THE SOLEMN PAGEANT.
There he lies dead beside the moaning sea!
The days of watching and the nights of pain,
The burning flush, the keen anxiety,
The ebb and flow of hope, the blinding rain
Of bitter tears that came and came again,—
All, all are ended! O’er the sighing deep
Floats on the solemn air a sad, low strain,
A mournful dirge that seems to sob and weep!
O Nation, take your dead and lay him down to sleep!
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.
[Illustration: 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:
“ELBERON, N. J., September 20, 1881.
“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.
“JAMES G. BLAINE, Secretary of State.”
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:
“ELBERON, NEW JERSEY, September 20, 1881.
“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:
CLEVELAND, OHIO, September 20, 1881.
_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.
(Signed by Executive Committee.)
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.
R. R. HERRICK, Mayor.
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.
D. G. SWAIM.
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.
[Illustration: 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.
[Illustration: 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.
[Illustration: 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.
[Illustration: 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,
“DEAD, BUT NOT FORGOTTEN,”
the gift of the Bolivian Legation at Washington. The steps were covered
with evergreens and strewn with a thick carpet of rosebuds, tuberoses,
and carnation. A large wreath, presented by the ladies of Dubuque, Iowa,
was fastened near the ceiling, so that it could be seen at some
distance. Looking through the open door at the head of the bier was a
lyre of roses, carnations, and tuberoses, bearing in immortelles the
words:
“IN MEMORY OF JAMES A. GARFIELD.”
At the foot of the bier stood a heavy cross, the gift of Mrs. Garfield
herself to the Decorative Committee, for that place. The sides of the
vault were draped with rich black. The canopy of the interior consisted
of many flags so arranged as to give the impression of an interior roof.
The inner west wall was beautifully draped with flags festooned with
black, and ornamented with a wreath of white roses. The floor was
covered with a carpet of arbor vitæ and roses. The heavy doors were
removed, and the gates were draped with bunting and festoons of smilax.
In the center of the vault stood the bier, a beveled parallelogram, with
a base of black velvet and draped entire with heavy black broadcloth,
rich fringe, and a liberal trimming of evergreen.
The procession halted. It was the last stage in the journey. The chief
mourners, except Harry and James Garfield, did not alight. The clouds
still wept at intervals. The band removed to a distance, sounding the
notes of a solemn requiem. The Forest City Guards formed on the right
and the Knights on the left. The funeral car was then drawn up over the
heavy carpeting of evergreens and flowers. The long lines of Guards
presented arms. There was a moment of death-like silence—a most
impressive pause—when the inclined plane was adjusted to the car. The
Marines marched up into the car and carefully bore the casket down and
directly into the vault. It was set gently on the bier. The Guards stood
silent. A brief historical sketch of the dead President was read by the
Rev. J. H. Jones, former chaplain of the old Garfield regiment. The
Vocal Society of Cleveland then chanted in beautiful measure the
Twenty-second Ode of Horace. The friends and attendants were thanked for
their presence and sympathy, and the benediction was pronounced by
President B. A. Hinsdale, of Hiram College. The door was closed. A guard
was placed about the sepulcher, and all that the earth could claim of
James A. Garfield was left to sleep the sleep that knows no waking.
To moralize on the Life and Work of Garfield would be superfluous. He
has furnished to the people of the United States one of the brightest
and noblest examples of American citizenship. Both in public life and
private life he has contributed to the annals of our times a record
unsullied as the azure sky. His steps were the steps of a pure man
climbing up to greatness. His ambitions were chastened—his aspirations
the aspirations of a patriot. Over his great talents was shed the luster
of noble activities, and his path was illumined with something of the
effulgence of genius. His integrity was spotless, his virtue white as
the snow. Of all our public men of recent times, Garfield was in a
certain sense the most American. He had suffered all the hardships of
the common lot. He had known poverty and orphanage and toil. To himself
he owed in a preëminent degree his victory over adversity and his rise
to distinction. He carried into public life, even to the highest seat of
honor, the plainness and simplicity of a man of the people. Ostentation
was no part of his nature, and subtlety found no place in his practices.
In an age of venality and corruption—the very draff and ebb of the Civil
War—he stood unscathed. He went up to his high seat and down to the
doorway of the grave without the scent of fire on his garments. His name
smells sweet in all lands under the circle of the sun, and his fame is a
priceless legacy which posterity will not willingly let die.
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
2. Retained anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as
printed.
3. Footnotes have been re-indexed using numbers.
4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
5. Superscripts are denoted by a caret before a single superscript
character or a series of superscripted characters enclosed in
curly braces, e.g. M^r. or M^{ister}.