Thursday noon
Outside the tiny patch of yellow light the men of Vigilance sat motionless , listening , their shadows dim and huge against the wall . The door opened , and Charles Doane , the Grand Marshal of the Vigilantes , advanced three steps into the room . `` Mr. President , '' he said clearly , his voice cutting the stillness , `` I am instructed to announce that James King of William is dead . '' Thursday noon was set for the funeral of the man who had given his life that a city might live . In the room where he had made his brave fight against death he now lay in state . On Wednesday ten thousand people visited him there . Early Thursday morning his remains were transferred to the Unitarian Church where , early as it was , a great multitude had gathered to do him honour .