CHAPTER XV.
THE SOLEMN PAGEANT.
The President was dead. The curtain had fallen at last between an anxious people and the first citizen of the Republic. It only remained for fifty millions of freemen to take him up with tender hands and bear him away to the narrow house prepared for all living. It was a sad duty which the Nation was not likely to neglect or leave to others to perform.
In the preparations made for the President’s funeral there was neither passion nor excitement. When Cæsar fell there was an uproar. The benches of the Senate House were torn up by the maddened populace to make a pyre for the burning of the dead Imperator’s body. We have improved upon all that. The temperate spirit and self-restraint of the American people promise well for the perpetuity of the Republic. However much cause there may be for anger and alarm, it is not likely that our institutions will ever be endangered by an outburst of popular fury.
The shutters of Francklyn cottage were closed. The sun’s face wore a coppery tint as he came up from the sea to look on the scene of death. The wind, which had blown stormily for a week, fell to a calm. A September haze filled the air and sky, and an indescribable quiet settled over the long, low shores of Jersey. With the rising of the sun a single craft far out at sea, floating, as it seemed, on nothing, broke the line of the horizon.
At the cottage the silence of death prevailed. At a little distance, on all sides, armed sentinels, with fixed bayonets, paced their beats, guardians of the border line between now and hereafter, beyond which the living might not pass. The flag, which, since the arrival of the President at Elberon, had been floating from a pole thrust out of an upper window of the cottage, was draped with black; but beyond this somber signal no outward sign of mourning was apparent. The first comers were the journalists; but in their demeanor the customary eagerness of competition was no longer apparent. Fifty millions of people would, before night, read the truths which these reporters had come to gather, but their subject of inquiry was now death rather than life; and their demeanor was calm and respectful in that shadowy presence.
At half-past 10, Secretaries Windom, Kirkwood, and Hunt and Postmaster-General James arrived at Elberon, and were invited at once to the Attorney-General’s cottage, situated about as far to the north-east of the hotel as the Francklyn cottage, in which the body of the President lay, is to the south-east. There they remained during the forenoon discussing the details of the events which had just transpired, in which they were all so deeply interested. A half hour later General Grant, with his son and a friend, drove up and spent an hour in gathering information of the last hours of President Garfield.
Meanwhile, the undertaker and his assistants had arrived and were preparing the body of the President for embalming and burial. The body showed the loss of flesh to a degree painful to look upon. Only the face preserved any thing like the appearance of the living Garfield. The beard, in a measure, contributed to this, serving to conceal the hollowness of the wasted cheeks. The body was laid upon rubber cloths placed upon the floor to await the autopsy, which was to take place in the afternoon.
CHESTER A. ARTHUR.
In the afternoon President Arthur arrived at Elberon. He had already taken the oath of office in New York City, and had then come immediately to Long Branch to tender condolence to the friends of the dead and to confer with the Cabinet. The question under consideration was the arrangement of a programme for the funeral of the President. After the conference, the following plan for the funeral services was ordered by the Cabinet, and was given for the information of the public by Secretary Blaine:
“The remains of the late President of the United States will be removed to Washington by special train on Wednesday, September 21, leaving Elberon at 10 a. m., and reaching Washington at 4 P. M. Detachments from the United States Army and from the marines of the Navy will be in attendance on arrival at Washington to perform escort duty. The remains will lie in state in the rotunda of the Capitol on Thursday and Friday, and will be guarded by deputations from the Executive Departments and by officers of the Senate and House of Representatives.
“Religious ceremonies will be observed in the rotunda at 3 o’clock on Friday afternoon. At 5 o’clock the remains will be transferred to the funeral car and be removed to Cleveland, Ohio, via the Pennsylvania Railroad, arriving there Saturday at 2 P. M. In Cleveland the remains will lie in state until Monday at 2 P. M., and be then interred in Lakeview Cemetery. No ceremonies are expected in the cities and towns along the route of the funeral train beyond the tolling of bells. Detailed arrangements for final sepulture are committed to the municipal authorities of Cleveland, under the direction of the Executive of the State of Ohio.
