Joseph Smith Sr, courtesy LDSanswers.org
The following short story is from a new collection of historical fictions set in a Mohawk Valley village sometimes known by its Iroquois name of "asteronga," or tumbling waters. The local protagonists of the story, Arphaxad Loomis, Nathaniel Benton and John Dygert are actual historical figures and politicians of the pre-Civil War era in Little Falls, NY. The incident around which the story is centered is the missionary journey undertaken by Joseph Smith Sr, father of the Mormon prophet and his two younger sons in 1830. At that time the followers of Joseph Smith were still living in western New York state and the elder Smith decided to return to their native Vermont in an effort to convert former neighbors and relatives to the new faith. Along the way, it can be imagined that he and his sons stopped in a village such as Asteronga and ran afoul of the nemesis of the early Saints, Eber Howe., author of "Mormonism Unvailed."
Arphaxad Loomis 1798-1885
Nathaniel S. Benton 1792-1869
Loomis began his political career as village president later that same year and went on to serve as a judge, congressman and state legislator. His friend Nathaniel Benton was a judge, a state legislator, US Attorney and historian. Since Benton later joined the American (Know Nothing) Party and the Republican party while Loomis remained a Democrat through the war years, perhaps the close friendship pictured here did not survive the political storms of the era.
When the Saints Came to Asteronga
The first word about the new
religion came in the form of a small paid notice in the Peoples
Friend. “Look here,” said the attorney Arphaxad Loomis to his
colleague, Judge Nathaniel Benton. “Some fool has a new Bible for
sale.”
“It’s always been a
reliable seller, Deuteronomy and Leviticus notwithstanding,”
observed the judge.
“This notice is not for the
good old book beloved by Methodists and Presbyterians alike. This
fellow is hawking a whole new Bible. Says here his name is Smith and
he acquired a copy from the Almighty Himself.”
“Smith, hmm? A very popular
assumed name. He’s probably a Quaker.”
“Quaker? I think not. More
likely one of those so-called perfectionists that follow the madman
Noyes.”
“The wife-traders of
Oneida?”
“As likely as not, your
honor. Now, will you pass that jug or do you intend to drink it all
yourself?”
A week later, the two jurists
had nearly forgotten the notice when their evening on the judge’s
front porch was interrupted by the village president, John Dygert. He
invited himself onto the porch and asked the judge’s girl to fetch
a third glass. Helping himself to a tot of cider, Dygert asked what they
thought of the agitation in Utica. “Utica is a very fount of
agitation,” said Loomis. “But of what agitation in particular do
you speak?”
“The Smithites showed up and
took a sound thrashing. The feathers without the tar, you could say.”
“Smithites?” asked the
judge.
“They follow the false
prophet from Ontario County. Reverend Van Slyke warned us to expect
them.”
John, you’ll have to tell us
a bit more. Not being Reformed Church, neither the judge nor I have
enjoyed the eloquence of your esteemed parson.”
“Joseph Smith is the false
prophet who claims that an Angel of God came down to earth and gave
him a new bible, a book of big gold plates.”
“Must be a heavy object to
carry about,” observed the judge, winking at Arphaxad.
“This Smith claims to have
translated the gold bible into English with the help of magic
spectacles. Then he had a no-count printer publish a stack of this
so-called bibles and to top it all off, started a new church. Calls
it the Church of Christ.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Doesn’t everyone what?”
demanded Dygert who did not appreciate their wit in such a grave
matter.
“Doesn’t every church
claim to be the church of Christ?”
“Except the Mohammedans.”
“And the Jews,” added the
judge.
“I don’t doubt that
they’ll be here soon,” concluded Dygert. “I am advising you to
be prepared for any exigency that may arise.” And with that, the
village president marched off.
The Erie Canal had been opened
for five years and had brought greater prosperity each year to
Asteronga. The new limestone aqueduct carried flatboats over the
rushing Mohawk to a secure anchorage at a man-made harbor. Innkeepers
and purveyors of all sorts kept up a lively commerce with the canal
men, as did whores, pickpockets and confidence men. In short, the
little town had changed greatly since the glorious day when Governor
Clinton’s flotilla came down the canal bearing a pail of Lake Erie
water on its way to the mighty Atlantic.
Judge Benton had served as
village president for the first few years of the new dispensation.
John Dygert had been elected this past year but the judge soon
realized that his successor could not manage the influx of rowdies
and grifters who came with the canal. The judge would persuade Loomis
to successfully defeat Dygert in November of 1830 but that was still
a few months off.
These village politicians were
not aware of the moment the next afternoon when the three Smiths
stepped off a canal boat and strode up River Street. First proceeded
the grizzled farmer whose son had become a prophet. Close behind were
his grown sons, Sam and Don Carlos. None had the slightest doubt that
God Himself had spoken to their Joseph.
