Chapter XIV: Gazing on the Sea

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 all!

Over 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 all!

O’er bloom or beauty now in our possession
Is seen the shadow of the funeral pall;
Though Love and Life make tearful intercession,
Death cometh after all!—_Harper’s Weekly._

The finger of hope pointed unmistakably in the direction of Long Branch, and as the morning of September 6th dawned upon the White House, all conditions appeared favorable for the removal of the beloved President beyond the malarial influences of the Capital. Preparations for this event were complete. The anxiety of the President to leave Washington had been imparted to all his friends and attendants. Even the physicians were convinced that nothing would bring relief to the sufferer so effectively as the pure, bracing salt breezes of the Atlantic, and their opinion increased the confidence and animated the hope of the country.

The condition of the President seemed peculiarly favorable for the journey. He had eaten well on the previous day, and retained his food. He had slept peacefully, and his wound was doing well. The parotid swelling had almost disappeared, and the general conditions were thought to be remarkably good. It was even said that a considerable increase of strength was manifest in his movements, but this was evidently a mistake. The excitement of the occasion for the time overcame his weakness.

All necessary arrangements for the journey were completed on the 5th. They were elaborate and well-developed. For the special railroad train the plan detailed in the previous chapter was adopted and successfully carried out. During the entire evening of the 5th, trunks, boxes, and a great variety of packages, were sent from the White House to the depot for shipment. Messengers were constantly arriving and departing, workmen were busy in special labor connected with various devices for the comfort of the President, and every thing indicated the eve of a great event. The crowd around the bulletin-board, at the front gate, was largely increased, and many held their positions there during the weary watches of the whole night. Every passer-in or out, who was supposed to have information regarding the wounded man, was eagerly besought to impart it. In reply to a question, Colonel Corbin said to a reporter that the trip could not hurt the President, “because,” he added, “he has been traveling all day.” By this, Colonel Corbin meant that the President had been talking and thinking all day about the trip. This anxiety had characterized the President’s moods for some weeks, and it was therefore believed that the realization of his long-cherished desire would have a salutary effect upon his weakened system.

At a few minutes past five, on the morning of the 6th, several carriages were grouped on the drive in front of the White House, and near the main entrance stood an Adams Express wagon, of the largest size, covered, and furnished with side and end curtains. It was near 6 o’clock when quite a commotion became apparent in the Executive Mansion, and a moment later the President, lying upon a stretcher, was borne carefully and slowly to the express wagon, which had previously been connected with the stone steps of the White House by a wooden platform. It was arranged to permit the men to walk directly into the wagon, where they let the bed down slowly until it rested firmly upon its supports. Then the immediate attendants of the President ranged themselves around him, three on each side. At the head of the bed, on the right, sat Dr. Boynton, next was General Swaim, and at the foot was O. E. Rockwell. On the left were Colonel Rockwell, Dr. Bliss, and Dr. Reyburn, the other physicians having gone on before. The horses were attached, and at once the little procession was in motion, led by Private Secretary Brown, in his buggy.

As the President’s van passed out through the gate, the eyes of the invalid were closed, and that part of his face which could be seen looked pinched and pallid with suffering. In his general contour, there was something to suggest the face of Garfield to those who had known him long and intimately; but the change was astounding to every one unaccustomed to the daily observation of its progress. Perhaps it was not the face of a dying man, but many observers thought it was. There was something intensely pitiful and tear-compelling in the wasted features, and quiet, passive manner of the Nation’s chief executive, and he was thus driven away from his official home, with all the apparent chances largely against his return.

The van was but fairly outside the gate when the horses were urged to a lively walk, which occasionally increased to a slow trot, the pedestrians meantime keeping well up on the pavements. Three policemen walked on either side the wagon to keep the street clear; but there was no attempt at crowding. There was no boisterousness; no unseemly haste to be first; no loud talking. All passion was hushed. The agony of the great soul now going forth to find health for its encasement, subdued and quieted every thing within range of its influence. At one point the President recognized an acquaintance on the street, and slowly lifting his hand, waved a feeble salutation and farewell. At precisely six o’clock this sad procession drove alongside the car, specially fitted up for the martyred Chief Magistrate, the horses were detached, and twenty strong and willing hands backed the wagon to the opening in the car. Then the attendants lifted the stretcher and entered the car with its precious burden. The President was carefully adjusted upon his new bed, the foundation of which was a mattress of extraordinary thickness, and so constructed that the motion of the train could not be felt, a few farewells were said, and then the train moved slowly and smoothly away. Away, with fond hearts full of hope, but soon to be surcharged with dismay and grief!

This seven hours’ journey of 233 miles is now historical, and its principal features are full of interest. The train came to a stop in a few minutes after leaving the Washington dépôt, to permit an approaching train to move out of the way on a siding. “What does this mean?” inquired the President. “Only a momentary detention,” replied Colonel Rockwell. “But important events are ofttimes the issue of a moment,” rejoined the sufferer. This is the only conversation he joined in during the trip. The train soon proceeded, gradually increasing its speed where the track was straight enough to permit, to fifty-five miles an hour, and for a few miles after leaving Philadelphia, it actually attained a speed of sixty miles an hour. The President was watched very closely during the first hour of the journey, in order to detect any symptom of danger from the excitement of the occasion. To the relief and great satisfaction of the physicians, he seemed actually to enjoy the ride and to be improving. His pulse, which reached 118 early in the morning, fell to 110 and then to 108. He did not talk. His voice was too feeble to make his words distinguishable amid the noise of the running train, without too much effort. He occasionally inquired the hour, and once or twice desired to know the names of stopping places. Beef-tea was the sole nutriment given him during the journey, and on two occasions he relished it like a hungry man.