Meanwhile, on the afternoon of the 20th, a post-mortem examination of the President’s body was made with a view of clearing up the many uncertainties which existed concerning the nature of the wound and the secondary causes of death. The autopsy lasted for about three and a half hours, and was conducted by the attending and consulting surgeons, assisted by Dr. D. S. Lamb, Assistant Surgeon of the Medical Museum at Washington, and Dr. A. H. Smith, of New York. The revelations made by the examination were of an astonishing sort, chiefly so as it respected the diagnosis of the President’s injury, which was found to have been utterly at variance with the facts. At 11 o’clock P. M. an official bulletin—last of many—was prepared by the surgeons, setting forth the results of the autopsy, as follows:
“By previous arrangement, a post-mortem examination of the body of President Garfield was made this afternoon in the presence and with the assistance of Drs. Hamilton, Agnew, Bliss, Barnes, Woodward, Reyburn, Andrew H. Smith, of Elberon, and Acting Assistant Surgeon D. S. Lamb, of the Army Medical Museum of Washington. The operation was performed by Dr. Lamb. It was found that the ball, after fracturing the right eleventh rib, had passed through the spinal column in front of the spinal cord, fracturing the body of the first lumbar vertebra, driven a number of small fragments of bone into the adjacent soft parts, and lodging below the pancreas, about two inches and a half to the left of the spine, and behind the peritoneum, where it had become completely encysted.
“The immediate cause of death was secondary hemorrhage from one of the mesenteric arteries adjoining the track of the ball, the blood rupturing the peritoneum, and nearly a pint escaping into the abdominal cavity. This hemorrhage is believed to have been the cause of the severe pain in the lower part of the chest complained of just before death. An abscess cavity, six inches by four in dimensions, was found in the vicinity of the gall bladder, between the liver and the transverse colon, which were strongly adherent. It did not involve the substance of the liver, and no communication was found between it and the wound.
“A long suppurating channel extended from the external wound, between the loin muscles and the right kidney, almost to the right groin. This channel, now known to be due to the burrowing of pus from the wound, was supposed during life to have been the track of the ball.
“On an examination of the organs of the chest, evidences of severe bronchitis were found on both sides, with broncho-pneumonia of the lower portion of the right lung, and, though to a much less extent, of the left. The lungs contained no abscesses, and the heart no clots. The liver was enlarged and fatty, but not from abscesses. Nor were any found in any other organ except the left kidney, which contained near its surface a small abscess about one-third of an inch in diameter.
“In reviewing the history of the case in connection with the autopsy, it is quite evident that the different suppurating surfaces, and especially the fractured, spongy tissue of the vertebra, furnish a sufficient explanation of the septic condition which existed.”
During the first day after the President’s death several incidents occurred worthy of note. Among others, came two dispatches from Cleveland, whose people were profoundly touched by the death of their friend. The first was from a committee of the city council, and said:
Mrs. J. A. Garfield, Elberon, New Jersey:
In behalf of the trustees, we tender you ground in Lakeview Cemetery for the burial of our lamented President, such as you or your friends may select.
This was supplemented by the following dispatch sent by the Mayor of Cleveland:
Mrs. James A. Garfield, Long Branch, N. J.:
The people of this city, who have borne such love and honor to your husband, most earnestly and sincerely desire that his grave may be made here among us. Allow me, dear madam, to add to this publicly expressed desire of our citizens my own personal and official concurrence.
These cordial offers, concurring with Mrs. Garfield’s own wishes and the express desire of her dead husband, determined the choice of the spot where his body was to be laid to rest.
Another incident was the breaking of the news to the aged mother at home. Early in the morning a message came to Mrs. Larabee, sister of the President, who lives at Solon, Ohio, and with whom the poor old mother was for the time residing. The dispatch said:
To Mrs. Eliza Garfield:
James died this evening at 10:35. He calmly breathed his life away.
For awhile the dreadful intelligence was held back from the faithful heart that had sheltered James A. Garfield in his childhood. At length, after breakfast, she sought, as usual, the daily telegram from her son. Finding the dispatch, she was about to read, when her granddaughter took the message from her trembling hands.
“Grandma,” she said, “would you be surprised to hear bad news this morning?”
“Why, I don’t know,” said the old lady.
“Well, I should not,” said Mrs. Larabee, “I have been fearing and expecting it all the morning.”
“Grandma,” said Ellen Larabee, “there is sad news.”
“Is he dead?” asked the old lady, tremulously.
“He is.”
The quick tears started in the sensitive eyes. There was no violent paroxysm of grief. No expression of frenzy told of the anguish within.
“Is it true?” she asked, with quivering lips. “Then the Lord help me, for if he is dead what shall I do?”
It was the bitterest of all the outcries of sorrowing human nature—the anguish of a mother’s breaking heart. The morning of the 21st of September broke calmly from the sea. Every thing was in readiness for the departure. For a brief period in the morning the people of Elberon were permitted to view the face of the dead. The coffin rested upon supports draped in black. There were few decorations. Upon the top were two black palm leaves. Some white flowers and a hanging basket of ferns with some branches of cycas leaves, emblematic of heroism, completed the decorations.
At half-past nine a brief funeral service was pronounced over the dead by Rev. Charles J. Young, of Long Branch, and then preparations were made for the immediate departure of the sad cortege on its sorrowful journey.
