Destiny of the Republic Part 10

Although Garfield found it difficult to eat anything, for a while at least he seemed to relish drinking a gla.s.s of milk. He dutifully swallowed the koumiss, a drink made from fermented horse milk, that Bliss gave him nearly every day, but he strongly preferred cow's milk. Eager to help in any way, Americans latched onto this small piece of information. So that the president might have the freshest possible milk, a company in Baltimore sent him an Alderney cow, which could be seen tied up on the White House lawn. The White House cook, who was the only Catholic among the staff, poured a large gla.s.s of milk for Garfield every day. Just before she carried his tray up the winding servant stairs to his sickroom, she quietly sprinkled holy water into his gla.s.s. The White House cook, who was the only Catholic among the staff, poured a large gla.s.s of milk for Garfield every day. Just before she carried his tray up the winding servant stairs to his sickroom, she quietly sprinkled holy water into his gla.s.s.

Realizing that he urgently needed to find a way to feed the president, Bliss came up with an alternative to food: "enemata," or rectal feeding. He mixed together beef bouillon-predigested with hydrochloric acid-warmed milk, egg yolk, and a little bit of opium, to help with retention. The solution, which, if absorbed, would provide protein, fatty acids, and saline, was injected into the president rectally every four hours, night and day. The solution, which, if absorbed, would provide protein, fatty acids, and saline, was injected into the president rectally every four hours, night and day. For a stretch of eight days, Garfield had nothing but enemata. For a stretch of eight days, Garfield had nothing but enemata.

Then Bliss began altering the mixture. On one day he added 5 drams, or roughly 1.25 tablespoons, of whiskey. On another, he removed the egg yolk, which had been causing the president gastric pain, and replaced it with a small amount of charcoal. The danger was that, if the solution was too thick, this type of feeding could actually contribute to malnutrition rather than combat it. The danger was that, if the solution was too thick, this type of feeding could actually contribute to malnutrition rather than combat it. At first, Garfield seemed to rally, but as the days pa.s.sed, he continued to lose weight at an alarming rate. At first, Garfield seemed to rally, but as the days pa.s.sed, he continued to lose weight at an alarming rate.

As well as being malnourished, Garfield was almost certainly suffering from profound dehydration. He had lost a dangerous amount of fluid through profuse bleeding on the day he was shot, and had continued to lose water every day, through vomiting, fever, drenching sweats, frequent enemas, and nearly constant drainage of his wound. Bliss had also been giving him almost daily doses of alcohol, from brandy to claret to whiskey, all of which are dehydrating. Not only was Garfield losing large quant.i.ties of fluid, he was not ingesting nearly enough. In a modern hospital, a sweating, feverish patient would be given at least two quarts of intravenous fluid every day. Garfield's daily fluids never amounted to more than a single quart.

While newspapers continued to print Bliss's a.s.surances that the only danger to the president now was exhaustion, it was painfully apparent to anyone who saw Garfield that he could not live long. "This dreadful sickness will soon be over," Harriet Blaine wrote to her son in late August. "Every night when I go to bed I try to brace for that telephone which I am sure before morning will send its shrill summons through our room. The morning is a little rea.s.suring, for light itself gives courage."

Each time she stepped into the White House, however, Harriet felt even that small source of strength slip away. It seemed that everyone she encountered, from the cook to cabinet members, had already succ.u.mbed to despair. Dr. Edson, who had spent many long nights by Garfield's side, It seemed that everyone she encountered, from the cook to cabinet members, had already succ.u.mbed to despair. Dr. Edson, who had spent many long nights by Garfield's side, admitted to Harriet in a private conversation that she no longer held out hope. Robert Todd Lincoln's " admitted to Harriet in a private conversation that she no longer held out hope. Robert Todd Lincoln's "darkness," she told her family, "is unillumined by one ray of courage." Even Almon Rockwell, who, since the day of the shooting, had reacted with anger and indignation at the slightest suggestion that Garfield might not survive, looked as though he had already lost his old friend. His "feathers," Harriet wrote sadly, "I imagined drooped."

So desperate had the situation become that her husband felt that, as secretary of state, he was obliged to ask Chester Arthur to take over the president's responsibilities, at least temporarily. "Your father [is] much exercised on the question of disability," Harriet wrote to her daughter. "Should Arthur be brought to the front, and how?"

The Const.i.tution was of no help. Nothing in it offered any guidance on how to determine when a president was no longer able to perform his duties. Nor was there any precedent. Only three other presidents had died while in office. Lincoln had lived only a few hours after he was shot; Zachary Taylor had succ.u.mbed to cholera in just a few days; and William Henry Harrison had survived only one month after contracting pneumonia while giving the longest inaugural address in history on a cold, rainy day. Garfield-much younger, stronger, and with a family to care for-had already lived twice as long as Harrison.

