After the Martyrdom: What Happened to the Family of Joseph Smith?

By Jerald R. Johansen

They were a people without a Prophet. Their enemies were sure they would never survive the blow. Bt the pioneers did more than survive—much more. From sorrow and confusion came a new vision of Zion and a movement that soon stretched across the glod.

This Fascinating and informative book takes you deep into the drama of Church history, from teh days and weeks following Joseph Smith's death in 1844, to thw death of his son Jospeh Smith III in 1914.

Discover
- What happened to Emma Smith and each of her children
- Who founded and followed the various factions that split off from the main Church
- Which decisions made then still affect Church policies anf practices today

Well-written and lovingly researched, this is an essential volume for any gospel library and a must-read for every Church member.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cedar Fort Publishing & Media
• Release date: Feb 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781462102037

Book preview

1

THE TRAGEDY

OF THE MARTYRDOM

JUNE 27, 1844

Mannequins depicting (left to right) John Taylor, Joseph and Hyrum Smith, and Willard Richards, in the Jailer's bedroom of Carthage Jail

At 4:00 PM the guard at Carthage Jail was changed. Frank Worrell, who had threatened Joseph Smith earlier that morning, was then in charge. A few minutes after five, a mob of about a hundred men with blackened faces arrived in town and headed for the jail. The prisoners heard a scuffle downstairs. It was followed by a shout for surrender and three or four shots. The assailants ascended the stairs and tried to poke their guns through the half-closed door. John Taylor and Willard Richards attempted to deflect the muskets with their canes.

A bullet fired through the panel of the door struck Hyrum in the left side of his face and he fell, exclaiming I am a dead man! The Prophet Joseph, leaning over his brother cried out, in anguish, Oh dear, brother Hyrum! John Taylor said the look of sorrow he saw on Joseph's face was forever imprinted on his mind. Joseph then leaped to the door. He reached around the door casing and discharged his six-shooter into the crowded hall. Only three of the six chambers fired, wounding three assailants.

Joseph fell from this second-story window

of Carthage Jail after he was shot

and mortally wounded.

The shots delayed the assassins only a moment. John Taylor attempted to jump out the window but was hit by gunfire. A shot through the window from below hit the watch in his vest pocket, stopping it at 5:16 and knocking him back into the room. He fell to the floor and was shot again in his left wrist and below his left knee. Rolling to get under the bed, he was hit again from the stairway, the bullet tearing away his flesh at the left hip. His blood was splattered on the floor and wall. Joseph, seeing there was no safety in the room, tried the same escape. The mob instantly fired at him, and he fell mortally wounded through the open window exclaiming, Oh, Lord, my God! The mob on the stairs rushed outside to assure themselves that Joseph Smith was dead.¹

When the Saints heard of the deaths of their beloved leaders, they were overwhelmed with grief. The next morning, June 28th, 1844, the bodies of the slain leaders were gently placed on two different wagons, covered with branches to shade their bodies from the hot summer sun, and driven to Nauvoo by Willard Richards, Samuel Smith, and Artois Hamilton. The wagons left Carthage about 8 A.M. They arrived in Nauvoo about 3 P.M. and were met by a great assemblage.

Mother Smith said that Samuel had come into Carthage, alone, on horseback, about the same time as the martyrdom. Finding that he was one of the Smith family, the mobocrats attempted to shoot him, but he escaped out of their hands, although they pursued him at top speed for more than two hours. He succeeded in getting to Nauvoo the next day and met the procession with the bodies of Hyrum and Joseph.

Mother Smith continues:

After the corpses were washed and dressed in their burial clothes, we were allowed to see them. I had for a long time braced every nerve, roused every energy of my soul, and called upon God to strengthen me; but when I entered the room, and saw my murdered sons extended both at once before my eyes, and heard the sobs and groans of my family, and the cries of Father! Husband! Brothers! from the lips of their wives, children, brothers, and sisters, it was too much. I sank back, crying to the Lord, in the agony of my soul, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken this family!

B. J. Bowdin's sculpture of Joseph and Hyrum Smith, the Martyrs, in the gardens of Carthage Jail

A voice replied, I have taken them to myself, that they might have rest.

Emma was carried back to her room almost in a state of insensibility.

Her oldest son approached the corpse, and dropped upon his knees, and laying his cheek against his father's, and kissing him, exclaimed, Oh, my father, my father!

As for myself, I was swallowed up in the depth of my afflictions; and though my soul was filled with horror past imagination, yet I was dumb, until I arose again to contemplate the spectacle before me. Oh! At that moment how my mind flew through every scene of sorrow and distress which we had passed together, in which they had shown the innocence and sympathy which filled their guileless hearts!

As I looked upon their peaceful, smiling countenances, I seemed almost to hear them say, Mother, weep not for us, we have overcome the world by love; we carried to them the gospel, that their souls might be saved; they slew us for our testimony, and thus placed us beyond their power; their ascendancy is for a moment, ours is an eternal triumph.