The train which was to bear away the President’s remains was backed up to the cottage on the track that had been so magically laid over the lawns on the night before he was brought to Long Branch. It consisted of an engine and four cars, which were all heavily and tastefully draped in mourning. Almost all the woodwork on the sides of the cars was covered with crape, only the number of the car being left exposed. The front car was for the baggage. The next was specially arranged for the coffin. In the center of this was a large catafalque for the casket to rest upon. It was covered with crape arranged in graceful folds. It rested upon a raised platform also draped in mourning and surrounded at the bottom by flags. The sides and top of the car were entirely covered with black cloth. Cane chairs were provided for the military guard of honor which occupied the car with the coffin. The third car was a combination one for members of the Cabinet. It was also draped in mourning inside and out. The last car was the private car of President Roberts, of the Pennsylvania Railroad. It was reserved for Mrs. Garfield and family, and was the same car in which she came to Long Branch on the 6th of September. This car was also tastefully draped in black.
Promptly at 10 o’clock the train moved slowly away toward the Elberon station. At this time there were two or three thousand persons lining the track, and the roadway was crowded with carriages for half a mile. Men stood with uncovered heads watching the train as it disappeared from view.
MISS MOLLIE GARFIELD.
It was expected that President Arthur would arrive at Attorney-General MacVeagh’s house in the morning, and with the Cabinet visit the house where President Garfield lay dead. The mixed crowd of city and country people who had gathered from many miles thought they would witness the closing scenes of the dead President’s career and at the same time catch a glimpse of his successor. The arrangements were subsequently changed, however. President Arthur decided to take a special train from Jersey City and meet the funeral procession at the Elberon station.
Without further delay the funeral train moved slowly along the track which had been laid across the fields specially to convey President Garfield to his new home by the sea. Nearly every hat was removed from the heads of the observers when the train approached. It moved along the left-hand track until the last car was parallel with the rear car of the special train from Jersey City, which stood on the right-hand track. President Arthur and the rest of the party then stepped into the car where the Cabinet were seated. After greeting the persons in the car, the President seated himself behind Secretary Blaine, and the two engaged in conversation. General Grant took a seat immediately behind President Arthur, when he was soon joined by Chief-Justice Waite. The engine which drew the train from the Francklyn cottage drew the train only to the main road. Engineer Paige and Fireman Gwinnell, who had charge of the engine when President Garfield was removed from Washington, were waiting with the same engine on a side track. Deep folds of mourning hung from the engineer’s box and pieces of crape covered the brass and other portions of the engine. Paige, who has always felt great pride in the successful removal from Washington, backed his engine on the main track and coupled it to the car which contained the coffin. At twelve minutes past 10 o’clock, the conductor told Paige that all was ready. A few puffs was the only noise made, and the funeral train moved quietly away.
At the various points en route there were tokens of the deepest popular sorrow. At Ocean Grove, the railroad for half a mile on both sides was lined with people. On the platform of the dépôt were from 4,000 to 5,000 men and women. As the train passed the men stood with uncovered heads, absolutely silent. The bells tolled, and then the crowd dispersed. Flags were at half-mast, and the buildings were draped in black.
There was a brief stop at Monmouth Junction, and at Princeton, where the students from the College of New Jersey were gathered to catch a glimpse of the passing train. They stood five hundred strong along the track, which had been strewed with flowers by the people. At Trenton, which was passed just before noon, an immense crowd of people had assembled. Every man took off his hat, and the women bowed their heads as the train went by. Many persons were affected to tears.
At 12:50 P. M. the cortege reached Grand Ferry Junction, opposite Philadelphia, where a great crowd, standing in silence, caught a glimpse of the casket containing the remains of the dead President. At Wilmington, fully ten thousand people were assembled. The bells of the city hall, court-house, and fire-engine houses were tolled while the train was passing through the city. At Baltimore there was no stop. Several thousand persons were gathered about the dépôt, who uncovered as the train passed, preserving the most respectful silence. Only three or four persons on the train were visible and recognized, the curtains of the cars being closed.
JAMES R. GARFIELD.
At 4:35 P. M. the cortege reached Washington City. As the train came into the dépôt, there was a hush among the throng, and then every head was uncovered. The scene that followed was impressive in the extreme. Mrs. Garfield, heavily veiled and dressed in deep mourning, alighted, leaning on the arm of Secretary Blaine on the one side, and supported by her son Harry on the other. Members of the Cabinet followed, and among them towered the form of President Arthur, on whose face was written the various emotions which must have struggled within him as he was welcomed by the sad and silent thousands of the people of Washington. This party was followed by the pall-bearers, consisting of trained artillery sergeants. As the cortege reached Sixth Street, where the military was massed, the Marine Band began slowly to play “Nearer, my God, to Thee.” As the notes of this beautiful melody filled the air all heads were bowed in reverence, and even the rabble in the streets was awed into silence.