Finally, Blaine sent a cabinet member to New York to discuss the transition with the vice president. Arthur, however, made it clear that he would not even consider taking over the presidency while Garfield still lived. He refused even to return to Was.h.i.+ngton, concerned that it would appear as if he were preparing for his own inauguration. "Disappoint our fears," his young invalid friend, Julia Sand, had urged him. "Force the nation to have faith in you. Show from the first that you have none but the purest of aims."

In the White House, Blaine found it impossibly painful to talk to the president about any of this. Garfield, however, had no illusions about his chances of survival. When asked if he knew that he might not live, he had replied simply, "Oh, yes, I have always been conscious of that." What worried him now was not his own death, but the suffering it would bring to those he loved most. The last letter he would write was to his mother, in the hope that he could bolster her spirits, if only for a short time. Taking a pen, he began writing in a thin, shaky script that slipped down the page. the hope that he could bolster her spirits, if only for a short time. Taking a pen, he began writing in a thin, shaky script that slipped down the page.

Dear Mother,Don't be disturbed by conflicting reports about my condition. It is true I am still weak, but I am gaining every day, and need only time and patience to bring me through.Give my love to all the relatives & friends, & especially to sisters Hetty and Mary.Your loving son,James A Garfield Only to his wife did Garfield admit his weariness. "I wonder," he told her one night, "if all this fight against death is worth the little pinch of life I will get anyway." Lucretia knew that what her husband wanted more than anything now was to escape, not just from this dreary, lonely room, but from Was.h.i.+ngton altogether. He dreamed of returning to his farm in Ohio, seeing his old friends, sitting in the shade of his neighbor's maple trees, maybe even having a slice of his aunt's homemade bread. He dreamed of returning to his farm in Ohio, seeing his old friends, sitting in the shade of his neighbor's maple trees, maybe even having a slice of his aunt's homemade bread.

If he could not go home, he hoped to go to the sea. He had never lost his childhood love of the ocean, which had seemed almost mythical to a boy from Ohio, and he wanted to see it one last time. "I have always felt that the ocean was my friend," he had written in his diary just a few weeks before the a.s.sa.s.sination attempt. "The sight of it brings rest and peace."

Bliss, however, terrified that Garfield would not survive the trip, refused. "It would not now be prudent," he told the president. He could leave Was.h.i.+ngton as soon as his stomach was stronger.

"It's all right now," Garfield replied. "I want to get away."

Although Harriet seemed to speak for everyone in the White House when she admitted to her daughter that she had lost "heart and spirit," there remained two people who refused to surrender. Lucretia had been so sick with worry for so long that her hair had begun to fall out, forcing her Lucretia had been so sick with worry for so long that her hair had begun to fall out, forcing her finally to cover her head with a scarf. Still, a reporter from the finally to cover her head with a scarf. Still, a reporter from the Evening Star Evening Star marveled, she seemed to have " marveled, she seemed to have "banished despair, and hopes even when to everyone else there was no hope."

The only person in the White House whose determination equaled Lucretia's was Garfield's young secretary, Joseph Stanley Brown. Although he would describe this time in his life as "one prolonged, hideous nightmare," Brown would allow no one, not even the members of Garfield's cabinet, to express anything but optimism in his presence. At a meeting of the cabinet members in late August, "despair," a reporter noted, "was in their countenance, and in their speech. They said, 'He must die.'" Brown, who had not yet turned twenty-four, stood and addressed the men, each one old enough to be his father. "Let nothing but words of cheer ever reach the President," he reprimanded them. "He will not die."

Brown rarely left the White House, sleeping, when he slept at all, on the small sofa in his office. Garfield wanted Brown near him, so the young man divided his days and nights between the sadness of the sickroom and the madness of his own office, where he replied to thousands of letters and telegrams, fielded journalists' questions, and greeted dignitaries. "During all this terror, hope, despair, and rush at the White House," a reporter for the Evening Critic Evening Critic wrote, Brown has been "the ruling spirit of the Mansion, and his young hand, guided by his wise head and kind heart, has been upon all." wrote, Brown has been "the ruling spirit of the Mansion, and his young hand, guided by his wise head and kind heart, has been upon all."

One night, as Brown was working, a member of the White House staff brought him a message that the first lady wished to see him. When he appeared before her, Lucretia did not at first speak, waiting "until control of her voice was a.s.sured." Finally, she asked, "Will you tell me just what you you think the chances are for the General's recovery?" think the chances are for the General's recovery?"

