They lifted the dying man, carried him through the heaving surges of the crowd, to the house of Mr. Peterson, in Tenth street, close by the theatre. Then the multitude swayed doorward, and filled the street, packing it with white, anxious faces. A guard was placed at the door, who in vain strove to answer the questions urged upon him. All he could say was, that the President was dying; a few minutes or hours, at least, must close his life. Then a dreadful stillness fell upon the crowd; some went away in painful silence; others—stout, strong men, too—turned away weeping like little children.
At five o’clock on Saturday morning, the President lay in his death agonies. He was lying upon the bed, apparently breathing with great difficulty. He was entirely unconscious, and had been ever since his assassination. His eyes were protruding from their sockets and suffused with blood. In other respects, his countenance was unchanged. At his bedside were the Secretary of War, Secretary of the Navy, Secretary of the Interior, Postmaster-General, and the Attorney-General; Senator Sumner, General Farnsworth, General Todd, cousin to Mrs. Lincoln; Major Hay, M. B. Field, General Halleck, Major-General Meigs, Rev. Dr. Gurley, George Oglesby, of Illinois; Drs. E. N. Abbott, R. K. Stone, C. D. Hatch, Neal, Hall, and Lieberman. In the adjoining room was Mrs. Lincoln, her son, Captain Robert Lincoln; Miss Harris, who was with Mrs. Lincoln at the time of the assassination of the President; Rufus F. Andrews, and two lady friends of Mrs. Lincoln.
Mrs. Lincoln was under great excitement and agony, wringing her hands and exclaiming, “Why did he not shoot me instead of my husband? I have tried to be so careful of him, fearing something would happen, and his life seemed to be more precious now than ever. I must go with him,” and other expressions of the intense agony of her coming widowhood. She was constantly going back and forth to the bedside of the President, exclaiming in great anguish, “How can it be so!” The scene was heart-rending, and it is impossible to portray it in its living light. When General Farnsworth went in, hoping to comfort her, she seized him by the arm and with touching appeal besought him to save her husband, as if any human help could avail then.
Captain Robert Lincoln bore himself with great firmness, and while quivering with anguish himself endeavored to assuage the grief of his mother by telling her to put her trust in God and all would be well. Occasionally, being entirely overcome, he would retire into the hall and give way to most heart-rending lamentations. In his affliction, as in the sunshine of the greatest prosperity, this young man proved worthy of the father who was dying—worthy of the nation with whom his after fortune should be held as a sacred inheritance. Let what will come in the hereafter, the orphaned sons of Abraham Lincoln have a right to claim adoption from the American people.
About a quarter of an hour before the President died, his breathing became very difficult, and in many instances seemed to have entirely ceased. The surgeons who were holding his pulse supposed him to be dead, but he would again rally and breathe with so great difficulty as to be heard in almost every part of the house. Mrs. Lincoln took her last leave of him about twenty minutes before he expired—she could not endure to await the awful footsteps of death.
The surgeons and the members of the Cabinet, Senator Sumner, Captain Robert Lincoln and Rufus Andrews stood leaning over the headboard of the bed watching every motion of the heaving breast of the dying President. Robert Lincoln was supporting himself upon the arm of Senator Sumner. The members of the Cabinet were standing by the side of the bed—Secretary Stanton at the left of Mr. Andrews—Mr. Andrews near Mr. Lincoln’s head. Next to him was Mr. Dennison, and the others arranged along at his left, and the surgeons were sitting upon the side and foot of the bed, holding the President’s hands, and with their watches observing the slow declension of the pulse, and watching the faint ebb of that noble spirit. Such was the solemn stillness for the duration of five minutes that the ticking of many watches could be heard in the room. At twenty-two minutes past seven, A. M., the soul of Abraham Lincoln fled from its earthly tabernacle “to that bourne from which no traveler returns.” As he drew his last breath the Rev. Dr. Gurley addressed the Throne of Grace with a fervent prayer for his heart-broken family and his mourning country.
Mrs. Lincoln sat in an adjoining room, hushing her tears and waiting solemnly. When they told her in such tender words as pity finds for grief, that her husband was dead, the growing stillness of her heart gave way and she cried out in sudden anguish, “Oh, why did you not tell me that he was dying?” Abraham Lincoln was dead, but scarcely had the cold hand touched his features when over them dawned that gentle smile which those who have seen him in his happiest moments will never forget. Except the blackness of his eyes his face appeared perfectly natural. He died without a struggle, or even a perceptible motion of the limbs. The morning was calm, and the rain was dropping gently upon the roof of the humble apartment where they had laid him down to die. Guards had been stationed to keep the people from the house, and no sound could be heard in the streets save the footsteps of the sentry passing to and fro, as he guarded all that remained of Abraham Lincoln.
NATIONAL LAMENTATION. FUNERAL OF THE PRESIDENT.
The following dispatch, received in New York city on the morning of the 15th of April, announced to the country and to the world the death of the President of the United States:—
“War Department, }