The scene at the east front of the Capitol was an imposing one. The wide plateau was filled with the various military organizations in bright uniforms, conspicuous among which were the marines. The General and staff officers of the Army and the officers of the Navy formed in two lines leading to the foot of the broad marble steps on the east front, standing on which President Garfield had delivered his inaugural address. Directly in front was the hearse, drawn by six magnificent gray horses. At the foot of the steps stood the officers of the Senate and of the House, and the Reception Committee. When the band had played a dirge, the pall-bearers advanced, followed by the President, Cabinet, Justices of the Supreme Court, Senators and Representatives, and filed slowly and sadly up a pathway which had been kept open in the middle of the broad flight of stairs, the sides being densely packed with people who had crowded in to see this part of the pageant.
On reaching the center of the vast rotunda, the casket was placed on the catafalque which had been prepared for it, and then the President and the Cabinet, together with General Grant, the Senators and the Representatives, stood for a moment in silence. Then a panel covering the face of the dead President was removed, and they looked for the last time upon the wasted features of him who so lately was chief of the Nation, and then solemnly moved away. The sight of the face of the dead President was indeed terrible, and upon most who saw it an impression was left which time can never efface. It was pinched and haggard to the last extreme; the skin yellow and glistening; the eyes sunken, and the lips tightly drawn. The nose looked unnaturally long, sharp, and hooked; and altogether there was but the slightest resemblance to the heroic form and face of him who had been James A. Garfield.
The arrangement made was that for two days and nights the body of the illustrious dead should lie in state in the rotunda of the Capitol. This plan was carried out. A guard of honor stood right and left, and very soon, in orderly procession past the mortal remains of their dead friend, the people began to pour in a continuous stream. It was now night-fall, and the shadows came down around the magnificent structure which for eighteen years had been the scene of the toils and triumphs of Garfield, now, alas, about to witness the last ovation in his honor.
On the morning of the 22d of September Washington City became, at sunrise, the scene of such a pageant as had never but once been beheld within those spacious avenues. By six o’clock the crowds had assembled, and were filing through the east door of the Capitol. As the day advanced the throng increased; and, as it became absolutely necessary that each person should have his turn in the solemn procession, the latest comers were obliged to take up their stations at the end of a long line to the rear. By ten o’clock this was found to reach to the crossing of Second Street and the avenue south-west—considerably more than a quarter of a mile away. All along this line policemen walked back and forth, to prevent stragglers from the outside from coming into the line out of turn. The people forming this procession were of the highest and lowest; among the number, thousands of women and children.
The time required to pass from this extreme limit of the line to the catafalque was, at the most crowded period, three hours and a half, and this under a broiling sun and upon a broad asphaltum pavement, which scorched the feet that pressed it.
During the day there were no incidents in the rotunda worthy of mention. Beyond the ceaseless tramp of the people, who poured through in a continuous stream, there was no sound—the desire for conversation being swallowed up in the awe which the presence of the dead President inspired. Some of the people passed the coffin without lifting their eyes from the floor, unwilling to trust themselves to gaze upon the awful sight. Others, more curious, looked as long as they could, and then reluctantly moved away. There were a great many colored people in the throng, of both sexes and of all ages and conditions. Common laborers in tattered clothing crowded upon sumptuously-dressed ladies and gentlemen, all inspired by a common motive. At one time during the day it was ascertained by actual count that sixty persons passed the coffin in one minute, or at the rate of 3,600 an hour, or more than 40,000 during the day. This is probably not above the actual number which passed through the rotunda.
At the farther end of the catafalque were some beautiful floral decorations. There was a broken column of white roses of the Marshal Neil variety, about three feet high, surmounted by a white dove with wings outspread, as if in the act of alighting. Next came a lovely design representing “The Gates Ajar.” These columns were also of white roses, and the bars of the gate were of variegated white and green. The gate-posts were surmounted by globes of immortelles. Next to this was a crown of white rosebuds, the points being tipped with fern. Beyond this was a bank of white flowers from which sprang a column on which was perched a white dove. Upon the bank of white was worked in green the words: “Our Martyr President.” At each end of the floral display was a wreath of ivy leaves lying on the floor. In the afternoon there was sent from the British Legation a massive wreath, one of the most beautiful ever seen in Washington. It came in obedience to orders telegraphed from the Queen, and the accompanying card bore the following touching and significant inscription:
“Queen Victoria, to the memory of the late President Garfield. An expression of her sorrow and sympathy with Mrs. Garfield and the American Nation.”
“September 22, 1881.”
The interior of the rotunda was hung in black, though not so heavily as to produce a marked effect. In all other respects this portion of the Capitol was of the usual appearance.
After passing the catafalque, most of the visitors left the building by the west staircase and departed; but many mounted to the dome and viewed the crowds assembled at the east front from that point of vantage. All day the streets were thronged with people. The street-cars, which had been appropriately draped, were filled to overflowing both to and from the Capitol, and all the conveyances in the city were brought into requisition. The trains brought many visitors from all parts of the nation to the city; and many country people from Maryland and Virginia took advantage of the pageant to visit the city.
During the afternoon there were some indications that the decomposition of the body had set in; and, it being understood that in such event it was the wish of Mrs. Garfield that the features of her husband should be shut out from the public gaze, the lid of the casket was closed, by order of Secretary Blaine, at about 6:30 in the evening.
JAMES A. GARFIELD.
Thus, with the evening twilight, the face of James A. Garfield, which, for so many years, had shone with a great radiance among the people, was shut forever from the sight of men.
The morning of the 23d of September witnessed a renewal of the scene of the day before. At half-past eleven all the doors and avenues of approach were closed in order that Mrs. Garfield might go in and remain for a few minutes alone with her dead. What passed behind those silent curtains belongs not to curious history, peering ever with sleepless eyes into the secrets of life and death, but only to the stricken woman who went in alone to her honored dead.
After this affecting episode the procession was renewed for a season, and then preparations were made for the observance of the formal ceremonies of the day. At two o’clock the services began. Appropriate passages of Scripture were read by Rev. Dr. Rankin, and this was followed with a touching prayer by Elder Isaac Errett, of Cincinnati. As the closing words of the invocation died away, the Rev. F. D. Powers, of the Vermont Avenue Christian Church, of which President Garfield was a member, delivered a feeling address. He spoke in a clear voice, and was distinctly heard in every portion of the hall:
“The cloud so long pending over the Nation has at last burst upon our heads. We sit half-crushed amid the ruin it has brought. A million million prayers and hopes and tears, as far as human wisdom sees, were vain. Our loved one has passed from us. But there is relief. We look away from the body. We forget, for a time, the things that are seen. We remember with joy his faith in the Son of God, whose gospel he sometimes himself preached, and which he always truly loved. And we see light and blue sky through the cloud structure, and beauty instead of ruin,—glory, honor, immortality, spiritual and eternal life in the place of decay and death. The chief glory of this man, as we think of him now, was his discipleship in the school of Christ. His attainments as scholar and statesman will be the theme of our orators and historians; and they must be worthy men to speak his praise worthily. But it is as a Christian that we love to think of him now. It was this which made his life to man an invaluable boon, his death to us an unspeakable loss, his eternity to himself an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away.
“He was no sectarian. His religion was as broad as the religion of Christ. He was a simple Christian, bound by no sectarian ties, and wholly in fellowship with all pure spirits. He was a Christologist rather than a theologist. He had great reverence for the family relations. His example as son, husband, and father, is a glory to this Nation. He had a most kindly nature. His power over human hearts was deep and strong. He won men to him. He had no enemies. The hand that struck him was not the hand of his enemy, but the enemy of the position, the enemy of the country, the enemy of God. He sought to do right, manward and Godward.
“He was a grander man than we know. He wrought, even in his pain, a better work for the Nation than we can now estimate. He fell at the height of his achievements, not from any fault of his; but we may, in some sense, reverently apply to him the words spoken of his dear Lord: ‘He was wounded for our transgressions; he was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon him.’ As the nations remember the Macedonian as Alexander the Great and the Grecian as Aristides the Just, may not the son of America be known as Garfield the Good?
“Our President rests; he had joy in the glory of work, and he loved to talk of the leisure that did not come to him. Now he has it. This is the day, precious because of the service it rendered. He is a freed spirit; absent from the body, he is present with the Lord. On the heights whence came his help he finds repose. What rest has been his for these four days! The brave spirit which cried in his body: ‘I am tired,’ is where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest. The patient soul which groaned under the burden of the suffering flesh: ‘O, this pain,’ is now in a world without pain. Spring comes, the flowers bloom, the buds put forth, the birds sing. Autumn rolls round, the birds have long since hushed their voices, the flowers have faded and fallen away; the forest foliage assumes a sickly, dying hue:—so earthly things pass away, and what is true remains with God.
“The pageant moves; the splendor of arms and the banners glitter in the sunlight; the music of instruments and of oratory swells upon the air; the cheers and praises of men resound. But the spring and summer pass by, and the autumn sees a Nation of sad eyes and heavy hearts, and what is true remains of God. ‘The Eternal God is our refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.’”
At the close of the address another prayer was offered by Rev. J. G. Butler. As the last words of the service died away a beautiful rainbow appeared upon a bank of clouds in the east, and while this arch of promise rested calmly against the background of black, the casket was taken up by the pall-bearers and borne away to the hearse. The funeral train was already in waiting at the dépôt of the Pennsylvania Railway, and every thing was in readiness for the departure. The streets were lined with people, and no visible sign of grief was lacking to testify the sorrow of the people for the dead, and their sympathy for the living. The Marine Band played a solemn dirge, and at sixteen minutes past five o’clock the train started for Cleveland.