Brown took one look in Lucretia's "anguished face," he would later say, and "threw truthfulness to the winds, and lied and lied as convincingly and consolingly as I could." Then, as quickly as possible-"as soon as decency permitted"-he excused himself and left the room. "Once beyond the door," he admitted, "all restraint gave way." He could not bear to tell Lucretia the truth, but he could no longer hide it from himself. He was, he would acknowledge years later, "utterly shattered and broken."

CHAPTER 21

AFTER ALL

Despite the prayers and tears, and earnest pleading,And piteous protest o'er a hero's fall,Despite the hopeful signs, our hearts misleading,Death cometh after allOver the brightest scenes are clouds descending;The flame soars highest ere its deepest fall;The glorious day has all too swift an ending;Night cometh after allO'er bloom or beauty now in our possessionIs seen the shadow of the funeral pall;Though Love and Life make tearful intercession,Death cometh after allANONYMOUS POEM, UPON THE DEATH OFPRESIDENT GARFIELD, SEPTEMBER 1881 While Lucretia was forced to watch the slow, cruel approach of death, for Bell it came suddenly, blindsiding him while he was caught up in another man's tragedy. Although he had returned to Boston to be with Mabel, he continued to work feverishly on the induction balance at his old work s.p.a.ce in Charles Williams's machine shop. Although he had returned to Boston to be with Mabel, he continued to work feverishly on the induction balance at his old work s.p.a.ce in Charles Williams's machine shop.

Just a week after Bell returned from Was.h.i.+ngton, Mabel suddenly went into labor. That day she gave birth to a little boy, whom they named Edward. He was, Mabel would later write wistfully, a " Edward. He was, Mabel would later write wistfully, a "strong and healthy little fellow." As the baby struggled to breathe, however, it was immediately apparent that he had been born too soon. After Bell had seen his son for the first time, he sent his parents in Was.h.i.+ngton a telegram with the wrenching news.

LITTLE BOY BORN PREMATURELY THIS AFTERNOON DIED IN THREE HOURS. MABEL DOING AS WELL AS CAN BE EXPECTED. NO NEED TO COME ON.A GRAHAM BELL Years later, Alec would admit to Mabel that he had yet to recover from the death of their son, and did not think he ever would. He was haunted by the belief that his selfishness had brought about their tragedy. "Nothing will ever comfort me for the loss," he wrote, "for I feel at heart that I was the cause I was the cause."

Engulfed in his own grief and mourning, Bell responded by plunging even more deeply into his quest for an answer to the president's suffering. After his son's funeral, he returned immediately to his work. He devised an attachment to the induction balance, and he wanted Tainter to re-create it in their laboratory in Was.h.i.+ngton so that he could take it to the White House. After his son's funeral, he returned immediately to his work. He devised an attachment to the induction balance, and he wanted Tainter to re-create it in their laboratory in Was.h.i.+ngton so that he could take it to the White House.

Just three days after Edward's death, Tainter successfully tested the induction balance's new attachment for one of Garfield's surgeons, Frank Hamilton, in the Volta Laboratory in Was.h.i.+ngton. But with Garfield's condition deteriorating gravely, and Bell stranded in Boston with his devastated family, unable to force the issue in person, his desperate, single-minded race to save the president came to an end. Bliss refused to let Tainter try the invention on Garfield. The president was too weak, he said. He would not risk the exhaustion that another test might cause. Bliss refused to let Tainter try the invention on Garfield. The president was too weak, he said. He would not risk the exhaustion that another test might cause.

Unwilling to accept defeat, Bell redoubled his efforts from Boston, still believing that the president's life could be saved or, failing that, that his invention would prove to have lasting value for others. Perfecting the induction balance was a personal and scientific obligation, and he was not about to abandon it now, whatever the cost. " about to abandon it now, whatever the cost. "Heartless science," he would write years later, "seeks truth, and truth alone, quite apart from any consequences that may arise."

As a practical matter, however, Bell knew that whatever benefits the induction balance might have, they would come too late for President Garfield. The clock had run out, and there was simply nothing more that Bell could do.

At the White House, the siegelike atmosphere surrounding the stricken president's sickbed only seemed to worsen with each pa.s.sing day. Strenuously resisting anything that might further weaken Garfield, Bliss was outraged when, upon entering the sickroom one day, he found a barber cutting the president's hair. Bliss "stopped the proceedings immediately," a reporter wrote, "much to the barber's disgust." Try as he might, however, Bliss could do nothing to banish the unbearable heat, which was sapping what little strength his patient had left. In the city, it was 90 degrees in the shade. Inside the president's room, even with the help of the air conditioner the navy had built for him, the temperature was never below 80. In the city, it was 90 degrees in the shade. Inside the president's room, even with the help of the air conditioner the navy had built for him, the temperature was never below 80.

