The sixtieth day.—The President still held out. All the world knows the story, how, day after day, owing to the native robustness and essential soundness of his constitution, he stood out against the death that awaited. As usual there were some who said he was better. Others said he was not. Once for all it may be said that such contradictions regarding the President’s condition can easily be accounted for when the surroundings of the White House are considered. Only a few persons knew of their own observation how he appeared from day to day. Visitors were strictly, and necessarily, excluded from the sick-room. From the Tuesday after General Garfield was shot, not more than ten persons in all, excluding the physicians, had seen him, and, of these ten, some only once or twice. Mrs. Garfield and her children, Mr. Blaine, General D. G. Swaim, Colonel A. F. Rockwell, Dr. Boynton, Dr. Susan Edson,—one of the nurses,—the President’s private secretary, Mr. J. S. Brown, and Mr. Pruden, completed the list. Mr. Blaine had seen him once, Mr. Pruden once, and Mr. Brown had been in five times, being usually called because the force of persons necessary to lift the President was a little short. Indeed, of all the strange impressions to be got from this novel event, there was none more peculiar than to stand in the private secretary’s room in the second story of the White House, and feel that only a few yards away was the sick-room on which the eyes of the world were centered, and yet that not more than three persons besides the physicians, nurses, and family, have passed the door in two months! It can thus be easily seen how correspondents and reporters were generally at sea, particularly when the physicians were reticent or out of sight. Mr. Blaine continued to express all that could be reasonably said of better prospects. His dispatch was as follows:
“To Lowell, Minister, London:
“The President, if not rapidly advancing, is at least holding his own. His fever is less than last night, and his swollen gland steadily improves. His pulse continues rather high, running this evening from 110 to 114. Perhaps the best indication in the case is, that the President himself feels better, and his mind, being now perfectly clear, he readily compares one day’s progress with another.
Blaine, Secretary.”
The regular bulletins of the day were fuller if not more explicit:
“8:30 A. M.—The President slept the greater part of the night, awakening at intervals, and retaining the liquid nourishment administered. His general condition this morning is about the same as at the same hour yesterday. Pulse, 102; temperature, 98.5; respiration, 18. 12:30 P. M.—At the morning dressing another small incision was made in the lower part of the swelling on the right side of the President’s face, which was followed by a free discharge of healthy-looking pus. A similar discharge took place through the openings. The swelling is perceptibly smaller, and looks better. The wound remains in an unchanged condition. Pulse, 116; temperature, 98.9; respiration, 18. 6:30 P. M.—The President has passed comfortably through the day. He has taken the usual amount of nourishment by the mouth, with stimulating enemata at stated periods. Pulse, 109; temperature, 99.5; respiration, 18.”
The sixty-first day.—In these stages of the President’s illness neither the optimist nor the pessimist newspapers were to be trusted in their accounts of the sick man and his surroundings. Even the dry records of the surgeons’ reports were so many bones of contention among the wranglers, some of whom would have the President well while others would have him dead. The optimists on this last day of August head-lined their reports: “On the high road to recovery;” “Still better;” “Almost out of the woods,” etc.; while the pessimist said: “The valley and the shadow;” “The end at hand,” etc. Unfortunately the pessimist—not from any virtue in himself—was the truer prophet. It could not be denied, however, that in some material points the President had improved with some steadiness for several days. These favorable points, rather than the dark ones, were dwelt on in the official reports, which presented the summary of symptoms for the day:
“8:30 A. M.—The President has passed a tranquil night, and this morning his condition is quite as favorable as yesterday at the same hour. Pulse, 100; temperature, 98.4; respiration, 18. 12:30 P. M.—At the dressing of the President this morning the parotid swelling was found to be discharging freely. It looked well and has materially diminished in size. The wound remains in about the same state. His general condition is evidently more favorable than at this hour yesterday. Pulse, 95; temperature, 98.4; respiration, 17. 6:30 P. M.—The President has passed a better day than for some time past. He has taken his food with increased relish, and the usual afternoon rise of temperature did not occur. Pulse, 109; temperature, 98.6; respiration, 18.”
The sixty-second day.—The fall month dawned with little additional news. The little that was presented was not good. The luxuriance of the scribes who had written up and written down almost every circumstance and symptom were about this time clipt of some of their superfluity. The public had grown stern and angered at being trifled with on so grave a matter as the condition of a dying President. A few manufactured conversations were still published, but the amount of space so devoted in the journals of the day showed a pronounced shrinkage. Mr. Blaine’s dispatches, always honest and sincere, were more than hitherto sought after as giving the hungry and heart-sore people the most authentic information concerning their stricken Chief Magistrate. The Secretary’s telegram for the evening was as follows:
“To Lowell, Minister, London: