THE LAST DAY—FORD'S ACTION AT NAUVOO—CONSPIRACY BETWEEN THE GUARDS AND THE MURDEROUS MOB MILITIA—THE PRISONERS LEFT TO THEIR FATE—"A POOR WAYFARING MAN OF GRIEF"—THE ASSAULT AND THE MURDER—THE END.  
Governor Ford went to Nauvoo on the morning of the 27th of June, 1844, accompanied by a body of troops. When he arrived there he made a public speech before thousands of the Saints, in which he used this expression: "A great crime has been done by destroying the Expositor press, and placing the city under martial law, and a severe atonement must be made, so prepare your minds for the emergency."
 
Whether Ford was fully cognizant of the plot to murder the Prophet during his absence from Carthage is not altogether clear. He was unquestionably aware of the murderous feeling which existed among the Carthage Greys, and the men who were associated with Levi Williams and the Laws, Higbees, Fosters and others at Carthage. It has been stated upon good authority, and it has never been disputed, that he was informed of the intentions of the mob. But he ventured into Nauvoo. Would a cowardly man like he was have dared to risk himself in such a manner at such a time, if he was fully advised of the time the massacre was to take place? The presumption is that he was indifferent as to the fate which would befall the Prophet and his companions; but that he did not know, as some of his officers did, that the bloody deed was to be consummated while he was absent at Nauvoo. If Ford had been a man of greater daring, it might with certainty be assured that his visit to Nauvoo was a part of the conspiracy, and that he went there to avoid the appearance of complicity in the murder. This is certain, that while Ford was addressing the people, a sound like the distant firing of a cannon, or the slight sound of distant rumbling thunder, was heard by many in the audience, and by some of Ford's aides who stood near him, and that they whispered something to him, and without loss of time and in the greatest haste, he and his escort rode out of Nauvoo. Their departure was more like a flight than the decorous leave-taking of the executive of the state accompanied by a command of troops. A cannon was fired at a certain point distant from Carthage, as a signal that the massacre had been accomplished; but it was never known whether or not this was the sound which attracted attention at Nauvoo. Governor Ford's hasty flight at that time has always been deemed conclusive evidence that he had been informed by some of his companions—if he had not been fully advised of the plot and its details before—that Joseph Smith and his companions had been murdered.
 
Ford and his aides occupied a room in the Nauvoo mansion that day. Orrin P. Rockwell heard one of them at three o'clock say: "the deed is done before this time."
 
The governor and his company went to the temple. Some of the officers broke the horns from the oxen supporting the baptismal font, while Ford made rare sport of the sacred edifice.
 
One of his attendants remarked: "This temple is a curious piece of workmanship; and it was a damned shame that they did not let Joe Smith finish it."
 
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 sin............