Finally, Garfield had had enough. When Bliss walked into his room on the morning of September 5, the president made it clear that he would be going to the sea, with or without Bliss. "Well," he said, "is this the last day in the White House?" Bliss tried to calm him, promising that he "might soon be so far recovered as to make the journey." Garfield, however, was not going to be put off any longer. He was still the president, and he demanded to have some control over whatever was left of his own life. "No, no," he said. "I don't want any more delay."

At two o'clock the next morning, a specially equipped train pulled into the Baltimore and Ohio depot. It had been prepared weeks earlier so that it would be ready to take the president wherever he wished to go, whenever he was ready. Finally, the time had come. That day, Garfield was to be taken to Elberon, New Jersey, "in the hope," a member of the White House staff wrote, "that the air and the sight of the sea might do for him what the doctors could not."

The train, which pulled four cars-three pa.s.senger and one baggage-had been thoroughly renovated for the sick president. One of the princ.i.p.al concerns was dust, both from the tracks and from the train itself. To protect Garfield, the train had been outfitted with an engine that used only clean-burning anthracite coal. Wire gauze had been wrapped around the outside of his car, and heavy curtains had been hung inside.

The president's car, number 33, bore almost no resemblance to a normal train car. The seats had been removed, and thick Brussels carpet laid on the floors. Taking up most of the s.p.a.ce was a new bed with strong springs to try to soften the tracks' jolts and b.u.mps. In an attempt to keep Garfield cool, ice had been placed in the car, and a false ceiling had been installed a few inches from the actual ceiling to encourage air circulation.

Before he would allow the president to be moved, Bliss insisted that everything be tested. The train was driven nearly twenty miles in a trial trip, to "determine," Bliss explained, "the amount and nature of the motion of the bed." The attendants who had been chosen to carry Garfield-among them, Swaim and Rockwell, his closest friends-were drilled over and over again, so "as to make a mistake almost impossible." Bliss even considered having tracks laid from the White House door. He finally decided, however, that the "perfectly even surface of Pennsylvania Avenue really rendered such an expenditure needless."

Finally, at 6:00 a.m., Bliss walked into Garfield's room and said, "Mr. President, we are ready to go." Garfield replied, "I am ready." Edson, who had spent that night watching over the president, vividly recalled the scene in his room that morning. It was, she would later write, "the saddest I have ever witnessed. The patient, while he spoke cheerfully, had a sad expression of countenance which was so unusual for him, but which I do not think indicated that he had given up hope, but rather that he had realized the danger of the situation." It was, she would later write, "the saddest I have ever witnessed. The patient, while he spoke cheerfully, had a sad expression of countenance which was so unusual for him, but which I do not think indicated that he had given up hope, but rather that he had realized the danger of the situation."

Garfield was carried, Bliss wrote, "by no strange hands." Standing on either side of his bed, Rockwell and Swaim grasped the sheet on which he lay, lifted it, and gently placed him on a stretcher, which they then carried down the stairs and out the door. Members of the White House staff filled the windows with tear-streaked faces, watching the solemn procession to the express wagon that waited on the gravel drive. As they looked down, Garfield looked up, caught sight of them, and lifted his hand in a feeble but warm wave. " down, Garfield looked up, caught sight of them, and lifted his hand in a feeble but warm wave. "A last token of amity," one of the staff wrote, "from a man who loved the world and the people in it."

The train ride to Elberon had been planned as carefully as Garfield's transfer from the White House to the station. Every conductor and engineer in the region stood ready, waiting for word that the president's train had left the Baltimore and Ohio. As soon as they heard that Garfield was on his way, they switched off their engines and waited for him to pa.s.s so that their trains would not disturb him in any way. "No sound of bell or whistle was heard," Bliss wrote. The doctor had also arranged to have private homes available for his patient all along the route, so that, if Garfield needed to stop, he would have a safe, clean place to stay. "I must now say," Bliss would later write, "that this whole journey was a marvel even to myself."

The American people were acutely aware that their president was being moved from the White House. "At every station crowds of men and women appeared," Bliss would later recall, "the former uncovered, with bowed heads, the latter often weeping." Thousands of people stood in silence along the train tracks. "It was indeed a strange and affecting journey," a doctor traveling with Garfield would write, "as we silently sped along."

When the train finally reached Elberon, it switched to a line of railroad track that had been laid just the night before. Two thousand people had worked until dawn to lay 3,200 feet of track so that the president's train could take him to the door of Franklyn Cottage, the twenty-two-room summer home a wealthy New Yorker had offered for as long as it was needed. While determining where the track would have to go, a surveyor had realized that he would need to cut through a neighboring garden, and he apologized to the owner. "I am willing that you should ruin my house," she replied, "all I have-if it would help to save him."