The Smiths’ intention on
this journey was to preach the message of salvation in canal towns
most noted for sin before seeking new converts in their native
Vermont. As was their practice since leaving Palmyra, they each
sought a separate bar-room or house of ill repute before which to
launch their sermons.
In keeping with this practice,
the elder Smith stopped a passing farm hand and asked to be directed
to a house where women freely committed sins of the flesh. The lad
grinned at the old-timer and sent him on his way to Madame Murphy’s.
Sam Smith stationed himself before the most raucous of the many
taverns on River Street, while young Don Carlos Smith went in search
of a Methodist meeting house where he expected to find a more docile
congregation. None of the three notice a cadaverous man, clad in
black broadcloth, noting their movements.
Two hours later, Arphaxad
Loomis and Judge Benton were holding forth on the judge’s porch,
damning all Whigs to hell when Constable Hinman came walking up with
two young fellows close behind.
“Appears to be a need for
judging,” said Nate Benson to his companion.
“Shall I prosecute or
defend, your worship?”
“Remains to be seen,”
returned the judge. “So what fish have you hooked for us, Hinman?”
“These two lads report their
Pa to be abducted.”
“I’m sure it was Eber Howe
what done it!” exclaimed the younger boy, who appeared to be about
fourteen.
“Shh! You don’t know
that!” the elder, who looked to be twenty or twenty one, tried to
shush his brother.
“But I seen old Eber Howe
lurkin about when I was searching for the Methodist house.”
“Which you never found!”
“I appreciate the ex parte,
lads,” said the Judge. “But let’s start with some facts. Who,
for example, blackened your eye, young man?”
“Twas heathens, sir, that
done it.”
“Heathens?” smiled Loomis.
“Do you mean to say that Red Indians gave you a thrashing? Have you
seen any war parties about, Constable?”
“No, your honor, I mean Mr.
Loomis. This one here, Sam Smith he calls hisself, was given a
beating by the patrons of Klock’s Tavern. Seems he tried to preach
the gospel to them and they tossed him out on his ear.”
“So what’s the offense
brings them here, Hinman?” asked the judge. “No one was knifed,
were they? Surely, we can’t call a bit of fisticuffs an assault,
can we?”
“No, your honor, but there’s
more. They’re preachers of the Gold Bible.”
“Is that so?” The judge
looked from one to another. “They seem a trifle young to be
hardened grifters of that sort.”
“They came to town with
their father.”
“He’s been kidnapped,
sir!” cried out the younger boy. “I swear Eber Howe done it!”
“I can’t make heads or
tails of this,” said the judge. “You boys stay shut and the
Constable will sum up matters. You have one minute, Hinman.”
“There’s other witnesses,
your honor, who saw an old man struggling against three other men who
threw a sack over his head and tossed him into a wagon. The older one
here, Sam, was just finishing up getting his beating at Klock’s but
he saw the last of his Pa being carried off.”
“Did you inquire of the lads
if their father owed anyone money?” asked Loomis.
“I did, but they maintain
that a dispute over religion is at the bottom of it. They assert that
this Eber Howe was formerly a follower of their brother, and has now
become an enemy to the sect.”
“Nate,” said the lawyer,
“These fellows must be part pf the crowd Dygert was telling us
about. Here, you two lads, tell us what we should know about your
church.”
Sam and Don Carlos then
provided a somewhat lengthy summary of the divine revelations which
had been received by their brother Joseph over the past several
years. The eminent jurists heard of the first time God Almighty spoke
to a boy in the woods, followed by countless angelic visitations, and
finally directions as to digging up the famous golden bible buried on
a hilltop by ancient Indians thousands of years ago.
“And you say that the
Indians are really Jews?” Loomis stifled a smile.
“Israelites. They built a
big boat and sailed across the Pacific,” said Don Carlos.
“Tell me,” asked the
judge, “Has anyone tried to steal those gold plates from your
brother? They must be worth quite a sum.”
“The angel took the gold
plates back to heaven,” Sam promptly answered.
“How fortunate,” said the
judge. “And now to the matter at hand, who is this Eber Howe whom
you suspect of abducting your father?”
“He is an evil man who was
excommunicated from our church for his sins,” Sam told them. “Now
he is traveling about gathering lies about our family so he can put
them in a book and make people fall away from the true faith restored
for us in these latter days.”
“What sort of lies is he
gathering about your family?” inquired Loomis.
“That we Smiths are a
shiftless and indolent lot,” cried Don Carlos before his brother
could answer. “He found deceitful men who have sworn that our
brother Joseph was a hoaxer and fraud who pretended to find buried
treasures. And that he was arrested in some town!”
“I see,” said the judge,
“and now Eber Howe has turned from gathering lies to abduction? For
what purpose?”
“We know not,” answered
Sam, “other than that his purpose must be nefarious.”