At every one of the forty-six cities and towns and villages, through which the train passed, great crowds thronged the streets. They stood silently, with uncovered heads and eyes wet with tears. The grief of the people was too deep for other demonstration. Words could not express it, and weeping came unbidden. Strong men, rough men, weak men and cultivated men; women of all grades and classes, and even little children, joined in their silent anguish with each other and the world, and poured their lamentation from streaming eyes. In many places, crowds of workingmen left their mills and forges as the train approached, and, ranging themselves alongside the track in an orderly line, stood with hats in hands and heads bowed till it passed beyond range of their vision. Then they solemnly returned to their vocations. There was a feeling of awe beyond expression in the mind of every spectator, and to some extent it entered every thinking mind in the land. Life and death were in fierce conflict upon that lightning train, and the madness of its speed looked like an effort to distance the subtle foe of mortality; but it was only in appearance. Death had long before marked our noble President for his own, with the bullet of the assassin. More than sixty days before the date which identifies this chapter with current history, he was as surely slain at Washington as was Richard III. at Bosworth, in 1485. Such was, in large measure, the feeling of the people. The dark foreboding of calamity began to overshadow them when the foul work of Guiteau’s pistol was flashed over the land on that fatal second of July, and now their hearts were sick with the President’s wounds. They felt with him the pain, and, without his hopefulness, saw the beloved head of the Nation approaching the last dread extremity, with faith undimmed and bravery undaunted.

It was a time for weeping and anguish and silence. And a time for thought. For severe self-examination. For national inquiry. A time to find out for what new crime atonement is required, in such measure as impoverishes all that is noble, and all that is above reproach in our poor world! Do we ever explore the logic of crime until forced to the task? And the lesson of Lincoln’s martyrdom—how was that learned? Had it been remembered, would there have been occasion for this later sacrifice upon the altar of political acrimony?

The lightning train sped onward. A pilot engine preceded it, and its passage was a signal to all approaching trains to get out of the way and remain silent until the convoy had passed. Trains upon side-tracks, wherever they were encountered, were crowded with people, all desirous of obtaining a glimpse of the President, but not obtrusive nor demonstrative beyond the overwhelming influence of great sorrow. Their silence was more expressive than language. It indicated the deepest sympathy, the profoundest respect, the heartiest love. On three or four occasions the poor sufferer waved his hand feebly to the people, but the effort was painful. The journey was devoid of incident beyond what has been related. The train arrived at Elberon at three minutes past 1 o’clock, and the transfer of the President from the car to his quarters at Francklyn Cottage was promptly made, without trouble or disturbance. His room had been elegantly prepared for his occupancy, and it was made pleasant with many beautiful bouquets and rare plants sent by personal friends. The physicians pronounced the arrangements perfect, and could suggest no improvement. They stated that the journey had done the patient no harm, although in the official bulletin, issued at 6:30 P. M. on the day of arrival at Long Branch, they announced his pulse at 124; temperature, 101.6; respiration, 18,—a condition not calculated to reassure the country.

Prayers had been offered during the day in thousands of churches, and by millions of people in their homes and places of business, for the restoration of the President. Faith in the efficacy of prayer seemed to be almost universal, and it is thought that thousands upon thousands of people who had never prayed before, made Garfield the object of their supplications at the throne of God. At a concert of prayer held at the Thirteenth Street Presbyterian Church in New York City, which was largely attended by Christians of all denominations, the following extract from a letter written by the President’s pastor in Washington, Rev. Frederick D. Power, was read:

“His life is before the world, a living epistle, to be known and
read of all men. To you I may say he has had the ever-present
Comforter, the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit, during all
these weary days and nights of suffering. He remembers the Lord’s
day when it comes; on Sunday morning last, as he opened his eyes to
its holy light, he said: ‘This is the Lord’s day; I have great
reverence for it.’ He takes great comfort in prayer. Knowing that my
little church was continuing daily in prayer to God for him, he
said: ‘The dear little church on Vermont Avenue! They have been
carrying me as a great burden so long, but when I get up they shall
have no cause to regret it.’

“Of his own peril of death he has been mindful, and over and over
again has said: ‘I must be prepared for either.’ This has been the
principle of his life, ruling in all his experience, as he explained
it to me: ‘When I meet the duties of each day as best I can, I
cheerfully await whatever result may come.’ When he was first
stricken he declared: ‘I believe in God, and trust myself in his
hands,’ and there he is, my brethren, and God will keep him, and God
will glorify His own great name, whether it be in his life or his
death. I could say many things, but my heart and hands are both too
full. He is better to-day, but still on the borderland. We are all
still besieging the mercy-seat, and we expect God’s answer with
great anxiety, but not, I trust, without great faith and submission.

“In conclusion, I may say in the words of President Garfield to me,
in a season of like distress—the death of his little son: ‘In the
hope of the Gospel, which is so precious in this affliction,’ I am
affectionately your brother in Christ.”

The subjoined copies of dispatches are selected from several hundred of a similar tenor, as indicative of the general solicitude:

EXECUTIVE CHAMBER, ALBANY, Sept. 6, 1881.

For the purpose of enabling the people to unite with those of other
States in petitioning the Ruler of the Universe for the restoration
to health of the President of the United States, the 8th day of
September, instant, I hereby set apart and designate as a day of
fasting and prayer. It is recommended that all ordinary avocations
be suspended, and the people, in their usual places of worship,
humbly acknowledge their faults and reverently supplicate the mercy
of the Heavenly Father that the national peril, which now appears so
imminent, may be averted. Let the prayers of all be united for the
early and complete recovery of the President’s health and strength.
May the blessing of Almighty God rest upon the stricken sufferer and
the afflicted family.

Given under my hand and seal at the Capitol in the City of Albany,
this 6th day of September, in the year of our Lord one thousand
eight hundred and eighty-one.

ALONZO B. CORNELL.

By the Governor—HENRY E. ABELL.

The meeting for prayer in behalf of the President was largely
attended. From twenty to twenty-five prayers were offered by
clergymen and laymen, which were remarkable for their earnestness
and importunity. The bulletins announcing the departure of the
President from the White House and the progress of the train were
read at the opening and close of the meeting.

PHILADELPHIA, Sept. 6.—In accordance with the proclamation of the
Governor, the churches of the city were generally thrown open,
between the hours of 10 and 12 this morning, for worship for the
recovery of President Garfield. At Harrisburg business was entirely
suspended from 10 o’clock until noon. Services were held in the
churches and in various industrial establishments. The dispatches
relative to the President’s journey were read from a number of
pulpits. In most other places in the State services were held and
business was suspended during the hours named.

CINCINNATI, Sept. 6.—The proclamation of Governor Foster was
observed by meetings for prayer in the Christian churches, and a
union meeting was also held in the First Presbyterian Church from 10
to 12 o’clock. The public schools were dismissed. The Mayor’s office
and all the Government offices were closed, and deep interest was
felt in regard to the result of the President’s journey from
Washington to Long Branch. At the Republican County Convention
prayer was offered by Dr. Kumler, who made a most fervent petition
for the recovery of the President. After the prayer, on motion, the
convention gave three cheers for the President. The convention also
adopted a resolution condemning the attempted assassination, and
extending sympathy to Mrs. Garfield.

