I CHAPTER XXV HIS DEATH T is likely that if Theodore Roosevelt could have had his choice about the manner of his departure from this world he would have selected a place on the battlefield in France, counting it a privilege to die for his country, but Providence planned it otherwise. He died in his own home at Sagamore Hill early on the morning of Monday, January 6, 1919. He had had such a pleasant Sunday evening doing some literary work, with Mrs. Roosevelt by his side as they sat before the blazing logs in the fireplace, and he went upstairs to his room to have a good night's rest. James Amos, who had been a faithful colored servant in Washington and had been recently engaged at Sagamore Hill, sat at the foot of his bed. He said to the man, "Please turn out the light, James, I want to go to sleep." James turned out the light and he went to sleep and never awoke. Mrs. Roosevelt bade him good-night just before midnight and slipped into his room again at two o'clock in the morning and found that everything was well; but about four o'clock Amos noticed that Mr. Roosevelt was somewhat restless and breathing rather heavily. He turned on the light, went to his side and touched him and found he was dead and notified Mrs. Roosevelt and a nurse who had been attending him for his rheumatism. He was lying on his side with his arms folded in a sweet sleep with the most peaceful expression. The great and beautiful spirit had left its expression in the clay after it had flown. About a year ago he went to Roosevelt Hospital with trouble in his ear. They operated upon him two or three times, the last one leaving him very weak and disabled. He went back home and after a short rest went out through different parts of the country making speeches to stir up a more vigorous prosecution of the war. In the early winter he was taken down with what was called inflammatory rheumatism; his limb and arm swelled to almost twice their normal size and he suffered inexpressible anguish. He paid no attention to either the pain or the disability, but went on writing his editorials and sending out his messages to the people as though nothing in the world was the matter with him. They brought him back from the hospital on Christmas day, and he was able to walk a little with Mrs. Roosevelt about the grounds. He was unable to take the strenuous kind of exercise to which he had been accustomed. He had had the African fever twice during his hunting trip. In the Brazilian swamps he almost perished with the fever, from which he never recovered, and added to all this was the death of his son, which helped to break him down and, poisoned through and through, a clot of blood lodged in his lungs early that morning and stopped his breathing. Relatives were summoned, and the sad news was sent out to the world with special cables to the boys in Europe. That Monday afternoon three aeroplanes flew over the home on Sagamore Hill and each |