The journey from Washington to the west was made without remarkable incident. Crowds, large beyond all precedent, awaited the passage of the train at every point. In Baltimore, which was reached before dark, the whole city had apparently turned out to see the draped coaches go by. As the train reached the outer edge of the waiting throng, Mrs. Garfield was seated in her car looking out of the window. Knowing her disposition to shrink from publicity, one of her companions arose to put down the shade. But she asked that it be allowed to remain open, saying that she was glad to see the crowds which had assembled to do honor to her husband.
All on the funeral train retired early and remained in bed until they arrived in Pittsburgh. In the night, however, those awake saw everywhere the crowds which were in waiting. At Altoona a weird scene impressed itself upon the minds of those who saw it. The place was passed in the middle hours of the night. The darkness was made visible by large numbers of pine torches held by workingmen stationed at intervals along the streets. At East Liverpool the members of a Post of the Grand Army of the Republic awaited the passage of the train. At another place the track was strewn with flowers. At Pittsburgh, which was reached a little after six o’clock, the whole town was astir, and the train made its way between dense and silent masses of humanity. In the morning all on the train called on Mrs. Garfield to pay their respects. She had borne the fatigue of the night and the long journey quite well.
At nearly every station along the route, bells were heard tolling as the train passed, and at one or two places dirges were played by brass bands. It was noticed by the passengers that the women in the crowds through which the train passed were weeping. Very good time was made as far as Pittsburgh, but at that point a dispatch was received from Cleveland asking the railroad authorities to delay the train an hour or two, as the citizens had not yet completed their arrangements for the reception. On this account the speed was decreased, and the train did not arrive at Cleveland until 1:15 in the afternoon.
The ceremony of reception at the latter city was simple, and every thing was decorously done. Long before the train was expected the people of the town, in carriages, street cars, and on foot, made their way toward the station. Military and civic organizations were already on the spot, and although there was some inevitable bustle, every thing was in place when the train arrived. As the draped engine drew near, every head was uncovered. When the train stopped, the citizens’ committee of reception, which had met the cortege as it passed into Ohio, stepped off the train, and formed into double line. The Judges of the Supreme Court, Senators and Officers of the Army and Navy followed, and took their positions in the line without delay.
The coffin containing the body was then lifted from the car by the regular soldiers who accompanied it on the train, and carried to the hearse. The personal friends and attendants of Mrs. Garfield, including the members of the Cabinet and their wives, then passed between the two lines. Last came Mrs. Garfield leaning upon the arm of her son Harry, and escorted upon the other side by Secretary Blaine. Mrs. Garfield and her family were taken to a carriage and driven directly to the house of James Mason, which became her temporary home.
JAMES AND HARRY GARFIELD.
It had been determined that the remains of the President should be conveyed to Monument Square, and there be laid in state until the day of interment. To this end a pavilion, perhaps the finest structure of the kind ever erected, had been built in the middle of the square at the intersection of Superior and Ontario Streets; and here the body of the President was to lie until the 26th of September, which had been fixed upon as the day of sepulture. The pavilion, tasteful in design and rich in decoration, was a fit exponent of the gorgeous solemnity of sorrow. The structure was forty feet square at the base. The four fronts were spanned by arches thirty-six feet high and twenty-four feet in width. The catafalque upon which the casket rested was five and a half feet high, covered with black velvet, and handsomely festooned. Long carpeted walks ascended to the floor from the east and west fronts. The pavilion was seventy-two feet high to the apex of the roof. From the center of the roof rose a beautiful gilt sphere, supporting the figure of an angel twenty-four feet high. The columns at each side of the arches were ornamented by shields of a beautiful design and exquisitely draped. Over these were suspended unfurled flags. The centers of the arches bore similar shields. On the angles of the roof were groups of furled flags. Projecting from the angles of the base were elevated platforms, occupied by fully-uniformed guards. Each platform was provided with a suitable piece of field artillery. The structure was appropriately decorated, from base to dome, with black and white crape. Flowers and flags were displayed in various portions of the pavilion.
The interior was beautified with rare plants, choice flowers, and exquisite floral designs, two carloads of which had been brought from Cincinnati. The whole was a magnificent piece of work, both in design and execution.
At the east and west entrances to Monumental Park were heavy Gothic arches with drive-ways and openings for foot passengers on each side. They were situated at a sufficient distance from the catafalque to appear to be a part of it. The eastern one was covered with crape, with white and black trimmings running down each column, and the top bordered with blue and white stars. Added to these were several golden shields. The western gateway was similar in construction, and seemed fairly to close up Superior Street to the view. On the extreme outside pillars were the names of the States in black letters.