COLUMBUS, OHIO, Sept. 6.—Religious services were held in several of
the churches here from 10 to 12 o’clock to-day, and many prayers
were offered for the recovery of the President. The bulletin-boards
were eagerly watched by anxious crowds, and each dispatch telling of
the favorable progress in the Presidential journey from Washington
to Long Branch was joyfully discussed. The feeling that the
President will recover seems to permeate all classes, and nothing
but hopeful expressions were heard to-day.

CHICAGO, Sept. 6.—The church services and union meetings to-day for
the purpose of invoking Divine aid for the President’s restoration
to health, were well attended and fervently participated in.
Business was generally suspended in the public offices, business
boards, etc. The announcement of the easy trip of the President to
Long Branch and his improved condition, is the subject of great
rejoicing to thousands who eagerly inquire for accounts of his
progress.

ATLANTA, GA., Sept. 6.—In response to the Governor’s proclamation,
the Hall of Representatives here was filled to-day with the members
of the General Assembly and citizens, to offer up prayers for the
recovery of President Garfield. Religious services were held, and
addresses and prayers were made by leading ministers of the city.

WILMINGTON, N. C., Sept. 6.—To-day was very generally observed here
as one of prayer for the recovery of the President. Services were
held in all the churches in accordance with the proclamation of the
Governor, and between 10 and 12 o’clock, the hours devoted to
religious services, business was almost entirely suspended. A
feature of the day which attracted some attention was the fact that
nearly all the bar-rooms were closed.

RALEIGH, N. C., Sept. 6.—In accordance with the Governor’s
proclamation, to-day was generally observed here as a day of prayer
for the President. Federal and State buildings and offices of
manufacturers, etc., were closed. Impressive services were held at
the churches.

AUGUSTA, GA., Sept. 6.—The day of prayer was very generally observed
here. The Mayor issued a proclamation, and all the public offices,
banks and many stores were closed. Services were held in the
churches, and prayers offered for the restoration of the President
to health. Some pastors mentioned that the wounding of the President
had the effect of cementing the sections together as one people.

SAN FRANCISCO, Sept. 6.—A special service of prayer for the recovery
of the President was held this morning in the hall of the Young
Men’s Christian Association. The Ministerial Union was present in a
body. Every seat in the hall was occupied, and crowds were forced to
stand.

INDIANAPOLIS, Sept. 6.—Religious services were held, in obedience to
the Governor’s proclamation, in a number of the leading churches
to-day, and prayers were offered in behalf of the President. Many of
the business houses were closed from 10 to 12 o’clock.

CLEVELAND, O., Sept. 6.—Business was generally suspended throughout
Northern Ohio between 10 o’clock and noon to-day, while people of
all denominations gathered in their houses of worship, in town and
country, and joined in prayer for the restoration of President
Garfield to health.

_The sixty-eighth day._—On the following day, the 7th of September, there was still no positive change in the President’s condition. The early morning dispatches announced: “He is no worse than when he left Washington, neither is he any better.”

Such a statement was, of course, quite unsatisfactory to the country, because, the people argued, “no better” always means “worse.” There is no neutral ground in a case of this kind. The morning bulletin found the pulse at 106; temperature, 98.4; respiration, 18. In the evening the pulse was 108; temperature, 101; respiration, 18. The day was very warm, the thermometer ranging from 90° to 100°, and the people were remarkably anxious over the reports of the physicians. When it was learned that after the issue of the evening bulletin, the pulse ran up to 114, there was wide-spread apprehension. The gentle sea-breezes, from which so much was expected, were not doing their appointed work. For most of the day there was a dead calm of the atmosphere at Long Branch, and the temperature was described as almost unbearable by people in health. To the sufferer it was wonderfully oppressive, and there were apprehensions that, unless change of temperature in an abatement of the furnace-like heat soon came, there would be reason to conclude that the journey of Tuesday was in vain. Every body complained but the President. He proved himself the most patient of invalids, and but once during the entire day made a remark which indicated any thing like discontent with the situation. Opening his eyes from a short nap, he turned them toward the windows and said to an attendant, who was fanning him: “Oh, those windows are so small.” For a few moments he breathed laboriously, and his pulse increased to a high rate, and the reaction caused unusual weakness.

Throughout the day the bulletin-boards at the various newspaper offices, and places of public resort in every part of the country, were besieged by large crowds of anxious men and women of every grade in the social scale, eager for the smallest scrap of information to sustain the earnest prayer of their hearts—that the revered President was now upon the sure course of recovery; but all the facts reported by the physicians pointed to a calamitous result. Only their comments were encouraging, and whatever of encouragement they conveyed was not accepted by the mind of science. It was seen that the President’s bravery had imparted a strange degree of assurance to his immediate attendants, whose reports were unconsciously colored by the mental force rather than the physical condition of the sufferer; and thus at least nine-tenths of his fellow-countrymen were buoyed up with hopes which had no foundation beyond the tenacity of a gigantic will.

_The sixty-ninth day._—So wonderful was the exercise of the President’s mental force that on Thursday two of his medical attendants announced his convalescence! Surgeon-General Barnes, Surgeon J. J. Woodward and Dr. Robert Reyburn had been relieved from duty at Garfield’s bedside on the previous day, at the wish of the President, as he expressed it, “to relieve them of labor and responsibility which, in his improved condition, he could no longer properly impose upon them.” Drs. Bliss and Hamilton remained in their professional capacity, and Dr. Boynton, Mrs. Garfield’s physician, in the capacity of nurse. Between nine and ten o’clock, on the morning of the eighth, a newspaper correspondent said to Dr. Bliss:

“Doctor, you seem to be feeling pretty well this morning.”

“I should think I was; why, the man is convalescent; his pulse is
now down to ninety-six.”

This announcement was astounding, but as the correspondent was
endeavoring to settle in his own mind whether the doctor was not a
little delirious himself, as a result of long watching and continued
nervous tension, he turned to some persons who approached, and was
soon asserting to them with emphasis, “This is convalescence.” The
good news traveled with marvelous speed. “Dr. Bliss says the
President is convalescent,” was soon on every lip, but was received
with incredulity.

