The Work and the Glory (112 page)

Pulling his own hat down hard, Joshua darted for the place where he had tied his horse. The horse reared as lightning flashed again, followed almost instantly by a deafening clap of thunder. Joshua fought to control the horse’s head, and finally got the animal calmed down enough to mount it. It was insanity to ride out onto the open prairie in a storm like this, but he had no choice. He had thirty men riding hell-bent for a confrontation with the Mormon army, thinking they had four hundred and fifty more coming as backup.

He didn’t even bother to look back over his shoulder. He knew there would be no one else coming across in this weather.

They sat in the old Baptist meetinghouse, some on the rough-hewn benches, others on the floor. No one tried to sleep, though many were near exhaustion. The whole canopy of heaven was one continuous series of lightning flashes, often one coming so hard on the heels of another as to keep the room lit bright enough to see by. Nathan had long since stopped flinching at the terrible claps of thunder. It was as if they had moved inside the center of a huge bass drum that someone now beat on constantly with a vengeance. So they talked quietly, or sang hymns. One or two had candles lit and were trying to write in their journals, but it was a hopeless task.

The door flew open, bringing with it a blast of cold, wet air. The figure, dressed in a long black slicker, had to lean against the door to get it closed again. Every head came up as the man turned around and pulled off his bedraggled hat. Joseph shook the water from his coat, then grinned at them. “I’m telling you, boys, there is some meaning to all this. God is in this storm. We have nothing to fear from our enemies this night.”

Nathan looked up. Water streamed underneath the doorway and across the floor and out again. For a moment he listened to the pounding roar on the roof. “Well,” he said to no one in particular, “if the Lord used anything like this with Noah, I don’t see why it took forty days to get that ark launched.”

Brigham Young laughed from the bench where he sat whittling on a stick. “I like that idea,” he said. “Here we are in the ark. And out there are all the wicked, wishing they could get in.”

Joshua had no idea where the “wicked” were at that moment. Nor did he care any longer about the Mormons. He only had one thing on his mind, and that was finding refuge from the storm. As the lightning flashed again, he scanned the country around him, trying to get his bearings. More than once he had hunted deer and elk along this side of the river. He knew the country fairly well. But he saw nothing familiar now.

Wiping, or rather washing, his bloody hands on his shirtfront—he was as wet as if he were standing in a river—he stumbled off again. He had lost his horse over an hour ago. Lightning had struck the ground no more than fifty yards away from him as he rode, blinding and stunning him. Neighing wildly, the horse reared back. Joshua grabbed for the saddle horn, but missed. The saddle was soaked, his clothes were soaked. He slid off like an otter going down a mud slide. He had managed to hold on to the reins, and fought desperately to keep control of the animal. It nearly cost him his life as the horse bucked and fought wildly to free himself. With one sharp jerk of the mighty neck, the horse had pulled the reins through Joshua’s hands, making him scream as the searing-hot pain tore at the flesh.

As he stumbled on through the alternating blackness and flashing light, slogging through the mud and water, Joshua suddenly realized that something had changed. Now the rain, which had been pelting him unmercifully, began to sting sharply. With a moan, he realized the rain was changing to hail. Even as he focused his mind on this new threat, he felt the pellets go from tiny, stinging darts to sharp missles the size of his thumbnail. He threw his arms over his head and began to run, feeling as if he were running through the line of fire of a thousand young boys slinging rocks at one another.

There was another flash of lightning. Off to his right, about a hundred yards away, there was a black line against the horizon. Trees! It had to be the river. Now he ran with the pain driving him faster and faster. The hailstones were the size of plumbs now, and they slashed at him relentlessly.

Joshua plunged into the shelter of the trees, arms outstretched now against the blackness. Above him the sky was lit again, and in that moment of light he saw the dark mass of a cottonwood tree. With a cry of joy, he dove to its leeward side and out of the pounding hail. Never had anything seemed so wonderful.

