PROLOGUE
Carthage, Illinois
June 27, 1844
A shimmering sliver of moonlight shone through the window of Joseph’s second floor cell, its silver glow illuminating the haggard prophet’s head in the form of the faintest of halos. His clothing was wrinkled and askew, he was unshaven and his hair was uncharacteristically unkempt. His glazed eyeballs were shrunken into eye sacks now swollen with the despair of a dethroned king, and they lazily examined their owner’s surroundings. Contrary to his fears, the Carthage County jail was not a dungeon—indeed, the red-brick edifice would have made quite a lovely home. The wooden floors were polished and swept, and never had Joseph seen a single trace of vermin. Instead of an iron cage, he was in a room with a locked wooden door. There were no shackles on walls, or torture racks, or iron maidens… in fact, the cell even had bench to sit upon! His only complaint—other than being locked up, of course—was the crowding: he had to be locked up with 10 other men, among them his brother, Hyrum.
The others were equally dejected. They muttered to each other softly in hoarse, tired voices. Hyrum was sniffling to himself, and occasionally a fearful tear fell onto the edition of
The Warsaw Signal in his hands. As he read from the editorial page, his hands began to tremble.
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!!!
"Do you see this, brother?" Hyrum whispered softly, not moving his eyes from the page, “We will surely be dead before the week is out, whether it is by the sheriff’s noose or the vigilante’s. We are surely forsaken by our Heavenly—“
“No.” Joseph spoke with a confidence that only a saint (or, perhaps, a master charlatan) could muster. He took a breath, clearly about to launch himself into a well-practiced oration, when he heard the jangle of heavy keys and the turning of a lock. The door opened, and in the hall was the squat jailer. Without pause, he addressed the group:
“There’s a whole mess of men comin’ over here… I reckon they’re about 100…200 strong. I’d bet my mother’s dentures that they’re here on your accounts… and I doubt that they’re bringin’ flowers.” Joseph was suddenly filled with an angelic serenity.
"Don't trouble yourself ... they've come to rescue me." He said. Flabbergasted, the jailer closed the door, locked it, and then abandoned his post.
The prophet’s prediction was soon proven wrong, however. Within minutes the lynch mob had reached the courthouse, and their angry cries and exuberant gunshots into the air betrayed their violent intentions. Joseph wondered why there were no signs of melee below…had all the guards been slain? Or worse, had they joined the mob? He nervously began to finger the trigger of an old pepperbox pistol a disciple had smuggled in for him. Joseph’s serenity was turning to panic, and this unease soon found company among the terror of his compatriots.
It happened in minutes. First, he heard a loud clamoring up the stairs of the jail. There was a booming and clattering behind the door. The mob was trying to get inside the cell! Hyrum rushed forward to brace the door. Suddenly several loud bangs---Bullets began flying through their door, and the sickening sound of cracking wood and crunching bone filled the air. Hyrum was riddled with bullets, and blood spurted from a facial wound as he tumbled to the floor, crying "I am a dead man!" Several of the others also received wounds, some fatal. At this point, Joseph didn’t care. In his panic, he discharged the entire round of his pistol toward the general direction of the door, then ran towards the window. As he was crawling out, he felt the excruciating pain of hot metal ramming itself into the flesh of his back, then his chest. He remained teetering on the window ledge for the briefest of moments, enough time for him to be pierced by several more shots from both inside and out of the courthouse. Then he fell… and everything was over.
Or was it?