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250 B.B.F.'s handwriting
Death of Lincoln
My account published in the Republican
A NARRATIVE OF THE PRESIDENT'S MURDER.
Commissioner FRENCH, who was in attendance upon the President and his household during the trying scenes of the great national calamity, has kindly furnished us with the following connected narrative of the terrible event:
WASHINGTON, April 23, 1865.
On Friday morning last, at 7 o'clock, all that was mortal of Abraham Lincoln, the sixteenth President of these United States, was borne from the Capitol, taking their departure for his home in Illinois, where they are to rest until the final resurrection.
The past week has been a sad one to the whole nation. It has been particularly sad for Washington; for here the unparalleled atrocity that deprived a people of a President whom they dearly loved and almost worshipped, and came near snatching from them a Secretary of State, particularly eminent for a head and a heart that gave him an exalted place in the affections of all who knew him, was committed; and as the awful news spread abroad on the wings of the lightning it carried with it sadness to every heart that beat responsive to the great principles of humanity which were so strongly implanted in the bosom of our beloved Chief Magistrate.
At half-past ten o'clock on Friday evening, the 14th instant, the bullet of the assassin sped through the brain of his illustrious victim, and from that instant he was as if he were dead, although he continued to breathe until the next morning at 22 minutes past 7.
That Friday night was an awful one for Washington. The theatre, where the horrid event occurred, was filled with people, and the appalling news spread, as it were, in a moment to all parts of the city, There was no sleep that night. The [rest of line illegible]
startling call to all military men, and to all civilians who understand it __ was beat in the various camps within and about the city, and the troops were speedily under arms.
"Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale, which, but an hour ago
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness.
"And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed,
The mastering squadron, and the clattering car
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war."
Many knew not, for a time, what it all meant, but every one knew that some terrible calamity was upon us; and ere long the dread reality that our President had been assassinated, and our Secretary of State stricken down by the dagger of some fiend in human shape, came to be known and a cordon of troops was soon posted all around the city to prevent, if possible, any egress from it, and be prepared for any emergency that an extended conspiracy might render necessary.
There was a general rush of our citizens to Tenth streeth, where in a dwelling opposite the theatre, lay the dying form of Abraham Lincoln, surrounded by his almost distracted wife, his weeping son, his Cabinet Ministers, generals, eminent physicians, and many others, whose positions gained them ready admittance to the side of the dying President.
I stood at his bedside in the early hours of the morning, and there witnessed such a scene of solemnity and grief as I never saw before, and hope never to see again.
"There was silence deep as death,
And the boldest held his breath."
as if it were almost sacrilege to interrupt the solemn stillness about that dying couch.
The stern Secretary of War sat with his head bowed down in grief; the good and kind Secretary of the Navy stood as if transfixed with sorrow; the ever mild and sunny countenances of the Secretary of the Treasury, the Secretary of the Interior, the Postmaster General and Attorney General were now overspread with the clouds of distress and mourning; Major General Halleck, who had naturally assumed the direction of affairs, was quietly moving about, fixing his large and most expressive eyes on everything that seemed to require attention, and directing, in whispered tones of sadness, what should be done. The noble form of Sumner, seated near the head of the bed, was bowed low, and tears were flowing from many, many eyes unused to weep.
Not long after sunrise, I should think, (time could not well be counted, and the heavens were weeping in a gentle rain,) at the request of some of the personal friends of Mrs. Lincoln, I went, in the President's carriage, after Mrs. Secretary Welles, and ere I could return the noble martyr had ceased breathing. I witnessed the bearing of the remains to the Presidential Mansion; saw them removed from the temporary coffin in which they were borne there, and from that time, until they were placed in the car a the railroad depot, for transportation to Illinois, I was much of the time with them. My official duties made me almost one of the President's household, and, on all public occasions I stood at his side or near him and I felt as if, even had duty not demanded my presence, I could not leave the inanimate form of him whom I had seen so much, and who I loved so well in life.
