The 18th she wrote the piece “Our Duty.” The 19th, at 3 o’clock, P. M., she said, “Mother, some change has taken place. I don’t think I shall live through the day.” I saw there was a change, and stayed by her. Night drew on. No one happened in. She said, “It seems to me I could not breathe to have many in the room.” I told her I was not afraid to be alone with her if she did die. She seemed gratified, as she wanted everything as quiet as could be, and she was not able to talk much with people if they were in. Her brother John and myself stayed with her during the night, when it seemed that any moment might be her last. She delivered many messages for different individuals, especially for her brother Samuel, if she did not live to see him. She said, “My mind was never clearer; I could do a sum in arithmetic.”
About 2 o’clock she looked very happy. I said to John, “Annie is being blessed.” She soon exclaimed, “Glory to God,” a number of times, louder than she had spoken for a long while. She said, “Heaven is opened. I know Jesus is mine, and that he will save me. I shall come forth at the first resurrection;” and exhorted us to prepare for the time of trouble, and to be ready to meet her at that day, which she said she did not think was far distant.
Friday morning, the 20th, I wanted to write to Uriah, but she said “It will make no difference, I think I am dying; don’t leave me, mother, while I live.” We sent for Samuel, and for sister Gorham. She remained about the same. Those who came in thought she must be just gone. They said it did not seem like a sick and dying room, she appeared so happy. She would look upon them and smile when she could not speak. Sabbath, July 21, she seemed better. Sunday, the 22d, more distressed, though she had some pleasing, and I trust profitable intercourse with her relatives and some of her particular friends. Monday morning, more comfortable. Some of us entertained hopes that she might, even then, revive and live. Monday night her distress returned. She said, “I think I cannot live.” Thursday morning, the 24th, she composed her last two verses, “Oh! shed not a tear o’er the spot where I sleep,” &c. In the afternoon she had a conflict with the enemy, and seemed to lose sight of Jesus. I told her it was no strange thing; it was only a sign the Lord was near and would deliver. She found it even so. Before night she was enabled to triumph over all the powers of darkness, and praised God aloud. She prayed for patience to suffer all her Father’s will, saying, “I shall not suffer any too much. I can bear anything while Jesus sustains me;” and many like expressions.
Tuesday night was a solemn and interesting night. I stayed with her alone through the night. Neither of us slept. She was very happy, and talked much with me. She said in her former familiar way, “My mother, I’ve been afraid I should wear you all out. I’ve called after you by night and by day.” She felt bad to have me kept up as I was on her account. But she said, “I am here now, your dying girl. I think this is the last night, and you must be sure to rest when I am gone. O, my blessed mother, I shall bless you in Heaven for taking such care of me. No sorrow or suffering there. We shall all be free there. Yes, we shall all be free when we arrive at home, and we shall live forever. Yes, and I can smile upon you now through all my sufferings.” It was her last suffering night. Wednesday, the 25th, a death coldness was upon her. In the afternoon she became more free from pain and distress. While speaking in the evening of taking care of her, she said, “I shall not want any one to sit up; you can lie on the lounge.” At 1 o’clock I called Samuel. She talked with him, called for what she wanted as usual, and told him he might lie down. About three o’clock she called him to wet her head with water, and said she felt sleepy. She was indeed going into her last sleep. Samuel wet her head, and soon after spoke to me and said, “I don’t know but Annie is dying.” I spoke to her. She took no notice, breathed a few times, and died apparently as easy as any one going into a natural sleep. Her sufferings were over. She was gone. It was 4 o’clock in the morning, July 26, 1855.
She gave many directions about her burial; wanted as little parade as possible. We were expecting Bro. and sister White. We had had a letter from Bro. H. O. Nichols, saying they were expected there, and would be likely to call on us about that time. Brn. Bates, Burr and Nichols were written to, but circumstances prevented any of them from attending her funeral. Bro. Hastings and others spoke, prayed, and sung, to the edification of all. The hymns selected were, “Unconscious now in peaceful sleep,” and “She hath passed death’s chilling billow.” It has since been said by the friends that they never attended a more interesting funeral.
Annie looked very natural; more so than at any time after she came home. It was remarked that a holy sweetness seemed to rest upon her countenance, while her remains were with us. Annie had many favors shown her. For the interest and friendship manifested, the friends have my sincere love and gratitude. Though I ever thought much of them, they seem doubly dear since her death, especially Bro. and sister White, with whom she was so long connected. Annie loved them, and manifested an interest for them, and the work there till the last. Bro. White made her the generous donation of seventy-five dollars and other valuable presents, during her sickness.
It was a great satisfaction that I had Annie with me, and that I was enabled to take care of her while she lived. Her complaints required an uneven temperature of the room, which was unfavorable for me. I took one cold after another, and was very much worn down at the time of her death. I took an additional cold when she was buried, and have scarcely been able to do anything since. I have thought sometimes, that what I had the privilege of doing for Annie, was worth my life, if it must go; and if it were not that I was still needed as a mother, I would now myself willingly lay off the burden of life’s duties and cares.
West Wilton, N. H., Sept. 16, 1855.