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THE MARTYRED PRESIDENT.

Once more I saw the President- and then in Chicago, which opened its arms to receive the hallowed remains of the martyred leader. For two weeks the city had been shrouded in its grief as in a pall. The people of the great metropolis, with tens of thousands from the farms and workshops of the Northwest, went forth to receive the illustrious dead, mingling their tears with the sad wailing of dirges that pulsed through the streets, with the solemn tolling of bells, and the heavy booming of minute guns.

There was none of the hum of business; none of the rush and whirl and hot haste that characterize Chicago, but closed stores, silent streets, and sadness resting on all faces. Flags bound with crape floated mournfully at half-mast. Black draperies shrouded the buildings. All talk was low and brief. Many wept as they walked, and on the breast or arm of all were mourning badges. All nationalities, creeds, and sects were ranged along the route to be taken by the funeral cortége, or stood amid the solemn pageantry and funereal splendor of the great procession.

At the appointed hour the train arrived at its destination, bearing the corse of the man whom the West loved and delighted to honor. A gun announced its arrival to the solemn crowd. The same order of arrangements was observed as had been planned for the President's reception at the fair, only how heavily shadowed by the atmosphere of death! The sacred remains were removed to the funeral car prepared to receive them, and then they moved sadly and slowly to the Court House, where they lay in state to receive the last visits of affection. Minute guns boomed steadily; bells tolled unceas

THE PEOPLE IN TEARS.

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ingly; sad dirges wailed their lamentations; muffled drums beat continuously, and the tears of the people fell as the cortége filed past. As the hallowed dust passed, the stricken throngs uncovered, while audible sobs burst from the bereaved lookers-on.

Not thus had Chicago hoped to receive the beloved President. A month later, and the great Northwest would have prepared for him a brilliant welcome. Then with great shouts rending the air, with salvos of artillery, with thrilling strains of triumphant music, with songs and ovations from old and young, from children and maidens, with flowers and costly gifts, and with overflowing hearts, it had hoped to testify the almost idolatrous love it bore him. God ordered otherwise, and translated him beyond our poor praises above our earthly offerings.

"Oh, friend! if thought and sense avail not,

To know thee as thou art –

That all is well with thee forever,

I trust the instincts of my heart!"

CHAPTER XXXI.

HEROISM OF SOLDIERS' WIVES - WHAT THEY ENDURED AT HOME-A SUNDAY MORNING VISIT TO THEIR FAMILIES LEAVES FROM MY JOURNAL-PATHETIC INCIDENTS.

Petition of four hundred and eighty Soldiers in Southern Hospitals - "Ignore us, but look after our suffering Families!" - Heroism of Wives and Mothers-Visit Soldiers' Families with Chaplain McCabe - Children fierce and wild with Hunger-An underground Room, and great Wretchedness - The Soldier's Widow dies in the Night-Her Mother, in the Darkness, defends the Body from Rats - The Baby falls from the Chamber Window, while the Mother is away washing - A colored Woman turned out on the Sidewalk, with her dying Child, for unpaid Rent - Her Husband fighting under Colonel Shaw, in the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts-Governor Andrew sends me Carte blanche in the way of Relief for Families of that Regiment - The Historian should remember the Heroism of the Hearthstone.

Ta Sanitary Convention held in Des Moines, Ia., a petition was presented from four hundred and eighty soldiers in the general hospitals at the South, asking, among other things, that the people of that state would look after the welfare of their families while they were in the service of the country. "We are grateful for all kindnesses shown us," was the language of these veterans. "We appreciate your noble and thoughtful charity, which reaches us in camp, in the hospital, and on the battle-field. But we prefer that you should forget us, and leave us to struggle with our fate as we may, if you will but look after our

66 LOOK AFTER OUR FAMILIES."

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wives and children, our mothers and sisters, who are dependent upon us for support. A severe winter is before them, and we are rent with anxiety as we remember their slender resources, and our meagre and irregular pay. Succor them, and withhold your charity from us.'

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I often heard the same entreaty from men in the hospital and in camp, from men in health and on the march, and from men just passing into eternity. "Our wives and children, our mothers and sisters, who will take care of them?" Public sympathy was easily awakened for the brave men who went out to fight the battles of the country, and all demands made on the means and money of the loyal North for their relief were promptly met. Money and supplies were poured without stint into the Sanitary Commission; and wherever an opportunity was offered, either by the return of a regiment, or by visits to the hospitals, the people delighted to lavish their bounty directly on the soldiers.

He had

But an immense amount of heroism among the wives of soldiers passed unnoticed, or was taken as a matter of course. For the soldier, he had his comrades about him, shoulder to shoulder. excitement. He had praise, if he did well. He had honorable mention, and pitying tears, if he fell nobly striving. But alas for his wife! Even an officer's wife, who had sympathizing friends, who had the comforts and many of the luxuries of life, whose children's future was provided for if their father fell, what hours of dreadful suspense she passed, even under those favorable circumstances!

But for the wife of the poor soldier, who in giving her husband to her country gave everything; who

588 PRAYING FOR "PAPA TO COME HOME."

had no friend to say "Well done!" as the lagging weeks of suspense crept on, and she stood bravely at her post keeping want and starvation at bay; whose imagination was busy among the heaps of dead and wounded, or traversing the wretched prison-pens, and shuddering at the thought of their demoniac keepers; who kept down her sobs as her little daughter offered up nightly prayers for "dear papa to come home!" or her son traced slowly with his forefinger the long list of killed and wounded "to see if father's name was there"; who shrouded her eyes from the possible future of her children should her strength give out under the pressure of want and anxiety; compared with her sharp mental torture, the physical suffering of the soldier sinks into insignificance. This silent army of heroines was too often forgotten. They were martyrs who died and made no sign. The shouts of far-off victories drowned their feeble wailings, and the horrors of hospitals overshadowed deeply their unobtruded miseries.

During the progress of one of the sanitary fairs, I called on a man and wife for help in the evening entertainments, when the wife observed, "You are doing a great work in aiding to relieve the sufferings of the soldiers; but there is another class, quite as worthy, that receives but little attention."

"What is that?" I inquired.

"The destitute families of soldiers in the field and of soldiers deceased. My husband enlisted in the beginning of the war. He left a good situation which had yielded us a comfortable living; and I was willing he should, for I was as patriotic as he, and knew that the country needed his services. He was to send me ten dollars of his monthly pay. A man