They permitted me also to ascend into the steeple to see where it had been lightning struck on the Sabbath before, and to look out east and south on wasted farms like those I had seen near the city, extending till they were lost in the distance. Here in the face of pure day, close to the scar of divine wrath left by the thunderbolt, were fragments of food, cruses of liquor, and broken drinking vessels, with a bass drum and a steamboat signal bell, of which I afterwards learned the use with pain.

"It was after nightfall when I was ready to cross the river on my return. The wind had freshened after sunset, and the water beating roughly into my little boat, I headed higher up the stream than the point I had left in the morning, and landed where a faint glimmering light invited me to steer. Here among the dock and rushes, sheltered only by the darkness, without roof between them and the sky, I came upon a crowd of several hundred creatures, whom my movements roused from uneasy slumber upon the ground. Passing these on my way to the light I found it came from a tallow candle in a paper funnel shade such as is used by street vendors of apples and peanuts, and which flaring and fluttering away in the bleak air off the water, shone flickeringly on the emaciated features of a man in the last stage of a bilious, remittent fever. They had done their best for him. Over his head was something like a tent made of a sheet or two, and he rested on a but partially ripped open old straw mattress, with a hair sofa cushion under his head for a pillow. His gaping jaw and glazing eye told how short a time he would enjoy these luxuries, though a seemingly bewildered and excited person, who might have been his wife, seemed to find hope in occasionally forcing him to swallow awkwardly a measured sip of the tepid river water from a burned and battered bitter smelling tin coffee pot. Those who knew better had furnished the apothecary he needed, a toothless old bald head, whose manner had the repulsive dullness of a man familiar with death-scenes. He, so long as I remained, mumbled in his patient's ear a monotonous and melancholy prayer, between the pauses of which I heard the hiccup and sobbing of two little girls who were sitting upon a piece of driftwood outside. Dreadful indeed, were the sufferings of these forsaken beings, bowed and cramped by cold and sun burn, alternating as each weary day and night dragged on. They were almost all of them, the crippled victims of disease. They were there because they had no homes, nor hospitals, nor poor house, nor friends to offer them any. They could not satisfy the feeble cravings of their sick. They had not bread to quiet the fractious hunger cries of their children. Mothers and babes, daughters and grandparents, all of them alike, were bivouacked in tatters, wanting even covering to comfort those whom the sick shiver of fever was searching to the marrow.

"These were the Mormons, famishing in Lee county, Iowa, in the fourth week of the month of September, in the year of our Lord, 1846. The city, it was Nauvoo, Ills. The Mormons were the owners of that city, and the smiling country around, and those who stopped their plows, who had silenced their hammers their axes, their shuttles and their workshop wheels, those who had put out their fires, who had eaten their food, spoiled their orchards and trampled under foot their thousands of acres of unharvested grain, these were the keepers of their dwellings, the carousers in their temple, whose drunken riot insulted the ears of their dying. They were, all told, not more than six hundred forty persons who were thus lying on the river flats, but the Mormons in Nauvoo had numbered the year before over twenty thousand. Where were they? They had last been seen, carrying in mournful trains their sick and wounded, halt and blind to disappear behind the western horizon, pursuing the phantom of another home. Hardly anything else was known of them and people asked with curiosity—what had been their fate, what their fortune!"

Just a word to let the reader know of Col. Kane's first coming to our people.

One day, while we were still encamped at Council Bluffs, a delicate-looking stranger rode up on horseback. The young man was Colonel Thomas L. Kane, son of Judge Kane of Philadelphia, and brother of Dr. Kane, the celebrated Arctic explorer. Soon after reaching our camp he was stricken with fever. The best medical talent we had watched him unceasingly; and to the joy of the whole camp, he recovered. Never was watching, nursing, and praying better requited by man than he repaid to the Mormon people. As soon as his returning strength would allow, he hastened back east, and unsolicited by us delivered in his native city and in Washington some of the most truthful, vivid life scenes of the suffering of our people that have ever been published.

Chapter 5.

Daniel H. Wells.—Baptism for the Dead.—Lorenzo D. Young's Mission.—Wilford Woodruff.—Saved by Prayer.

The little band of one hundred twenty-five men who for three days defended the city of Nauvoo against fearful odds, are to me patriots and heroes, and their names and deeds should be handed down in history; for the wealth of history is the noble ideals it creates. Had there never been an angry Jewish mob, we should not have the martyr Stephen. Had there been no Gesler to hoist his cap on a liberty pole, there would have been no William Tell. Had there been no George III., there would have been no Patrick Henry nor Lafayette; and had there been no battle of Nauvoo, we should have had no Daniel H. Wells, as noble a patriot, and as true a lover of justice and liberty, as ever lived.

Daniel Hanmer Wells was one of the first settlers of Commerce, later called Nauvoo. When Joseph came in 1839 and bought land for the Church, Wells met the Prophet for the first time. He noted the intelligence and activity of the young leader. He (Wells) was studying law, and his legal attainments made him a useful man in the community. For several years thereafter he was justice of the peace, and thus became thoroughly acquainted with the people and their history. The result was that when the war-cloud broke, he shouldered his gun and for three days fought in defense of the weak and oppressed; and when they were overpowered, rather than submit to the enforced humiliation, he mounted his horse, bade adieu to his old home, and fled to the wilderness, casting his lot with the exiles, and becoming one of their staunchest leading men.

Now a few words about the ill-fated temple, that beautiful edifice which the Saints reared with so much love and sacrifice, and in which so many of our hopes and expectations centered. Like all other of our temples, it was erected for the benefit alike of the living and the dead. The Apostle Paul says, "If the dead rise not at all, then why are ye baptized for the dead?" Around that doctrine, amplified by later revelation, the Latter-day Saints have woven a social service that lays hold of the deepest affections of the heart, and in its scope is as broad as the ocean and as endless as eternity.

In the sacred font of that temple in Nauvoo, parents were baptized for their dead children, and children for their dead parents. There the husband and wife were sealed as such for eternity, and family ties were cemented to last forever. In the faith of every Latter-day Saint, the temple was therefore the holy of holies, the most sacred of all sacred places. Our enemies knew this; and fearing, that as long as the temple stood, we might be tempted to return, they resolved to destroy it.

A purse of five hundred dollars was raised by subscription and given to Joseph Agnew if he would burn it. On the night of October 6, 1848, Thomas C. Sharp and Agnew rode from Carthage to Nauvoo, twenty miles, and having a key to the front door. Sharp stood guard, while Agnew ascended to an upper floor and fired it. At sunrise the next morning there was nothing left but its four blackened walls.

Afterwards the