“We had better wait awhile before we toss up our hats,” was the
comment of a member of the Cabinet.

As the day wore on, confirmation from every trustworthy source was
obtained of the good tidings from the sick-room. Before noon Dr.
Bliss and Dr. Hamilton appeared together on the veranda, and Dr.
Bliss repeated his belief that the President was convalescent. “That
is good news,” said a gentleman to Dr. Hamilton. “Yes,” was the
reply, “and it is true.” Dr. Boynton came out of the President’s
cottage about noon and strolled toward the edge of the bluff, with
his hands behind him and with a far-away look in his eyes, which
were turned to the east, whence the rising breeze was coming and the
increasing weaves were rolling up on the beach at his feet.

“Doctor, this is a fortunate change.”

“Yes; the President is better.”

“You are, of course, hopeful, as all the rest are?”

“Yes, the change is not enough to base any medical statement of
improvement upon, but what there is is in the right direction.”

Colonel Rockwell was more emphatic. “Dr. Bliss says the President is
convalescent. What do you think?” asked a correspondent.

“Yes,” said the Colonel, “Dr. Bliss thinks so. The doctor said to
the President this morning, in my presence: ‘Mr. President, you are
convalescent; you are getting out of the woods.’ He is certainly
doing very well and we shall have him propped up before many days.
We have sent to-day for his reclining chair. It is one of those
chairs which you can make any thing of, from an upright chair to a
bed, and is softly cushioned. With a few days more of improvement,
we will have him up where we can roll him to the windows.”

“And out upon the lawn, too, I presume, after a time?”

“Well, perhaps.”

“And you will, doubtless, take him to Mentor before many weeks?”

“Yes, probably he wants to get home, but he enjoys this place very
well. We turned him on his side this morning, so that he could look
out over the ocean, and he was very much pleased. He longed to get
here. Two or three days before we started, I remember a queer remark
he made. I said to him, ‘Mr. President, how would you like to have
us put you on the Tallapoosa and get you down to the salt water?’
‘That would be temporary, tentative and unsettled,’ he said; ‘put me
on the cars and take me to Long Branch.’”

“Does he read the papers?”

“No; but he could. Yesterday I read to him a number of dispatches we
had just received. Here is one of them now.” The Colonel drew from
his pocket a telegram, which he read as follows:

“PITTSFIELD, MASS., September 7.

“_To President_ GARFIELD, _Long Branch_:

“The Garfield and Arthur Club, of Pittsfield, and people of the
town, without regard to party lines, in Berkshire County, to
whose hospitalities you were coming when so brutally assailed,
and where thousands of Berkshire hearts were waiting to welcome
you, all unite in congratulations on your safe arrival at the
sea-shore. All hope for your speedy recovery, and to-day the
shire town suspends business to meet and ask the Great Healer to
be with you and make efficacious the efforts of your earthly
physicians.

OFFICERS AND MEMBERS
of the Garfield and Arthur Club, and many others.”

“The President,” continued Colonel Rockwell, “was greatly pleased by
the kind expressions in the telegram, and bade me telegraph his
thanks.”

Dr. Hamilton, in conversation with Dr. Pancoast, spoke very encouragingly of the prospects, saying, in effect, that he had the strongest hopes of recovery. Celebrations and thanksgivings to signalize the joy of the people, were freely discussed. The apparent change for the better caused a rebound in popular sentiment, which was quite disproportioned to its cause. Alas! it had no foundation whatever.

At 8:30 in the morning the President’s pulse indicated 104; temperature, 98.7; respiration, 18. At 6:30, evening, pulse 100; temperature, 99.1; respiration, 18. Dr. Bliss declared most emphatically that the favorable symptoms would continue. At 10:30 P. M. Secretary Blaine cabled this hopeful message:

“LOWELL, _Minister_, _London_:

“The President’s rest was much broken during the first half of last
night, but to-day his condition has been more favorable. He had less
fever this afternoon than for several days past; has better pulse
and improved appetite. His surgeons are much encouraged. His comfort
has been promoted by a decided change in the weather. Thermometer at
this hour (10:30) 75° Fahrenheit; yesterday it was 95°.”

In many of the States, in response to the proclamations of their Governors, the people gathered at their places of worship and offered prayer for the recovery of the Chief Magistrate. In many cities business was almost wholly suspended for this service, and there was hearty supplication every-where for the Divine blessing upon the languishing President. Faith in prayer seemed to have become universal, and certainly the sentiments which accompanied this faith are an honor to humanity and a solace to the world.

_The seventieth day._—September 9th was regarded as “a favorable day,” and the rapid convalescence of the President was confidently announced. The cool atmosphere seemed to invigorate him, and his appetite was fair. The physicians announced a decided improvement, but the morning bulletin did not create a sanguine feeling in non-professional minds, and the more cautious were scarcely satisfied with the symptoms, but preferred to await further developments before resting in the belief that the favorable change would not be interrupted by some unforeseen complication. Naturally, the immediate attendants upon the President exhibited a more decided opinion that the improvement was likely to be permanent, than did persons not so intimately connected with the case. Assurance from those having access to the patient’s room, that he was much better than before leaving Washington, was very generally and gratefully accepted.

At 8:30 A. M. his pulse was 100; temperature, 98.5; respiration, 17. At noon there was scarcely a notable change. At 6 P. M., pulse, 100; temperature, 98.8; respiration, 18. At 10 P. M. Secretary Blaine cabled the subjoined dispatch:

“LOWELL, _Minister_, _London_:

“The medical reports are all favorable to-day—morning, noon, and
night. The President has not for many weeks done so well for so many
consecutive hours. He has had very little fever; his respiration has
been normal, and his pulse has not exceeded 100. He slept without
opiates, and gained strength without stimulants. His nights are not
so restful as could be desired; but in the twenty-four hours he gets
sufficient sleep. The weather, though not excessively warm,
continues sultry and oppressive. Much is hoped from the clear,
bracing air which may be expected here at this season.”

On the same evening, Attorney-General MacVeagh expressed his views in these words: “At present everything looks favorable, and of course we hope that what has been gained will be maintained and added to, but the difficulty is, the President’s blood is in an unhealthy condition, and until he recuperates sufficiently to overcome any bad effects of blood-poisoning, it is not safe to be sanguine.” He thought, furthermore, that the President would convalesce in ten days. This was the 9th of September. Of course he could not foresee the 19th, and we must not anticipate that memorable date.

