As soon as she was able to bear the journey, the President took her from Washington to Long Branch, and, when her condition warranted, returned to Washington to prepare for a trip through the Eastern States, the central object of which was attendance upon the exercises of commencement week at Williams College, where the members of his class were to celebrate the 25th anniversary of their graduation. Mrs. Garfield’s rapidly improving health, the prospect of a week’s recreation from public duties, and the anticipation of renewing the pleasant associations of college life, all combined to give him great buoyancy of spirits. He was to be accompanied from Washington by several members of the Cabinet and their wives, was to meet Mrs. Garfield at Jersey City, and arrangements had been made at the places included in his tour for most cordial and hearty receptions.
Saturday, July 2, had been fixed upon for leaving Washington, and on the morning of that day the President and those of the party who were in Washington drove to the depot to take the special train which was to convey them to Jersey City, where Mrs. Garfield was to join them. The President walked into the waiting-room of the depot, arm-in-arm with Secretary Blaine, toward the door leading to the train, when a man, who had been lounging about the room, stepped forward and fired two shots at the President from behind, one taking effect in the lower portion of the body, the other inflicting a wound in the arm. The wounded man sank to the floor, and was surrounded by an anxious and excited crowd. As soon as possible he was removed to the railroad office in the building and surgical aid summoned, and after the preliminary treatment of his injuries he was taken to the White House, where his long and patient suffering has become matter of history. The assassin was speedily captured and conveyed to prison, where he was strongly guarded, as threats of summary punishment were freely made by the angry and horrified populace. His name was ascertained to be Charles J. Guiteau, a man of notoriously bad reputation and ill-balanced mind, although he possessed a certain amount of intelligence and shrewdness. He had long been an applicant for office, and had greatly annoyed the President and other officials by the persistence and impudence of his demands. Neither then nor afterwards did the miserable assassin express any regret over his murderous deed, the only sorrow which he expressed being that he did not kill the President instantly, as he had hoped and intended. His plans had all been made with cool deliberation, and his villainy stands out without a parallel in history.
It is impossible to express in words the thrill of horror which the country, and indeed the whole world, experienced as the news was flashed abroad that the President had been shot. From that moment until the time when his wasted form was carried to its burial on the beautiful shore of Lake Erie, there were no distinctions of party and no fractional dissensions in the United States. Everything was forgotten and hushed in the absorbing hope and agonizing prayer that the President might recover and live to complete the administration which had been so auspiciously begun. With varying hopes and fears, the whole world watched at the President’s bedside, and eagerly devoured every word of information sent out from the sick room by the physicians and attendants. Mrs. Garfield, rudely awakened on the day of the assassination from her dream of recreation with her husband by the touchingly thoughtful message dictated by the President, that he was hurt, he knew not how badly, and sent her his love, and wished her to come to him at once, sped from Long Branch to Washington as fast as steam could carry her, and, invalid though she was, bravely took her place by her husband’s side, and comforted and cheered him during his long and weary fight for life. How grandly she rose to the occasion, how tenderly she endured the weary weeks, always wearing a cheerful face, while her heart was breaking with its cruel load, the whole world knows. Her heroic devotion to her husband grandly typified the loyal and self-sacrificing spirit of wifehood, which finds nowhere more conspicuous illustration than in our American homes, and when one of the New York merchant princes proposed the raising of a fund to testify the Nation’s appreciation of Mrs. Garfield’s quiet heroism, money flowed in from every quarter until over $300,000 had been subscribed.
July and August slowly wore away, the hopes aroused by one days’ favorable indications being dashed by the appearance of some new complication, or the development of some alarming symptom, and early in September the physicians were importuned by the President to take him away from Washington. He wanted most of all to go to his Ohio home, but being told that was impossible his next thought was Long Branch, where he could see the ocean and breathe its life-giving air. The journey was undertaken, and so complete were the arrangements and appliances for his comfort that he endured the railroad ride of 250 miles with apparent advantage, rather than discomfort. Weak as he was he enjoyed the ride, and at one time said to Mrs. Garfield, “Well, Crete (his pet name for Lucretia) this is a great ride, isn’t it.” It certainly was a great ride, and the whole country stood with bated breath, watching the telegraphic reports of the progress of the swift-moving train. Quartered at Long Branch in a luxurious cottage tendered by a British subject, Mr. Francklyn, of New York, the cool sea-breezes for a time seemed to send life into his blood, and once or twice after his arrival he, at his own request, was permitted to recline in an easy position by the window where he could look out upon the ocean. One day while Mrs. Garfield was in the adjoining room, love, hope, and gratitude filling her heart, she sang the beautiful hymn commencing—
“Guide me, O thou Great Jehovah!”
As the soft and plaintive notes floated into the sick chamber the President turned his eyes upon Dr. Bliss and asked:
“Is that Crete?”
“Yes,” replied the Doctor, “it is Mrs. Garfield.”
“Quick, open the door a little,” anxiously responded the sick man.
Dr. Bliss opened the door, and after listening a few moments Mr. Garfield exclaimed, as the large tears coursed down his sunken cheeks: