, and constitute her people a distinct nation and government, with David Thy servant, even a descendant from the loins of ancient David to be their king."

Rabbi Lyons was unfazed, but Isaac was now in tears.

"Would to God it were true", said Isaac. "For us, you do this koved? The nfotzah, the diaspora, it has been so long... How long we have said, 'Next year in Jerusalem?'"

Joseph replied, "The Moshiach bin David shall come. I am his forerunner. This is true, as God is my witness. To your tents, O Israel! Uru achim! Arise, brethren, it is time for you to return home."

HAMPTON Illinois, Sunday, August 25

Early in the morning, Porter Rockwell cautiously rode into the small town of Hampton, just north of Rock River. On Saturday he had taken time to shave off his beard, get his hair cut, and buy a new set of clothes – all to make it more difficult for anyone to recognize him. Since it had been years since he had done any of the above, it was a near dead certainty that no one here would recognize this well-dressed, fresh-faced, thirty-one year old man. At least he hoped as much, as he tried to disguise his slight limp.

Hampton was a typical small upper Mississippi town, consisting of one main street along the riverbank – named "Water Street", naturally – and a few muddy side streets leading away from the river. A few dozen ramshackle clapboard houses and stores, some of them built on stilts extending out into the river; several pigs wallowing in the muddy streets; and a couple of old hound dogs trying to find shade. The town was silent, except for the buzzing of the flies.

Must be their 'gitten religion time', Porter thought as he dismounted. Wonder where they goes to git it?

It didn't take him long to find it. Up the riverbank behind the town was a clearing in the woods. As Porter approached, he could hear and see the unmistakable signs of a camp meeting: The split log pews, a preaching stand, a few musicians, and the familiar drone of a minister "giving religion". But this camp meeting was somehow different.

With a shock, Porter realized that he knew at least half the people in the congregation.

Why, that's Robert Foster, he thought. I just hived his brother Charles the other day. And old Austin Cowles, and Henry Norton, and Sylvester Emmons, and O.C. Skinner, and Zenos Gurley. And there's William and Sarah Cook, and James Blakeslee...

Porter knew at least half the congregation as current or former Mormons. And when he looked at the stand, to his astonishment he recognized William and Wilson Law, James J. Strang, and Sidney Rigdon.

What kind of prayer meetin' is this? He wondered.

He didn't wonder for long. William Law stood up and spoke:

"Broothers an' sisters, friends, all! We welcomes ye ta' this, the fairst conference o' the Reformed Chairch of Christ. T'is with the greatest solicitude for the salvation o' the human family, an' of our own souls, that we 'ave this day assembled. Feign would we 'ave slumbered, an' 'like the dove that covers and conceals the arrow that is preying upon its vitals,' – for the sake of av'iding the furious an' toorbulent storm o' pairsecution which will gather, soon to burst upon our heads – have covaired an' concealed that which, for a season, has been brooding among the ruins of air' peace: but we rely upon the arm of Jehovah, the Supreme Arbiter o' the world, to whom we this day, an' upon this occasion, appeal foor' the rectitude of air' intentions.

"We have met this day to re-organize the Chairch in its pairfect an' proper form. We apologize far' the lack of accommodations 'ere in Hampton. However, in a very shart time we expect ta' build a temple 'ere that'll put auld Joe Smith's rock pile ta shame!"

Loud cheers and applause.

Porter had quickly lost the thread of William Law's message amid all his bombastic Irish verbiage, but he understood the basic drift of it. He thought:

Why, they're setting themselves up against Joseph and the Church!

William Law paused for effect, then he continued:

"We most solemnly an' sinsairely declare, God this day being witness o' the trooth an' sinsarity of our designs an' statements, that happy will it be with those who examine an' scan Joseph Smith's pretensions ta' righteousness; an' take counsel o' human affairs, an' of the exparience of times gone by. Do not yield up tranquilly a superiority ta' that man which the raysonableness of past events, an' the laws of air coontry declare to be pernicious an' deabolical!"

Porter marveled at the brazenness of William Law.

If they believe in all that, why don't they believe in Joseph too?

"Joseph the Prophet is fallen from grace, an' we mourn his loss. But I tell ye in all solemnity, that a greater one 'an Joseph is 'ere this day, whose shoe's latchet Joseph is not wairthy ta' unloose. Joseph was but an Elias, a foreroonner, sent ta' prepare the way for the great an' last prophet o' this dispensation. And who mought that prophet be? Why, in our midst has he been, an' we knew him not. The identical man he is that the ancient prophets have sung aboot, written aboot an' rejoiced ovair. His name is – Sidney Rigdon."

William Law sat down to polite applause and Sidney Rigdon took his place at the stand. He began,

"As I assume the mantle which God has placed upon his unworthy servant, I am reminded of the earliest days of the Church in Kirtland, when we were but few in number and were forced to meet out of doors. We may be few today, but I have no doubt that many if not all in Nauvoo will soon flock to our standard.

"I defy the devil to collect such an assembly as this; none but Jesus would or could accomplish such things as we are about to behold; the devil will not build up, but tear down and destroy. I have been sent to do the work that has been the theme of all the prophets in every preceding generation. I prophecy that not one stone more will be laid upon the Nauvoo temple, before that city is utterly wasted and destroyed. Yea verily, the abomination of desolation is about to cast Nauvoo down to the sides of the pit! Then come all ye saints, flee ye out of Babylon!

"I call you to witness this day, as I did the Saints in Independence thirteen years ago, whether you will covenant to keep the law of the Lord. I now ask you one and all: Do you receive this land for the land of your inheritance with thankful hearts from the Lord?"

The congregation loudly replied, "We do!"

"Do you pledge yourselves to keep the laws of God on this land, which you never have kept in your own lands, or in Nauvoo?"

Again they replied, "We do!"

"Do you pledge yourselves to see that others of your brethren who shall come hither do keep the laws of God?"

"We do!"

This was almost more than Porter could stomach. He listened to Sidney rant for a few more minutes, then he melted to the back of the crowd and slipped away into the forest.
CHAPTER 13

NEW YORK CITY, Sunday, August 25

At about two a.m. there was a knock on the door of the brethren's Pearl Street sleeping-room. A groggy William W. Phelps got up from his bed on the floor, stumbled to the door and asked, "Who's there?"

"Police! Open up!" was the reply, as the pounding grew more insistent.

By now all the men were awake. Joseph hitched up his suspenders and padded to the door in his bare feet.

Not again... he thought as he reluctantly opened the door.

"Yes, what is it?" he said, as two blue-suited policemen burst into the room.

"Which one'a you'se is Joe Smith?" said the shorter one.

"I am", said Joseph.

"We hev' a wa'ant fo' yo' arrest. Come wit' us", said the taller policeman, waving his billy-club in Joseph's face.

John Bernhisel and the two Williams began to protest loudly about the illegality of this action, but Joseph motioned them to silence.

"On what grounds?" said Joseph.

"Nevah you mind, b'ho, you'se is goin' up-ta'n!" replied the taller one.

They hustled Joseph out of the room. Doors flew open up and down the corridor, and curious heads popped out to watch the spectacle. Joseph stumbled down the stairs, still in his bare feet, and out the front door to the street, where he could just discern the outline of a black paddy-wagon in the dim gaslight. Phelps ran after Joseph, carrying his boots, and threw them to Joseph just before he climbed into the back of the enclosed wagon. The short policeman climbed in with him and shackled him to the wagon bed. Joseph cried,

"Boys, check the precincts for me! Go to City Hall! Tell all the brethren that I'm in custody, somewhere..."

His voice was cut off by the slamming of the paddy-wagon doors. The tall policeman took his place on the dicky seat, whipped the horses, and in a few moments Joseph was gone.

"Well, what now?" said John Bernhisel, watching the paddy-wagon disappear into the black night.

"We've all seen this before", Phelps replied. "Do you recall Joseph's abduction at Dixon two years ago? The Legion scoured all of southern Illinois searching for him. New York can't be all that large, eh? We don't have the Legion, but we still have Saints here, and habeas corpus, and the rule of law...I hope..." His voice trailed off.

He thought for a moment, then he turned to John Bernhisel. "John, you know where all the Saints in Manhattan live. We'll meet at Columbia Hall in the Bowery in the morning at ten a.m. as we planned. From there, we can fan out, block by block if necessary, to find Brother Joseph. I'm already minded of a few places to look."

NEW YORK CITY, Sunday, August 25

It was pitch-black inside the paddy-wagon, and Joseph was left with just three sensations: The jarring of the wagon over the cobblestones, the clinking of his chains, and the overpowering stench of vomit inside the stuffy, enclosed space.

How many drunken sailors has this wagon carried? he pondered. Where are they taking me, and why?

Suddenly there was a hiss and a brief flash of light. The policeman had struck a friction-match and proceeded to light his pipe. The wagon's stench was soon augmented by a dry, acrid fog of tobacco smoke. It was simply too much for Joseph, who soon became quite nauseous.

The short policeman finally spoke. "Me name's Angus. Ye nevah been ina' paddy-wagon, b'ho?"

"No, not precisely", said Joseph, his watery eyes finally adjusting to the faint light from the pipe. "But something rather like it, in Richmond Missouri six years ago. I was shackled like this to the bed of a wagon, after being sentenced to be shot for treason. I've seen the inside of more prisons than you ever will, I daresay."

Angus's eyes widened. "Treason, eh? Ye don' look ta me like a traitor. An' sober ye be, not yair run-o'-the-mill bummer. Mor'va fancy-pants custom-house grifter I reckon, no?"

Joseph coughed and rubbed his eyes.

"I'm running for President", he said to the puzzled-looking policeman. "Never mind, it would take far too long to explain."

