Another said: "But he is dead by this time, and he will never see this temple again."

Brother William Gr. Sterrett stood by and replied: "They cannot kill him until he has finished his work."

At this Ford gave a significant smile and one of his aids standing by said: "Whether he has finished his work or not, by God, he will not see this place again, for he is finished before this time."

At Carthage, after the governor left, the external situation was this: The guarding of the jail had been left to General Deming who had the Carthage Greys under his command; but Deming retired during the day for fear of his life, as he saw the determination of the troops to connive at murder. The main body of the company was stationed in the public square, one hundred and fifty yards from the jail, awhile eight men were detailed, under the command of Sergeant Frank A. Worrell, to guard the prisoners. The disbanded mob militia had come up to Carthage to the number of two hundred, with their faces blackened with powder and mud. The Carthage Greys were informed that the assassin band was ready; and it was then arranged that the guard at the jail should load with blank cartridges and that the mob should attack the prison and meet with some show of resistance.

Within the jail, the brethren, Joseph and Hyrum, John Taylor and Willard Richards, were confined in a room upstairs and were busy, during the day, writing letters, conversing and praying and singing. Between three, and four o'clock at the Prophet's request, Apostle Taylor sang this sweet and comforting poem:

A poor wayfaring man of grief,
Hath often cross'd me on my way,
Who sued so humbly for relief
That I could never answer Nay.

I had not power to ask his name;
Whither he went or whence he came;
Yet there was something in his eye
That won my love, I know not why.

Once when my scanty meal was spread,
He entered—not a word he spake!
Just perishing for want of bread;
I gave him all; he blessed it, brake,

And ate, but gave me part again;
Mine was an angel's portion then,
For while I fed with eager haste,
The crust was manna to my taste.

I spied him where a fountain burst,
Clear from the rock—his strength was gone,
The heedless water mocked his thirst,
He heard it, saw it hurrying on.

I ran and rais'd the suff'rer up;
Thrice from the stream he drain'd my cup,
Dipped and return'd it running o'er;
I drank and never thirsted more.

'Twas night, the floods were out, it blew
A winter hurricane aloof;
I heard his voice, abroad, and flew
To bid him welcome to my roof.

I warm'd, I cloth'd, I cheer'd my guest,
I laid him on my couch to rest;
Then made the earth my bed, and seem'd
In Eden's garden while I dream'd.

Stripp'd, wounded, beaten nigh to death,
1 found him by the highway side;
I rous'd his pulse, brought back his breath,
Reviv'd his spirit, and supplied

Wine, oil, refreshment—he was heal'd;
I had myself a wound conceal'd;
But from that hour forgot the smart,
And peace bound up my broken heart.

In prison I saw him next—condemn'd
To meet a traitor's doom at morn;
The tide of lying tongues I stemm'd,
And honor'd him 'mid shame and scorn.

My friendship's utmost zeal to try,
He asked if I for him would die;
The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill,
But the free spirit cried, "I will!"

Then in a moment to my view,
The stranger started from disguise;
The tokens in his hands I knew,
The Savior stood before mine eyes.

He spake—and my poor name he nam'd—
"Of me thou hast not been asham'd;
These deeds shall thy memorial be;
Fear not, thou didst them unto me."

And when it was done, Joseph asked him to repeat it. He replied that he did not feel like singing. He was oppressed with a sense of coming disaster; but to gratify Hyrum, he sang the hymn again, with much tender feeling.

At four o'clock the guard was changed. A little after five, the jailor came in and said that Stephen Markham had been surrounded by a mob and driven from Carthage. A little later there was a slight rustling at the outer door of the jail, and a cry of surrender, then a discharge of three or four guns. The plot had been carried out: two hundred of the mob came rushing into the jail yard, and the guards fired their pieces over the heads of the assailing party.

Many of the mob rushed up the stairs while others fired through the open windows of the jail into the room where the brethren were confined. The four prisoners sprang against the door, but the murderers burst it partly open and pushed their guns into the room. John Taylor and Willard Richards, each with a cane, tried to knock aside the weapons. A shower of bullets came up the stairway and through the door. Hyrum was in front of the door when a ball struck him in the face and he fell back saying:

"I AM A DEAD MAN."