THE STORY OF THE HUNTINGTON SISTERS CONTINUED—ZINA D. YOUNG'S PATHETIC PICTURE OF THE MARTYRDOM—JOSEPH'S MANTLE FALLS UPON BRIGHAM—THE EXODUS—A BIRTH ON THE BANKS OF THE CHARITON—DEATH OF FATHER HUNTINGTON.

"It was June 27th, 1844," writes Zina D. Young (one of the Huntington sisters, with whom the reader is familiar), "and it was rumored that Joseph was expected in from Carthage. I did not know to the contrary until I saw the Governor and his guards descending the hill by the temple, a short distance from my house. Their swords glistened in the sun, and their appearance startled me, though I knew not what it foreboded. I exclaimed to a neighbor who was with me, 'What is the trouble! It seems to me that the trees and the grass are in mourning!' A fearful silence pervaded the city, and after the shades of night gathered around us it was thick darkness. The lightnings flashed, the cattle bellowed, the dogs barked, and the elements wailed. What a terrible night that was to the saints, yet we knew nothing of the dark tragedy which had been enacted by the assassins at Carthage.

"The morning dawned; the sad news came; but as yet I had not heard of the terrible event. I started to go to Mother Smith's, on an errand. As I approached I saw men gathered around the door of the mansion. A few rods from the house I met Jesse P. Harmon. 'Have you heard the news?' he asked. 'What news?' I inquired. 'Joseph and Hyrum are dead!' Had I believed it, I could not have walked any farther. I hastened to my brother Dimick. He was sitting in his house, mourning and weeping aloud as only strong men can weep. All was confirmed in a moment. My pen cannot utter my grief nor describe my horror. But after awhile a change came, as though the released spirits of the departed sought to comfort us in that hour of dreadful bereavement.

"'The healer was there, pouring balm on my heart,
And wiping the tears from my eyes;
He was binding the chain that was broken in twain,
And fastening it firm in the skies.'

"Never can it be told in words what the saints suffered in those days of trial; but the sweet spirit—the comforter—did not forsake them; and when the twelve returned, the mantle of Joseph fell upon Brigham.

"When I approached the stand (on the occasion when Sidney Rigdon was striving for the guardianship of the Church), President Young was speaking. It was the voice of Joseph Smith—not that of Brigham Young. His very person was changed. The mantle was truly given to another. There was no doubting this in the minds of that vast assembly. All witnessed the transfiguration, and even to-day thousands bear testimony thereof. I closed my eyes. I could have exclaimed, I know that is Joseph Smith's voice! Yet I knew he had gone. But the same spirit was with the people; the comforter remained.

"The building of the temple was hurried on. The saints did not slacken their energies. They had a work to do in that temple for their dead, and blessings to obtain for themselves. They had learned from the prophet Joseph the meaning of Paul's words, 'Why then are ye baptized for the dead, if the dead rise not at all?'

"Passing on to the exodus. My family were informed that we were to leave with the first company. So on the 9th of February, 1846, on a clear cold day, we left our home at Nauvoo. All that we possessed was now in our wagon. Many of our things remained in the house, unsold, for most of our neighbors were, like ourselves, on the wing.

"Arrived at Sugar Creek, we there first saw who were the brave, the good, the self-sacrificing. Here we had now openly the first examples of noble-minded, virtuous women, bravely commencing to live in the newly-revealed order of celestial marriage.

"'Women; this is my husband's wife!'

"Here, at length, we could give this introduction, without fear of reproach, or violation of man-made laws, seeing we were bound for the refuge of the Rocky Mountains, where no Gentile society existed, to ask of Israel, 'What doest thou?'

"President Young arrived on Sugar Creek, and at once commenced to organize the camp. George A. Smith was the captain of our company of fifty.

"I will pass over the tedious journey to the Chariton river, in the face of the fierce winds of departing winter, and amid rains that fairly inundated the land. By day we literally waded through mud and water, and at night camped in anything but pleasant places.

"On the bank of the Chariton an incident occurred ever eventful in the life of woman. I had been told in the temple that I should acknowledge God even in a miracle in my deliverance in woman's hour of trouble, which hour had now come. We had traveled one morning about five miles, when I called for a halt in our inarch. There was but one person with me—Mother Lyman, the aunt of George A. Smith; and there on the bank of the Chariton I was delivered of a fine son. On the morning of the 23d, Mother Lyman gave me a cup of coffee and a biscuit. What a luxury for special remembrance! Occasionally the wagon had to be stopped, that I might take breath. Thus I journeyed on. But I did not mind the hardship of my situation, for my life had been preserved, and my babe seemed so beautiful.

"We reached Mount Pisgah in May. I was now with my father, who had been appointed to preside over this temporary settlement of the saints. But an unlooked for event soon came. One evening Parley P. Pratt arrived, bringing the word from headquarters that the Mormon battalion must be raised in compliance with the requisition of the government upon our people. And what did this news personally amount to, to me? That I had only my father to look after me now; for I had parted from my husband; my eldest brother, Dimick Huntington, with his family, had gone into the battalion, and every man who could be spared was also enlisted. It was impossible for me to go on to winter quarters, so I tarried at Mount Pisgah with my father.

"But, alas! a still greater trial awaited me! The call for the battalion had left many destitute. They had to live in wagons. But worse than destitution stared us in the face. Sickness came upon us and death invaded our camp. Sickness was so prevalent and deaths so frequent that enough help could not be had to make coffins, and many of the dead were wrapped in their grave-clothes and buried with split logs at the bottom of the grave and brush at the sides, that being all that could be done for them by their mourning friends. Too soon it became my turn to mourn. My father was taken sick, and in eighteen days he died. Just before he left us for his better home he raised himself upon his elbow, and said: 'Man is like the flower or the grass—cut down in an hour! Father, unto thee do I commend my spirit!' This said, he sweetly went to rest with the just, a martyr for the truth; for, like my dear mother, who died in the expulsion from Missouri, he died in the expulsion from Nauvoo. Sad was my heart. I alone of all his children was there to mourn.

"It was a sad day at Mount Pisgah, when my father was buried. The poor and needy had lost a friend—the kingdom of God a faithful servant. There upon the hillside was his resting place. The graveyard was so near that I could hear the wolves howling as they visited the spot; those hungry monsters, who fain would have unsepulchred those sacred bones!

"Those days of trial and grief were succeeded by my journey to winter quarters, where in due time I arrived, and was welcomed by President Young into his family."