Finally, Joseph heard a faint "whoa", and the rumbling stopped. In a moment the back of the wagon opened, and the tall policeman reappeared. Angus unlocked Joseph's shackles from the wagon, and Joseph slid out and stood, thankfully taking in a lungful of clear night air.

They were standing by the corner of an old, Federalist style three-story brick office building.

"Begorra, this ain't the gaol?" said Angus in surprise.

"Na, me o'dahs is ta' bring'im ta' the Wigwam", said the tall policeman. "Second floah', onna' left, dey said."

By the dim gaslight, Joseph read the street signs on the corner of the building, to try and get his bearings.

Frankfort and Chatham Streets, he thought. Now, why do those names sound familiar?

"C'mon, da Boz is lookin' fer youse!" said the tall policeman. He frog-marched Joseph, clanking in his shackles, through the front door and up the stairs to the second floor landing. On the left side of the landing was a set of large, ornate double doors, with a fan-shaped glass transom above them. To the left of the doors was a large brass plaque that said:

TAMMANY SOCIETY OF NEW YORK

1783

Suddenly it all became clear to Joseph.

They summoned me here. What do they want with me?

The tall policeman knocked, and the doors swung open. They marched Joseph into the center of a large chamber which was fitted out rather like a courtroom with benches and railings. At the far end of the room running crosswise was a long table with four men sitting, and behind the table was a raised platform with an ornately-carved chair, resembling a throne. Two large candelabra stood on either side of the platform. Joseph recognized all the familiar trappings of a Masonic Hall.

Seated on the throne was the Grand Sachem of the Tammany Society, Robert H. Morris, former Mayor of New York City. He was a huge, lubberly man, and he was wearing a tall beaver hat with a deer's tail, the symbol of the Tammany Society.

"Hail, friends, well met! Come in, Mister Smith!" boomed the Grand Sachem from his throne. "We've been waiting for you. Allow me to introduce you to my friends:

"Martin Van Buren, former President and now Justice of the New York Court for the Correction of Errors,

"Silas Wright, United States Senator from New York and candidate for Governor,

"Senator Daniel Dickinson, former Lieutenant Governor of New York, and

"Mordecai Noah, former Grand Sachem of this society."

Joseph thought with surprise,

Why, these men are the heads of the 'Albany Regency' – the king-makers of New York State.

He looked around and said,

"This is not really a law-court, as I was led to believe. Your summons was but a legal sham to drag me here against my will. Why have you brought me here?"

The men all laughed. Robert Morris replied,

"In this town, we are the law. We have... a few questions for you, Mr. Smith. You see, we had heard that you might be passing through New York, and a, ah, mutual friend of ours tipped us off to your whereabouts."

Probably Thurlow Weed, Joseph thought. Another king-maker. There's no honor among thieves.

Martin Van Buren spoke. "Mister, er, Reverend Smith, you have been a burr under my saddle since we met in Washington five years ago. You have defamed me, questioned my honor, and belittled me in the press. Thanks in no small part to you and your ilk, I lost the election in forty, and my run for the Presidency this year is in serious jeopardy. Whatever the justice of your cause back then might have been, which I doubt, I owe you no allegiance now, and I have but one piece of advice for you: Go back and rusticate in your little village in Illinois, and stop meddling in national politics!"

From his throne, Robert Morris continued the harangue.

"Thank you, Matty. You see, Mister Smith, we like our politics nice an' tidy here in New York. An Irishman lands here, we find him a job an' housing, and pretty soon he's a true-blue Democrat. We work the cards, call in some debts, an' before you know it, we've picked the next Senator or judge or Governor, or e'en President, if we works it right. The Whigs operate pretty much the same way, only they mostly run the western half of the country, while we works the east. Nice an' tidy, no big surprises, steady as she goes. So, you see why we dislike gadflys such as yourself?"

Senator Dickinson spoke.

"Mr. Smith, what do you hope to accomplish by meddling in national politics? You have no business dabbling in these waters. From your little backwater in Illinois, you can't possibly know how the game is really played here, can you? You are out of your depth. Go home!"

Mordechai Noah took his turn.

"Rabbi Lyons tipped me off to you, said you might show up here. I've been following you, Smith. I know what you're preaching – 'the return of the Jews', as you view it. Listen to me: We don't need another goy telling us where to live! We have been driven and hounded, banished and burned by your kind, and we will return in our own good time, and not leave it up to some Gentile tokhes! Leave us be!"

Joseph was completely stunned by this last assault. He stood silent for a moment, then he said simply,

"You are correct, Mr. Noah. No man can ordain your return, only God. It shall come to pass in His way, in His time. But it shall come to pass, sooner than you think."

He gathered his strength, then turned to the other men and said,

"And as for the rest of you, permit me to be a 'political prophet' for a moment. You know not what seeds ye sow here. Your Democratic 'Hunker' movement, in your misguided attempt to placate the Southern States, will inexorably migrate south, while the abolitionist 'Barn-burner' wing of your party will move north, where it will coalesce with the remants of the Whig party. The political axis of this nation will finally tip from east-west, where you have held it fast it these past four decades, to north-south, dividing along its natural boundary, the Mason-Dixon Line. The Northern States shall be divided against the Southern States, and it shall be brother against brother, father against son, over states-rights and the slavery issue. You will all live to regret the day you 'hunkered' down, and the ruin you visited upon this nation, starting at this hall in New York City!"

Senator Wright leaned back, tapped his fingers on the table and said,

"We underestimated you, Joe. You do have a ken for politics, not to mention religion. So, if you're so smart, prophesy for me just how we go about avoiding this calamity of your'n?"

"If you've read my 'Views', the answer is clear", said Joseph, spreading his hands. "Buy up the slaves and free them, outlaw slavery, allow those who would to go back to Africa, educate the rest, and redeem this land from the curse it has labored under since the Constitution was ratified."

"Ridiculous", sneered Martin Van Buren. "Why, there isn't enough revenue in the national coffers to buy out a plantation, much less three million slaves – I should know. 'Tis a fool's errand to even think it!"

"Mister Smith, you still don't seem to fathom, we prefer to keep things the way they are", said Robert Morris. "Mr. Van Buren, when we gets him elected, will maintain the status quo ante, an' since he's entirely beholden to us for his high position, he'll truckle to us an' like it. We've run the country this way, from this very room since Aaron Burr was here, an' we're not about to pitch it all an' bow an' scrape before some self-styled 'prophet' from Illinois!"

"Then you are doomed", said Joseph. "You will all learn through bitter experience that what I said here this day is true. You are not the first mulekim, or king-men, to infest this land. Many centuries ago, your kind once usurped power over the voice of the people on this continent, leading to their utter destruction."

The Grand Sachem leaned forward and said soothingly,

"Mister Smith, Tammany is a benevolent society. We help the dispossessed, the hungry, e'en those who need a bit 'o cash. So, here's our final offer: Call off this pointless, dangerous campaign of yours, an' we'll pay you twenty thousand dollars in gold. Think about it, Joe... you could use it to finish your temple in Illinois, or maybe buy back your lands in Missouri – e'en charter a ship, and sail all your people to New Guinea, for all I care. The choice is yours." He knitted his fingers together, smiled, and leaned back in his huge chair.

"I have thought about it", said Joseph. "In fact, not o'er a week ago I had a similar offer from your Whig counterpart, Mr. Thurlow Weed. You are all of the same bolt of cloth. So allow me to make this very clear: You cannot buy me, or frighten me, or dissuade me from pursuing this campaign to its finish, so help me God!"

The Grand Sachem frowned and said, "Then you leave us no choice. Matty, will you please read the charges?"

Martin Van Buren lifted a sheet of paper, smiled at Joseph and read,

"Ahem. The aforesaid Joseph Smith, Junior is hereby charged with public disturbance, drunkenness, lewd conduct, bigamy, and vagrancy. The aforesaid prisoner to be remanded to the Halls of Justice, pending trial. Signed, Martin Van Buren, Judge."

He dropped the paper on the table and grinned. "You see, Smith, as a Chief Judge of the State of New York, I do have a bit 'o standing here. Guards! To The Tombs with this man!"

Joseph protested, "Then I appeal to you for clemency, as a fellow Mason!"

The Grand Sachem guffawed and said, "Mason, eh? We don't recon'ize that so-called Lodge o' your'n in Illinois. We follow the York Rite here – New York, that is. Guards! Away with this infidel!"

The two policemen came forward and dragged Joseph out of the "courtroom" and down the stairs, then they threw him back into the same noisome paddy-wagon he had arrived in. This time, both policemen rode up front, leaving Joseph alone in the back of the dark, stuffy wagon. Leaving Tammany Hall, they drove straight up Centre Street for about a half mile to Leonard Street, then stopped.

It was now about 4:30 in the morning, and dawn was breaking over the city. Joseph slid out of the back of the wagon, got to his feet and looked up at a massive granite building with sloping walls. Painted above the main entrance were the words, HALLS OF JUSTICE. This was "The Tombs", the most famous prison in America.

Looks rather like the Antonia Fortress in Jerusalem, Joseph thought idly, but he had little time for speculation. The policemen quickly hustled him through a long, dark corridor into the center of the prison, and he found himself in a large paved courtyard, with a gallows standing ominously in the exact center. Two prison guards in grey uniforms approached him.

"Bumme's cell, sign heah", said the tall policeman, holding out two copies of Joseph's mittimus for the guards to sign. They removed Joseph's shackles, then, their work completed, the two policemen disappeared out the front entrance, leaving Joseph in the care of the prison guards.

Joseph looked around and sized up his new home. The Tombs was actually four prisons, surrounding a rectangular courtyard – one wing for men, one for boys, one for women, and the last for witnesses, who were sometimes also incarcerated pending trial. The massive, Egyptian-style building had been built on a swamp in 1835, and was already sinking into the mire. Worse, a fire had broken out just two years prior to Joseph's arrival, and much of the woodwork was still charred and blackened. There was a malodorous, unhealthy stench about the place.

As Joseph trudged up the stairway to the second level, he reviewed in his mind the many prisons he had occupied in the last twenty years.

Let me recall... South Bainbridge, Colesville, Richmond, Liberty, Dixon, Carthage... Now, The Tombs. I can ride this one out, as well. The Lord has always come to my assistance aforetimes. This is no different. They can't hold me here unlawfully for very long. I only wish I could address the Saints in the Branch here this morning, as I had planned. Perhaps I can write them a letter...

Joseph's reverie was interrupted by one of the guards, who cried, "Stand clear o' the door!" They were standing before the "bummer's cell", a holding pen for drunks. The door creaked open, Joseph was thrust inside, and the door crashed shut.

The cell was about forty feet square, and must have held about a hundred men, by Joseph's estimate. Most were in various states of intoxication – unconscious, in a stupor, or sometimes vomiting. Several of the men were suffering from delirium tremens and babbling incoherently. The only light, save from the barred door, came from a narrow slit window in the far wall, so high that a man could not see out of it. Joseph stepped carefully over several unconscious men, trying not to disturb them, and sat down on one of the few unoccupied bits of floor in the cell. The man on his left was still unconscious. The one on his right sized him up and said,

"Ye ain'ta bummer. I kin tell a bummer when I sees'un, and ye nae do look like a bummer. Fancy britches, clean white shirt... yair a grifter, right? An' stone cold sober to boot. If 'n ye ain'ta bummer, what brings ye 'ere?"

Joseph replied sadly, "I was immured here on a false mittimus. I've done nothing wrong."

This brought hoots of derision from several of the men who were listening in.

Joseph explained. "I crossed Tammany, and this is their way of paying me back."

"Ach, 'tis a bad job fer ye", said another prisoner. "Ye dinna mell on'a Boss, did ye? T' Boss, he nae' do take kindly t'been' crossed. Krikey, ye may niver gae' oot o'here!"

"You'll see, I'll be out of here on the morrow", Joseph replied hopefully.

The Tammanys must truly think me a bugbear, to go to such lengths to silence me, he thought. Perhaps I'm causing more of an affray for them than I thought...

He looked around the holding cell.

These are the dregs of the earth, the offscouring of humanity. And yet, each one of them is a son of God in need of salvation. Not four months ago, I preached on how 'the prisoners shall go free'... and they shall...

At about ten a.m. two guards approached the bummer's cell.

"Preacher's 'ere! Ever'one out!" cried the turn-key. They opened the cell door and herded the more sober inhabitants out, leaving about a dozen still-unconscious bodies lying in the cell. As they descended the stairs, Joseph looked across the courtyard to the women's wing, and saw a procession of nuns entering, presumably to administer to the women's spiritual needs as well.

They were led down to the main corridor, where a man in a long, dark swallowtail suit was standing next to a box near the entrance to the prison.

The prison constable took his place next to the dark-suited man and bawled out:

"Aw'right, youse scurvy, pestilent bumme's! Docta' Elisha Mitchell from Columbia College is heah ta' talk some sense inta' ye! So listen up!"

Dr. Mitchell stood upon his box, squinted through his pince-nez spectacles, and began to speak. The long, arched ceiling of the corridor gave his voice a hollow, sepulchral tone.

"Men, as you know, there are certain substances which seem to have been prepared and intended by Almighty God expressly for the food and sustenance of man. Such are the seeds of the different kinds of grain: of wheat and corn. Water was as evidently intended for his drink, and on proper occasions and due moderation being observed in the use of it – wine.

"There are other substances which, if taken in very minute quantity into the stomach, throw the whole system into tumult and disorder, and unless they are quickly removed, death ensues. Such are arsenic and various other poisons, both mineral and vegetable, which it is unnecessary to specify.

"Hence also is manifest the danger of the most distant approaches to that gloomy gulf, deliverance from which is hardly, if at all, (and the hand of Almighty God being visibly stretched out to pluck us from ruin) to be expected. Let no one regard intemperance as a monster from whose jaws it is easy to escape when we have been once brought within the circle of his power. Experience has proved, that no amount of native talent, of information or firmness of character, is a security. If the grim tyrant Habit have thrown his chains around us, it is all but hopeless to struggle with our fate. Before those chains shall have been fairly rivetted, our whole constitution, physical, intellectual and moral, will have undergone a change, and we shall no longer be the men we were..."

By now, most of the prisoners were looking around in boredom, shuffling their feet. It was obvious to Joseph that the doctor was getting nowhere with these men. He gradually worked his way to the front of the crowd, until he was standing about five feet from the doctor. Joseph whispered in the Constable's ear, and the Constable thought for a moment and then nodded to him.

Dr. Mitchell droned on like this for about another 15 minutes, then he stepped down. With the Constable's approval, Joseph stepped forward and shook the doctor's hand and said meekly,

"A fine speech, sir. I too am a preacher, and in truth I have more than a little experience with temperance speeches. Might I be permitted to add a few words of my own?"

The doctor took the bait, and nodded his consent. Joseph was in his element now. He stepped up on the box and said,

"Ahem... The good doctor here has given a fine speech on the physical effects of intemperance. I shall now address the spiritual effects. For indeed, you shall never escape this curse until you first address the spiritual, as well as the physical being. The Spirit can have a more powerful effect on a man than any argument of logic. Now hear what God has said, respecting the use of intoxicating substances!

"Behold, verily, thus saith the Lord unto you: In consequence of evils and designs which do and will exist in the hearts of conspiring men in the last days, I have warned you, and forewarn you, by giving unto you this word of wisdom by revelation –

"That inasmuch as any man drinketh wine or strong drink among you, behold it is not good, neither meet in the sight of your Father, only in assembling yourselves together to offer up your sacraments before him..."

By the time Joseph finished his sermon, he had the rapt attention of at least half of the men. Before stepping down, he said,

"Our congregation meets at Columbia Hall on Grand Street, a few doors east of the Bowery, at ten a.m. each Sunday. We welcome you there."

The Constable stepped up on the box and boomed out,

"Aw'right, line up onna right fo' discha'ge! When yo' name is called, step ta th' left!" He began reading from his list of prisoners to be discharged:

"Abbott! Bates! Chidester! Donebergh! Kearney! McDonegal! Maloney!"

By the end, about two thirds of the "bummers" were released back to the streets, but Joseph's name was not on the list. Disappointed, he joined the remaining prisoners as they were marched back to the holding cell.

"Smith!"

Joseph turned expectantly. The Constable was motioning for him.

"Yeah, youse! Fall out Smith, ye ain't no rummey, ye've made that pe'fectly clea'! Upstea's ye go, ta th' pahtments!"

Above the main prison entrance were six apartments reserved for the more upper-class criminals. Joseph was escorted to number four, and the door screeched shut behind him.

He looked around at his new quarters. The room was about eight feet square, with a table and a straw pallet to sleep on, and a barred window at the far end, through which he could actually view Centre Street. He was the only occupant of the cell. He walked over to the window and gazed out at the Sunday traffic below.

I'm sure by now, the whole Branch has been alerted to my abduction, he thought. They'll be looking for me. At any rate, I've preached my Sunday sermon, in spite of earth and hell. I only hope some good can come of it...

By this time, it had been some thirty hours since Joseph last slept. He fell down on the cot, exhausted, and quickly lapsed into a deep sleep.

NEW YORK CITY, Monday, August 26

Some time past midnight on Monday morning, Joseph suddenly awoke and rubbed his eyes. It was almost pitch-black in the cell, with only a bit of light stealing in from the courtyard through the slit in the door. He slid to his feet and wandered over to the cell door to peer out. As he leaned his forearms against the door, it silently swung open.

Must be an oversight, he thought. Someone must have forgotten to lock it.

He carefully peeked out to the left and right, up and down the gangway, but saw no one. Curious, he groped his way back to the cot and slipped on his boots, then he returned to the door. He gently rocked it back and forth, listening for the usual screeching sound. Again it glided silently, as if the hinges were oiled.

How peculiar, he thought.

He summoned his courage and stepped out onto the gangway.

I could be shot while escaping, he thought, as he carefully tiptoed down the stairway towards the main entrance. Is this how Teancum felt, feeling his way through the city of Moroni?

He glanced about the courtyard and saw no one. He carefully peeked around the edge of the central corridor, and spied two guards standing watch at the entrance.

Now, what should I do? Either this is a dream, or else I'm being guided to some end. Either way, they can't harm me.

He took a deep breath, stepped boldly out into the corridor, and began walking towards the main gate. As he approached the gate, it swung open noiselessly. The guards took no notice of him. Joseph stepped out onto Centre Street and took his bearings.

Lower Manhattan was a cats-cradle of narrow, intersecting streets with no real north-south pattern, and no "avenues", just "streets" pointing every direction of the compass. Joseph quickly realized he was lost.

A shame that Peter Stuyvesant didn't adopt my plan for the City of Zion, he observed. When we left Tammany Hall, we must have continued straight up Centre Street.

He looked up at the moonless night sky and found the North Star, then he started walking in a southwest direction. In about two blocks he came to Pearl Street, which he knew cut a huge sweeping arc from Broadway in the north to the Battery at the southern end of Manhattan.

This is better, he thought. My boarding-house is down Pearl Street, but that's the first place they'll look for me. Better to find a sympathetic Saint to take shelter with...

He was still not entirely convinced that this was anything more than a dream. He headed southeast on Pearl Street to Madison, climbed the steps of a brownstone and softly knocked on the door. In a few moments he heard light footsteps, and then the door opened a crack. He heard a woman's gasp, and the door quickly slammed shut. Joseph knocked again, more loudly this time.

"Sister Rhoda, 'tis I, Joseph!"

