The lush green surroundings seem to mock. The well springing of life that is provided by this landscape spreads in its vastness all around the deadly prison that held our sweet Prophet, Joseph Smith. Standing just two simple stories high, this jail was made from a honey colored natural rock. White windows adorn the wavy and inconsistent glass panes. Inside the family home included a prison awaiting trial cell as a side business. There were two holding rooms, one was a bedroom with a simple iron door that contained prisoners downstairs. On the second floor was a fierce dungeon room for the violent criminals. There is a pleasant and pioneer familiar kitchen. The accused would have paid a small fee for their food, which was provided by the Mrs. along with their candles, and any other usable commodity.
Joseph was not alone, he was with his brother Hyrum, along with 7 other friends who showed their solidarity and commitment to the Prophet. Because this was not a long term cell, but only a holding compartment for those awaiting trial, Joseph’s friends were with him, and could do his bidding in preparation for the expected and upcoming appearance before a judge. These friends came and went as the prophet asked.
In Nauvoo months earlier a terribly slanderous newspaper was created by those officials who desired the destruction of Joseph. Daily false stories, terrible accusations and fabricated lies were published and distributed throughout the Saint’s refuge city. In Illinois there was a nuisance law stating that if anything was a nuisance to the community, it could be done away with. And so one night a group of faithful saints did away with the paper. It did not simply vanish, but destroyed. The printing press and all of its thousands of tiny letters were sent into a wild fray of commotion. Along with Joseph and Hyrum 12 or so men were charged with rioting, and sent to prison with bail that posted at $500 per person! In those days that was a handsome fee. If gone to trial, the nuisance law would have upheld the Mormon’s unkosher method of ridding itself of the press, however the desire for the law enforcing officials was to house Joseph overnight, to see out their lurking and destructive plans for the Mormon’s leader. Houses were mortgaged and the $6500 was provided. The men were free to go.
Carthage rests about 30 miles outside of Nauvoo. In today’s standards the ride takes just over a half an hour. Rolling hills and vast fields of growing corn adorn either side of the road. Small communities have popped up. The highway adorns contemporary advertisements for small businesses. Do they know who made this particular trek 175 years ago? Do they understand that this road parallels as a modern road to Golgotha? In ancient Israel Christ’s final days are well worn by the souls of believers. In show of admiration, condensation and belief Christians from all over the world walk his walk in remembrance of his sacrifice. Here to Carthage there is no procession. There are no signs. There is no trail. Only rows and rows of corn.
Governor Boggs of Missouri tried on three separate occasions to extradite Joseph Smith to his state, to try him on false accounts. The law justified trial, but the true purpose was extermination. Because the saints dug their heels, figuratively, into the murky soil in Nauvoo, the Prophet was spared destruction at the hand of the one who cast the Mormons out of Missouri, however the new conspirators lay await for the Prophet.
Again Joseph was accused, this time of treason, an unbalible crime. He would be required to sit waiting, “protected from violence.” We promise you will be safe while you succomb to our evil plot. We ensure your family that you will be seen again, as you lay safely inside your simple wooden casket. We know for sure that the mobs will come bathed in the darkness of their murderous plan to project a ball of lead into your heart. So come Joseph into the lair that we have set. We are sure the nusance of the Mormons can be done away with, as long as Joseph can be required to sit and wait for his visitors.
In the late of June, sweltering heat roasted their four men, including Joseph and Hyrum, who were awaiting trail, along with John Taylor and Willard Richards. They came down to the kitchen in the evening for dinner, they retired in the personal bedroom of the homeowner/cell owner. The next day the four men wrote letters, conversed and later on John Taylor would sing to console the heavy heart of those who wait.
The room now contains a warbly and bumpy old bed, several wooden benches, a large fireplace and several other small pieces of furniture. There is a writing desk in the corner, and small reminders that long ago this small room was lit only by candle or flame.
A senior missionary couple begin to play a four minute audio recording which explains in detail the events of that day, the enchanting and solemn hymn is sung out again, as was done by Brother Taylor. We look in awe at the window which Joseph jumped out of. Hyrum held the door back as a mob assaulted the four prisoners. He was immediately shot in the face. Today the original doors stands as witness to the awful blow, with a clean shot going in, and a frayed hole exiting the backside of the door. He was dead within seconds. Shots came in all around, John Taylor was hit four times, one stopped by his pocket watch, but he lay mortally wounded. Joseph lept out of the second story window in hopes to spare the lives of his friends, he took several balls and landed at the feet of one to two hundred blackened faced mob men. As was prophesied by Joseph the night before, Brother Willard Richards managed to escape without incident. As he was fleeing the room, he heard a muffled plea, “Don’t leave without me.” Brother Taylor was bleeding something fierce and needed attention. Brother Richards carried John Taylor into the next room over, which was the dungeon cell. This three foot walled room offered no contemporary comforts. There is a large traditional iron barred cell, inside this dark and omenous room. Only small slits into the outdoors offer a sliver of light. Richards pulled Taylor into the room, and hid him under several small mattress that were bunched into the corner. Downstairs a cry was heard by the mob, “the Mormons are coming!” Like rats on the vermon, everyone ran.
The prophet was dead.
Carthage jail does not feel wasted. It doesn’t feel scary or angry. It feels sacred. Just like in Israel of old, Nicodemus offered his final resting place to the Savior. A hold in the side of the rock face, enshrined by a beautiful garden offered a three day platform to rest Jesus Christ’s lifeless body. This place, where horror’s magnificence does not reverberate, only stillness. There is no more shouting, or taunting, or playing games, only stillness. Mother Earth knows who she cradles in his sleep. She breathes deeply as she absorbs death in her elements. Carthage feels holy. Blood spilled on the creeky wooden floors, and splattered through the sky, only to fall on the earth, as did the lifeless body of Joseph Smith. Mother Earth absorbed his death, and calls upon angels for reverence of this sacred place. Ancient Israel only contained Jesus Christ for three long days. Loved ones wept fiercely for the vanished light. Apostles hid, his women openly and transparently worshiped him. And yet he rose again. Palms opened to the wounds of his afflictions, he glowed brightly in testament to the everlasting light, which is him. He beckoned to his apostles to continue his work of preaching to the people, to share the hope of the Gospel. Heartache and loss is only temporary. Jesus Christ is eternal. The well springing of life he provides can not be spit on, scourged, beated or betrayed. The offering of eternity cannot be scratched out or done away with. He is the Great I AM. He offers refuge, peace, drink and life. The earth that swallowed him stands as a reverant testament that, there is no final resting place, only eternal life. Carthage too, stands as a witness. Joseph’s mortal remains continue to lay within earth’s natural elements. A tomb stone marks the spot of Brother Jospeph, sweet Emma, and Hyrum Smith. Their eternal life awaits on Jesus Christ’s return. The Prophet is not destroyed, only departed to a more holier sphere. His work has not been stopped, but rolled forth as a mighty force for good. Those who hoped the Mormon movement gone with their leader’s heartbeat were wrong in the most unholy way. The work goes on in a bright and courageous way.