Before the train could reach its final destination, however, it stopped short. The cottage sat at the top of a hill, and the engine was not strong enough to breach it. No sooner had the problem become apparent than, out of the crowd of people who had waited all day in the tremendous heat for Garfield's arrival, two hundred men ran forward to help. "Instantly hundreds "Instantly hundreds of strong arms caught the cars," Bliss wrote, "and silently...rolled the three heavy coaches" up the hill. of strong arms caught the cars," Bliss wrote, "and silently...rolled the three heavy coaches" up the hill.

When he was carried into his room, the first thing Garfield noticed was that the bed was turned away from the window. He asked to have it moved, so that he could look out at the sea. A few days later, when he was lifted into a chair so that he could better see the wide expanse of ocean just beyond the cottage walls, he was thrilled. "This is delightful," he said. "It is such a change."

Despite the relentless suffering Garfield had endured for more than two months, he had maintained not only the strength of his mind, but the essence of his personality. "Throughout his long illness," Rockwell would later recall, "I was most forcibly impressed with the manner in which those traits of his character which were most winning in health became intensified." Even as he lay dying, Garfield was kind, patient, cheerful, and deeply grateful.

When Bliss told him that a fund was being raised for Lucretia, Garfield was overcome with grat.i.tude. "What?" he said in surprise. Then, turning his face to his pillow to hide his emotion, he continued, "How kind and thoughtful! What a generous people!" Garfield was then "silent and absorbed for a long time," Bliss remembered, "as if overwhelmed with the thought."

Garfield was also deeply grateful to the people who had cared for him for so long, and with such devotion. One day, he placed his hand on the head of one of his attendants and said, "You have been always faithful and forebearing." For Bliss, who was visibly weakened by exhaustion and worry, he tried to provide a measure of comfort. "Doctor, you plainly show the effect of all this care and unrest," he said. "Your anxious watching will soon be over."

Bliss still refused to admit that he could not save the president's life. A few days after they arrived in Elberon, he issued a bulletin announcing that the last of the attending physicians had been dismissed, leaving him with only occasional a.s.sistance from the surgeons Agnew and Hamilton. Garfield was doing so well, Bliss explained in his bulletin, that he wished to relieve the doctors " Garfield was doing so well, Bliss explained in his bulletin, that he wished to relieve the doctors "from a labor and responsibility which in his improved condition he could no longer impose upon them." To a reporter from the Was.h.i.+ngton Post Was.h.i.+ngton Post, Bliss said that Garfield had a "clearer road to recovery now than he ever has had." There was "no abscess, no pus cavity, no pyemia," he insisted. "The trouble has now pa.s.sed its crisis, and is going away."

Bliss's a.s.surances, however, no longer went unquestioned. "Despite the announcements that the condition of the President is hopeful and that he is making slight gains daily," a reporter for the Medical Record Medical Record wrote, "it is quite evident that his chances for ultimate recovery are very poor indeed." Even Agnew admitted to a friend that he thought the president had very few days left to live. He " wrote, "it is quite evident that his chances for ultimate recovery are very poor indeed." Even Agnew admitted to a friend that he thought the president had very few days left to live. He "may live the day out," he said, "and possibly tomorrow, but he cannot live a week."

Garfield was "perfectly calm, sentient," Bliss wrote, content to live out his last days in this borrowed cottage, gazing at the sea. The president could not help but wonder, however, if, after such a brief presidency, he would leave behind any lasting legacy. "Do you think my name will have a place in human history?" he asked Rockwell one night. "Yes," his friend replied, "a grand one, but a grander place in human hearts."

Rockwell was again with Garfield on the evening of September 19. The president had been suffering from chills, fever, and a persistent cough, but still he longed for companions.h.i.+p. Looking over at his old friend, with whom he had pa.s.sed many happy evenings, he lifted his hands slightly above the bedcovers and wistfully pantomimed dealing a deck of cards. Soon after, Swaim arrived to relieve Rockwell for the night, and Garfield fell asleep.

At 10:00 p.m., as Swaim sat in silence in the president's room, he suddenly heard Garfield make a gasping sound, as if he were struggling to speak. Rus.h.i.+ng to his bedside, he saw, by the light of a single candle, Garfield open his eyes and look at him for a moment. "Well, Swaim," he said, and then, suddenly pressing his hand to his heart, he cried out, "Oh my! Swaim, what a pain I have right here." "Well, Swaim," he said, and then, suddenly pressing his hand to his heart, he cried out, "Oh my! Swaim, what a pain I have right here."

