Throughout the night he was cheerful, and to Dr. Bliss, who, in replying to his question as to his condition, had told him that there was a chance of recovery, said hopefully, “We will take that chance.”
The people, impressed with this remark and the cheerfulness it indicated, renewed the hope which had well nigh been extinguished by the repeated assurances of the physicians that he could not live through the night. The Fourth of July, the saddest ever known in this country, passed; the news from the bedside of the nation’s patient was less cheering, and the gloomy tide of a great sorrow ran a strong current under the ordinary occupations and duties of every-day life. No gathering of people was possible where it was not the dominant subject, and it took weeks of weary anxiety to quell the spirit of revenge that was universal in the hearts of men against the wasp that had stung the President and had poisoned his life-blood. The sympathy of other countries soothed this feeling in time, and the demeanor of the President was such an example to the country that it was impossible to express hostile feelings with such a pattern of submission before them. Great as had been President Garfield’s services in the past, his heroic bearing in affliction was of more value to the people, and his influence did more to bring about harmony of feeling, brotherly love and the obliteration of party bitterness than any work he had done in his days of health and activity.
As he lay on his bed of sickness, he thought of his mother, whose absence from him troubled him. He hoped at first to go to her soon and to recuperate his strength at Mentor, but while waiting for the strength that never came he wrote her this letter:
Washington, D. C., August 11th, 1881.
Dear Mother:—Don’t be disturbed by conflicting reports about my condition. It is true I am still weak and on my back, but I am gaining every day, and need only time and patience to bring me through.
Give my love to all the relatives and friends and especially to sisters Hetty and Mary. Your loving son,
James A. Garfield.
Mrs. Eliza Garfield, Hiram, Ohio.
Telegrams of sympathy reached his bedside from all parts of the earth, and wherever the news had gone in other lands there came back gratifying evidences of world-wide sorrow.
As the days passed the alternations of hope and despair kept the feeling of the people at its highest tension, and during this time of anxious waiting, Mrs. Garfield was the recipient of countless messages, letters and assurances of every kind of the sentiment of her countrymen and women. She appreciated all that was felt and said; and on one occasion, when some unusual incident had received her attention, she said in a voice broken with emotion and with tears in her eyes: “If it were possible for my husband and me to go around and see all those dear people who have been so grateful in their remembrance for us here of late days, I would be so happy; and I know he would, too. I want to thank them—to tell them all how kindly I feel toward them for what they have said to me. I never could understand anything about politics, and if I liked a person it made no difference whether they were Republicans or Democrats; and now I have grown to think that there is not much difference between the two great parties, for one says just as kind words in our present affliction as the other. It makes me feel like forming an opinion as to what I would do were women permitted to vote as well as men. I believe I would get two tickets, fold them together so as to look like one, and drop both in the ballot-box.”