The funeral on
Wednesday, the 19th, was imposing, sad, and sorrowful. All felt the solemnity,
and sorrowed as if they had lost one of their own household. By voluntary
action business was everywhere suspended, and the people crowded the streets.
The Cabinet met by
arrangement in the room occupied by the President at the Treasury. We left a
few minutes before meridian so as to be in the East Room at precisely twelve
o'clock, being the last to enter. Others will give the details.
I rode with Stanton
in the procession to the Capitol. The attendance was immense. The front of the
procession reached the Capitol, it was said, before we started, and there were
as many, or more, who followed us. A brief prayer was made by Mr. Gurley in the
rotunda, where we left the remains of the good and great man we loved so well.
Returning, I left Stanton, who was nervous and full of orders, and took in my
carriage President Johnson and Preston King, their carriage having been crowded
out of place. Coming down Pennsylvania Avenue after this long detention, we met
the marching procession in broad platoons all the way to the Kirkwood House on
Twelfth Street.
There were no truer
mourners, when all were sad, than the poor colored people who crowded the
streets, joined the procession, and exhibited their woe, bewailing the loss of
him whom they regarded as a benefactor and father. Women as well as men, with
their little children, thronged the streets, sorrow, trouble, and distress
depicted on their countenances and in their bearing. The vacant holiday
expression had given way to real grief. Seward, I am told, sat up in bed and
viewed the procession and hearse of the President, and I know his emotion.
Stanton, who rode with me, was uneasy and left the carriage four or five times.
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