[Illustration:  Haun’s mill.]

About four o’clock in the afternoon, a company of two hundred and forty men dashed up to the clearing.  Brother David Evans who had command of the few brethren, ran out to meet them, swinging his hat and crying, “Peace, peace.”  The leader of the mob told all who desired to save their lives and make peace to run into the blacksmith shop.  Some of the brethren did this, but in a few seconds after, a volley was fired into the shop.  The bullets went between the logs, which were far apart, and in at the open door, killing and wounding the brethren within.  Some few shots were fired back, but the brethren soon saw it was useless to resist, so they tried to save themselves as best they could.  Men, women and children scattered in every direction taking refuge in the woods, while the bullets of the mobbers flew thick and fast among them, wounding and killing.

The mob kept on firing at the shop until they thought all within were killed; then they went about the place killing all they could find alive, and robbing the houses of everything they could carry off.  They even stripped the dead and dying of their clothes.  They went into the blacksmith shop for this purpose, and there they saw dead men lying in piles, and wounded men groaning in pain, while pools of blood stood on the floor.  A little ten year old boy named Sardius Smith had crawled under the bellows, trying to hide from the wicked mobbers; but one of them saw him and dragged him out.  Then putting the muzzle of his gun to the boy’s head he killed him instantly.  Sardius’ little brother, Alma, seven years old had a great hole shot in his hip; but he lay still, fearing that if he moved they would shoot him again.  Another boy by the name of Charles Merrick was discovered.  He pleaded with the mobbers not to kill him:  “I am an American boy,” he said “O! don’t kill me!” The mobber heeded not, but blew out his brains.

Thomas McBride, an old, gray-haired man who had fought in the Revolutionary War under Washington, gave up his gun to a mobber, and then pleaded for his life.  The cruel mobber took the gun and shot the old man dead, and then another mobber cut him to pieces with an old corn cutter.

Thus it continued.  I cannot tell you half of the horrible things which happened.  At last the mobbers departed, and night came on.  Then, lowly and fearfully, the women and children and what few men were left crept out of their hiding places to see what had been done and to help as best they could.  Perhaps you can imagine what they saw and how they felt during that long, dark night in the midst of dead and dying husbands, brothers and sons.

Next morning it was found that nineteen men and boys were dead, or wounded so badly that they could not live, and about fifteen others were wounded.  What to do with the dead was the question.  There were not men enough to dig graves; besides, the mob might come back again and finish their awful work; so the best they could do was to put the nineteen bodies into a large, dry well that was close by.  This was done, and straw and earth placed on top.