Into this solemn and beautiful structure, at the head of an almost endless procession, and drawn in a beautiful hearse, surrounded with guards of honor, was borne the body of the dead Garfield. Here the casket was laid upon the catafalque prepared for its reception. The day was already worn to evening, but it was decided not to admit the throng of people until the morrow.
Meanwhile, a last resting-place had been chosen where the great Ohioan should be at peace. The place selected for the tomb was at the top of the most commanding knoll in Lakeview Cemetery. Below it lie two ornamental lakes of considerable size, and on all sides, except the south, stand the marble and granite monuments of the dead. Northward, in the distance stretching along the horizon on either hand for twenty miles, can be seen the blue waters of Erie. The selection of this site was made by the trustees of the cemetery, subject to Mrs. Garfield’s approval, which was promptly and thankfully given.
So one more day closed in the shadows of the autumnal twilight, and Ohio sat still beside her dead.
It was the morning of Sunday. A strange vision rose with the sun. Cleveland was thronged with illimitable crowds of people. The murmur of the multitudes, though subdued, grew, and became continuous. At nine o’clock the guards about the public square made an opening in their line upon the west side through which the multitude began to pour. They were kept in line four and five and six abreast, marching in families, squares, groups, and indiscriminately, but still keeping their ranks, and sweeping steadily and rapidly onward at the east and west sides of the catafalque. Inclined planes had been erected and carpeted so that the throngs marched easily up on the one side and down on the other. The pace was too rapid to make the visit a satisfactory one—for the exquisite floral adornments were tempting enough to furnish pleasure for a visit of an hour—but all had an opportunity to get one glance at the coffin which contained the remains of him they had met to honor.
As the morning wore on the procession grew in length and volume. In an hour after the movement began the line stretched away to the distance of a square; then two squares; then a half mile. The people passed at the rate of one hundred and forty to the minute. Still there was no abatement of the tide which poured past the catafalque. In the afternoon the immense volume of humanity was swollen to a river whose surging, silent waters seemed filled from fountains exhaustless as the ocean. Later in the day came a storm of thunder and wind; only a few were driven from the column; others filled the vacant places, and still the tide surged on. As the crowds, never ending, swept by the catafalque, every hat was raised, and with uncovered heads, often with tears in their eyes and half-suppressed sobs, the people moved on. Late into the night they continued to come in unbroken ranks, the old and young, the pure and vile, the lame upon their crutches, the infirm leaning upon their companions, and babes in the arms of their mothers. It was the day of the people. It was estimated that during the day 150,000 human beings passed silently by the casket whose mute tenant recked no longer of earthly pomp and pageant.
On the evening of the 25th, Monument Square was set aglow with electric lights, which, from high places here and there, threw over the strange scene their brilliant, almost unearthly, splendor. On the outskirts of the guard-lines great masses of men and women still lingered, gazing silently towards the catafalque surrounded by sentinels. At midnight only a few guards and workmen remained inside the line, though many persons were yet on the streets outside. The scene was singularly impressive at this hour. The almost perfect silence, the bright glare of the lights, the ceaseless movements of the sentinels, the sighing of the wind through the trees, combined to create a feeling of awe in the breasts of all beholders. The massive structure, reared so quickly in the large square, seemed the work of magic. The fact that the noble, patriotic Garfield lay calmly sleeping the final sleep amid the scenes of his early manhood, carried its sad lesson to every heart, and then came, quick as thought, the reflection that the morrow would hear the mournful monologue of “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes.”
It was the morning of the last day on earth. Well-nigh all the formalities, many and sometimes tedious, peculiar to the burial of one falling in high office and high honor, had been observed, and to these had been added a thousand tokens, extemporized out of the nation’s grief, befitting the funeral of a beloved Chief Magistrate. It only remained for the people once more to lift the casket containing the body of their friend, and to bear it to the home prepared for all living.
At 9 o’clock on the morning of the 26th the line of people leading toward the pavilion found itself suddenly confronted by a line of muskets. The order had been given to clear the gates. Men and women who had been in line for hours were unable to proceed further, and many with ill-disguised resentment turned aside to seek a favorable point to view the exercises. The troops now formed along each side of the Park, in a hollow square six hundred feet in length. The beautiful canopy stood in the center, at the intersection of the two streets, and under it lay the casket. An opening was made at the western end leading up to Superior Street, and this was maintained with some difficulty by a regiment of State troops. From this point to the canopy itself was stationed a line of marines from the Washington Navy-yard—a broad avenue, a half a mile in length, being thus kept open, so that the carriages of those entitled to admission could enter without difficulty. It was a beautiful sight from the canopy to look down this long double file of soldiers and knights, and the photographers were busy in their efforts to preserve the picture.
At 9:30 A. M. the funeral car, which was to convey the body to the cemetery, was drawn into the square by twelve black horses with black draperies fringed with silver lace. The horses were arranged four abreast. At the head of each of the six outside horses was a negro groom in long black coat, high silk hat, and white gloves.
The car was elaborately decorated and surmounted by large black-and-white plumes, with folded battle flags at each corner. Next came a procession of carriages bearing the family and intimate friends of the dead President. Draped chairs were arranged about the catafalque, and here were seated not only those who were bound to the Garfield family by the ties of nature and intimate affection, but also a great number of the most distinguished statesmen, jurists, and soldiers of the nation. The sound of a minute-gun broke the silence, and the services were opened with the reading of the Scriptures by Bishop Bedell and an invocation by the Rev. Ross C. Houghton. At eleven o’clock the Rev. Isaac Errett, of Cincinnati, pronounced the funeral oration, which was a chaste and touching tribute to the memory of the great dead.
At the close of this eloquent address, Rev. Jabez Hall announced General Garfield’s favorite hymn, “Ho! reapers of life’s harvest,” which was sung by the choirs gathered about the catafalque. Then followed a closing prayer and benediction by Rev. Charles S. Pomeroy, and then the removal of the casket to the cemetery. It was now noonday, and the heat was very oppressive. The funeral car had been drawn up to within fifty feet of the foot of the incline leading from the canopy, and a roll of carpeting covered the ground. The trained soldiers from Washington stood in line at the foot of the canopy, ready to carry out the body whenever the word was given.
The members of the Cleveland Greys, with their high bearskin hats, stood like statues at the four corners of the canopy. The long line of soldiers stood, all attention, and the signal that all was ready was given. At the word of command the soldiers, with their white helmets, stepped briskly up the incline, and turning “about face,” readily lifted the casket to their shoulders. Then, grasping each other by the shoulder, thus giving the casket all the support necessary, they marched with slow and steady step down toward the funeral car. Not a word was spoken. The men were too well drilled to need more than a nod of command, and they carried the body to the car and laid it on the bier in silence. Then they marched back, and, turning again, took up their position on either side of the coffin.
A line was now formed outside of the square in order that the cortege might pass on its way to the mansion of the dead. The wife and mother and children of the President, accompanied by a great throng of intimate friends, arose to follow, and then the procession began to move towards the cemetery, three miles away.
The funeral car proceeded beyond the city hall, and stopped until the first carriage started out. As the carriages containing the friends of the family and eminent men were filled, the car continued its journey until the massive archway at Erie Street was reached. Another jam of people were waiting here. And as the procession slowly passed onward these joined the ranks. Turning into the broad and beautiful Euclid Avenue, the mournful cortege wended its way toward the cemetery in the distance. The great difficulty with the moving pageant was its immense volume. If all applicants had been given a place it would have been twice the length of the entire route. The weather had been very warm during the morning, but about two o’clock a refreshing breeze cooled the atmosphere, and an hour later a heavy storm of rain came down, rendering the march very disagreeable. Then there was a stampede of the crowd for shelter. The rain lasted for about fifteen minutes, and the bright uniforms of the soldiers, and the feathery plumes of the Knights Templar, and other societies, were drenched and soiled.
The procession continued its weary march without further event until the head of the column arrived at a point about half a mile distant from the cemetery gate, when a halt was ordered. The societies then opened their ranks, and the funeral car, with escort and following carriages, passed through and onward to the vault which was to receive the President’s remains.
Here was the last scene of the solemn pageant, begun afar by the sea. The surroundings were grand and beautiful. Art had led Nature by the hand to this last shrine of the earthly pilgrimage. On every side lay the soft carpet of green. Over the space from the roadway to the entrance of the vault was a magnificent canopy, draped in the gorgeous trappings of woe. The air was burdened with the perfume of a thousand flowers. Leading into the vault was a dark carpet strewn with roses so thick that the carpet could not be at first recognized. On entering there was presented a somber darkness and sacred shade, equal to the catacombs of antiquity. There was a vault within a vault. The interior was hung all about with dense mourning, having large flags as a background. The choicest floral designs occupied every space on the walls, and the floor was deeply bedded with choice flowers. A large cross and crown, from the Belgian Legation, was in the center of the south side, and an elegant lyre, sent from Washington, was on the opposite side, while numerous designs from the people of the city were placed here and there. It was impossible to use all the floral offerings sent to this place of rest, and many of them were kept in the boxes at the vault. The walls of the chamber were trimmed with smilax, and the doors with crape festooned with trailing vines. On the first step of the entrance, at the right door, was a group of three elegant crosses of roses, jasmine, carnations, with the words,