Presently he heard a heavier set of footsteps, and Joseph Richards opened the door. He seized the younger Joseph by the hand, pulled him inside, quickly shut the door, and clasped him in his arms.

Joseph Richards was a thin, slightly built man of about sixty years of age, the very antithesis of his portly son Willard. He held Joseph Smith by the shoulders at arms length, beamed at him and said,

"You'll have to forgive Rhoda for slammin' the door on ye, Joseph, she thought she'd seen Saint Peter. Where have ye been? When we heard in Church that tha' were taken prisoner, we fanned out all over Manhattan, lookin' for thee, to no avail."

Joseph explained how he had been abducted to Tammany Hall, his audience before the Grand Sachem, his incarceration in The Tombs, and his miraculous escape. He swore them to secrecy concerning his location.

"No one must know I am here", he said. "New York is much too close for me now, yet I have one more speech to deliver ere I take my leave of this great city."
CHAPTER 14

NEW YORK CITY, Monday, August 26

At about nine a.m. a policeman mounted the steps of the brownstone at 143 Madison Street and knocked on the door. Joseph Richards went to the door and nervously asked, "Who is it?"

"Police!" came the reply.

Joseph Smith quickly retreated to a back bedroom, ready to slip out the window into the alley if necessary.

Joseph Richards waited a long moment, steeled up his courage and slowly opened the door, only to find to his joy that the policeman was none other than William Pratt, Parley's brother. William had been on a mission in New York since April, and was working in the 4th Ward precinct to support his family.

William smiled at Joseph Richards and asked softly, "Any word of Brother Joseph?"

Joseph Richards pondered the irony of this for a moment, then he quietly motioned for William to enter. At the same time, Joseph Smith stepped out of the back bedroom into the hallway. The two men embraced, and Joseph rehearsed again the story of his capture and escape.

"Now, Brother William, I have a plan", said Joseph. "I must get to the convention at the Military Hall without being detected. So, if you are willing, here is what we shall do..."

At about eleven, Joseph warily approached Military Hall on the Bowery, wearing William Pratt's blue New York Police dress coat and cap. He approached Parley P. Pratt from behind, tapped him on the shoulder, and cleared his throat.

"Ahem, Parley, a pleasant day, what think you?"

Parley turned, startled, and looked as if he had seen a ghost.

Joseph smiled at Parley, clasped him by the shoulders and said,

"Parley, what's wrong? You're as grave as a mustard pot. Rejoice! 'tis I, Brother Joseph, in the flesh, escaped from The Tombs."

Parley, nearly overcome with emotion, replied,

"Forgive me, Brother Joseph. I'm so overjoyed to see you at last, after the awful tidings of Hyrum's death, as well as your close scrape at Carthage. And when we heard yesterday that you were in prison somewhere, yet again, we scoured the town for you, to no avail. When you didn't arrive here at ten, as appointed, we feared the worst. I was near to calling off the meeting, just as you appeared. "

"Parley, do you recall two years ago when Sheriff Reynolds tried to run me off to Missouri? I knew then, as soon as I saw the Nauvoo Legion coming towards me on the road, that those were my boys and I was safe. And so it shall be today, even in Nineveh on the Hudson!" He gazed warily up and down the street. "Still, I should feel safer inside amongst friends, I'll wager..."

He glanced down Elm Street, and noticed four policemen forcibly loading someone into a paddy wagon.

Brother William played me well, he thought.

Before entering Military Hall, he gave a few words of instruction to Parley, who nodded his agreement. Inside the hall, Joseph was greeted joyously by about fifty Saints and political friends. He stripped off the police coat and took a seat at the back of the hall.

Parley P. Pratt came forward and took his place at the podium, and began his keynote speech.

"This meeting was convened for political purposes, and such a purpose as would be acceptable to God. It is high time that the people of the Union and the land awoke from their lethargy, as the people have been living in slavery for the last ten years! We have seen black men hung without judge or jury – white men hung without trial – Catholic churches sacked and burned down, here and in Philadelphia – convents demolished, and 15,000 Latter-day Saints driven from their homes in Missouri and murdered – and this done under the highest authority in the land at Missouri!

"Myself, Brother Joseph, and Hyrum all languished in jail at Richmond and Liberty for six months, under a trumped-up charge of treason! The Governor of Missouri was a murderer, and so was the Legislature, and so was their military, who plundered us of $240,000 worth of horses, cattle, and property. Van Buren refused to aid us, and so did the country – and all had failed; in this state of things we could do nothing but look to ourselves.

"The constitution guaranteed us the free exercise of religion; but it was a mockery, as the State of Missouri was backed up by a pack of robbers – murder, treason, rebellion, robbery, and plunder could be laid at their door. Henry Clay was also accessory to murder, as well as Van Buren, for he too, in 1839, denied us any assistance. Brother Joseph addressed a letter to Clay and his reply was that he would not pledge himself to us.

"Mr. Polk is a slaveholder, and he would extend that wretched custom into Texas, if it is annexed. He is an enemy to the free exercise of religious principles.

"In light of this, which of the two parties, Democrats or Whigs, have given a groat for the sufferings of the Latter-day Saints? Neither!

"I am tooth and nail against any species of religious oppression, whether against the Catholic, the Mormon, the Heathen, or the Jew, and to remedy these grievances, I will vote for and nominate Joseph Smith, the 'Mormon Prophet,' as a candidate for the next Presidency."

The crowd cheered loudly at this.

"The Constitution has been trampled under foot and we have been governed worse than in the days of Nero, by the political jugglers of the country. I would sooner be a Quaker, and not vote at all, than vote for such men as Clay or Polk or Van Buren."

Parley glanced at the back of the hall, and noticed through the glass vestibule windows that several men were approaching the entrance. In a moment two policemen and a half dozen men in top hats and red shirts entered the front door, swinging truncheons.

William's ruse must have worked, but not for long, Parley thought. This time, they're not here to swap tales...

"We're lookin' fer Joe Smith!" the Sargent cried.

Meekly, Parley stepped down from the podium and walked slowly to the back of the hall, his head bowed, with his arms extended as if ready to receive his shackles.

"Yer comin' with us, an' no tricks this time!" the sergeant said to him.

They hustled "Joseph" out of the hall, and in a few moments the clip-clop of the horses' hooves signaled their departure.

Joseph breathed a sigh of relief, walked to the front of the hall, and said,

"My friends, my remarks will of necessity be short here. The enemy is on the prowl, and I fear I must soon take my leave of you. I second what Brother Parley has just spoken."

Joseph looked out over the audience and recognized several of the "bummers" he had preached to in the Tombs the day before.

"Would to God that our citizens, one and all, would take the same stand as I, and we would then select officers for the good of the country, and not for the especial advancement of a faction. Would we could invoke the spirit that animated those who bled for the privilege which our citizens as a body seem not to appreciate and let it rest on their descendants – we would then have no occasion to record the delinquency of men high in authority, as it is very often our painful duty now – but men would be selected with a view to the best interests of the country.

"Gentlemen, my time is up, and I must bid you all adieu. I thank you for your efforts in my behalf, against all odds, in this great city of New York. Please carry on, and remember me in November when you cast your votes."

This brought loud and prolonged cheers from the audience. Joseph quietly stepped down and exited through the back door of the hall.

NORWALK, Tuesday, August 27

Joseph Smith, William W. Phelps, and William Clayton attended a convention of the National Party in Connecticut at the Norwalk Town House on Mill Hill. Joseph thanked those present for giving him a far more cordial welcome than that he had received in New York just the day previous.

NAUVOO, Tuesday, August 27

In the afternoon Emma left the Mansion along with Elizabeth Ann Whitney, her Counselor in the Female Relief Society. They hitched up the wagon, made a brief stop at the Red Brick Store for supplies, and then they headed out to the flats to visit the poor.

"I've been away for too long by far", Emma had protested, when Elizabeth had suggested that she remain confined at home. "Despite my condition, I feel a pressing need to minister to these poor Saints. The brethren promised back in July that they would clear out the poor camp, and I intend to see whether they have made good on their word."

Elizabeth drove the wagon along the River Road for about a half mile until they approached the flats. The women could see that the poor camp was not gone, but instead had been transformed. In place of the rude lean-tos, wagon-boxes and tents, about a dozen small log cabins had sprung up.

Emma stood up on the wagon and surveyed the scene. The swamps had been drained, the animals had been corralled and penned, the children were better dressed, and the air smelled more salubrious.

"Well, this is not quite what I had in mind, but it is an improvement", Emma said to Elizabeth. "Drive on."

Elizabeth looked around, smiled and said,

"You're right, Sister Emma. In July the specter of death hung over this place. But now I feel a spirit of peace and contentment here."

Elizabeth stopped the wagon beside the small log cabin of Sarah Worthingham Davenport. Emma winced as Elizabeth helped her down from the seat.

"I'll be all right", Emma said, looking around.

The cabin now boasted a new shake roof, a proper chimney, and even a front door with a latch. To one side of the door was a tiny window, complete with nine bulls-eye glass panes.

"Well, this is quite an improvement", Emma said as she knocked on the door. A tall, strapping young man opened the door and said with a Midlands English accent,

"Good day to ye ladies, an' what brings ye 'ere this fine mornin'?"

Sarah Davenport peeked around the man and then cried,

"Why bless my soul, 'tis Sisters Smith and Whitney! Prithee come in!"

"God bless all within this house", Emma intoned as she entered. Then she paused as she noticed others in the dimly-lit room.

"I'm sorry, I was unaware that you had company", she said. "Perhaps we should return..."

"Re-turn mah foot, we lives heah na'!" said Prudence Bigelow. "Y'all c'mon in!"