I left the scene and returned to my room, to ponder upon the calamities of my family. Soon after this, Samuel said, Mother, I have had a dreadful distress in my side ever since I was chased by the mob, and I think I have received some injury which is going to make me sick.

And indeed he was then not able to sit up, as he had been broken of his rest, besides being dreadfully fatigued in the chase, which, joined to the shock occasioned by the death of his brothers, brought on a disease that never was removed.

On the following day the funeral rites of the murdered ones were attended to, in the midst of terror and alarm, for the mob had made their arrangements to burn the city that night, but by the diligence of the brethren, they were kept at bay until they became discouraged, and returned to their homes.

In a short time Samuel, who continued unwell, was confined to his bed and, lingering till the 30th of July, his spirit forsook its earthly tabernacle and went to join his brothers and the ancient martyrs, in the Paradise of God.²

THE BURIAL OF THE BODIES

There is something of the macabre in the burial, re-interment, burial—re-interment, and re-burial of the bodies of Joseph and Hyrum. The bodies were buried in secret in the basement of the Nauvoo House so that those who wanted to collect a reward offered for Joseph's head could not find the remains. A public funeral was held and caskets filled with sand were buried in the Nauvoo Cemetery.

In a novel by Margaret Gibson of the Reorganized Church, the imagination of the authoress, coupled with some historical facts, tries to justify Emma in having the bodies buried in secret, without the knowledge of Church leaders or even Mary Fielding Smith, widow of Hyrum. Here is her story:

Suddenly Emma became aware of a light tapping on the back door. Startled, she turned and tiptoed toward the sound. Then another few raps.

Why at the back door? she asked herself. Cold fear, now so terribly a part of her emotional nature, weld up in her throat.

Who is it? She whispered, hoarsely.

Sister Smith, don't be afraid, came the response, but please let us in to talk with you. It's very important.

She recognized the voice of a friend of her husband, an elder, not high in the church, but a man whom Joseph had thoroughly trusted.

However, she took no chances. Looking through the glass panel beside the door, she saw that it was indeed he and that another man was with him.

She slid back the bolt, lifted the latch, and bade them enter. Fearing that their conversation might awaken Lucy who was resting in the room above, she led them into the sitting room where the martyrs lay.

The two men stood for a moment looking with numb piteous eyes at the marred, quiet forms, and then one wiped the tears away from his cheeks with his rough hand. The other let them flow unashamed.

Won't you sit down? Emma asked quietly. You wanted to tell me something?

They complied. It was evident that they were deeply perturbed and that they felt they had an important message, but in the presence of this gentle, dignified woman, her eyes still swollen from weeping, they found it difficult to begin. They sat miserably before her, twisting their hats in their hands, dreading to meet that gaze of anxious inquiry.

At last one of them spoke.

This is sad business, ma’am—

It is indeed, she answered. And a wicked one. … I don't know just how to break this news to you, Sister Smith, the first man went on. It seems to me you must have about all you can possibly stand now, but this is something we thought you ought to know.

Her throat was dry, and her face had blanched.

Tell me, then, she said hoarsely.

As you know, he told her, his eyes on his hat, there's been a reward out on Brother Joseph—five thousand dollars.

Why, yes, she said, I knew that. But all that is past. They have done their worst. He's dead. They've murdered him.

The other elder spoke up then, looking directly into her eyes.

That's true, ma'am, he said. But—the reward notices say, ‘alive or dead’.

For a second she was bewildered.

Then she realized what they were trying to tell her.

Do you mean to say, she whispered, that anyone would try to take them now? Could anyone be so debased as that?

Sister Smith, we think so. Brother Smith had many enemies and to some people, five thousand dollars is a mint of money. We've heard things which make us think that there might be an attempt to steal his body. We don't know just when. It might be at the funeral tomorrow or it might be from the tomb—perhaps at night sometime soon. We don't know, Sister Smith, but there are ugly mobs around Nauvoo, and we are truly fearful.

What shall I do? she whispered. What can I do?

Could she go to the church leaders? Joseph himself had not trusted all of them at his death. Hyrum was dead, Samuel was ill, fleeing for his life from men who had killed Joseph. William Smith was away, so she could not count on the family for help.

To whom could she turn?

Joseph had trusted this elder who had just told her of his fears. She would have to do the same, she told herself. There was simply no one else nor was there time.

What do you suggest? she asked directly.

The second man spoke.

Can you think of a hiding place for the bodies, ma'am—just some place where we could put them tonight? A place no one would think of, and where they'd be safe until conditions clear up a little?

She thought intently. They were right. It must be somewhere close by where they could keep watch.

Across the street stood the partially erected Nauvoo House. The foundations had been laid, but the floor of the basement had its earthen floor. The rising brick walls would not be finished for some time, as construction had been halted.

Perhaps for the present they might hide the two men beneath the earth of the basement. A few loose boards scattered above them would effectually conceal any evidence of burial, if indeed anyone would dream of noticing anything out of the way. For a few days, perhaps a week, they might rest there and they would be decently and secretly interred.