Bliss was in his room, reading through the day's mult.i.tude of letters offering sympathy and medical advice-"wonderful productions of the human imagination"-when one of Garfield's attendants appeared at the door. "General Swaim wants you quick!" he said. As soon as he reached the room, Bliss knew that there was nothing he could do. Garfield was unconscious, his breathing shallow and fast. "My G.o.d, Swaim!" Bliss cried. human imagination"-when one of Garfield's attendants appeared at the door. "General Swaim wants you quick!" he said. As soon as he reached the room, Bliss knew that there was nothing he could do. Garfield was unconscious, his breathing shallow and fast. "My G.o.d, Swaim!" Bliss cried.

Moments later, Lucretia, who had been woken by the attendant, was standing next to Bliss, looking at her husband in terror. "Oh!" she said, "What is the matter?" For once, Bliss had no words of encouragement to offer the first lady. "Mrs. Garfield," he replied quietly, "the President is dying."

As Lucretia bent over James, kissing his brow, the attendant sent word throughout the house and to nearby cottages. One of the first to come was Joseph Stanley Brown. For the rest of his life, Brown would write, he could "hear the long, solemn roll of the sea on the sh.o.r.e as I did on that night of inky darkness, when I walked from my cottage to his bedside." Before many minutes had pa.s.sed, the room was filled with everyone who had come with them to Elberon-Garfield's surgeons, his friends, and his fourteen-year-old daughter, Mollie. They were, Bliss would later write, "the witnesses of the last sad scene in this sorrowful history."

As Bliss tried in vain to stop what was happening, he could feel Garfield slipping away. "A faint, fluttering pulsation of the heart," he would remember, "gradually fading to indistinctness." For several minutes, the only sound in the room was the president's ragged, irregular breathing. Finally, at 10:35 p.m., Bliss raised his head from Garfield's chest. "It is over," he said.

There was not a movement or a sound, even of crying. "All hearts," Bliss would write, "were stilled." After a moment, the room slowly began to empty, until Lucretia was left alone with James. She sat by his bed for more than an hour, staring at his frail and lifeless body. Finally, Rockwell returned and, gently touching her arm, "begged her to retire." Without a word, she stood, and allowed him to lead her away.

CHAPTER 22

ALL THE A ANGELS OF THE U UNIVERSE

If a man murders you without provocation, your soul bears no burden of the wrong; but all the angels of the universe will weep for the misguided man who committed the murder.

JAMES A. GARFIELD

Just after midnight, as he worked late at his house in Was.h.i.+ngton, Alexander Graham Bell's concentration was suddenly interrupted by a newsboy's shout ringing through the streets. "Extra Republican!" the boy cried. "Death of General Garfield!"

Unable to bear his isolation in Boston any longer, Bell had finally made his way back to the city the day before. Although he was still mourning the death of his son, his thoughts about the induction balance continued to churn urgently even as he had rattled into Was.h.i.+ngton on the Baltimore and Potomac. "Please hunt in the study and see if you can find [a] bundle of letters and papers in [a] large envelope concerning [the] Induction Balance," he had written quickly to Mabel as the capital came into view. "If so please send me the names and addresses of the poor people who want to have bullets located.... One especially is from the father of a little boy who was shot last year."

Now, as he listened to the newsboy's cries, an exhausted Bell could only reflect on the injustice of the ordeal he had witnessed from such a personal vantage point. "How terrible it all is," he wrote to Mabel, who was still at home in Boston. "After seventy-nine days of suffering to be obliged to give up at last. I hope indeed that there may be an immortality for that brave spirit. It is too horrible to think of annihilation and dust."

Science had not been able to prevent the president's death, Bell conceded, but neither had religion. "If prayers could avail to save the sick," he reasoned sadly, "surely the earnest heartfelt cry of a whole nation to G.o.d would have availed in this case."

At four o'clock that afternoon, Garfield's doctors a.s.sembled in the Franklyn Cottage for what Brown would refer to as "the final agony." The president's autopsy was performed by Dr. D. S. Lamb of the Army Medical Museum, with the a.s.sistance of a local doctor and six of Garfield's original physicians, including Bliss, Hamilton, and Agnew. Brown was also there, having agreed to represent "the official household," but was so grief-stricken and horrified by the "ghoulish business" that he found it almost impossible to bear.

In the end, the autopsy would take four, excruciating hours to complete. As afternoon turned to evening, Lamb, working slowly and painstakingly, finally had to ask for more lamps to be brought into the room. Across the street, on the porch of the Elberon Hotel, a growing crowd stood peering at the cottage in the fading light, anxious to know why they had lost their president after months of hope and prayers.

The results of the autopsy would surprise no one more than Garfield's own doctors. Soon after they had opened his abdomen, with a long, vertical incision and then another, transverse cut, they found the track of the bullet. "The missile," they realized with sickening astonishment, "had gone to the left." Following its destructive path-as it shattered the right eleventh and twelfth ribs, moved forward, down, and to the left, through the first lumbar vertebra, and into connective tissue-they finally found Guiteau's lead bullet. It lay behind Garfield's pancreas, safely encysted, on the opposite side of the body from where they had been searching.