The judge whispered an aside
to Loomis and then turned to the Constable. “Hinman, take these
young gentlemen to the lock-up for their own safety. ‘Twouldn’t
do to have the whole family kidnapped.”
“Yes, sir!” The constable
clapped each young man by the elbow.
“And then meet us at Mrs.
Murphy’s establishment. We will need to fully investigate this
matter. Bring a few other likely lads.” After the constable had led
off the Smith boys, the judge fetched his sword cane and a cap and
ball pistol that he handed to his friend. “As a judge I can’t be
shooting visitors to our fair village.”
Loomis pocketed the small
pistol and the two gentlemen set off from the judge’s Garden Street
manse down the hill to the less elegant part of the village.
Approaching the new aqueduct, they heard the sounds of merriment and
commerce arising from all sides. A few shouts and shrieks drifted out
of the gin mills but no one seemed to be getting murdered, as Loomis
noted. In front of Mrs. Murphy’s, they found one of her large Irish
relatives pummeling a pair of inebriated sailors. “What’s all
this, Paddy?” asked the judge, poking the red-haired man with the
butt of his cane. The Irishman, who knew that the judge’s cane was
a scabbard for a sizable sword, grinned obsequiously. “Just
reminding these customers that our ladies deserve some courtesy.”
“Indeed they do, Paddy. And
how is your charming proprietress?”
“Molly? Just fine, your
honor. Will you be requiring anything special this evening?”
“I never frequent whore
houses, my fine Celtic hero. Doctor’s orders. But do tell the Madam
that we require a word with her.”
In about a minute, Molly
Murphy was at the door inviting them into the parlor “for a nip of
the good stuff.” The judge confided to Loomis that he had his
doubts about entering such a dubious establishment. “But the
exigencies of the present investigation clearly require it,”
advised the attorney. Sipping some genuine Kentucky, the judge was
slow to come to the point. “Molly, some hare-brained preacher’s
been grabbed from hereabouts. Name of Smith. Preaches that Jesus has
come down to earth once more, and in fact here to New York state.
What do you hear?”
There wasn’t much happened
on the street that Molly didn’t know and she had no reason to hold
back. “Dygert’s in the game,” she whispered. “He and that
scarecrow preacher Van Slyke and a stranger who looks like he died
last week.”
“Dygert!” exclaimed
Loomis. “It seems an awfully low water for him to stick his oar.”
“He’s a fool, Arph. Fools
by definition are apt to do anything. Tell me, Molly, where have they
taken the preacher? Or have they killed him already?”
“They can’t have gone far.
Mose Wheldon loaned them his wagon to carry off their victim, and he
was back on the street not an hour later at his usual occupation.”
“Shoveling up horseshit?”
laughed Loomis.
Molly nodded. “And if
neither of you fine gentlemen wish to sample my wares, I’ll be back
to business.” The judge patted her on the rump and pressed a coin
in her bosom. “A reliable lass,” he commented as they two set to
wait for reinforcements. They discussed the coming legislative term
and the incompetence of Governor Enos Throop. “There’s few can
measure up to DeWitt Clinton,” opined the judge. “He leaves an
eternal legacy, to be sure,” concurred Loomis. By then, Constable
Hinman and several other men with lanterns had arrived. The judge
informed them of what he had learned from Molly Murphy.
“D’ye think it’s a case
of ransom?” asked Hinman.
“What else? Those fools
probably think the gold plates to be real. Now, scatter and bring
Mose Wheldon to Klock’s tavern. He’ll have the knowledge we
seek.” Loomis and Benton made their way to the tavern and continued
their discussion of Albany politics. They considered their colleague
Van Buren an inspired choice for vice president. “Old Kinderhook
will keep Old Hickory on the straight and narrow” was the judge’s
view, being somewhat cautious about Jackson’s fitness for the
highest office.
“Twas wise not to mention
Dygert to Hinman,” observed Loomis. “We need to keep his name out
of this tomfoolery if we can.”
“Indeed, Arphaxad, my boy.
But ne’er forget I have you in mind for his successor.”
“All the more reason to keep
the honor of the office untainted. But tell me, Nate, do you truly
take Dygert to be so avaricious as to kidnap a man?”
“Seems odd, does it not?”
The judge found his pipe and proceeded to poke about in the ashes of
the fireplace for an ember. “We’ll soon see to the truth of the
matter.”
Presently, Hinman returned
with the manure collector in tow. “Let’s be short, Wheldon,”
said the judge. “Where did you carry those three men and the fourth
with the hood over his head?” The farmer professed ignorance until
the constable hit him in the ribs two or three times. Then he
recalled taking the persons to a shack across the Mohawk from Lovers
Leap. Assigning one of the young men to take Wheldon to the village
lock-up, Judge Benton led the remaining investigators to the shack
designated by the manure man.