_The seventy-first day._—Saturday, September 10th, was ushered in with favorable omens. It was pronounced “a satisfactory day” by Dr. Bliss. He expressed the opinion that the wound was healing from the bottom. The temperature was one degree higher than on the previous day, and this was the only change noted in the bulletins. But there was an undercurrent of apprehension more significant than any thing which appeared in print. The people had learned from an unofficial and unauthoritative source that the President was worse, and that blood-poisoning had shown itself in very alarming symptoms. Unfortunately, this information was true. At 8:30 A. M. the pulse was 104; temperature, 99.4; respiration, 18. At noon, pulse, 100; temperature, 98.5; respiration, 18. At 5:30 P. M., pulse, 100; temperature, 98.7; respiration, 18. Secretary Blaine cabled as follows, at 10 P. M.:

“LOWELL, _Minister_, _London_:

“After dispatch of last night the President had considerable
increase of fever. Indeed, a rise of pulse and temperature every
night has become a significant feature in his case. Through the day,
and especially this afternoon, he has grown more comfortable. A cold
easterly storm has prevailed since early morning without evil effect
thus far on his condition. Secretary Windom had a brief interview
with the President at noon. He found him much reduced in strength,
but clear in his mind. He asked the Secretary about the success of
the refunding of the public debt.”

_The seventy-second day._—A day of anxiety. The President was unmistakably worse. It was ascertained that a portion of the matter discharged from the mouth was not pus from the parotid gland, as had been supposed, but pus from a badly diseased lung. The situation was regarded as critical, and especially so when the patient’s cough returned with considerable violence. At 8:30 P. M. his pulse was 104; temperature, 98.8; respiration, 19. At noon, pulse, 110; temperature, 100; respiration, 20. At 5:30 P. M., pulse, 110; temperature, 100.6; respiration, 20. The increase in respiration was attributed to the affection of the lungs. At 10:30 P. M. Secretary Blaine cabled the following report:

“LOWELL, _Minister_, _London_:

“The President had an increase of fever last night and was very
restless until 5 o’clock A. M. During the day he has been somewhat
better, but his pulse, temperature, and respiration have been higher
for the entire twenty-four hours than on any preceding day since he
reached Long Branch. His other symptoms are not reassuring, and his
general condition gives rise to anxiety.”

_The seventy-third day._—Monday was pronounced “favorable.” A decided improvement in the President’s symptoms was reported by the attending physicians, who pronounced the anxiety of the previous day “a senseless panic.” The lung difficulty was spoken of as of little importance now that it was understood, except by Dr. Boynton, who contended very strongly that it was an effect of blood-poisoning. Yet he thought the President’s vitality sufficient to overcome any serious results from it, provided no further complication of a similar nature occurred. At 8:30 A. M. his pulse was 100; temperature, 98.4; respiration, 18. At noon, pulse, 106; temperature, 99.2; respiration, 20. At 5:30 P. M., pulse, 100; temperature, 98.6; respiration, 18. At 2:30 P. M. the following message was cabled by Secretary Blaine:

“LOWELL, _Minister_, _London_:

“The President slept well last night, and his condition to-day is
more comfortable and more favorable. During my absence for a short
time Dr. Agnew or Dr. Hamilton will send you a daily report.”

At 10 P. M. Attorney-General MacVeagh sent, by cable, the following dispatch:

“LOWELL, _Minister_, _London_:

“In the absence of Mr. Blaine, the attending physicians have
requested me to inform you of the President’s condition. He has
during the day eaten sufficient food with relish, and has enjoyed at
intervals refreshing sleep. His wound and the incisions made by the
surgeons all look better. The parotid gland has ceased suppuration,
and may be considered as substantially well. He has exhibited more
than his usual cheerfulness of spirits. His temperature and
respiration are now normal, and his pulse is less frequent and
firmer than at the same hour last evening. Notwithstanding these
favorable symptoms, the condition of the lower part of the right
lung will continue to be a source of anxiety for some days to come.”

_The seventy-fourth day._—Tuesday, September 13th, was for the most part uneventful, except that at 11 A. M. he was placed in a semi-recumbent position upon an easy chair, in which position he remained half an hour without fatigue or discomfort. In reply to a question by Dr. Bliss, President Garfield said he experienced no pain and did not even feel tired. At 8:30 A. M. the pulse was 100; temperature, 99.4; respiration, 20. At noon, pulse, 100; temperature, 98.8; respiration, 20. At 5:30 P. M. pulse, 100; temperature, 98.4; respiration, 20. A favorable report was cabled by Attorney-General MacVeagh to Minister Lowell.

_The seventy-fifth day._—“Still gaining slowly,” was the morning report. It was announced that the patient suffered from a septic infection of the blood, but this was not believed to be very serious. Dr. Boynton was the only physician who expressed much anxiety about it, and his views were invariably soothed by the belief that the President’s robust constitution would eventually conquer all his physical complications. At 8:30 A. M. the pulse was 100; temperature, 98.4; respiration, 19. At noon, pulse 104; temperature, 98.8; respiration, 20. At 5:30 P. M., pulse 112; temperature, 99.2; respiration, 21. The bulletins looked sufficiently unfavorable, but the physicians viewed them with complaisance. Dr. Boynton, however, informed a reporter that the pulse frequently reached 120, but this fact was kept from the family and the public. At 10 o’clock Attorney-General MacVeagh reported as follows:

“LOWELL, _Minister_, _London_:

“There is an increase this evening in the President’s temperature,
pulse, and respiration; but it is so slight as not necessarily to
indicate that the condition of the blood is producing any new
complications. The trouble in the right lung is not increasing, and
is causing him less annoyance. He has taken adequate nourishment,
and his sleep has been natural and refreshing; so that, if he has
gained nothing, he has probably lost nothing during the day.”

