The march was a terrible one, for its oppressive gloom, the deadly cold, the grief on every hand; but that portion from Sixth avenue to the gate of Greenwood Cemetery was in all respects the worst. All that way the roll of the muffled drums continued, and across the wide vacant spaces toward the bay the icy blast seemed the breath of death itself.
Battle Hill, where the arrangements for the interment of the bodies in one common grave had already been made, is the highest point of ground in the cemetery, and is situated but a short distance from the gate by which the procession entered. Here a circular trench had been cut, seven feet deep and thirteen feet wide, nearly surrounding a round sodded space ten feet in diameter, upon which the projected monument is to stand.
It soon became evident that human endurance would be insufficient to bear any protraction of the obsequies. With wonderful fortitude, not less than 2,000 persons maintained their places about the enormous grave, held as if by a hideous fascination. But all were suffering intensely from cold, and it was determined by those in charge to make the services as brief as possible.
The Rev. John Parker read the Protestant Episcopal burial service. The Rev. Dr. Putnam, instead of the extended funeral oration which he had prepared for the occasion, announced that the extreme cold would preclude the possibility of its delivery, and merely said a few brief words on the uncertainty of life and the blessed hopes of immortality. Then the benediction was pronounced by the Rev. Mr. Odell, and the ceremony concluded with the singing by the Germania choir of Kuhlau’s beautiful choral, “Above all summits there is repose.”
Besides the public funeral, many private ones, of persons who had been identified by friends, took place on Saturday, Sunday and Monday.
The bodies of the actors Murdoch and Burroughs were taken to Irving Hall at 1 o’clock on Saturday, and remained in state until the funeral on Sunday.
Great festoons of crape hung in long curves from a common centre in the middle of the room reaching to the galleries, that were draped in funeral cloth. Each end of the hall bore its burden of black. Two circles of gas in the ceiling cast a melancholy radiance. The bodies were encased in two rosewood coffins mounted with silver, which were placed in the centre of the room. The coffins severally bore the inscriptions:
CLAUDE DE BLENAU BURROUGHS,
Born Aug. 12, 1848; died Dec. 5, 1876.
HENRY S. MURDOCH,
Died Dec. 5, 1876, aged 31.
Crosses and wreaths, the gifts of friends, covered the lid of each. At their head was placed a stand containing a large scroll of white flowers with the word “Arcadian” in violet, the tribute of the members of the former club of that name. There was also a rich offering from the Order of Elks, with the mystic initials of the order predominant. As soon as the bodies were placed in position friends began to pass by the coffins. They continued to do so in the afternoon and evening. During the night the bodies were watched by a committee, the members of which relieved each other at intervals.