Running down the right side of Garfield's body was a long channel, which Bliss and eleven other doctors had probed countless times, convinced that, at the end of it, lay the bullet. The autopsy report stated that, while "this long descending channel was supposed during life to have been the track of the bullet," it was "now clearly seen to have been caused by the burrowing of pus from the wound." Pus, however, does not burrow. It simply follows an open path, which, in this case, was made by the doctors' own fingers and instruments. Alongside the channel lay Garfield's liver, slightly enlarged but untouched. There was, the report noted, " by the burrowing of pus from the wound." Pus, however, does not burrow. It simply follows an open path, which, in this case, was made by the doctors' own fingers and instruments. Alongside the channel lay Garfield's liver, slightly enlarged but untouched. There was, the report noted, "no evidence that it had been penetrated by the bullet."

What was perhaps as stunning to the doctors as the location of the bullet was the infection that had ravaged Garfield's body. Evidence of the proximate cause of his death, profound septic poisoning, was nearly everywhere they looked. There were collections of abscesses below his right ear, in the middle of his back, across his shoulders, and near his left kidney. He had infection-induced pneumonia in both of his lungs, and there was an enormous abscess, measuring half a foot in diameter, near his liver. " Evidence of the proximate cause of his death, profound septic poisoning, was nearly everywhere they looked. There were collections of abscesses below his right ear, in the middle of his back, across his shoulders, and near his left kidney. He had infection-induced pneumonia in both of his lungs, and there was an enormous abscess, measuring half a foot in diameter, near his liver. "The initial point of this septic condition probably dates as far back as the period of the first chill," one of Garfield's doctors would later admit. "The course of this...infection was practically continuous, and could only result in inevitable death."

The immediate cause of Garfield's death was more difficult to determine. After removing most of his organs, they finally found it-a rent, nearly four-tenths of an inch long, in the splenic artery. The hemorrhage had flooded Garfield's abdominal cavity with a pint of blood, which by now had coagulated into an "irregular form...nearly as large as a man's fist." This, they realized, had been the cause of the terrible pain that had forced him to cry out to Swaim just before his death. This, they realized, had been the cause of the terrible pain that had forced him to cry out to Swaim just before his death.

After the examination was finally complete, Agnew silently approached the president's body. As everyone in the room watched, he reached out with one hand and ran his little finger down Garfield's spinal column. The finger "slipped entirely through the one vertebra pierced by the bullet," Brown would later recall. Dropping his hand, Agnew turned to the men standing around him and said, "Gentlemen, this was the fatal wound. We made a mistake." Without another word, he left the room.

In New York, as soon as the press learned of the president's death, reporters rushed to Chester Arthur's house on Lexington Avenue, eager for his reaction. His doorkeeper, however, not only refused to let them in but would not even bring them a statement from the vice president. " reaction. His doorkeeper, however, not only refused to let them in but would not even bring them a statement from the vice president. "I daren't ask him," he said. "He is sitting alone in his room sobbing like a child with his head on his desk and his face buried in his hands."

That morning, Arthur had received a telegram from Was.h.i.+ngton warning him that Garfield's condition was perilous. Still, he had not been prepared when a messenger had knocked on his door late that night. Just a few hours later, he found himself standing in his parlor, its green blinds closed to the newsmen gathered outside, with a New York state judge standing before him, swearing him into office. By 2:15 a.m. on September20, Arthur had become the twenty-first president of the United States.

Two days later, in the presence of two former presidents, seven senators, six representatives, and several members of Garfield's cabinet, Arthur delivered his inaugural address at the Capitol. To the surprise of everyone present, the new president made it clear that he had no wish to strike a different path from his predecessor. On the contrary, he seemed to hope for nothing more than to be the president that Garfield would have been, had he lived. "All the n.o.ble aspirations of my lamented predecessor which found expression in his life," Arthur said, "will be garnered in the hearts of the people, and it will be my earnest endeavor to profit, and to see that the nation shall profit, by his example."

Although Arthur was well aware that, had they been given the opportunity, his countrymen never would have elected him, he was grateful that they now seemed willing to accept him, perhaps even trust him. Even the governor of Ohio, Garfield's proud and devastated state, predicted that "the people and the politicians will find that Vice-President Arthur and President Arthur are different men."

After his inaugural address, Arthur received another letter from his mysterious young adviser, Julia Sand. "And so Garfield is really dead, & you are President," she began. Her advice now was not action, but compa.s.sion. The American people were exhausted and grief-stricken, and Arthur must let them mourn. "What the nation needs most at present, is rest," Sand wrote. "If a doctor could lay his finger on the public pulse, his prescription would be, perfect quiet."