_The seventy-sixth day._—“Slight progress toward recovery” was reported. The surgeons concluded not to admit that the septic condition of the patient’s blood amounted to pyæmia, and they expressed confidence that the difficulty would be overcome. The President took food in variety, but not with a strong appetite. In the early morning hours he was quite wakeful, and gave way to fits of despondency. In one of these he called aloud to an attendant: “Save me; don’t let me sink.” Words of encouragement were uttered, but for a time he could not bring himself to believe that he yet had hope of recovery. “I fear bringing me here will prove but a roaring farce after all,” said he. He was not readily reassured, and the incident was not regarded as favorable. Still the physicians and newspaper correspondents sent out fair reports to the country, and the people were therefore quite unprepared for the events so near at hand. At 8:30 A. M. the pulse was 100; temperature, 98.4; respiration, 20. At noon, pulse 102; temperature, 98.9; respiration, 21. At 5:30 P. M., pulse 104; temperature, 99.2; respiration, 21. Attorney-General MacVeagh reported to Minister Lowell that all the symptoms were substantially the same as on the previous day, except that the expectoration from the right lung was rather less difficult and less profuse.

_The seventy-seventh day._—A day of “unfavorable symptoms.” Great anxiety was experienced by the immediate friends of the honored sufferer, and the physicians acknowledged the gravity of the occasion. His physical weakness had never before been so apparent, and his utter exhaustion seemed ominous of the end. Those who had never before questioned his ability to rally, now began to doubt it; and, when it was found that the pulse frequently reached 130 beats, intelligent men and women were struck with wonder at the persistent vitality of the man. At 8:30 A. M. the pulse was 104; temperature, 98.6; respiration, 21. At noon, pulse 116; temperature, 99.8; respiration, 21. At 5:30 P. M., pulse 104; temperature, 98.6; respiration, 22. Attorney-General MacVeagh cabled as follows:

“LOWELL, _Minister_, _London_:

“There has been no very marked change in the President’s condition,
but it is not at this hour reassuring. The different symptoms are
almost all slightly aggravated. The temperature and the pulse have
fluctuated more than usual, and the respiration is rather more
frequent, while the character of the discharges continues to be
unsatisfactory. There is, therefore, a sensible increase of
anxiety.”

_The seventy-eighth day._—“A day of deep anxiety.” The President was worse. He was sinking beyond reach of the strong arm of science and the willing hands of love, never to be reclaimed by earthly agencies. A chill, continuing half an hour, was followed by perspiration and a rapid rise of temperature. The situation was alarming, although the immediate effects of the chill did not appear as serious as might have been expected,—for the pulse fell, in a few hours, from 120 to 102, the temperature from 102 to 98, and the respiration from 24 to 18. These were phenomenal changes. Yet the word “rigor,” as translated in the medical vocabulary, is invested with nameless terrors, and the condition of the patient was assumed, on all sides, to be precarious in the extreme. The attending physicians were startled, but they did not fail to predict another rally, and a decided improvement in a few days. They did not seem to realize that the crisis was upon them, and the country certainly did not. The Attorney-General cabled to Minister Lowell that “the situation is now probably more grave and critical than at any time heretofore.”

_The seventy-ninth day._—Sunday was marked by an increase of fear and anxiety. Another chill, but of shorter duration, was one of the untoward incidents of the day. Dr. Bliss declared that the frequent recurrence of chills would soon wear out the President’s life, but he hoped to devise some means to prevent them. During this last attack the President’s pulse reached 134, possibly 140. Dr. Boynton had some clear ideas regarding the case. On Sunday night he said:

“The President’s condition to-day, compared with yesterday, shows a
slight improvement.”

“Do you not think the low pulse and temperature of last night and
this morning were favorable indications?”

“I do not. The low pulse and temperature, the sound sleep, and the
freedom from cough and expectoration were indications of a very low
state of vitality, and can not be considered as favorable symptoms.
If he grows stronger, there will be a rise in the pulse and
temperature, and his cough and expectoration will return.”

“Is it true that you stated last night that the President’s
condition was hopeless?”

“No, sir. I said his case was extremely critical, but not hopeless.”

“What is your opinion to-night?”

“The same as last night. For several weeks he has at times made
satisfactory progress, but, in each instance, the improvement has
been followed by a relapse, which left him on a lower plane of
vitality than before. This feature of his case is peculiar to most
cases of chronic pyæmia. The President has a wonderful constitution,
but it is doubtful if it is sufficient to carry him on to recovery.”

This conversation is interesting from the fact that it shows the very correct logic of one of the President’s most intimate attendants only twenty-four hours preceding the final catastrophe. Dr. Bliss was slightly more confident than Dr. Boynton. No points are given from the physicians’ bulletins, for the reason that it was thought best on Sunday to suppress some of the more unfavorable indications, and the bulletins are therefore not history. At 10 P. M., Attorney-General MacVeagh cabled the following:

“LOWELL, _Minister_, _London_:

“The President passed a comparatively quiet and comfortable day, but
this evening he had another chill of less duration than that of
yesterday, but sufficient to increase the very great anxiety already
existing. He has also been slowly growing weaker, and his present
condition excites the gravest apprehensions.”

_The last day._—Monday, September 19, brought the final eclipse of hope. It is not easy to describe it in these pages in such way as will do full justice to the subject for the American people; because, _first_, its facts are so incredible as to appear quite outside the range of history; and, _second_, the people, the great masses, can not yet understand how their beloved President could be so foully murdered without the swift annihilation of the murderer. The human mind does not always remember that the methods of justice must be quite distinct and wholly dissimilar from those of crime, and that the cause of law and order is promoted by this distinction. And possibly it will never be taught to remember this lesson invariably.

Upon this fateful Monday morning, the President was prostrated by a severe chill, called “rigor” by the physicians. It proved to be weakening beyond precedent. During its continuance, the pulse ran up to 143, and for a long time remained above 140. It decreased gradually in the afternoon, and when it was found that there was no recurrence of the chill in the evening, the promise of a restful night was thought to be good. The physicians were not agreed as to the responsible cause of the patient’s crisis. Dr. Boynton lost his hopeful tone early in the day, but Dr. Bliss remained comparatively sanguine till the last moment. No one immediately connected with the case anticipated the death of the sufferer, however, for several days yet, and it was remarked that even Mrs. Garfield, although greatly fatigued, was by no means despondent. She could not realize that death was even then robbing her of her heart’s dearest treasure.

The President rested quietly during the afternoon, and it was found that he had rallied from the effect of the chill in a manner to surprise the physicians. His mind was bright, the dressing of the wound did not fatigue him, and after it was over he asked for a hand-glass, taking which he examined his face and said he could not understand how he should be so weak when he looked so bright. This was at 6 P. M. Dr. Bliss remarked, that after such a rallying there was hope, but the trouble was want of strength. After the closest examination, the surgeons said it was possible for the patient to live a week, even granting that present conditions were to carry him off. Drs. Bliss, Agnew, and Hamilton, all concurred in this view, and it was sent out to the country in the dispatches of the associated press. Although such a message was designed to be pacifying, people every-where were startled. It was a virtual concession that all hope of recovery had been abandoned, and that the clouds of death were already lowering. But there was something infinitely more startling to come shortly.

