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Updated: May 15, 2025
In June the Vigilance Committee was formally organized. Our old and picturesque friend Sam Brannan was deeply concerned. In matters of initiative for the public good, especially where a limelight was concealed in the wing, Brannan was an able and efficient citizen. Headquarters were chosen and a formal organization was perfected.
It was presently established that young Brannan was more sinned against than sinning, and the holidays opened, with a fearful gap in Urbana, for Almira's devoted lover, to the comfort of every right-thinking maid and swain in Sangamon society, had fled, no one knew whither. Two weeks later the Widow Davies lay at death's door. Her son was telegraphed for, and came.
In January, 1862, it went to Florida with Brannan, on his appointment to command the Department of Key West; and in June, 1862, it formed the garrison of Fort Jefferson on the Dry Tortugas and of Key West; in November it was relieved by the 47th Pennsylvania, and joined Seymour's brigade on Port Royal Island, South Carolina. In March, 1863, it was back at Key West.
Mr. Brannan, editor of the Portage Register, who lives near, got the news, and imparted it to all whom he met, and they in turn told it to others, and a stampede was looked for. Fox turned the Fox House over to Bunker, and had his trunks checked for the Hot Springs. Corning and Jack Turner hired a wagon to take them to Briggsville.
Clark admitted that Brannan was the head of the Mormon church in California, and he was simply questioning as to Brannan's right, as high-priest, to compel the Mormons to pay him the regular tithes. Colonel Mason answered, "Brannan has a perfect right to collect the tax, if you Mormons are fools enough to pay it." "Then," said Clark, "I for one won't pay it any longer."
Some talk of lynching went about. Men made violent street-corner speeches. The mobs finally surged to the jail, but were firmly met by a strong armed guard and fell back. There was much destructive and angry talk. But to swing a mob into action there must be determined men at its head, and this mob had no leader. Sam Brannan started to say something, but was promptly arrested for inciting riot.
The other man ran into Portsmouth Square, vaulted to the saddle of a horse and spurred furiously away. Brannan stooped over the fallen figure. It was that of a brawny, bearded man, red-shirted, booted, evidently a miner. That he was mortally wounded his gazing eyes gave evidence.
"You probably do not remember me, Corporal Brannan," said Langston, in courteous tone, "but I remember you favorably and well for the day at Bluff Siding last June." And the light in the young soldier's eyes indicated that he recalled the civilian. "Your captain knows something of the matter on which I wish to see you, and I have asked him to remain here with us."
Brannan turned from contemplation of the dead to find himself surrounded by a curious, questioning group.
Brannan shrugged his shoulders. "There's no fathoming women," he thought. But Broderick, in far Washington, understood when there came to him a letter. It bore neither signature nor salutation: "When one is stripped of weapons sometimes it is by the will of God! And He does not fail to give us better ones. "Truth! Righteousness! Courage to attack all Evil.
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