The Life and Work of James A. Garfield, Twentieth President of the United States / Embracing an Account of the Scenes and Incidents of His Boyhood; the Struggles of His Youth; the Might of His Early Manhood; His Valor As a Soldier; His Career As a Statesman; His Election to the Presidency; and the Tragic Story of His Death.

by John Clark Ridpath

“The cloud so long pending over the Nation has at last burst upon our heads. We sit half-crushed amid the ruin it has brought. A million million prayers and hopes and tears, as far as human wisdom sees, were vain. Our loved one has passed from us. But there is relief. We look away from the body. We forget, for a time, the things that are seen. We remember with joy his faith in the Son of God, whose gospel he sometimes himself preached, and which he always truly loved. And we see light and blue sky through the cloud structure, and beauty instead of ruin,—glory, honor, immortality, spiritual and eternal life in the place of decay and death. The chief glory of this man, as we think of him now, was his discipleship in the school of Christ. His attainments as scholar and statesman will be the theme of our orators and historians; and they must be worthy men to speak his praise worthily. But it is as a Christian that we love to think of him now. It was this which made his life to man an invaluable boon, his death to us an unspeakable loss, his eternity to himself an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away.

“He was no sectarian. His religion was as broad as the religion of Christ. He was a simple Christian, bound by no sectarian ties, and wholly in fellowship with all pure spirits. He was a Christologist rather than a theologist. He had great reverence for the family relations. His example as son, husband, and father, is a glory to this Nation. He had a most kindly nature. His power over human hearts was deep and strong. He won men to him. He had no enemies. The hand that struck him was not the hand of his enemy, but the enemy of the position, the enemy of the country, the enemy of God. He sought to do right, manward and Godward.

“He was a grander man than we know. He wrought, even in his pain, a better work for the Nation than we can now estimate. He fell at the height of his achievements, not from any fault of his; but we may, in some sense, reverently apply to him the words spoken of his dear Lord: ‘He was wounded for our transgressions; he was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon him.’ As the nations remember the Macedonian as Alexander the Great and the Grecian as Aristides the Just, may not the son of America be known as Garfield the Good?

“Our President rests; he had joy in the glory of work, and he loved to talk of the leisure that did not come to him. Now he has it. This is the day, precious because of the service it rendered. He is a freed spirit; absent from the body, he is present with the Lord. On the heights whence came his help he finds repose. What rest has been his for these four days! The brave spirit which cried in his body: ‘I am tired,’ is where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest. The patient soul which groaned under the burden of the suffering flesh: ‘O, this pain,’ is now in a world without pain. Spring comes, the flowers bloom, the buds put forth, the birds sing. Autumn rolls round, the birds have long since hushed their voices, the flowers have faded and fallen away; the forest foliage assumes a sickly, dying hue:—so earthly things pass away, and what is true remains with God.

“The pageant moves; the splendor of arms and the banners glitter in the sunlight; the music of instruments and of oratory swells upon the air; the cheers and praises of men resound. But the spring and summer pass by, and the autumn sees a Nation of sad eyes and heavy hearts, and what is true remains of God. ‘The Eternal God is our refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.’”

At the close of the address another prayer was offered by Rev. J. G. Butler. As the last words of the service died away a beautiful rainbow appeared upon a bank of clouds in the east, and while this arch of promise rested calmly against the background of black, the casket was taken up by the pall-bearers and borne away to the hearse. The funeral train was already in waiting at the dépôt of the Pennsylvania Railway, and every thing was in readiness for the departure. The streets were lined with people, and no visible sign of grief was lacking to testify the sorrow of the people for the dead, and their sympathy for the living. The Marine Band played a solemn dirge, and at sixteen minutes past five o’clock the train started for Cleveland.

The journey from Washington to the west was made without remarkable incident. Crowds, large beyond all precedent, awaited the passage of the train at every point. In Baltimore, which was reached before dark, the whole city had apparently turned out to see the draped coaches go by. As the train reached the outer edge of the waiting throng, Mrs. Garfield was seated in her car looking out of the window. Knowing her disposition to shrink from publicity, one of her companions arose to put down the shade. But she asked that it be allowed to remain open, saying that she was glad to see the crowds which had assembled to do honor to her husband.

All on the funeral train retired early and remained in bed until they arrived in Pittsburgh. In the night, however, those awake saw everywhere the crowds which were in waiting. At Altoona a weird scene impressed itself upon the minds of those who saw it. The place was passed in the middle hours of the night. The darkness was made visible by large numbers of pine torches held by workingmen stationed at intervals along the streets. At East Liverpool the members of a Post of the Grand Army of the Republic awaited the passage of the train. At another place the track was strewn with flowers. At Pittsburgh, which was reached a little after six o’clock, the whole town was astir, and the train made its way between dense and silent masses of humanity. In the morning all on the train called on Mrs. Garfield to pay their respects. She had borne the fatigue of the night and the long journey quite well.

At nearly every station along the route, bells were heard tolling as the train passed, and at one or two places dirges were played by brass bands. It was noticed by the passengers that the women in the crowds through which the train passed were weeping. Very good time was made as far as Pittsburgh, but at that point a dispatch was received from Cleveland asking the railroad authorities to delay the train an hour or two, as the citizens had not yet completed their arrangements for the reception. On this account the speed was decreased, and the train did not arrive at Cleveland until 1:15 in the afternoon.

The ceremony of reception at the latter city was simple, and every thing was decorously done. Long before the train was expected the people of the town, in carriages, street cars, and on foot, made their way toward the station. Military and civic organizations were already on the spot, and although there was some inevitable bustle, every thing was in place when the train arrived. As the draped engine drew near, every head was uncovered. When the train stopped, the citizens’ committee of reception, which had met the cortege as it passed into Ohio, stepped off the train, and formed into double line. The Judges of the Supreme Court, Senators and Officers of the Army and Navy followed, and took their positions in the line without delay.