At 10 P. M., while the President was asleep, General Swaim noticed that his limbs were cold. To warm them, he procured a flannel cloth, heated it at the fire and laid it over the knees. He heated another cloth and laid it over the President’s right hand, and then sat down beside the bed. The sad occurrences of the night are thus related in General Swaim’s words:

“I was hardly seated when Dr. Boynton came in and felt the
President’s pulse. I asked him how it seemed to him. He replied: ‘It
is not as strong as it was this afternoon, but very good.’ I said:
‘He seems to be doing well.’ ‘Yes,’ he answered, and passed out. He
was not in the room more than two minutes.

“Shortly after this the President awoke. As he turned his head on
awakening, I arose and took hold of his hand. I was on the left hand
side of the bed as he lay. I remarked: ‘You have had a nice
comfortable sleep.’

“He then said, ‘O Swaim, this terrible pain,’ placing his right hand
on his breast about over the region of the heart. I asked him if I
could do any thing for him. He said, ‘Some water.’ I went to the
other side of the room and poured about an ounce and a half of
Poland water into a glass and gave it to him to drink. He took the
glass in his hand, I raising his head as usual, and drank the water
very naturally. I then handed the glass to the colored man, Daniel,
who came in during the time I was getting the water. Afterward I
took a napkin and wiped his forehead, as he usually perspired on
awaking. He then said, ‘O Swaim, this terrible pain—press your hand
on it.’ I laid my hand on his chest. He then threw both hands up to
the sides and about on a line with his head, and exclaimed: ‘O
Swaim, can’t you stop this?’ And again, ‘O Swaim!’

“I then saw him looking at me with a staring expression. I asked him
if he was suffering much pain. Receiving no answer, I repeated the
question, with like result. I then concluded that he was either
dying or was having a severe spasm, and called to Daniel, who was at
the door, to tell Dr. Bliss and Mrs. Garfield to come immediately,
and glanced at the small clock hanging on the chandelier nearly over
the foot of his bed and saw that it was ten minutes past 10 o’clock.
Dr. Bliss came in within two or three minutes. I told Daniel to
bring the light. A lighted candle habitually sat behind a screen
near the door. When the light shone full on the President’s face I
saw that he was dying. When Dr. Bliss came in a moment after, I
said: ‘Doctor, have you any stimulants? he seems to be dying.’ He
took hold of the President’s wrist, as if feeling for his pulse, and
said: ‘Yes, he is dying.’ I then said to Daniel: ‘Run and arouse the
house.’ At that moment Colonel Rockwell came in, when Dr. Bliss
said: ‘Let us rub his limbs,’ which we did. In a very few moments
Mrs. Garfield came in, and said: ‘What does this mean?’ and a moment
after exclaimed: ‘Oh, why am I made to suffer this cruel wrong?’ At
10:30 P. M. the sacrifice was complete. He breathed his last calmly
and peaceably.”

The great President was dead! It could not be realized at the moment, and yet within the ten minutes succeeding his demise the bells in a hundred cities were tolling his solemn knell. Long before the morning light of the 20th illumined the earth, the hearts of millions throughout the world were heavy with the tidings.

Dead! whispered the wires with lightning haste. Dead! clanged the bells, with their brazen tongues. Dead! was echoed around the world, from lip to lip, until the mournful chorus resounded in a wail of heart-piercing agony. Dead! dead! dead! exclaimed all the people. But not so. Garfield will live forever in the better thoughts of those who loved him, and who are made better for having loved him. The brave heart, the open hand, the great soul, generous and true—these will bless the world for evermore! Garfield is deathless.

“No man was better prepared for death,” remarked a prominent member of his Cabinet. “No, sir, nor for life, which requires infinitely superior preparation,” may be safely responded. The life which he lived required the practice of all the virtues; the crucifixion of all the vices; bravery of the severest type; gentleness, trust, and clear-cut integrity. Practice had perfected in him these rules of life, and for many years he had furnished an example of purity and probity for his fellow-men. This is not taken away with the removal of the body. It can not be taken away. The pages of history will be brightened with it as long as eminent worth remains the goal of human ambition.

His removal has chastened and sweetened the national life. The hearts of all men, from every party, have been drawn together in a common brotherhood, and the country to a man denounces and resents “the deep damnation of his taking off.” Every difference is annihilated in the presence of the universal bereavement. His death forced a cry of grief from the pained heart of every man and woman in christendom who loves good deeds, and reveres the example of an honest life: who admires the power to withstand trial, to bear suffering, and to confront danger; who reveres those that possess the courage of their convictions, however resisted by menace and scorn. No mourning was ever before so universal, so heartfelt, so spontaneous, so lasting. Every consideration of business, of pleasure, of political preferment, of social enjoyment, of speculation, of whatsoever men and women were engaged in, gave way at once to the general lamentation. These things were most observable in our own land, but in some measure they prevailed in every civilized country, and extended even to the isles of the sea. His had been a precious life to his own people for many years. It has become precious to all the world’s millions now, and will remain so through all the ages.

He proved himself a hero many times and on many trying occasions before his eighty days of heroic endurance of the assassin’s stroke; but never was there a brighter example of Christian fortitude and uncompromising submission than that furnished by him during those eighty days. And never was there any thing more heroic and queenly than the devotion of his noble wife from the beginning to the close of this eventful period. Where is there a grander picture of womanhood than Mrs. Garfield? The history of neither ancient nor modern times furnishes its superior. What was position to her, with its pride and circumstance, when placed in the balance with love and duty? Elevation to the place of the most envied woman in the land—the leader of society at the National Capital—she practiced that grand simplicity which made her the fit companion for the eminently practical and busy President while in health, and, when overtaken by his great calamity, nursed him day and night with unceasing devotion. What example could be more admirable than this for the women of the present age? Well may great queens acknowledge this true woman their peer, and treat her as a sister.