"Sisters, you do honor us with your presence", said the man. "I'm Charles Davenport, and you seem to 'ave made the acquaintance of Sister Bigelow and 'er son George, 'ere. Please, do be seated."

Emma marveled as she seated herself in one of the two chairs in the tiny house. Four souls under this one small roof, she thought.

Sarah spoke. "Immediately following your visit, sisters, I invited Prudence an' her son to move in with me. I canna' thank thee sufficient for introducing me them when I was alone an' depressed of spirits. They have been ever so helpful and kind – putting the roof on, driving pegs in the walls, chinking up the logs an' so forth. My dear Charles returned from his mission a short time ago, with that beautiful little window-pane you see up there."

Emma marveled at the transformation in Sarah.

This, from a woman who must have had a dozen fine windows to look out of in England, she thought.

Prudence chimed in. "Shoot, ef hit warn't fer you two sista's, ma George'd prolly be deed or wuss ba' na'! Sista' Sarah hyer nussed'im back'ter hea'th, an' now we's jist repayin' the fava'! They's bread in'a pantry, an' meat on'er table, an'a Lord Jesus inar hearts na'! Whee-dee! What more kin'a body axe fer?"

NAUVOO, Wednesday, August 28

Elders Wilford Woodruff, Dan Jones, and Hiram Clark with their families started this afternoon for England. The brethren and their families boarded the steamer Osprey just before 10:00 a.m., as a chorus of Welshmen performed this old Welsh sea-chantey:

It was the day I bid farewell

To the beloved land of Wales

With its rich old green lands.

A mighty gale arose

The waves did roar

And washed o'er our ship like lace.

Refrain:

Come Wales' coast

We're on our way,

To voyage round the Horn,

Round the Horn

On the third day of the week

Just before the evening

We passed by the shore

The craggy shore

As the Osprey backed away from the lower boat landing, Dan Jones watched with a twinge of regret. On the opposite side of the dock was the sunken Hyrum Smith, now awash up to the cargo deck.

Once the Osprey was safely past the rapids at Montrose, and the families were all settled into their cabins, Dan stepped out onto the deck to "take a soundin'", as he put it. He wandered around the main deck, admired the four huge steam boilers, and watched the crew busily stoking the fireboxes. He climbed up to the hurricane deck and examined the ornate "Steamboat Gothic" woodwork. He looked wistfully toward the bow and felt the deck shift as the pilot steered the Osprey toward the middle of the river.

Hug the bank goin' upstream, use the main channel goin' downstream, he thought. The first rule of riverboatin'.

He climbed up to the Texas deck and looked up at the two towering chimneys belching smoke and sparks. He listened to the roar of the escape valves as they shot plumes of steam twenty feet straight up. Then he wandered idly over to the pilot house and peeked in. He could see that Captain Anderson was training a new cub pilot in the intricacies of navigating the world's crookedest river.

Dan slipped quietly through the side door and took up a position at the back of the pilot house, next to the pot-bellied stove, and stuck his hands in his pockets. The captain and pilot took no notice of him.

"See that rough patch o' water off to labboard, Mr. Clemens? That's a cut bank. See tha' tother rough patch off to stabboard? That's naught but waves, stirred up by the wind. Think ye kin tell the diff'rence?"

"No, sir", young Mr. Clemens said nervously.

"The cut bank'll tear your boat to flinders. The waves'll only upset some fool passenger's drink. Now, which would ye ruther plow through?"

This conversation went on for about five minutes. Dan was remembering his first days as a cub river pilot, when without looking back Captain Anderson said,

"Mister Jones, are you gonna slouch back there all day with yo' teeth in yo' mouth, or do I hafta rip this fool wheel out an' hand it to you? Git up here an' take the helm!"

Dan nearly leaped at the opportunity. "Yes, sir!" he said as he took the wheel from the young pilot.

"I heard about you losin' the Hyrum", Captain Anderson said softly. "They ain't nothin' more sadful than a grounded riverboat captain."

Dan was back in his element. He grinned and said, "Believe me, Mr. Anderson, I'm noothin' fer that! Now I 'ave anoother Captain, an' e's callin' me back ta me naytive land!"

NAUVOO, Thursday, August 29

In the morning Brigham Young learned that Sidney Rigdon was in Nauvoo, beating the bushes for proselytes to his new church. Brigham sent a messenger requesting that Sidney meet with him, or else Brigham would come to him. Sidney showed up outside Brigham's house at about 2:30, in anything but a conciliatory mood.

With Brigham were Heber C. Kimball and Willard Richards. Without mentioning Porter Rockwell's report of the events up in Hampton, Brigham began the interview by shaking Sidney's hand.

"Brother Sidney, so good to see you again! I trust that your family is well?"

"Well enough, thank'e", Sidney said curtly. "Now tell me, why have you summoned me here? I am a busy man."

"Indeed you are", said Brigham, smiling. "I hear tell you have some kind of a following up near Hampton. Tell me about that."

"That is none of your affair!" Sidney snapped. "I do not answer to you, or the Twelve! I have power and authority above the Twelve Apostles and do not consider myself amenable to their counsel. Before Joseph Smith abdicated the Presidency of this Church, he ordained me a prophet, seer and revelator! The Church has not been led by God for a long time, and I have been called by Him to restore it to its pure and undefiled condition. I am the true guardian of the Church until young Joseph is of age, and no man or earthly tribunal can take that away from me!"

Heber leaned forward and said, "Brother Rigdon, I am grieved to hear you speak this way. I can recall when you would stand by Brother Joseph to the death. You vowed to defend his life with your own. Tell me, what has happened to change your opinion of him?"

"Tis not I who have changed, but you and he! You have introduced corrupt doctrines into the Church, doctrines we had no notion of when the Church was established in 1830. I am determined to come out and expose the secrets of the Church!"

Brigham said, "Would you betray the solemn covenants you made to uphold this kingdom? Sidney, I urge you to reconsider this. Think long and carefully about what you are doing. We of the Twelve stand ready to welcome you back into the fold."

"I am far from feeling an interest with the Twelve. I want no part of this cabal."

Brigham sat back and sighed. "Then you leave me no choice but to demand your license."

"You shall not have it", Sidney snapped.

"As you wish. I had hoped it would not come to this. I am authorized by Joseph Smith to call a court of excommunication, if you persist in this behavior."

"Then hold your court, and be damned!" Sidney said as he stood up to leave.

PROVIDENCE, Friday, August 30

Joseph and the two Williams met with a conference of the Saints in Providence, Rhode Island, which was presided over by Elder Levi Richards, Willard's brother. Joseph recounted his adventures in New York, including his stay with Levi's parents, and expressed his satisfaction at the progress of the Church in Providence.

NAUVOO, Sunday, September 1

Elder Sidney Rigdon was excommunicated from the Church. Among the charges leveled against him by the Twelve were insubordination; claiming to hold keys and authority above any man or set of men in the Church; and ordaining men to positions not recognized as properly belonging to the Church.

In one of his public meetings, Sidney Rigdon also had predicted that the building of the temple would cease, and prophesied that there would not be another stone raised upon the walls of the temple. When William Player, the temple foreman, heard of this he immediately took with him Archibald and John Held, and set a stone upon the temple wall.

Once the stone was set in place, William Player turned to his two companions, wiped his hands and said with satisfaction,

"There now... t'is plain to me who the true Prophet o' the Chairch is, and it ain't Sidney Rigdon."

MARSHFIELD, Monday, September 2

Joseph paid a visit to Daniel Webster at his farm near Boston.

Mr. Webster had been the very embodiment of American politics since he was first elected to the U.S. House of Representatives in 1813. Born in 1782, just five years before the Constitution was written, he was too young to be one of the "Founding Fathers". However, he embraced the founder's principles with a zeal that made him the last great Federalist, long after that political party had died out.

In 1834 Webster was one of the founders of the Whig Party. In 1841 he was appointed Secretary of State by President William Henry Harrison, a position he retained under President John Tyler until 1843. As the nation's elder statesman, he represented the northern "pole" of American politics – the "Union or Nothing" position. In contrast, if there was a south pole, it would almost certainly be John C. Calhoun, the champion of states rights and "Slavery or Nothing".

"Mr. Smith, I am pleased to meet you at long last", Webster said politely as he invited Joseph and his companions into his parlor. "Please, be seated."

Even at the age of sixty-two, Daniel Webster had a presence about him that commanded respect from others. He had argued many of the most important, precedent-setting legal cases before the U.S. Supreme Court and in Congress, and at his age was not easily awed by other men.

Joseph noticed that Webster had a strong physical resemblance to Sidney Rigdon, with a high, receding forehead, piercing eyes – like burning anthracite, almost – bushy white hair, and a perpetual scowl that made him look more stern than perhaps he really was.

Webster knitted his hands in front of his chest and gave Joseph a tight smile.

"So, I understand you want to be President", he said grimly. "I have toyed with that idea a few times, myself."

"'Want' may be too strong a word", said Joseph. "I do it out of necessity, for my people and my country."

"Hmph... I have heard that speech before", Webster said sarcastically. "Every man who aspires to be President does it reluctantly and out of a sense of, ah, duty to his fellowmen. Do you know that I have known personally every man who sought or held that office since Thomas Jefferson! Tell me, Mr. Smith, are you an ambitious man? Aaron Burr was ambitious, and that ambition nearly destroyed our young nation. Or are you truly motivated by love for your country, as you claim?"

"I am the least ambitious man that ever walked the face of the earth", Joseph said mildly. "When I think back to my humble beginnings in Vermont and New York, I can scarce believe that God has made me what I am today. I am his obedient servant, and I do nothing but what God has ordained me to do."

Webster looked askance. "Then you are more than ambitious – you are either a fanatic, a charlatan, or the greatest patriot since George Washington. You leave yourself no middle ground, in my view."

He studied Joseph for a moment, then leaned forward and said,

"Mr. Smith, as I have studied your campaign platform I have been concerned about several of your proposals. I fear that you are stirring up issues that could tear this union apart if left unchecked. For decades now, we have maintained a tenuous balance betwixt North and South, East and West. Now you come along and overturn the whole apple cart with your notions of freeing the slaves, and annexing Texas, and Oregon, and Canada! Tell me, what do you hope to accomplish by all this?"

"I seek freedom and justice for the oppressed, whomever they may be", said Joseph. "Whatever you may have read about me, I did not set out on this campaign principally to free the slaves. My own people have suffered cruelly at the hands of those who were sworn to uphold the Constitution. But whether by the hands of mobbers driving myself and my friends out of Missouri, or by the hand of a master holding his slaves in abject servitude, it is the same, tyrannical principle I have vowed to abolish."

"In your estimation, is there no room for compromise?" said Webster. "I helped save the Union in 1820 with the Missouri Compromise. He is a poor diplomat who has not learned how to meet his opponent halfway."

"In my estimation, the Missouri Compromise was a pact with the Devil, Mr. Webster. The Wilmot Proviso can extend the Mason-Dixon Line all the way to China, and it still won't resolve the slavery issue! The longer we dally, the more grave the disease becomes! Sooner or later our nation must face this issue head-on. I choose sooner."

Webster frowned again, then he waved his finger.

"Mr. Smith, I warn you, if you press slavery too hard, it will lead to civil war! I know from long experience that the Southern Whigs and the 'Hunker' Democrats are absolutely adamant and unbending when they are pressed about giving up their slaves."

Webster leaned back in his chair and placed his fingertips together.

"You see, the South views slavery from a purely economic stance. To them, slaves are property, nothing more. The slave owners are incensed that we Northerners would presume to take their property away from them. The North on the other hand, at least the northern abolitionists, views slavery purely as a moral issue. To them, slavery is simply wrong. Do you see the disconnection here?"

"I do indeed", said Joseph. "That is why I propose purchasing the slaves from their masters and setting them free. And if that plan fails, well, better a civil war now than fifteen or twenty years from now. The Constitution may hang by a thread, but the Union will be preserved, if necessary by the shedding of blood. And in the end, all Americans will be free, whatever their race, religion or color."

"Then you let slip the dogs of war", said Webster. "We have faced this crisis several times before, in particular in 1820 and 1832. Each time, we were able to prevent a rupture because we had a strong President who refused to let the South quietly slip away. I have no such confidence in Mr. Tyler. He is a weak, unpopular little man, and would likely be the first to bid adieu to the South. And Mr. Polk – 'Young Hickory' – if elected, would do the same. Mr. Clay, a slaveowner, might have the spine, but even with him, I have my doubts. And Mr. Van Buren – heh – my long experience with 'Old Kinderhook' persuades me that he would likely be the first to capitulate to the South."

Webster sniffed, looked left and right, then said quietly,

"Mr. Smith, I am forced to admit, however reluctantly, that some of your views have merit. There are no longer any alternatives. Like you, I believe that this nation is living on borrowed time. How many times have we crammed the slavery and states' rights djinnis back into their bottles, only to have them burst forth in more fearsome guise? Twenty years ago the North was willing to look the other way on slavery; today, the abolitionist movement is clamoring for its eradication. We barely averted a civil war in '32, but not until President Jackson sent troops to quell the Nullification movement in South Carolina. I have stood by the Union with absolute disregard of personal consequences, yet today, as I look around the halls of Congress, I scarce can find a single statesman willing to go the lengths we did to save the Union, time after time! I am the last of my generation; when I am gone, who will hold this nation together?"

Joseph looked intently at Daniel Webster, then he replied,

"Mr. Webster, you know not how hard-beset the Union shall come to be. This nation will be on the verge of crumbling to pieces and tumbling to the ground, and when the Constitution is on the brink of ruin, the Elders of the Church of Jesus Christ will be the staff upon which this nation shall lean, and they shall bear the Constitution away from the very verge of destruction. You may not believe me, but you shall live to see the fulfillment of this prophecy."

BOSTON, Wednesday, September 4

Joseph arose early, read from the Book of Mormon and Bible, and composed a short letter to Emma.

In the afternoon Joseph, William Clayton and W.W. Phelps took a tour of Boston's historic sites. They visited the Old State House, site of the Boston Massacre; the Old South Meeting House, where the Boston Tea Party first assembled; Fanueil Hall, called the "Cradle of Liberty"; and the Granary Burying Grounds, the final resting place of three of the signers of the Declaration of Independence.

Later that afternoon Joseph and William viewed Bunker Hill and Concord. While there, William W. Phelps and William Clayton gave a very moving recital of the "Concord Hymn", which they sang to the tune WYNDHAM. This poem had been composed by Ralph Waldo Emerson in 1837. Mr. Emerson was a resident of Concord.

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,

Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,

Here once th'embattled farmers stood,

And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;

Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;

And Time the ruined bridge has swept

Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,

We set to-day a votive stone;

That memory may their deed redeem,

When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those heroes dare

To die, or leave their children free,

Bid Time and Nature gently spare

The shaft we raise to them and thee.

"Amen", said Joseph and the others.

BOSTON, Thursday, September 5

Joseph and his brethren met the Church in Boston, at Boylston Hall, in conference. Sixteen branches were represented, containing 878 members. A great deal of valuable instruction was given by the brethren, and the hall, a very large one, was crowded. A number were baptized during the conference.

The Boston Daily Atlas printed the following article:

JOE. SMITH–THE PRESIDENCY.

We find in the Nauvoo Neighbor of May 29th, a lengthy letter from Joseph Smith a candidate for the Presidency on his own hook, to Henry Clay, the Whig candidate for the same office. It appears to be a new rule of tactics for two rival candidates to enter into a discussion of their respective claims to that high office, just preceding an election. Smith charges Clay with shrinking from the responsibility of promising to grant whatever the Mormons might ask, if elected to the Presidency.

Smith has not been troubled with any inquiries of committees as to what measures he will recommend if elected; nevertheless he has come out boldly and volunteered his views of certain measures which he is in favor of having adopted. One is for the General Government to purchase the slaves of the South and set them free, that we can understand. Another is to pass a general uniform land law; that certainly requires the spirit of interpretation to show its meaning as no explanation accompanies it. Another which no doubt will be very congenial to the candidate's nervous system, is to open all the prison doors in the country, and set the captive free. These with some other suggestions equally as enlightened, ought to be sufficient to satisfy any man that Joseph Smith is willing that his principles shall be publicly known.

Smith had an audience at Marshfield recently with the Hon. Daniel Webster, who has come out swinging in favor of Smith's candidacy. Webster opined that, "Whatever may be the merits or demerits of Smith's religious fantasies, I find his political views to be spot on, and just the remedy that our country needs at this critical time. When compared against the miasmic emanations coming from Clay, Polk, and Van Buren, Smith's views are as a morning zephyr to the nation."

Joseph was pleased to see that Daniel Webster was openly endorsing him.

"I was hoping for just this sort of endorsement", he said. "Although we may have our differences, Webster's political views correspond more nearly to my own than any other figure in the body politic."

"This is my last campaign stop, save for Buffalo", he declared to his friends. "You don't know what a relief that is to me. I am far more comfortable as a Prophet than as President-in-waiting. I can scarce wait to return to my beloved family and friends in Nauvoo."

In the evening Joseph and William Clayton boarded the train for Albany and continued traveling all night. William W. Phelps stayed behind to continue campaigning for Joseph in the East.

ALBANY, Friday, September 6

Joseph and William arrived in Albany early in the morning, after riding about ten hours on the train. They changed trains and continued on to Syracuse, which was the end of the rail line. In Syracuse, they boarded a canal boat and continued westward on the Erie Canal.

William sat glumly and watched with mild frustration as a young boy drove the mules along the towpath, pulling the canal boat at a plodding pace. Joseph smiled at this and remarked,

"Patience, Will – I recall when the canal reached Palmyra in twenty-two, we considered it the eighth wonder of the world. It has served us well these twenty years or so."

"Forgie' me, Broother Joseph", said William. "Aftair racin' fullock da'n the rails at aboot twenty miles ta th' hour, it narks me ta dawdle along at four. E'en a steamboot can make twice that."

PALMYRA, Saturday, September 7

Joseph and William's canal boat finally pulled into the Jessup Basin, north of Palmyra, early in the evening. As they stepped ashore, Joseph turned to William and said wistfully,

"I've been away from my boyhood home for thirteen years now. I would like to see it one last time, and learn if anyone here still remembers me kindly..."

He looked north towards Wintergreen Hill.

"Will, did you know, this canal basin is built upon part of Martin Harris' old farm? Do you see those fields over there? The day Martin lost the Book of Mormon manuscript, a freezing fog descended upon his fields and killed all his crops – and only his crops."

They walked down Stafford Road to the intersection with Main Street and turned east. At Market Street, Joseph pointed to a sign that read:

Palmyra Young Men's Association

"Sidney Rigdon preached there, shortly before we left Palmyra and Harmony. He received a very chilly reception, as I recall."

Joseph pointed out the Seymour Scovil store, where the Smith family often went to barter goods, and the former E.B. Grandin Bookstore where the Book of Mormon was first published. The sign over the door revealed that this was now the offices of the Palmyra Courier.

"Grandin quit on the printing business shortly after the Book of Mormon was published", said Joseph. "He blamed it on me – Never could live down the reputation of being the 'Gold Bible printer', I suppose. Come, let us see if anyone here remembers me."

They opened the door, and a bell rang as they entered.

Joseph and William looked around. Joseph noticed that the same Smith press was still in use that had printed the Book of Mormon fifteen years before. The same wooden type cases, work tables, compositors' benches, pots of ink, and damp sheets of paper hanging from the ceiling like laundry – the place had scarcely changed.

