The Life, Crime, and Capture of John Wilkes Booth | Page 9

corporate officers of Washington, zealous to make this
day's funeral honors atone for the shame of the assassination. With
these are sprinkled many scarred and worthy soldiers who have borne
the burden of the grand war, and stand before this shape they loved in
quiet civil reverence.
Still further down the steps and closer to the catafalque rest the familiar

faces of many of our greatest generals--the manly features of Augur,
whose blood I have seen trickling forth upon the field of battle; the
open almost, beardless contour of Halleck, who has often talked of
sieges and campaigns with this homely gentleman who is going to the
grave. There are many more bright stars twinkling in contiguous
shoulder bars, but sitting in a chair upon the beflowered carpet is
Ulysses Grant, who has lived a century in the last three weeks and
comes to-day to add the luster of his iron face to this thrilling and
saddened picture. He wears white gloves and sash, and is swarthy,
nervous, and almost tearful, his feet crossed, his square receding head
turning now here now there, his treble constellation blazing upon the
left shoulder only, but hidden on the right, and I seem to read upon his
compact features the indurate and obstinate will to fight, on the line he
has selected, the honor of the country through any peril, as if he had
sworn it by the slain man's bier--his state-fellow, patron, and friend.
Here also is General McCallum, who has seamed the rebellious South
with military roads to send victory along them, and bring back the
groaning and the scarred. These and the rest are grand historic figures,
worthy of all artistic depiction. They have looked so often into the
mortar's mouth, that no bravo's blade can make them wince. Do you see
the thin-haired, conical head of the viking Farragut, close by General
Grant, with many naval heroes close behind, storm-beaten, and every
inch Americans in thought and physiognomy?
What think the foreign ambassadors of such men, in the light of their
own overloaded bodies, where meaningless orders, crosses, and ribbons
shine dimly in the funeral light? These legations number, perhaps, a
hundred men, of all civilized races,--the Sardinian envoy, jetty-eyed,
towering above the rest. But they are still and respectful, gathered thus
by a slain ruler, to see how worthy is the republic he has preserved.
Whatever sympathy these have for our institutions, I think that in such
audience they must have been impressed with the futility of any
thought that either one citizen right or one territorial inch can ever be
torn from the United States. Not to speak disparagingly of these noble
guests, I was struck with the superior facial energy of our own public
servants, who were generally larger, and brighter-faced, born of that
aristocracy which took its patent from Tubal Cain, and Abel the

goatherd, and graduated in Abraham Lincoln. The Haytien minister,
swarthy and fiery-faced, is conspicuous among these.
But nearer down, and just opposite the catafalque so that it is
perpendicular to the direction of vision, stand the central powers of our
government, its President and counsellors. President Johnson is facing
the middle of the coffin upon the lowest step; his hands are crossed
upon his breast, his dark clothing just revealing his plaited shirt, and
upon his full, plethoric, shaven face, broad and severely compact, two
telling gray eyes rest under a thoughtful brow, whose turning hair is
straight and smooth. Beside him are Vice-President Hamlin, whom he
succeeded, and ex-Governor King, his most intimate friend, who lends
to the ruling severity of the place a half Falstaffian episode. The cabinet
are behind, as if arranged for a daguerreotypist, Stanton, short and
quicksilvery, in long goatee and glasses, in stunted contrast to the tall
and snow-tipped shape of Mr. Welles with the rest, practical and
attentive, and at their side is Secretary Chase, high, dignified, and
handsome, with folded arms, listening, but undemonstrative, a half-foot
higher than any spectator, and dividing with Charles Sumner, who is
near by, the preference for manly beauty in age. With Mr. Chase are
other justices of the Supreme Court and to their left, near the feet of the
corpse, are the reverend senators, representing the oldest and the
newest states--splendid faces, a little worn with early and later toils,
backed up by the high, classical features of Colonel Forney, their
secretary. Beyond are the representatives and leading officials of the
various departments, with a few odd folks like George Francis Train,
exquisite as ever, and, for this time only, with nothing to say.
Close by the corpse sit the relatives of the deceased, plain, honest,
hardy people, typical as much of the simplicity of our institutions as of
Mr. Lincoln's self-made eminence. No blood relatives of Mr. Lincoln