CHAPTER XXIII

FUNERAL TRAIN TO WASHINGTON

At 7:45 o'clock, on Monday morning, began the memorable journey from the scene of the tragedy to the capital of the nation..

Over a route 420 miles in length, amid the tolling of bells and through endless lanes of mourning people that at every town, village, and hamlet lined the track far out into the fields, the funeral train bearing both a dead and a living President traveled from Buffalo to Washington in a journey that is destined to be recorded as a dramatic episode in one of the saddest tragedies in American history.

It was a solemn pageant all the way from Buffalo up over the Alleghanies, down into the broad valley of the Susquehanna, and on to the marble city on the banks of the shining Potomac. It was the nation's murdered President's last journey to the seat of the government over which he presided for four and onehalf years.

Fully half a million persons saw the train during its trip.

At many cities and towns school children and young women had strewn flowers on the track, hiding the rails, and the engine wheels cut their way through the fragrant masses of blooms spread out to give testimony of the love felt for the dead President.

The whole country seemed to have assembled its population at the sides of the track over which the

funeral train passed. The lines of people, through the mountains and the sparsely-settled districts, thickened at the little hamlets, covered acres in towns suddenly grown to the proportions of respectable cities, and were congested into vast multitudes in the larger cities.

Work was suspended in field and mine and city. The schools were dismissed. And everywhere appeared the trappings and tokens of woe. A million flags at half mast dotted hillside and valley and formed a thicket of color over the cities. And from almost every banner streamed a bit of crape.

At all the larger towns and cities, after the train got into Pennsylvania, militiamen drawn up at presentarms kept back the enormous crowds.

The silence with which the countless thousands viewed the remains of their hero, was profound and oppressive.

Only the rumbling of the train's wheels, the sobs from men and women with tear-stained faces, and the doleful tolling of the church bells broke on the ear. At several places-Williamsport, Harrisburg, and Baltimore-the chimes played the dead President's favorite hymn.

Taken altogether, the journey was the cause of the most remarkable demonstration of universal personal sorrow since Lincoln was borne to his grave.

CHAPTER XXIV

FUNERAL SERVICES AT WASHINGTON

AT THE DEPOT.-Quiet simplicity marked the arrival of the President's body in Washington. The route from the Pennsylvania depot, where the train stopped, was short. For that distance the broad sidewalks were thronged with men, women and children, and every window and balcony commanding a view of the cortege was filled with reverent and saddened spectators.

Those in charge of the procession avoided all possible display, and there was no attempt to work upon the feelings of the people, who were already wrought up to a dangerous point.

The official train drew into the Pennsylvania depot at 8:38 p. m., and the body was escorted to the White House by a troop of cavalry and by the members of the Cabinet and the distinguished officials who had acted as the escort of honor from Buffalo to Washington.

The body of the late President was brought into the depot where President Garfield was shot, and thus was completed the parallel between the last two Ohio Presidents, both of whom have been unexpected martyrs to their positions.

The procession which conveyed the casket was reverently received by the living lanes of people and was only disturbed here and there by the flashlight snap of over-enterprising photographers.

AT THE WHITE HOUSE. There was no display whatever at the White House. Mrs. McKinley's feelings were consulted in preference to anything else. The gates to the grounds adjoining the executive mansion were closed early in the afternoon and were only opened to admit Mrs. McKinley and the members of her official and personal family.

The coffin was placed in the great east room, which has been the scene of so many notable receptions held by President McKinley and others of his predecessors.

It was in this room that the body of Lincoln was first placed, and the coffin containing the late Secretary Gresham was also there over night as the result of a special mark of respect from President Cleveland. President Garfield's coffin was not placed in the east room. As he died at the seashore it was brought direct to the capitol and from there taken to his home at Mentor.

The floral display in the east room was, of course, exceedingly beautiful, but it was not intended for the sight of the general public, consisting merely of the emblems sent by personal friends, each of them containing a card with the name of the sender.

Mrs. McKinley appeared to stand the terrible strain of the day's journey from Buffalo to Washington well, although once or twice she was undoubtedly on the verge of collapse, and had to be given stimulants to keep her up. When she arrived at the White House she was at once taken to her familiar rooms and was surrounded by the tender and loving care of her immediate family.

When the coffin was placed in the spacious room of the mansion that for over four years had been Mr. Mc

Kinley's home, it was guarded by veterans of the civil war, to await the state ceremonies of the next day.

TO THE CAPITOL.-Tuesday morning, William McKinley rode for the last time from the White House to the Capitol. Not as he rode that bright day in March, 1897, smiling at the black masses of people who acclaimed him; not as he rode a few months ago, stili better loved because he had been tried and found not wanting, but silent and motionless in the embrace of death. Officers of the army, the navy, and the marine corps, stood with bared heads as the coffin was slowly borne by the sailors up the stone steps of the Capitol through the lane they formed.

Great as were the demonstrations of popular emotions on those former occasions, profound as were the greetings of the populace when President McKinley rode twice to his inauguation, both were eclipsed this day. He had not lived in vain. His life had conquered Death.

As befitted the occasion and the character of the man whose remains were lying cold and rigid in the narrow embrace of the metallic casket, the funeral services in the Capitol were simple. They were conducted in accordance with the rites of the Methodist Episcopal Church, of which President McKinley was a lifelong member. Consisting only of two hymns, a song, a prayer, an address and a benediction, they were solemnly impressive.

THE PRESIDENT'S HYMN.-Special prominence was given to the beautiful hymn, "Nearer, My God, to Thee," which, in spite of the fact that it has been