The men agreed to her suggestion. They would need help, for they must work in haste. Suddenly, Emma thought of Mary, Hyrum's wife. There was no time to notify her. Emma felt that she could only do what seemed the right thing to do and hope Mary would understand. It was a chance that must be taken.

In the wing of the building, Cleveland, their loved and faithful Negro servant, lay asleep. Within a few minutes, Emma had knocked on his door and awakened him from his nervous rest.

What do you want? he asked in fright.

It's Miss Emma, she whispered. Can you come to the door a moment, please? I need your help, Cleveland.

The door opened a bit, and he peered out.

Briefly she told him what she wanted. He nodded in agreement and said he'd be with them in a moment.

In the dining room, the two friends were wrapping him in a blanket.

Why not in the coffin? Emma asked in surprise.

Sister Smith, all these people who have been in here to view Brother Joseph have seen these coffins. We must remember that. Don't you think that they ought to appear at the funeral? Then, too, you couldn't order any like them in time. And if you did, suspicion, where it might be dangerous, would be aroused, answered the trusted elder.

They were right. …

Cleveland entered the room, and the sad business of lifting the brothers from their caskets and shrouding them in their woolen coverings was completed.

Then Emma blew out the candles. Cleveland tiptoed to the door and softly opened it. They listened but heard no sound on the empty moonlit street. Swiftly the four lifted Joseph and carried him across the street, down the rough slope to the basement floor, laying him there. Another five minutes and Hyrum was beside him.

Major had not barked. Seeing Emma and Cleveland, he had not been alarmed.

In the basement of the Nauvoo House, the three men dug rapidly. The earth was soft, and their spades made almost no noise as they worked. In a few minutes the two brothers lay in the shallow grave.

Then Emma turned away. The men finished the hasty burial in silence. The boards were strewn carelessly above them, and the job was finished. The two men went softly down to the river's edge with sacks they intended to fill with sand for the empty coffins.

Cleveland helped Emma, spent and exhausted, up the rough bank and across the street to the home. He lighted a candle in the dining room. In its flare the empty caskets yawned wide, and her sense of utter loss clutched her.

Me and them other gentlemen'll finish up here, Miss Emma, said Cleveland kindly. We'll fix everything right. You go on and git your rest now. You look just done up, ma’am.

I will, Cleveland, she answered quietly. Please tell those two men, when they come in, that I'm very, very grateful to them. Also tell them that for their sakes I shall never tell anyone that they had anything to do with this.

I'll tell them, ma'am, he said. Don't you fret none.

Good night then, Cleveland, and thank you, very much.

In her room, she was aware of faint sounds below, then the creak of the back door and silence.

She slipped down into the dining room. The caskets, closed tightly, were resting on their supports, and they were banked with flowers …³

The next day, unbeknown to anyone but the few mentioned above, the mock funeral took place, the caskets with the sand inside were put in a hearse and driven to the graveyard and there deposited in a grave with the usual ceremonies.

Their bodies remained in the cellar of the Nauvoo House, where they were buried, until the fall, when they were removed at Emma's request, to near the Homestead and buried side by side, and the Bee House then was moved and placed over their graves.

⁴

A SACRILEGIOUS ACT

In a continuation of the macabre—and what Elder B. H. Roberts calls A Sacrilegious Act⁵—in the month of January, 1928, the Reorganized Church, under the direction of Mr. Fred M. Smith, grandson of Joseph Smith and president of the aforesaid church, searched with the aid of surveyors and engineers and re-discovered the burial place of Joseph Smith and Hyrum Smith and had their skeletons removed and positively identified, their skulls separated from the rest of the bodies for the purpose of photographing them. This was done, apparently, to repudiate statements emanating from the Utah branch of the church that the bodies were in Utah.⁶ Then the skeletons of Joseph and Hyrum and Emma were all re-interred side by side, and a gravestone engraved with their names was placed over the current gravesite near the old Homestead for visitors to see.

For many years Emma kept the secret of the graves from all—even her own family. Enough was said, however, to prompt her young son, David, born after the Prophet's murder, to pen this sensitive poem, which was also set to music and sung by the Reorganized Church:

THE UNKNOWN GRAVE

There's an unknown grave in a green, lowly spot,

The form that it covers will ne'er be forgot,

Where haven trees spread and the wild locusts wave

Their fragrant white blooms o'er the unknown grave,

O'er the unknown grave.

And near by its side does the wild rabbit tread,

While over its bosom the wild thistles spread,

As if, in their kindness, to guard and to save

From man's footstep intruding, the unknown grave—

Guarding the unknown grave.

The heavens may weep and the thunders moan low,

Or the bright sun shine, and the soft breezes blow;

Unheeding the heart, once responsive and brave,

Of the one who sleeps there in the unknown grave—

Low in an unknown grave.

The prophet whose life was destroyed by his foes

Sleeps now where no hand may disturb his repose

’Till the trumpets of God drown the notes of the wave

And we see him arise from his unknown grave—

God bless that unknown grave.

The love