Once more quietly established at home, she anticipated renewed happiness in the presence of her reunited family, and reasonably hoped to have much happiness in the future.
Death hovered near her when least expected, and one night, as the servant entered the room of her son (Col. Robert Johnson), he was discovered in a dying condition, and in an unconscious state passed from earth. From a tear-stained letter is gathered these sad particulars. “He was well and on the street at five o’clock, and at dusk, as the servant went as usual to light his lamp, she discovered that he was in a deep sleep. He was never aroused from it. All the physicians of the village were immediately called in, but alas! too late to do any good. He breathed his last at half-past eleven that night, without a single groan or struggle.
“I do not suppose he ever made an enemy in his life. He was certainly the most popular boy ever raised in this part of the country, and continued so after he became a man. Oh, if he could only have spoken one word to us! but he passed into the tomb, unconscious of all around him. He was buried with Masonic honors, and the largest funeral ever before seen in this village accompanied his remains to the grave.”
After seven years of wanderings, he was permitted to accompany his parents to their home, and to die surrounded by the friends of his youth.
Mrs. Johnson grieved deeply for this son as she had done for his brother. She lived in and for her family, and the loss of any one dear to her affected her seriously. Frail in health, tried by anxiety and care in early life, and a confirmed sufferer in maturer years, she became now a helpless invalid; and though she was glad to be at home again, pleased to see the kindly faces of her old neighbors and friends, she could not be an active participator in anything. She could only mourn for her dead, and receive and give comfort to those about her in her own home. The world saw but little more of her. The suggestion at this time that she would live longer than Mr. Johnson, if made to her, would have been derided. She had little thought of recovering her health at any time, and particularly after the first ten years of her invalidism. Subsequent to her return, and the death of Robert, she ceased to entertain the wish to live many years, for she was less and less concerned in public affairs, now that her husband had retired, and was likely to remain, as she thought, in private life. His health was not as robust as formerly, and during the summer succeeding his return from Washington, he was stricken with cholera, and his life was for a time despaired of. From this he recovered, and in the fall he was again participating in the service of redeeming Tennessee from the reconstruction errors into which it had been led by men more eager for place than true principle.
In 1874 Mr. Johnson was elected to the Senate to succeed William G. Brownlow, and his wife saw him set out again for Washington, holding the same position he had held before the war. She rejoiced in the ovation that was paid him; read all that the papers said of him, and was pleased that his career was not over, as she had at one time supposed. He was again in Greenville in the early spring, and the quiet home-life was continued during the summer. He spent much time from home during the following season, making speeches throughout the State, and giving his time as of old to politics. As a defeated candidate, he returned to Greenville from Nashville that season, and Mrs. Johnson then felt that they were two old people who would go towards the grave together quietly, surrounded by the worldly comfort he had secured for his family. This was not to be, however.
It was given him to enjoy the triumph of a re-election to the Senate for the long term, beginning in December, 1874, and he sat out the extraordinary session, and made his last speech in the Louisiana case. But it was not given this indomitable patriot long to enjoy the dignity with ease, which his own party and his opponents equally wished. He only lived to attend this one session, and the opportunity was given him to make one speech of importance to himself as a vindication of the course he had pursued while President. It was an appeal for the rights of a population whose government was kept from them by military force, and in it he threw all the fervor and sincerity of a man who was not only deeply interested in the subject, but who was speaking in favor of a policy he had devised and upheld under most adverse circumstances. Naturally enough, it was the grandest effort of his life, as it was his last. He went back from the Senate to his own people, and in midsummer he was stricken down with death. On the morning of the 31st of July, 1875, he died at the residence of his youngest daughter in Carter county. Her home was not far distant from Greenville, and he thought that, though ill when starting, he would recuperate from the fatigue of the ride, and recover more speedily in the country than in town. He had frequently said to his physician that “he did not think he could hold out more than a year or two longer, as he was completely worn out.” Two days before his last illness, he made a similar remark to his wife, who was anxiously noting the change that had come over his spirits. He left her in the early morning, saying good-bye, with no thought of a longer absence than a week or two. The next morning his son and daughter were summoned to their father’s bedside, and the startling news was broken to the invalid wife. She could not go to him, and her part was to remain alone in her deserted house, while her children hastened away. When they returned, it was to bring with them the dead. From this shock she did not recover. At no time had she ever entertained the slightest thought of outliving her husband, and now that this event had occurred, she was stunned and bewildered. She lived for six months, and died at the home of her eldest daughter on the 13th of January, 1876. It was not an unlooked-for event, though her children had become so accustomed to her invalidism, that they could not realize she was dying. She was always quiet and gentle, and her serenity deceived even those who watched over her continually. Very patiently and uncomplainingly she bore her part of sorrows, and it was only after she was dead that others realized what a sufferer she had been. Denied every other means of serving her loved ones, she cheered them, and the unselfishness of her life was not fully understood until two white hands were clasped in death, and her sad eyes were closed forever. She lived for others, and counted not self, and was rewarded for all life’s trials in the love she was capable of giving to others. She was a woman of heroic mould, and her life-example was a noble one to her family, to her friends, and to the world.
Mrs. Johnson was buried beside her husband in the romantic place he selected many years ago. At the time he bought the property, Mr. Johnson offered to purchase sufficient ground for a public cemetery, provided the authorities would improve it. The liberal offer was not accepted, and for a time there were no other graves there. The monument erected by the children is a superb structure, standing twenty-six feet high, with a base that is nearly ten feet square. Granite piers rest on each of the graves, lying side by side, over which is sprung a granite arch, and upon this the monument rests, leaving an opening under the arch, through which are seen the graves. The structure is one of great beauty, with its four funeral urns supported on pilasters, and its exquisite carving. Upon the front of the arch is carved a scroll, representing the Constitution of the United States, and an open book with a hand resting upon it, representing the taking of the oath of office. Over the apex of the shaft—which of itself is thirteen feet high—hangs an American flag in graceful folds, and surmounting the whole is an American eagle with outstretched wings. On the 28th of May, 1878, this monument was unveiled with the most imposing ceremonies, and for the first time the simple inscription was seen. It contained the names, ages, and death dates of Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, and underneath the name of the seventeenth President is the motto:
“His faith in the people never wavered.”
