The sixty-fourth day.—The removal of the President was fully determined on. The surgeons were unanimous that it should be undertaken. Long Branch was settled upon as the resort to which the wounded man should be removed. The physicians were unanimous in their selection of this place, and all necessary precautions were taken to insure the President’s comfort during his removal. It was a perilous business, and for the remaining days of the sojourn at the White House the energies of those who were responsible for the President’s well-being were constantly engaged in making suitable arrangements for the removal. The account of the President’s progress for the day, notwithstanding his critical condition, was almost overlooked in the keen interest immediately excited by the project now imminent. The surgeons themselves were unusually brief in their official reports, which ran thus:
“8:30 A. M.—The President was somewhat more restless than usual during the early part of the night, but slept better after one A. M. There is a slight increase in the frequency of the pulse. Pulse, 104; temperature, 98.6; respiration, 18. 12:30 P. M.—The Presidents condition has not materially changed since the morning bulletin was issued. Pulse, 104; temperature, 98.4; respiration, 18. 6:30 P. M.—The President has done well during the day, and has taken with some relish a sufficient quantity of nutriment. Altogether, his general condition exhibits some improvement over yesterday. Pulse, 102; temperature, 99.6; respiration, 18.”
The sixty-fifth day.—The President himself was somewhat excited about his removal. In some respects this excitement was beneficial and in others hurtful to him. His spirits and hopes were in some measure aroused, and a stimulus thus afforded to his exhausted powers. But the energy thus awakened was withdrawn from the long enfeebled stomach, and twice during the day his food was rejected. Otherwise, there were no alarming symptoms for the passing hour, and so public attention was wholly turned to the preparation. President Roberts, of the Pennsylvania Railroad, commissioned George C. Wilkins, general superintendent of the Baltimore and Potomac Railroad, to take direction of the train which was to carry the President away. Mr. Wilkins was also directed to issue orders to his men, which would enable him to stop every freight and passenger train that might be on the road between Baltimore and Washington on half an hour’s notice, and to give the special train the right of way at any hour of the day or night. On the 4th of September, Mr. Wilkins accordingly issued orders to carry out the following arrangement: When the day and hour of departure of the train is known, he should be informed, and a message would be sent along the entire road, stopping all freight trains that might be on the road. Passenger conductors would at each station receive an order either to stop or proceed to the next station, where the subsequent movements of their trains must be governed by the orders there awaiting them. In this way, which is, in fact, the “blocking” system in force on many roads, the movements of all trains would be controlled from the Union Depot, and they would be so handled as to give the special train the right of way and at the same time prevent the “regulars” while in motion from passing the special. This was done to prevent the President being disturbed by any jarring or disagreeable noise.
No stops were to be made at any of the stations between Baltimore and Washington; but should it be necessary to rest the nerves of the patient, the special train was to be halted in the open country, where fresh air and the absence of noise and crowds would be insured. Immediately on hearing of the appointed hour, Mr. Wilkins was to leave Baltimore for Washington in a special car, and come over to Baltimore with the President’s train. This train was to be run around the city to Bayview, where William Crawford was to take charge of it and convey it to Philadelphia. His arrangements were like those of Mr. Wilkins. An engine of the New York division of the Pennsylvania road, and two Pullman palace cars, which were in part to compose the train, arrived at Baltimore on the 4th, and became subject to the orders of Colonel Wilkins whenever needed.
The reports of the surgeons contained about the only authentic account of the President’s condition during the day. These were as follows:
“8:30 A. M.—The President vomited once last evening and once about an hour after midnight. Notwithstanding this disturbance, he slept well most of the night, and this morning has taken food by the mouth without nausea, and has retained it. His pulse is somewhat more frequent, but in other respects his condition is about the same as at this hour yesterday. Pulse, 108; temperature, 98.4; respiration, 18. 12:30 P. M.—The President’s condition has not changed materially since the last bulletin was issued, and there has been no further gastric disturbance. Pulse, 106; temperature, 98.4; respiration, 18. 6:30 P. M.—The President has passed a comfortable day. He has taken his food with some relish, and had no return of the irritability of stomach reported in the morning’s bulletin. The parotid swelling continues to improve. The wound shows no material change. The rise of temperature this afternoon has been very slight, but his pulse was more frequent, and he showed more fatigue after the dressings. Pulse, 110; temperature, 99; respiration, 18.”
The sixty-sixth day.—It is the last day in Washington! Again the President is almost forgotten in the hustle of preparation. Mr. Francklyn, owner of one of the finest cottages at Elberon, Long Branch, has tendered it as a home for the wounded Chief Magistrate, and Colonel Rockwell has accepted the offer with thanks. So it is thither we are going on the last of our earthly pilgrimages. Every thing is ready for the departure, and it is set for to-morrow morning at six. A retinue of strong men has been appointed to carry the President down stairs to a wagon specially arranged to convey him to the depot. The day is hot; the air like a furnace. Down at Elberon there is a weird scene to-night. Three hundred skilled engineers and workmen—a loyal company of sturdy patriots—are laying a temporary track to connect the main line with the cottages on the beach. To perform this work laborers have been gathered together; a supply of ties and rails lie waiting the strong hands that are to fling them into place. The length of the new track is 3,200 feet. It is to be laid directly to the hotel grounds, describing a curve to the very door of Francklyn cottage, from whose windows we shall once more look upon the sea. Crowds of men and women, gathered from the various hotels, stand witnessing the scene. Anon the clouds gather. Headlights are put in place to furnish illumination. At intervals the workmen are served with refreshments from the Elberon. All night long the work goes bravely on, and ere the dawn of morning the track is completed over which the suffering President is to take his last journey in the land of the living. And now, while the shadows steal across the landscape in this sultry September evening, let us once more stand before these now familiar bulletin boards and read:
LAYING A SPECIAL RAILROAD TRACK TO FRANCKLYN COTTAGE.
“8:30 A. M.—The President was somewhat restless during the early part of the night, but slept well after midnight. He has taken by the mouth and retained the nutriment prescribed. This morning his pulse is less frequent than yesterday. Pulse, 102; temperature, 99.5; respiration, 18. 12:30 P. M.—Pulse, 114; temperature, 99.5; respiration, 18. 6:30 P. M.—No material change has taken place in the condition of the President since morning. The parotid abscess continues to improve, and the wound remains about the same. Pulse, 108; temperature, 99.8; respiration, 18. Should no untoward symptoms prevent, it is hoped to move the President to Long Branch to-morrow.”