For several moments he lay there, savoring the respite. Then he forced his mind to begin to think again. These trees had to be along the river, probably the Big Fishing River, judging from how he thought he had come. That meant that if he crossed it and followed it upstream, he would come to the bluff. He knew that there were two old buildings up there somewhere—a church and an old school. He was not proud; in this storm he would take any refuge.

But then gradually his ears became aware of a new sound. It was nearly drowned out in the din of thunder and the pounding of the hail that was cutting branches from the trees around him and sending them crashing to the ground. He focused, concentrating. It was a dull and steady roar, like that of a herd of buffalo stampeding across the plain. Puzzled now, he straightened a little, turning toward the sound. He waited for the next flash of lightning, straining to see.

When the lightning came, what he saw was so startling that his eyes refused to believe it. He waited for another flash of lightning, this time going up on his knees, leaning forward. When the next lightning flash came, he fell back. There was no mistaking it. The Big Fishing River, which normally about this time of year ran a foot or two deep and maybe five or six across, was now a raging torrent that filled the thirty- or forty-foot gully that contained it. He slumped back. It was the final blow. Cursing the storm, cursing his luck, cursing the stupidity of his men, and most of all cursing the Mormons, he curled into a ball against the trunk of the big cottonwood, and settled in for what he knew was going to be the most miserable night he had ever spent.

When the people of Zion’s Camp came stumbling out of the old church house the next morning, they stopped and gaped. It was as though they were standing in the center of a ring, around which the furies of hell itself had been unleashed. There were a few tree branches down here and there around the church, and the ground was muddy and covered with puddles. But the area had had no hail. Now, in the light of morning, the group saw that this was the only place that hadn’t. In the distance, cornstalks that were green and lush the night before, now stood like stripped willow sticks stuck in rows. Grainfields were flattened. Tree limbs were broken and shattered. It was like a scene from the Apocalypse, and it chilled them to see it.

“Look,” Parley Pratt cried.

They all swung around to where he was pointing. Below them the river was a churning caldron of brown. Logs, parts of trees, debris of every kind hurtled along in its grasp.

Joseph came over to stand by Parley. Lyman Wight came to join them. For a moment all were silent, then Joseph turned to the men. Unconsciously, they came to some semblance of attention before him.

“Brethren,” he said. “I think we can pick up camp and move out. I think it safe to say that the men whose purpose last night was to find Joe Smith and see him dead found other things to worry about.”

There were no chuckles or smiles. The landscape before them, the roar of the river were too real, too awesome to be treated lightly.

“We’ll find a safer place to camp,” Joseph concluded. “Then I’d suggest you get out your journals and record what you have seen here this night.”

July 3rd, 1834

I sit tonight in the hut in which my sister-in-law and two other families live. This shall be the final entry in my journal. We are some four or five miles west of the town of Liberty. Joseph called many of the brethren together and organized a High Council. He also authorized General L. Wight to give us our discharge. Zion’s Camp is disbanded. Zion’s Camp is no more. We are given leave to return to Kirtland.

Though it is a great disappointment, there is nothing to be done. Governor Dunklin and the other weakling officers of the state of Missouri refuse to call out the militia and restore our people. Without that, how can we act? In spite of all attempts to negotiate with them, the Jackson County settlers are sworn to die before they let us return. Sadly, the Lord has revoked the commandment to redeem Zion because of our own unfaithfulness. The Saints in the east largely ignore the plight of their brothers and sisters, and fail to share their means with them. We in the camp itself have brought upon ourselves grave consequences because we have failed to be obedient. God commands, and God revokes. Now he has revoked. The redemption of Zion must wait for a season.

Some of the camp members will stay on with the Saints here in Missouri, but most will return to the East. I am happy to say that I have persuaded my sister-in-law, Jessica Steed, and her daughter, Rachel, to return with us to Kirtland. There she can be with our family and perhaps find some measure of peace. She will leave two days hence with Brothers Brigham Young and Heber Kimball. If all goes well, I shall be with them by the time of their departure or shortly thereafter. If not, I have asked that Jessica carry this journal back to Lydia and my family and explain why I did not return. But of that I cannot speak more, for my feelings now are too tender. I shall simply try to complete the record of our trek so my family has it in its entirety.

It was not long after the storm of which I have already spoken that Joseph received the revelation saying that the Lord no longer wanted us to redeem Zion. The revelation was greeted with much dismay. A great murmuring swept through the camp. Some said Joseph had lost his courage, others that God did not change his mind and therefore the revelation must be false. I will not go into detail on where I stood in this matter except to say that I did not stand firmly with Joseph. That shames me now, but alas, it is true. I stood with those whose faith wavered.

Joseph called us together and reminded us that before we ever crossed the Mississippi he had warned us about our fractiousness. He had prophesied then that if we did not repent and show a more humble spirit, the Lord would send a scourge among us and we would see men die like sheep with the rot. This only made some of the men angrier still and the murmuring continued. It was a sorry time.

On the 24th of June the prophecy came to pass. On that night a cholera epidemic struck the camp. It has been a most fearful thing. Never have I seen anything strike with such swiftness. It seizes upon men like the talons of a hawk. First one and then another collapsed. Men would be standing around talking one moment, then writhing on the ground in another. Sister Betsy Parrish, one of the women in our camp, was in good health and spirits at the midday meal. I sat beside her. Shortly thereafter, she began to feel distressed. By supper she was in a coma and by trumpet’s call, she was dead.

I myself was standing guard duty early on the second evening of the scourge. I was much alarmed by the situation and, speaking frankly, had undertaken some serious personal reflection and repentance. I felt to mourn for my own murmurings and saw that the hand of God was upon us because of what we had done. But to that point I felt well and fit and was rejoicing in my good fortune in being spared. Suddenly it was as though I was struck with a flat iron. I dropped to my knees, my rifle still in hand. The next thing I knew I awoke in my tent in the most severe distress. For three days and nights I hovered between life and death, many times not caring which took me so long as I could escape the anguish I was in.

Joseph tried to lay his hands on the ill and rebuke the disease, but was stricken himself. He later told me it was clear that when the Great Jehovah decrees judgment upon a people, no man should attempt to stay his hand.

Yesterday morning, Joseph called us together, those who could get about. I was starting to recover by then, though I was still very weak. Joseph told us that this was the scourge of which the Lord had spoken. He then promised us that if we would humble ourselves before the Lord and covenant with a most solemn covenant to keep his commandments and follow Joseph’s counsel, the plague should be stayed from that very hour and there would not be another case of the cholera among us.

By then, any spirit of rebellion had long since vanished and we listened with open hearts and accepted with willing minds. We united in common prayer that the Lord would turn away his wrath from us. That was about thirty-six hours ago now as I write. Happily I report that Joseph’s promise is fulfilled. The disease is leaving us. There have been no further outbreaks since yesterday and we are recovering now quickly. But all told, sixty-eight have been stricken. Of that number, fourteen are dead.

How that should give us pause for reflection. Though we have marched nearly a thousand miles, we have lost not a man to accident. Though we faced a hostile enemy sworn to kill us, we lost not a man in battle. Only two out of over two hundred men have deserted us on the march. Yet because of our own foolishness, fourteen of our number now lie beneath the prairie sod. May Jesus bless them to come forth in the morning of the first resurrection, and may we, the living, never forget the lessons of this day.

And that brings me at last to the task which I have set for myself. Earlier I wrote of the terrible feelings I have harbored in my heart for my brother Joshua. It has become an obsession of late, like a canker in my soul. I see now that my whole outlook has become darkened with bitter feelings toward him. I know this darkness was largely responsible for the mean spirit which has possessed me of late and caused me to murmur. If I would follow the example of the Master, I must purge my heart of this ugliness toward my own flesh and blood.