1838.
MOB ATTACKS DE WITT--JOSEPH TRIES IN VAIN TO SAVE THE TOWN--MOB DRIVEN
AWAY FROM ADAM-ONDI-AHMAN--APOSTLE PATTEN KILLED IN BATTLE OF CROOKED
RIVER--EXTERMINATION BEGINS AT HAUN'S MILL--ALMA SMITH'S WOUND AND HIS
MOTHER'S FAITH.
Although the mob had not been able to fall upon the Saints in Daviess
county at this time, they loved blood and plunder too well to remain
at peace. On the second of October the very same men who had begun and
kept up the trouble at Daviess, were found gathered around the little
town of De Witt, Carroll county, under the leadership of Dr. Austin,
Major Ashley, a member of the legislature, and Rev. Sashiel Woods,
a Presbyterian clergyman. They were armed with muskets and cannon,
and opened fire upon the town. The next day General Parks, with two
companies of militia, joined them. Bogart, one of the captains, was a
rank enemy of the Saints, and the soldiers themselves were in close
sympathy with the mob.
After bearing the fire of the enemy for two days, the Saints, who were
under the command of Col. George M. Hinkle, returned it. Though the mob
numbered more than our people in De Witt, they dared not continue the
fight until more of their kind should join them. When General Lucas
heard that several persons had fallen in this battle, he wrote to the
governor that if one of the citizens of Carroll had been killed, before
five days five thousand volunteers would be raised against the Mormons,
"and those base and degraded beings will be exterminated from the face
of the earth."
News came to the Prophet that his brethren in Carroll county were in
danger, and he hurried away with all possible speed toward De Witt. It
seemed as though he was rushing on to death, for his journey lay among
his bitterest enemies, and the roads to De Witt were guarded by those
who would have loved to take his life. But his own danger was nothing
to him, he knew that he could give new hope and courage to the Saints,
although he did not bear arms. He asked the judges of the circuit
court and other officers for protection to the Saints, but this was
useless. Through his efforts also, a number of honorable men made sworn
statements to the governor that the Latter-day Saints were innocent and
yet were being treated like enemies. Boggs, however, would not let the
state's forces interfere.
The mob was still afraid to make an open attack, feeling it safer to
starve the Saints out. They burned our people's houses and killed and
roasted their cattle, while the owners were dying of hunger in the
town. It was useless to hold out any longer, and the Saints agreed
to leave, provided they were paid for their homes and property. They
did leave, but received nothing. It was a terrible flight from De
Witt to Far West, for the mob would not let them go in peace as they
agreed. One poor mother, with a baby only a day old, tried to follow
her friends, but the hardships were too great. Before they reached Far
West she died and was buried, as were many others during that flight,
without a coffin, at the roadside.
After they had gone the Rev. Mr. Woods invited his friends to go with
him to Daviess county and drive the Saints from Adam-ondi-Ahman. He
said that the land sales were near at hand, and if their luck was as
good as at De Witt they could buy back for almost nothing the land they
had sold the Mormons only a short time before. When Joseph heard they
were coming he again sought the post of danger and was with the Saints
when the attack was made.
The mob, numbering nearly a thousand, plundered the farms that were
some distance from the town. Men, women and children were out in the
terrible storms of the 17th and 18th of October, without any homes to
shelter them. Agnes Smith was one of these. Her husband, Don Carlos
Smith, Joseph's brother, was on a mission. After her house had been
burned, she fled from the mob with her two babies in her arms, and
waded Grand river before she stopped to rest. But now General Parks
sent Lyman Wight, who was one of his colonels, to lead a company of
brethren against the cowards. The mob fled but burned their huts as
they went, and then spread the lie that the Mormons had done it. From
this time on the people living in the scattered settlements made their
way as soon as possible to Far West.
On the 24th of October, 1838, Captain Bogart, who was a Methodist
preacher when the more important work of killing and plundering the
Saints did not call him away, led his mob-soldiers into camp on Crooked
river. They had taken three brethren prisoners from their peaceful
homes, and spread the report that they would murder them that night.
When this news came to Far West, Col. Hinkle sent David W. Patten with
fifty men to the rescue. They reached Bogart's camp at daybreak, and as
they marched down the hill, their forms, outlined against the sky, made
a fine target for their enemies, hidden under the trees below.
Bogart's men suddenly opened fire. Three or four of the brethren fell.
Captain Patten gave the order to shoot and then charge down upon the
enemy. For a few minutes they fought hand to hand with swords, and then
the mob, though larger in numbers, wheeled about and fled. As they ran,
one turned and shot Captain Patten, giving him a mortal wound. That
night he died, surrounded by the Prophet and his true friends. His last
words to his wife were: "Whatever else you do, do not deny the faith!"
Thus passed away Apostle David W. Patten, who had rescued friends and
given up his life in doing so, and greater love than this no man hath.
This battle gave an excuse for the wild and terrible stories that set
all Missouri in an uproar. Many good citizens were really afraid that
the Mormons were about to march upon and destroy them. But surely
Governor Boggs could not have been deceived, and yet he ordered out two
thousand men with the command to kill off all the Mormons or drive them
from the state.
This extermination, as it was called, began at Haun's Mill, in Caldwell
county, on the 30th of October. The little settlement of Saints was at
peace when suddenly two hundred and forty men rode up on horseback and
began shooting without a moment's warning. They showed no pity, but
killed men, wounded women, blew out the brains of children that were
pleading for their lives, and even robbed the dead. Seventeen were
killed that afternoon, but there was no time to dig their graves. Amid
the groans and tears of widows and fatherless children, their bodies
were thrown into an old well and there they lay, a foul blot upon the
land of liberty.
Little Alma Smith, who was only eight years old, after seeing his
father and brother shot, fell to the ground with his hip joint and all
the flesh about it torn away He knew that if he cried out or asked for
mercy, as his brother had done, the bad men would kill him. So he lay
pretending to be dead until after dark, when he heard his mother call
him. She placed him beside his dead father and brother and prayed that
she might know what to do for her little boy. Our Father in heaven
heard and answered her prayer. A voice told her to wash the wound clean
with water in which the wood ashes from the fire had been soaked. She
obeyed, although the cloth brought out each time mashed bone and flesh.
After it was clean the voice told her to gather the roots of a slippery
elm tree, make a poultice with them and fill the great hole in her
boy's hip. Willard Smith, another son, who had escaped, gathered the
roots and his mother made the poultice. Their prayers and faith were
rewarded. Alma was healed and grew once more well and strong.