e. He had still a clear mind, but with ominous lapses of
unconsciousness that foreboded the end; and in these intervals of coma,
as we wheeled him to and fro on the veranda in an invalid chair--in an
attempt to refresh him with the motion of the sea air--he would swing
his right hand upward, with an old pulpit gesture, and say "Priesthood!
Priesthood!" as if in that word he expressed the ruling thought of his
life, the inspiration that had sustained his power, the obligation that
had governed him in his direction of his people.

On the afternoon of the 11th of April, he was lying in a stupor on a
couch before an open window, with the sound of the surf in the quiet
room. One of the doctors entered, looked at him intently, and said
to me: "I can do nothing more here--and my patients need me in
San Francisco. He can't last long. He'll probably never recover
consciousness. If there's anything imperative--anything you must say to
him--any word you wish to have from him--you could perhaps rouse him"--I
said "No." We had never intruded upon any mood of his silence during his
masterful life; and I felt a jealous rebellion against the idea that we
should intrude now upon this last, helpless silence of unconsciousness.
The doctor left us. I summoned the other members of the family from
the veranda to the bedside. He lay motionless and placid, scarcely
breathing, his eyes closed, his hands folded. In accordance with the
rites of the Church, we laid our hands on his head, while my eldest
brother said the prayer of filial blessing that "sealed" the dying man
to eternity.

In the silence that followed the last "Amen" of the prayer, he opened
his eyes, and said in a steady, strong voice: "You thought I was passing
away?"

We replied that we had seen he was very weak.

With a glance at the door through which the physician had departed, he
said resolutely: "I shall go when my Father calls me--and not till then.
I shall know the moment, and I will not struggle against His command.
Lift me up. Carry me out on the balcony I want to see the water once
more. And I want to talk with you."

To me, it was the last struggle of the unconquerable will that had
silently, composedly, cheerfully fought and overcome every obstacle that
had opposed the purposes of his manhood for half a century. He would
not yield even to death at the dictation of man. He would go when he was
ready--when his mind had accepted the inevitable as the decree of God.