Following the towpath eastward
for a mile, they soon saw a flickering light The judge ordered Hinman
to keep his men back to prevent an escape by the kidnappers while he
and Loomis advanced to where they could peer through the tilting
boards of the shack. By the dim light of the kidnappers’ lantern,
Arphaxad could make out a man tied to a chair and a tall figure
standing in front of the bound man. “Is that a Bible he’s waving
about?” he whispered to the judge.
“I’d say so. It appears
that Reverend Van Slyke is preaching a sermon to the messenger of the
new prophet. Sounds like he’s proposing repentance. Where are the
other two?”
“Enjoying a libation, I’d
say.” Loomis pointed to a rough bench on which the village
president and another man were passing a bottle back and forth.
“Let me have a go at ‘im!”
The unknown man staggered to his feet.
“That must be Eber Howe, the
sworn enemy of the new Muhammad,” Loomis whispered. “Let’s hear
what he has to say.”
Howe leaned over their victim,
poking the man repeatedly in the chest. “Do you deny, Smith, that
you and your boy Joe are thoroughgoing frauds? I have the affidavies
right here ascertaining that you took money from numerous folks under
false pretenses of treasure-seeking and such.”
“I will pray for ye, Mr.
Howe, lest ye be drug down to the infernal regions by Satan and his
minions,” declared the old man.
“I have here an affidavy
from Constable Philip DeZeng of Bainbridge, New York!” Howe waved a
paper in Smith’s face. “He attests, under oath mind you, that he
arrested your son Joseph Smith for defrauding a farmer by name of
Josiah Stowell. You recognize the name?”
“Stowell was an agent sent
by Satan to mock at God’s holy messenger!”
“Hmm, Satan? Easy to say,
sir,” Howe nodded to his companions as if some point had been
proven. “It says on this paper that your son, sir, took money from
that poor old farmer on the pretense that he had a magic stone
through which he would look, and in such manner discover great
treasures of gold and silver. Sounds very like those magic spectacles
he makes so much of now, don’t it, Mr. Smithy?”
“You mock at the Urim and
the Thummin at your peril, sir!”
“I guess that’s how Joe
Jr. styles those magic specs of his, the ones he claims let him
translate the golden plates which, by the by, never existed!”
Old Smith glared at his
tormentor, too enraged to speak. Peering at the sight from their
place of concealment, Loomis could not stifle a guffaw.
“What’s that?” Dygert
exclaimed. “Is someone there?”
“Game’s up, Arphaxad,”
said the judge. “Let’s join the dance.”
John Dygert’s face turned
white and the minister frowned mightily as the judge and the
atoorney entered the shack. Eber Howe barely looked up from his
interrogation, posing a question to Smith about a more recent arrest
of his son for being a disorderly person.
“What’s all this, John?”
Benton asked with seeming joviality. “What fish have you and
Reverend Van Slyke hooked?”
Since neither Dygert nor Van
Slyke could form an answer, the judge continued. “I see that you
have caught two of the imposters for which the canal is so noted.
We’ll lock them both up, if you’re agreeable?” The village
president nodded weakly and the judge called loudly for Hinman and
his men. As soon as the agents of the law appeared, Benton indicated
that Smith and Howe should be taken to the lock-up forthwith. “Mr.
Dygert and the Reverend have beat us to it, lads. It is to their
credit that these two confidence men are in custody.”
When Hinman had departed with
his prisoners, the Judge’s feigned smile disappeared. “You’ve
been up to some monkeyshines here, the pair of you. And you don’t
need to mount your high horse, Reverend. If I had not happened on
this matter, the both of you would before the Oyer and Terminer by
morning.”
“In other words,” Arphaxad
felt the need for clarity with such fools as these. “We intend to
conceal your foolishness with a cloak of lies, much as it offends our
consciences. Before morning, Hinman will hasten the whole passel of
Smiths on down the canal.”
“That man and his sons are
enemies of Christianity!” the minister finally exploded. “We’ve
done no wrong in condemning their infamous lies.”
“Condemn all you like from
your pulpit, Van Slyke,” the judge advised, “But try any more
abductions and the only pulpit you’ll have will be on Blackwell’s
Island.”
“Leave such madmen alone and
they quickly fade from public notice,” observed Loomis, taking a
milder tact.
“Indeed,” said the judge.
“Such cranks are no threat to church or polity. Americans will
never give credence to their nonsensical ravings.”
“A farm boy digs up a whole
new Bible of solid gold? Hah!”Loomis picked up from the floor the
book which Smith’s son had published a few months before. “And
this is the sacred word, I take it?”
Arphaxad Loomis tossed the
book out the door and straight into the canal. “And now, my
friends,” said the future village president, “let us repair to
Klock’s Tavern for a needful libation.”
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