“In the course of the afternoon he appeared to be in great pain and distress from the difficulty of breathing, and frequently changed his posture in bed. On these occasions, I lay upon the bed, and endeavored to raise him, and turn him with as much ease as possible. He appeared penetrated with gratitude for my attentions, and often said, 'I am afraid I shall fatigue you too much;' and, upon my assuring him that I could feel nothing but a wish to give him ease, he replied, 'Well, it is a debt we must pay to each other; and I hope, when you want aid of this kind, you will find it....'
“About five o'clock, Doctor Craik came again into the room, and, upon going to the bedside, the general said to him: 'Doctor, I die hard, but I am not afraid to go. I believed, from my first attack, that I should not survive it. My breath can not last long.' The doctor pressed his hand, but could not utter a word. He retired from the bedside, and sat by the fire, absorbed in grief.
“Between five and six o'clock, Doctor Dick and Doctor Brown came into the room, and with Doctor Craik went to the bed, when Doctor Craik asked him if he could sit up in the bed. He held out his hand, and I raised him up. He then said to the physicians: 'I feel myself going. I thank you for your attentions; but I pray you to take no more trouble about me. Let me go off quietly. I can not last long.' They found that all which had been done was without effect. He lay down again, and all retired except Doctor Craik. He continued in the same situation, uneasy and restless, but without complaining; frequently asking what hour it was. When I helped him to move, at this time, he did not speak, but looked at me with strong expressions of gratitude.
“About eight o'clock, the physicians came again into the room, and applied blisters and cataplasms of wheat-bran to his legs and feet, after which they went out, except Doctor Craik, without a ray of hope. I went out about this time, and wrote a line to Mr. Law and Mr. Peter, requesting them to come with their wives (Mrs. Washington's grand-daughters) as soon as possible to Mount Vernon.
“About ten o'clock, he made several attempts to speak to me before he could effect it. At length he said: 'I am just going. Have me decently buried; and do not let my body be put into the vault in less than three days after I am dead.' I bowed assent, for I could not speak. He then looked at me again, and said, 'Do you understand me?' I replied, 'Yes.'—''Tis well,' said he.
“About ten minutes before he expired (which was between ten and eleven o'clock), his breathing became easier. He lay quietly; he withdrew his hand from mine, and felt his own pulse. I saw his countenance change. I spoke to Doctor Craik, who sat by the fire He came to the bedside. The general's hand fell from his wrist. I took it in mine, and pressed it to my bosom. Doctor Craik put his hands over his eyes, and he expired without a struggle or a sigh.
“While we were fixed in silent grief, Mrs. Washington, who was sitting at the foot of the bed, asked with a firm and collected voice, 'Is he gone?' I could not speak, but held up my hand, as a signal that he was no more. ''Tis well,' said she, in the same voice; 'all is over now. I shall soon follow him; I have no more trials to pass through.'[139]
“At the time of his decease, Doctor Craik and myself were in the situation before-mentioned. Mrs. Washington was sitting near the foot of the bed. The general's servant, Christopher, who had been in the room, and standing nearly all day, stood near the bedside. Caroline, Molly, and Charlotte, were in the room, standing near the door. Mrs. Forbes, the housekeeper, was frequently in the room during the day and evening.[140]
“As soon as Doctor Craik could speak, after the distressing scene was closed, he desired one of the servants to ask the gentlemen below to come up-stairs. When they came to the bedside, I kissed the cold hand which I had held to my bosom, laid it down, and went to the other end of the room, where I was for some time lost in profound grief, until aroused by Christopher, desiring me to take care of the general's keys, and other things, which were taken out of his pockets, and which Mrs. Washington directed him to give to me. I wrapped them in the general's handkerchief, and took them to my room.”
“It may be asked,” says Mr. Custis, “'Why was the ministry of religion wanting to shed its peaceful and benign lustre upon the last hours of Washington? Why was he, to whom the observances of sacred things were ever primary duties through life, without their consolations in his last moments?' We answer, circumstances did not permit. It was but for a little while that the disease assumed so threatening a character as to forbid the encouragement of hope; yet, to stay that summons which none may refuse, to give still further length of days to him whose time-honored life was so dear to mankind, prayers were not wanting to the throne of grace. Close to the couch of the sufferer, resting her head upon that ancient book with which she had been wont to hold pious communion a portion of every day for more than half a century, was the venerable consort, absorbed in silent prayer, and from which she only arose when the mourning group prepared to lead her from the chamber of the dead.”[141]