on the 15th day of april, 1865, the country was thrilled from end to end by the almost incredible report that president lincoln had been assassinated the evening previous while witnessing a performance at ford's theatre, in washington.
the war was not yet over, but peace seemed close at hand. all were anticipating its return with joy. the immense sacrifices of loyal men seemed about to be rewarded when, like a clap of thunder in a clear sky, came the terrible tidings, which were flashed at once over the telegraphic wires to the remotest parts of the country.
the people at first were shocked and silent. then a mighty wave of wrath swept over the country—a wrath that demanded victims, and seemed likely in the principal city of the country to precipitate scenes not unlike those witnessed in the "reign of terror" in france.
the boys who read this story can not understand the excitement of that day. it was unlike the deep sorrow that came upon us all on the second of july, for lincoln died a martyr, at a time when men's passions had been stirred by sectional strife, and his murder was felt to be an outgrowth of the passions which it engendered; but garfield fell, slain by the hand of a worthless wretch, acting upon his own responsibility.
i shall venture, for the information of young readers, to whom it may be new, to quote the graphic description of an eye-witness, contributed to general brisbin's interesting life of our subject:
"i shall never forget the first time i saw general garfield. it was the morning after president lincoln's assassination. the country was excited to its utmost tension.... the newspaper head lines of the transaction were set up in the largest type, and the high crime was on every one's tongue. fear took possession of men's minds as to the fate of the government, for in a few hours the news came on that seward's throat was cut, and that attempts had been made on the lives of others of the government officers. posters were stuck up everywhere, in great black letters, calling upon the loyal citizens of new york, brooklyn, jersey city, and neighboring places, to meet around the wall street exchange and give expression to their sentiments.
"it was a dark and terrible hour. what might come next no one could tell, and men spoke with bated breath. the wrath of the workingmen was simply uncontrollable, and revolvers and knives were in the hands of thousands of lincoln's friends, ready, at the first opportunity, to take the law into their own hands, and avenge the death of their martyred president upon any and all who dared to utter a word against him.
"eleven o'clock a.m. was the hour set for the rendezvous. fifty thousand people crowded around the exchange building, cramming and jamming the streets, and wedged in as tight as men could stand together. with a few to whom special favor was extended, i went over from brooklyn at nine a.m., and even then, with the utmost difficulty, found my way to the reception room for the speakers in the front of the exchange building, and looking out on the high and massive balcony, whose front was protected by a massive iron railing.
"we sat in solemnity and silence, waiting for general butler, who, it was announced, had started from washington, and was either already in the city or expected every moment. nearly a hundred generals, judges, statesmen, lawyers, editors, clergymen, and others were in that room waiting for butler's arrival.
"we stepped out to the balcony to watch the fearfully solemn and swaying mass of people. not a hurrah was heard, but for the most part a dead silence, or a deep, ominous muttering ran like a rising wave up the street toward broadway, and again down toward the river on the right. at length the batons of the police were seen swinging in the air, far up on the left, parting the crowd, and pressing it back to make way for a carriage that moved slowly, and with difficult jags through the compact multitude, and the cry of 'butler!' 'butler!' rang out with tremendous and thrilling effect, and was taken up by the people.
"but not a hurrah! not one! it was the cry of a great people asking to know how their president died. the blood bounced in our veins, and the tears ran like streams down our faces. how it was done i forget, but butler was pulled through, and pulled up, and entered the room where we had just walked back to meet him. a broad crape, a yard long, hung from his left arm—terrible contrast with the countless flags that were waving the nation's victory in the breeze. we first realized then the sad news that lincoln was dead. when butler entered the room we shook hands. some spoke, some could not; all were in tears. the only word butler had for us all, at the first break of the silence was, 'gentleman, he died in the fullness of his fame!' and as he spoke it his lips quivered, and the tears ran fast down his cheeks.
"then, after a few moments, came the speaking. and you can imagine the effect, as the crape fluttered in the wind while his arm was uplifted. dickinson, of new york state, was fairly wild. the old man leaped over the iron railing of the balcony and stood on the very edge, overhanging the crowd, gesticulating in the most vehement manner, and almost bidding the crowd 'burn up the rebel, seed, root, and branch,' while a bystander held on to his coat-tail to keep him from falling over.
"by this time the wave of popular indignation had swelled to its crest. two men lay bleeding on one of the side streets, the one dead, the other next to dying; one on the pavement, the other in the gutter. they had said a moment before that 'lincoln ought to have been shot long ago!' they were not allowed to say it again. soon two long pieces of scantling stood out above the heads of the crowd, crossed at the top like the letter x, and a looped halter pendant from the junction, a dozen men following its slow motion through the masses, while 'vengeance' was the cry.
"on the right suddenly the shout arose, 'the world!' 'the world!' and a movement of perhaps eight thousand to ten thousand turning their faces in the direction of that building began to be executed.
"it was a critical moment. what might come no one could tell, did that crowd get in front of that office; police and military would have availed little, or been too late. a telegram had just been read from washington, 'seward is dying!' just then, at that juncture, a man stepped forward with a small flag in his hand and beckoned to the crowd.
"'another telegram from washington!'
"and then, in the awful stillness of the crisis, taking advantage of the hesitation of the crowd, whose steps had been arrested a moment, a right arm was lifted skyward, and a voice, clear and steady, loud and distinct, spoke out:
"'fellow-citizens! clouds and darkness are round about him! his pavilion is dark waters, and thick clouds of the skies! justice and judgment are the establishment of his throne! mercy and truth shall go before his face! fellow-citizens! god reigns and the government at washington still lives!'
"the effect was tremendous. the-crowd stood rooted to the ground with awe, gazing at the motionless orator, and thinking of god and the security of the government in that hour. as the boiling waters subside and settle to the sea, when some strong wind beats it down, so the tumult of the people sank and became still. all took it as a divine omen. it was a triumph of eloquence, inspired by the moment, such as falls to but one man's lot, and that but once in a century. the genius of webster, choate, everett, seward, never reached it. what might have happened had the surging and maddened mob been let loose, none can tell. the man for the crisis was on the spot, more potent than napoleon's guns at paris. i inquired what was his name.
"the answer came in a low whisper, 'it is general garfield, of ohio.'"
it was a most dramatic scene, and a wonderful exhibition of the power of one man of intellect over a furious mob.
how, would the thrilling intensity of the moment have been increased, had some prophet, standing beside the inspired speaker, predicted that a little more than sixteen years later he who had calmed the crowd would himself fall a victim to violence, while filling the same high post as the martyred lincoln. well has it been said that the wildest dream of the romancer pales beside the solemn surprise of the actual. not one among the thousands there assembled, not the speaker himself, would have considered such a statement within the range of credibility. alas, that it should have been!—that the monstrous murder of the good lincoln should have been repeated in these latter days, and the nation have come a second time a mourner!
will it be believed that garfield's arrival and his speech had been quite accidental, though we must also count it as providential, since it stayed the wild excesses of an infuriated mob. he had only arrived from washington that morning, and after breakfast had strolled through the crowded streets, in entire ignorance of the great gathering at the exchange building.
he turned down broadway, and when he saw the great concourse of people, he kept on, to learn what had brought them together. butler was speaking when he arrived, and a friend who recognized him beckoned him to come up there, above the heads of the multitude.
when he heard the wild cries for "vengeance!" and noticed the swaying, impassioned movements of the crowd, he saw the danger that menaced the public order, and in a moment of inspiration he rose, and with a gesture challenged the attention of the crowd. what he said he could not have told five minutes afterward. "i only know," he said afterward, "that i drew the lightning from that crowd, and brought it back to reason."