For the two weeks at Long Branch, and probably for other weeks at Washington, he was kept alive by the indomitable power of his own will and the gentle care of those who loved him better than life. The “little woman” to whom he sent his love before the first shock of his wound had subsided, was the prominent object in his heart of hearts, and well has she proved her title to the place she occupied there. Well did she remember her vow to love, honor, and cherish, in sickness and in health, till death. With what faithfulness, with what untiring devotion and pathetic zeal was that vow kept; and how holy must be the associations which now cluster around every act and every aspiration of the womanly faith and love which animated the noble wife in her hour of trial. History furnishes no more prominent example of devoted affection, forgetfulness of self, sacrifice of all comfort, carelessness of every thing except the poor sufferer upon the bed of pain. He was her only object in life. And to him, she was the bright star of destiny, the ever-present angel of hope, the trusty sentinel upon the ramparts of eternity, who menaced and kept at bay the arch-enemy, death. Her faith and hope and love were the medicaments which sustained him through all those weary days, when the services of physicians became as naught in the process of healing. No one could perform for him the tender offices of nursing so well as she; no voice so sweet as hers; no hand so gentle nor so ready to anticipate his wants. In those other years, when they toiled together for the mental, moral, and material advancement of themselves and their children, and knew little of the gay world, he learned this; and now, when they had reached the summit of the loftiest earthly ambition, and she, by right as well as courtesy, was acknowledged the first lady in the land, he still found her the same faithful nurse, with the old devotion to her wifely duty which makes the true woman an angel of mercy, and of more worth in the chamber of sickness than any physician. She never left him in all those weary days of pain, and she it was who, on many occasions, brought him back to consciousness and life by tender care, when it seemed to others that the slender thread which bound him to earth was too weak longer to hold.

Her loving devotion under these conditions was the subject of daily encomiums; and even the medical attendants were unanimous in according her the first praise for attentions which were more important to the patient than any they could render. Without her soothing ministrations, it is thought the life of the President would have been much abridged; and when it is remembered that this toil was constant, day by day, without intermission, except a few hours for sleep, wholly self-abnegating, and to the exclusion of all thoughts for her own health or comfort, she may well be cited as one of the noblest examples of true wifehood in any age or country. The ancients were filled with admiration at the devotion of Penelope to Ulysses. How weak and tame is the example when compared with that which now causes American womanhood to be so lovingly reverenced!

That is indeed a sorrowful picture where the President, from his room at Elberon, takes his last view of the sea. Those calm eyes surveyed the mighty waters, whose lashings are regular as the movement of the pendulum, with sensations which will never be known, for he was wholly absorbed in meditation. Once or twice he turned to the faithful wife with a smile upon his attenuated features, but nothing referring to the scene or the situation was said by either. With his hand locked in hers, they communed in spirit, conscious of the presence of God in His works and in His mercy. The anxiety of the people for the great President was not shared by himself, except as his sympathies were now, as always, with the people; but who shall describe the agony of the poor wife as she noted the weakness, daily increasing, of the noble form upon which, for so many joyous years, she had leaned for support? Who shall depict her anguish as she now realized that the sea breezes, which had brought so much health for others, could bring none to her languishing husband? Whatever may have been the hopes of the country, there were no hopes of recovery in this sick chamber now,—only prayers, and possibly something like a dream of a miracle—yearned for, but impossible. What picture can be more saddening, or convey a deeper meaning in its illustration of a holy presence in the chamber of pain, than that individualized by the wife of the President!

The name of Lucretia Garfield will remain linked indissolubly with that of the great soul whose love she honored, so long as wifely heroism is honored of man. In his youth, in the days of his poverty, she made him rich with the countless wealth of her woman’s love. She pointed the way to a great future. To her careful management and sound advice is much of his early success to be attributed. Standing beside him at the coronation of his ambition, in the hour of his glory, she looked upon him with a pride beyond language, as, under such conditions, what wife would not; but in the dark days, which measured the period from July 2d to September 20th, and ended so deplorably to her and the country, it was a wifely love, destitute of all vainglory, with which, in full view of Christendom, she ministered, as only angels do, to the wounded form of her dying husband. No picture could be more pathetic, more instructive, more valuable as an example to all women of this day and coming ages; and it will be so remembered. Garfield’s struggle for a life that had become historic for its manly courage, was brave indeed; but with the history of that struggle there must forever be associated the imperishable name of a wife as great as he in all that makes greatness worth living or dying for in the eyes of men. “Man is the image and glory of God, but the woman is the glory of the man.”

Now the land was covered with a pall. The insignia of mourning greeted the eye everywhere. It was the spontaneous expression of the people, without premeditation or system. Concert of action in a matter where every one moved upon the instant was not feasible; but it was as if the President were lying dead in every habitation. Prompted by a sentiment which defies analysis, but which sprang from that wearisome vigil at his bedside; from those long weeks of testing his pulse, listening to his breathings, and wondering at his courage; from hope deferred, gloom, despair, death—it agitated the depths of universal humanity, and impelled a response to the holiest dictates of every heart. Notwithstanding the all-pervading grief, the demonstration was wonderful and without a parallel. Quite as wonderful for its universality as for any of its physical conformations. A poor widow, in a Western city, draped her doorway with her one black dress. She had no other means of joining in the general expression of grief. Doubtless many other widows did the same thing for exactly the same reason. Others, who had not even a decent dress, hung out a single yard of black muslin, or a less quantity of crape. The poor made as emphatic expression of their grief as the wealthy, and the humblest offering of honest poverty invariably carried to the heart of the observer a deeper pathos than the ornate decorations with which the rich man symboled his lamentation. This is not said in a spirit of criticism, but to record a fact which is a part of this history, and which teaches a lesson germane to its object.

Not in this country alone were these things prominent, but they were part of the mourning of every land that regards the usages of civilization; and wherever there is recognition of mental and moral worth, there was heartfelt grief at the death of Garfield. The world missed him. He occupied a place of great responsibility, which no one could be better fitted for. His administration gave promise of good results. He was anxious to do good for the sake of good, rather than for popularity. He was resolved to do right regardless of those who might stand in his path. He did every thing in his power that he believed to be right. He opposed, with all his might, every thing he believed to be wrong. He was a just man and forgiving, with no hooks upon which to hang grudges. He was a Christian statesman—the highest type of a chief executive. How much the country lost in his death will never be computed. It is beyond estimate. It is more than any one has yet attempted to figure out. The sum of such a man’s value is quite beyond the reach of mathematics. It can not be measured; therefore grief for his loss is illimitable.