Garfield's body, which was returned to Was.h.i.+ngton by the same train, now swathed in black, that had carried him to Elberon, lay in state in the Capitol rotunda for two days and nights. The line to see the president stretched for more than a quarter mile, snaking through the hushed streets of Was.h.i.+ngton, under flags bordered in black and flying at half-mast, and in the shadow of buildings wrapped in so much dark fabric they were nearly hidden from view. "The whole city was draped in mourning," Garfield's daughter Mollie would write in her diary. "Even the shanties where the people were so poor that they had to tear up the[ir] clothes in order to show people the deep sympathy and respect they had for Papa.... All persons are friends in this deep and great sorrow."

The scene near the Capitol, a reporter wrote, was "in many respects the most remarkable that has ever been witnessed in the United States." More extraordinary even than the size of the crowd, said to include some one hundred thousand mourners, was its unprecedented diversity. "The ragged and toil-stained farm hands from Virginia and Maryland and the colored laborers of Was.h.i.+ngton," the reporter marveled, "stood side by side with the representatives of wealth and fas.h.i.+on, patiently waiting for hours beneath the sultry September sun for the privilege of gazing for a minute on the face of the dead President."

Only one man had no place in this national mourning. In fact, he was told nothing of the president's death. For Charles Guiteau there was no official notification, nor even a word spoken in pa.s.sing. He overheard the news from a guard who happened to be standing near his cell at the District Jail. As soon as he realized what had happened, he fell to his knees, desperately mumbling a prayer.

Even before the president's death, Guiteau's fantasy that he had the support and sympathy of the American people had begun to crack. More than a week earlier, as he had been standing at his cell window, watching three wagonloads of fresh troops pull up to the prison to stand guard through the night, he suddenly saw a flash and heard the distinct ripping sound of a bullet as it shot past him. Missing his head by just an inch, the bullet sliced through a coat hanging from a nail and slammed into the whitewashed wall. More than a week earlier, as he had been standing at his cell window, watching three wagonloads of fresh troops pull up to the prison to stand guard through the night, he suddenly saw a flash and heard the distinct ripping sound of a bullet as it shot past him. Missing his head by just an inch, the bullet sliced through a coat hanging from a nail and slammed into the whitewashed wall.

The bullet, "a great big musket-bullet," Guiteau would later complain, had come from the gun of one of his own guards, Sergeant William Mason. had come from the gun of one of his own guards, Sergeant William Mason. Although he would later be sentenced to eight years in prison, Mason never expressed regret for his actions. Although he would later be sentenced to eight years in prison, Mason never expressed regret for his actions. He was tired, he said, of coming to work every day, only to protect a dog like Guiteau. He was tired, he said, of coming to work every day, only to protect a dog like Guiteau.

Throughout the country, there was little condemnation for Mason's act, and widespread sympathy for his feelings of frustration. Newspapers were filled with letters suggesting creative ways to make Guiteau not only pay for his crime, but suffer in the process. One man proposed that he be thrown to a pack of dogs. Another wanted him to be forced to consume himself, by being fed two ounces of his own flesh every day. Others simply wanted to see him dead, as quickly and with as little fanfare as possible. "There is an American judge whose decisions are almost always just, and whose work is always well done," one editorial read. "His name is Judge Lynch; and if he ever had a job that he ought to give his whole attention to, he has it waiting for him in Was.h.i.+ngton."

Lucretia tried to feel some Christian sympathy for Guiteau, and she urged her children to do the same. Her daughter, however, found it almost impossible. "Mama says he ought to be pitied-Pitied!" Mollie wrote. "I suppose Mama darling is right. But I can not feel that way." Mollie, who had watched her father die a long and agonizing death, wished for nothing more than a tortured end for his a.s.sa.s.sin. "I suppose I am wicked but these are my feelings," she confessed in her diary. "Guiteau ought to be made to suffer as much and a thousand times more than Papa did.... Nothing is to[o] horrible for him, & I hope that everything that can be done to injure him, will be done."

One of the few voices of calm and reason was that of General William Tec.u.mseh Sherman, who had organized the troops now protecting Guiteau. His request for restraint, however, was couched in terms that made it clear that he fully understood how difficult it was to wait for justice. "For this man Guiteau I ask no soldier, no citizen, to feel one particle of sympathy," he wrote in an open letter that was printed in papers across the country. "On the contrary, could I make my will the law, shooting or hanging would be too good for him. But I do ask every soldier and citizen to remember that we profess to be the most loyal Nation on earth to the sacred promises of the law. There is no merit in obeying an agreeable law, but there are glory and heroism in submitting gracefully to an oppressive one." law, but there are glory and heroism in submitting gracefully to an oppressive one."