"May I help you?" a young man asked from behind the counter. "Are you here to subscribe to the Courier?"

"No, we were just passing through the town", said Joseph. He noticed a tall shelf behind the clerk with row upon row of books and pamphlets for sale, many of which had been printed in this same building. On the top shelf, gathering dust, he noticed a row of books with light tan leather covers that looked familiar.

"May I see one of those?" Joseph said, pointing to the top shelf.

"You mean the Gold Bible?" said the surprised clerk. He climbed up a ladder and pulled down one of the books, blowing off the dust as he descended. "We've had these here maybe ten, fifteen years, but no one ever buys 'em. Mr. Grandin musta' left 'em when he moved out. Mr. Morley – he's the boss here – said that come next winter, we'll use 'em to heat the stoves."

Joseph took the book and reverently opened it to the title page, his hands trembling, while William looked over his shoulder:

THE

BOOK OF MORMON:

AN ACCOUNT WRITTEN BY THE HAND OF MORMON,

UPON PLATES TAKEN FROM

THE PLATES OF NEPHI.

BY JOSEPH SMITH, JUNIOR,

AUTHOR AND PROPRIETOR.

PALMYRA:

PRINTED BY E.B. GRANDIN, FOR THE AUTHOR.

1830.

The memories came flooding back to Joseph: The angelic visitations by Moroni, the four years of preparation and training under his hand, the desperate attempts to steal the gold plates from him, the loss of the 116 pages by Martin Harris, the move to Harmony and the successful translation effort, the eight laborious months of printing and binding...

The clerk broke Joseph's reverie. "That'll be two-fifty, cash on the barrelhead!"

"Oh... yes. I'll take two", said Joseph, looking up.

William reached in his pocket and pulled out a five-dollar gold piece. The clerk climbed up the ladder again, took down another book and handed it to Joseph.

"Is there anything else?" he asked. Joseph opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, then thought the better of it.

"No, thank you, that will do nicely" he said finally, and the two men exited the building with their purchase.

As they retraced their steps along Main Street, William turned to Joseph and said,

"Joseph, jest noo was per'aps the fairst time I've ever seen ye speechless. I've nevair known ye ta pass up a chance ta preach th' Book of Mormon ta ennyone. For a moment, ye looked gae maffled t'me."

"I was overcome by emotion, Will", Joseph said haltingly. "I had almost forgotten what a struggle it was to bring forth this Book of Mormon. They accused me here of being a money-digger, but you know perfectly well I have never made a farthing from this book. I have given my very life for it."

Joseph and William stayed overnight at the home of George Crane, just northwest of the old Smith farm. George was an old friend of the Smiths. In 1829 Joseph and Oliver Cowdery had sometimes read from the Book of Mormon manuscript to interested people at the Crane home.
CHAPTER 15

HAMPTON, Sunday, September 8

Porter Rockwell had returned to Hampton on assignment from Brigham Young, to keep an eye on the apostates and their new church.

While Sidney Rigdon was in Nauvoo, James J. Strang had taken advantage of his absence to "reorganize" the new Church more to his liking. Strang opened his conference in Hampton by declaring to his followers that he, the Prophet of the Lord, had received a revelation concerning Sidney Rigdon. From the pulpit he read the declaration of his new High Council:

"The General Conference of the Church of the Saints, having under consideration the standing of Sidney Rigdon, one of the First Presidents of the Church, who acteth not in his Presidency and cometh not up to do his duty and stand in his calling. We could not sustain him with our faith and prayers; therefore we with one voice desired James J. Strang, the Prophet of the Lord, to inquire his will concerning his servant Sidney Rigdon. And now this is the answer of the Lord concerning him:

"Behold, verily, my servant Sidney Rigdon rebelleth against me, and hath rebelled against me for a long time; and I was grieved with him, yet I felt after him and had compassion on him and remembered his faith and his labors, and reproved him by my Spirit and by afflictions and by judgments, but he would none of my reproofs. Therefore he shall not stand in his Presidency; for I do take his office from him, and give it unto one who will serve me."

There was more. Porter was astonished to see Strang announce to his followers that he had unearthed a set of "brass plates" from beneath an oak tree just outside of Pontoosuc, north of Nauvoo:

"The Angel of the Lord came unto me, James, on the first day of September, in the year eighteen hundred and forty-four, and the light shined about him above the brightness of the sun, and he showed unto me the plates of the sealed record, and he gave into my hands the Urim and Thummim. And while I was yet in the Spirit, the Angel of the Lord took me away to the hill in the east of Pontoosuc, and there he showed unto me the record buried under an oak tree as large as the body of a large man; and I beheld it as a man can see a light stone in clear water, for I saw it by Urim and Thummim; and I returned the Urim and Thummim to the Angel of the Lord, and he departed out of sight."

Strang held up the three brass plates for the crowd to view. They were about three by five inches, and covered with curious engravings. The congregation murmured and gasped in astonishment at this amazing display. Strang continued:

"I can translate as well as any man, I reckon, and as the appointed successor to Joseph Smith, I now hold all the keys, powers, and authority of Joseph. These plates are the Record of Rajah Manchou of Vorito! His final words on these plates are as follows:

"The forerunner men shall kill, but a mighty prophet there shall dwell. I will be his strength, and he shall bring forth thy record. Record my words, and bury it in the Hill of Promise."

Strang went on to discuss how he had taken several witnesses with him to Pontoosuc, who had then dug at the base of an ancient oak tree just as he instructed them, and had found the plates in a clay jar buried about four feet underneath the roots of the oak tree.

Porter was stunned by all of this. He thought:

Could it be true? If Joseph is still the Prophet, what I think he is, where does this Strang fellow fit in? They can't both be telling the truth...

PALMYRA, Sunday, September 8

On Sunday morning, Joseph and William borrowed a one-horse chaise from George Crane and rode north along the Canandaigua Road to Palmyra. The town had changed subtly since Joseph had left. The old Presbyterian church on Canandaigua Road, which some of the Smith family had attended in the 1820s, had burned down and been replaced in 1842. The Baptists had built their own church opposite it in 1839. The old Methodist church that Joseph had briefly attended in 1819 was still standing at Vienna and Johnson Streets. The town was quiet, as the shops were closed and most of the inhabitants were attending their various church services.

Joseph and William paused in front of the Presbyterian chapel. Joseph dismounted and entered the cemetery, and after some searching amid the weeds he found the gravestone of his brother Alvin:

In memory of

Alvin, son of Joseph

& Lucy Smith, who

died Nov. 19, 1823,

in the 25 year of his age.

"We couldn't afford a proper headstone until later", Joseph said sadly. "Poor Alvin, he was such a great and noble man, taken before his time."

Just then the Presbyterians began singing the Doxology:

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;

Praise Him, all creatures here below;

Praise Him above, ye Heavenly Host;

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Amen.

"Auld Hundred", William remarked. At almost the same moment, a hymn started up in the Baptist church across the street:

Come, Holy Ghost, our hearts inspire,

Let us thine influence prove;

The source of old prophetic fire:

The fount of light and love.

"Tis the hymn tune WINCHESTER OLD", William announced excitedly. "I know it fra' my youth!"

"Very good, William!" Joseph replied. "You know the old tunes quite well."

William lowered his gaze modestly. "Tis many a singing-school't I've taught the rudiments o' music. But I'm nobbut a bairn nexta Broother Phelps in'at regard. He truly 'as a gift far matchin' tha auld tunes ta'is own poetry. I canna but hope ta write summat worthy o' bein' sung in the Church, somedee."

Joseph smiled. "You shall, Brother Clayton – mark my word."

The Baptists' singing continued:

Come, Holy Ghost, for moved by thee,

The Prophets moved and spoke;

Unlock the truth, thyself the key;

Unseal the sacred book.

The bell began ringing in the Presbyterian steeple, the double doors burst open and the congregants began streaming out. Then the Baptist belfry across the street began pealing, followed shortly by a deep bong from the Methodist steeple across town.

William pulled out his pocket watch. "Ten o'clock, on'a mark!" he smiled.

The intersection quickly filled with worshippers from both churches, but there was little intermingling of the two faiths. The Baptists mostly stayed on the east side of Canandaigua Road, while the Presbyterians kept to the west. Joseph scanned the crowd expectantly, looking for anyone he might recognize.

"Look, Will!" Joseph said excitedly. "There's Orlando Saunders, an old neighbor and friend of my father! And old Dr. Robinson, who operated on my leg so many years ago! He followed us here from New Hampshire, and he was the pastor of the Presbyterian Church here for many years."

Dr. Gain Robinson was a frail, stooped little man of about eighty years of age. He looked up, recognized Joseph, and started hobbling across the street, as Joseph met him halfway. He looked Joseph up and down, poked his cane at his chest, scowled and said,

"Well, if it ain't the 'Profitable Prophet from Palmyra!' So, young Mister Smith, I see ye still 'ave both yer pegs. What in God's name 'ave ye done with 'em these thirty years?"

"I have served God, as he has directed me", Joseph replied. "You know my history, Reverend, as well as anyone here. "

"I do indeed", was the reply. "I still pray for thy soul, Joe. An' when ye come to your senses, well, the Presbyterian Church will welcome thee back with open arms. Good day to ye."

Joseph smiled. "I will take it under consideration. Good day to thee too, Reverend."

"Joe Smith! You infernal, money-digging, sheep-stealing scoundrel!"

Alarmed, Joseph turned and saw John and David Stafford approaching him. Joseph had fought David once, and John Stafford now had his fists raised threateningly. Joseph instinctively backed away, just as John came within striking distance and grabbed him in a bear-hug, then held him at arms length and said, grinning,

"How in damnation are you? Still peddling your Gold Bibles? You know ye won't get much custom from them here, we're on to ye."

Joseph, greatly relieved, replied,

"No, myself and my friend William here are just passing through, on our way back to Illinois. But could I interest thee in voting for me for President, come this November?"

John Stafford roared with laughter.

"Hell could freeze over first, and then I wouldn't. But I bear thee no ill feelings, Joe. We thought you were a shiftless, lazy, unprincipled peepstone-juggler, but you proved us wrong. Well, half-wrong, at any rate. We read the eastern papers here – A lazy charlatan couldn't do what you've achieved, and a hard-working one scarce could do it, neither. And when we read about Hyrum's death, it engendered much sympathy for your cause here. We still think ye be deluded, but 'Some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them.' God only knows where your quest will take you."

Joseph was deeply touched. "I only hope that the rancor and misunderstandings of the past have been burnt out of this place. I don't condemn any man for not believing in me. I scarce could believe all that transpired here, myself."

John Stafford smiled and clapped Joseph on the shoulder. "Come on, dear brother, the war is past."

"For friends at first, are friends again at last" Joseph replied, smiling.

"Take care, Joe, and Godspeed," Stafford said in parting.

Joseph appeared as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He turned to William and said,

"Tho' they may not believe on me here, at least it appears they have left off trying to kill me. I consider that a great victory. Come, Will, you must see the old Smith homestead before we leave!"

They retrieved their chaise and headed south on Stafford's Road, and presently the old Smith family farm came into view. They passed the old log home where the Smiths had lived from 1818 to 1825, and then paused briefly just opposite the white frame home, where Joseph said wistfully,

"Alvin, Hyrum and myself labored so hard to build this house, so our parents could live comfortably in their last years. They were only one payment away from owning it clear and free! Little did we know the adventures that awaited us... When we left, we sold the whole farm to Lemuel Durfee for a pittance."

Turning and pointing to the west side of the road, Joseph said,

"Right here is the apple orchard where Moroni visited me for the fourth time. And beyond the orchard to the west, William, is the grove of trees where God first appeared to me in the spring of 1820."

"I know t' place well, frae' your 'istory", said William, awestruck. "But ta' actually be 'ere, an' see it in pairson..."

They headed east again toward the Canandaigua Road, but when they got to the crossing Joseph turned the chaise south toward Manchester. William said,

"Joseph, why are we headin' south? T' canal is in t'other direction."

"I know, but I have one last errand to complete, William. And I want you to be eyewitness to it, after I am gone."

They traveled in silence for about three miles. In the distance, William could see the largest of the many drumlen hills that dotted this part of the Finger Lake country, hills with names such as Wintergreen, Prospect, Bear... As they got closer, he realized with a start:

So this is where he's taking me! I've heard Joseph describe this hill so many times, I should ha' recognized it on sight.

The hill was about 120 feet high. It sloped suddenly up at the north end, then lessened gradually toward the south, forming a descending ridge along the north-south axis. As Joseph and William stepped down from the chaise and approached the hill on foot, Joseph stopped, spread his arms and exclaimed in surprise,

"What have they done here? All the trees have been felled!"

The top of the hill was completely denuded, save for weeds and stumps. The two men could see old plow furrows winding around the hill from top to bottom.

"Money diggers", Joseph said grimly. "Looks like they plowed the entire hill looking for gold. Well, it's a dead moral certainty they didn't find any. This was such a beautiful place once..."

The two men climbed the north end of the hill until they neared the summit. It was hot, sweaty work, climbing over the downed trees and across the furrows. Finally Joseph said,

"This looks like the place. Ah, yes, look over there."

About twenty feet south of them was a large hole in the ground, and next to it were several broken clusters of stones, set in cement. On the downhill side of the hole was a large flat stone, thin-edged and rounding in the middle. It had been broken in two.

"The box was empty long before they found it", Joseph said with a smile. "Moroni and I saw to that."

William wiped the sweat from his brow. "Joseph, why are we 'ere? I know the story o' the plates. T' Church is gone frae' New York now, an' Cumorah is a closed chapter in your 'istory. I should know, as I assisted ye in writin' it doon."

"Not quite closed", said Joseph. "Come, William. I still need to pay a visit to someone. Oliver Cowdery and my brother Don Carlos once saw what you are about to see."

They plodded up to the top of the hill and descended partway down the back side. Joseph paused and turned back, facing the hill, and said to himself,

"Yes, here it is..."

Instantly an opening appeared in the side of the hill, and a brilliant, unearthly light flooded out. Joseph walked calmly into the opening and William followed breathless behind him.

As soon as they entered the hill it closed soundlessly behind them. William discovered that they were in a large, brilliantly lit cavern. The source of the light was unclear to him, but it seemed to suffuse everything including Joseph and himself, and shone equally from the walls, floor, and ceiling.

The cavern was roughly rectangular in shape, about forty feet long, and the walls were lined with wooden shelves. Some of the shelves were built in a diagonal crisscross pattern like a wine cellar, only instead of bottles the openings held scrolls. Other shelves were piled high with codices and wooden writing tablets. In the center of the room was a large, heavy table, nearly covered with piles of metal plates of all sorts. Underneath the table were more stacks of plates. Seated at the table was a pleasant looking middle-aged man, with white hair and a beard. He had a stylus in his hand and was inscribing something onto one of the plates.

Joseph approached him and held out his hand. "Hello, old friend", he said. "It has been a long time."

"Joseph, I have been expecting you!" said Moroni, looking up from his work. "I am pleased you have come. Please, do sit down, there is much to discuss."

William was still standing gape-jawed in the middle of the room. Moroni looked at him and said cheerfully,

"Brother Clayton, I must apologize for not having introduced myself. But then, I must assume you have already read of me."

William gathered his wits, gulped and said, "I daresay I 'ave. I just nivver expected t' meet ye in t' flesh, or rather..."

Moroni smiled. "You are free to peruse my library as you wish. Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to, as you say, 'appropriate' any of the books here. I'm sure you understand why."

I couldna' read a word from any of 'em e'en if I tried, William thought. He examined the stacks of metal plates on the table. Most of them appeared to be made of gold.

"They are actually an alloy of gold and copper", Moroni said as if reading his thoughts. He pointed to a stack. "These are the Large Plates of Nephi, and this little collection is the Plates of Ether – made of pure gold, by the way – and over here are the plates that Joseph translated fifteen years ago. Over there in the corner are the Brass Plates of Laban."

William carefully hefted the Gold Plates and noticed the three D-shaped rings that bound them together. He examined the top plate of the stack, which had a faint greenish caste, and said reverently,

"I assume 'at this be t' title page, as Joseph described it – t' very last plate on t' left-'and side, written frae' right t' left in t' Hebrew manner?"

"Very good, Brother William! These first two characters read SEFER MORMON – 'The Book of Mormon', in the language of the Nephites.

"I inscribed this leaf shortly before I deposited the plates in the hill above you. Unfortunately, I got a bit too much copper in the alloy, as you can see. I was working under rather difficult conditions at the time, fleeing for my life and all. Now, if you will excuse me, Joseph and I have some matters to discuss."

Joseph sat down across the table from Moroni, and they both began conversing in a strange tongue.

Could be Reformed Egyptian or Hebrew or the pure Adamic language, for all I ken, William thought in amazement.

Now and then he thought he could make out a word or two:

"Emma... Rigdon... Dixon... knesiah... Brigham... shaliachim... b'hirot... Nauvoo... yam melach...b'rosh ha'harim..."

Moroni paused from his conversation with Joseph and looked at William, reading his thoughts.

"Brother William, I perceive you are wondering, 'How did I die?'", Moroni said. "The Book of Mormon is silent on that topic, naturally. Very well, I shall tell you. After depositing the plates in this hill, I knew that my mission was complete. Indeed, shortly thereafter, and not far from this place, I was set upon by four Lamanite warriors. My breastplate had been deposited with the plates, and I was without my sword. I was able to overcome three of the warriors, but due to age and exhaustion, I succumbed to the fourth."

William noticed a short broadsword lying unsheathed on the table. It looked very similar to some ancient Roman swords he had seen on display in the Royal Museum in London.

The sword of Laban for sure, he thought, awestruck.

Inscribed on the steel blade was a line of fine gold characters in an ancient script. Moroni glanced at the sword, looked up at William and said,

"It reads, 'This sword will never be sheathed again until the kingdoms of this world become the Kingdom of our God and His Christ'."

PALMYRA, Monday, September 9

This morning Joseph and William reboarded the canal boat to Buffalo. As the boat glided along, William noticed that Joseph seemed unusually solemn and lost in thought, and mostly just stared sadly out the window at the passing scenery.

As the boat passed through one of the locks near Batavia, William finally said,

"Joseph, what's troublin' ye? Ever an' since we left the hill, you've seemed distant. What said Moroni to ye there?"

Joseph looked at William and frowned; he glanced out the window again, and then he gazed directly at him.

"What I say to you must never be revealed until I am gone, William. I learned many things there, disturbing things about my family, and wonderful things about the rise and destiny of the Church. I am living on borrowed time. What you have heard me say before at Ramus and elsewhere is still true: The Saints will be established in the tops of the Rocky Mountains. Unfortunately, I won't be there to lead them. The Lord is going to let me rest, very soon."

END OF BOOK ONE

~~~~~~~~~~

Did you like this book? Please rate it or review it.

Then check out Kurt Kammeyer's other publications here:

The Clan of the Stone series:

The Clan of the Stone

The Defender of God

The Empress of Edom

By Ailad's Bootstraps (Short story)

The President Elect series:

Book One: Joseph Smith the Prophet

Book Two: Joseph Smith the Candidate

Book Three: General Joseph Smith

The Rejuvenated

The Last Stradivari (Short story)

Bath-time Anomalies (Junk science at its best)

