The Life, Crime, and Capture of John Wilkes Booth | Page 8

vein and sacredly
preserved, and through a cutting on the inside of the thigh the empty
blood vessels were charged with a chemical preparation which soon
hardened to the consistence of stone. The long and bony body is now

hard and stiff, so that beyond its present position it cannot be moved
any more than the arms or legs of a statue. It has undergone many
changes. The scalp has been removed, the brain taken out, the chest
opened and the blood emptied. All that we see of Abraham Lincoln, so
cunningly contemplated in this splendid coffin, is a mere shell, an
effigy, a sculpture. He lies in sleep, but it is the sleep of marble. All
that made this flesh vital, sentient, and affectionate is gone forever.
The officers present are Generals Hunter and Dyer and two staff
captains. Hunter, compact and dark and reticent, walks about the empty
chamber in full uniform, his bright buttons and sash and sword
contrasting with his dark blue uniform, gauntlets upon his hands, crape
on his arm and blade, his corded hat in his hands, a paper collar just
apparent above his velvet tips, and now and then he speaks to Captain
Nesmith or Captain Dewes, of General Harding's staff, rather as one
who wishes company than one who has anything to say. His two silver
stars upon his shoulder shine dimly in the draped apartment. He was
one of the first in the war to urge the measures which Mr. Lincoln
afterward adopted. The aids walk to and fro, selected without reference
to any association with the late President. Their clothes are rich, their
swords wear mourning, they go in silence, everything is funereal. In the
deeply-draped mirrors strange mirages are seen, as in the coffin scene
of "Lucretia Borgia," where all the dusky perspectives bear vistas of
gloomy palls. The upholsterers make timid noises of driving nails and
spreading tapestry; but save ourselves and these few watchers and
workers, only the dead is here. The White House, so ill-appreciated in
common times, is seen to be capacious and elegant--no disgrace to the
nation even in the eyes of those foreign folk of rank who shall gather
here directly.
As we sit brooding, with the pall straight before us, the funeral guns are
heard indistinctly booming from the far forts, with the tap of drums in
the serried street without, where troops and citizens are forming for the
grand procession. We see through the window in the beautiful spring
day that the grass is brightly green; and all the trees in blossom, show
us through their archways the bronze and marble statues breaking the
horizon. But there is one at an upper window, seeing all this through

her tears, to whom the beautiful noon, with its wealth of zephyrs and
sweets, can waft no gratulation. The father of her children, the
confidant of her affection and ambition, has passed from life into
immortality, and lies below, dumb, cold murdered. The feeling of
sympathy for Mrs. Lincoln is as wide-spread as the regret for the chief
magistrate. Whatever indiscretions she may have committed in the
abrupt transition from plainness to power are now forgiven and
forgotten. She and her sons are the property of the nation associated
with its truest glories and its worst bereavement. By and by the guests
drop in, hat in hand, wearing upon their sleeves waving crape; and
some of them slip up to the coffin to carry away a last impression of the
fading face.
But the first accession of force is that of the clergy, sixty in number.
They are devout looking men, darkly attired, and have come from all
the neighboring cities to represent every denomination. Five years ago
these were wrangling over slavery as a theological question, and at the
beginning of the war it was hard, in many of their bodies, to carry loyal
resolutions, To-day there are here such sincere mourners as Robert
Pattison, of the Methodist church, who passed much of his life among
slaves and masters. He and the rest have come to believe that the
President was wise and right, and follow him to his grave, as the
apostles the interred on calvary. All these retire to the south end of the
room, facing the feet of the corpse, and stand there silently to wait for
the coming of others. Very soon this East room is filled with the
representative intelligence of the entire nation. The governors of states
stand on the dais next to the head of the coffin, with the varied features
of Curtin, Brough, Fenton, Stone, Oglesby and Ingraham. Behind them
are the mayors and councilmen of many towns paying their last
respects to the representative of the source of all municipal freedom. To
their left are the