The days of preparation passed by; the lying in state in the East Room, where thousands stood at the side of their beloved and martyred chief and paid to his memory the tribute of respect, with streaming eyes; the funeral services, attended by the noble assemblage of all who aided the Executive in the performance of his arduous duties in Washington __ hundreds of the most noble civilians of the country; the full Diplomatic corps, whose rich dresses were in marked contrast to their sad, sad countenances, for they all loved Abraham Lincoln __ the mourners, not only of the family, but from his native and adopted States; the reverend clergy in full numbers. I witnessed it all.
I listened with a most melancholy but proud satisfaction to the religious services, full of submissive piety, but also full of exalted patriotism. I saw the immense concourse of people, civil and military, who crowded Pennsylvania avenue from Georgetown to the Capitol, as the funeral cortege passed along, marking by their bowed forms, and their sighs and tears, their deep grief at the loss of one whom they had looked upon as their father. I saw the sacred remains deposited on the catafalque, in the centre of the rotunda of the Capitol, with the semblages of grief all around it, and heard the pious and eloquent divine who had been
from the first at the side of the departed and his mourning family, (Dr. Gurley,) repeat with great impressiveness, earnestness, and devotion so much of the burial service as was appropriate, ending with a prayer.
The crowd then departed. The guard of honor, which had been ever present since the sad catastrophe, consisting of at least one major general and his staff, and often of two, were left in charge of the body.
At eight o'clock on Thursday morning the coffin was opened and the crowd admitted, and between that time and ten o'clock in the evening, nearly forty thousand people looked, in sorrow and in tears, upon that beloved face.
At six o'clock a.m., on Friday, there were assembled in the rotunda all the Cabinet ministers, the Committee who were to accompany the remains, the Rev. Dr. Gurley, Lieut. General Grant and many other high officers of the army, the Police of the Capitol, and a few prominent citizens. Dr. Gurley addressed, with deep fervor and great impressiveness, the Throne of Grace, and his prayer found a solemn response, I doubt not, in every bosom.
The coffin was then closed, and was borne by twelve sergeants to the hearse, and being escorted by a battalion of the Veteran Reserve Corps, was followed by Lieut, Gen. Grant and Brig. Gen. Hardee, arm in arm, and many other officers of the army; the Commissioner of Public Buildings and Captain of the Capitol Police, all on foot; and by the President and heads of the Departments, and the committee, in carriages, to the Baltimore depot, where it was placed in a car deeply and most appropriately draped in mourning and prepared for the occasion, where the reverend clergyman again offered up a prayer to the Father of us all; and at eight o'clock the train moved off, and he whom we all loved so well and for whom we would have willingly given our own lives, was borne in solemnity and gloom toward his final resting place in the bosom of the State who gave him to us.
"Unveil they bosom, sacred tomb,
Take this new treasure to they trust,
And give these sacred relics room
To slumber in the silent dust."
Abraham Lincoln's funeral is the sixth that I have attended in the East Room of the Presidential Mansion, and I pray it may be the last:
1st. That of President William Henry Harrison.
2d That of Mrs. John Tyler.
3d. That of Secretaries Abel P. Upshur, Thomas W. Gilmer, Attorney General Virgil Maxey, and Col. Gardner.
4th. That of President Zachary Taylor.
5th. That of Willie Lincoln.
6th. That of President Abraham Lincoln.
All the ceremonies of these funerals were most imposing and well conducted, especially that of those so suddenly borne into eternity by the bursting of the large gun on board the Princeton. The ceremonies of the last surpassed any other in solemnity, and the arrangements within the East Room were perfect, and for that perfection Hon. George Harrington, Assistant Secretary of the Treasury, is entitled to all the credit.
Respectfully yours,
B. B. FRENCH,
Commissioner of Public Buildings.
249
[Picture of house]
B. B. French's house 37 East Capitol St. Washington, D. C.
bought by U. S. in 1880 as Site for
Congressional Library. Built by him in 1842.
Chas. S. Cudlip, Publisher, 159 Penna. Ave., Washington, D. C.