Lincoln in the Bardo(56)

When the head of the cortege reached Oak Hill Cemetery by way of Washington Street it was found necessary, because of the length of the line to route a part of the line along Bridge Street into High Street. Climbing the hill past the new High Level Reservoir, it turned into Road Street, and proceeded eastward to the cemetery, where the body of William Wallace Lincoln was to be placed in the vault of W. T. Carroll, on Lot 292.



In “Essay on the Death of Willie Lincoln,” by Mathilde Williams, curator, Peabody Library Association.

Now all was still and the hundreds of people climbed out of their carriages and walked through the gates of the cemetery to the beautiful little red stone Gothic chapel with its blue-stained windows.

Kunhardt and Kunhardt, op. cit.

At one moment the sun came out and, pouring in through the small windows, painted everything inside with a blue glow, as if at the bottom of the sea, causing a small pause in the prayers, and a feeling of awe among the congregants.

Smith-Hill, op. cit.

Here, over the coffin, more prayers were said by Dr. Gurley.

Kunhardt and Kunhardt, op. cit.

We may be sure,—therefore, bereaved parents, and all the children of sorrow may be sure,—that their affliction has not come forth of the dust, nor has their trouble sprung out of the ground.

It is the well-ordered procedure of their Father and their God. A mysterious dealing they may consider it, but it is still His dealing; and while they mourn He is saying to them, as the Lord Jesus once said to his Disciples when they were perplexed by his conduct, “What I do ye know not now, but ye shall know hereafter.”

Gurley, op. cit.

And there sat the man, with a burden on his brain at which the world marvels—bent now with the load at both heart and brain—staggering under a blow like the taking from him of his child!



Willis, op. cit.

The President rose, approached the coffin, stood there alone.

In “The Dark Days,” by Francine Cane.

The tension and grief in the chapel were palpable. The President’s head, as he spent these last precious moments with his boy, was bent—in prayer, weeping, or consternation, we could not tell.

Smith-Hill, op. cit.

In the distance, shouting. A workman perhaps, directing an effort to clean up after the cataclysmic storm.

Cane, op. cit.

The President turned away from the coffin, it appeared by sheer act of will, and it occurred to me how hard it must be for the man to leave his child behind in a place of such gloom and loneliness, which never, when responsible for the living child, he would have done.

In private correspondence of Mr. Samuel Pierce, by permission of his estate.

He seemed to have aged greatly in the last few days. Many sympathetic eyes & prayers being directed at him, he appeared, then, to come to himself, and left the chapel, a most distressed look upon his face, but not yet giving way to tears.

Smith-Hill, op. cit.

I went up to the President and, taking him by the hand, offered my sincerest condolences.

He did not seem to be listening.

His face lit up with dark wonder.



Willie is dead, he said, as if it had only just then occurred to him.

Pierce, op. cit.





XCI.


The lad stood.

hans vollman

Emerging, in this way, from Mr. Lincoln.

roger bevins iii

Turned to us.

hans vollman

Stricken look on his pale round face.

roger bevins iii

May I tell you something? he said.

How I loved him in that moment. Such an odd little fellow: his long swoop of forelock, roundish protruding belly, rather adult manner.

You are not sick, he said.

hans vollman

Suddenly all was nervousness and agitation.

roger bevins iii

That thing in my box? he said. Has nothing to do with me.

hans vollman

Individuals began edging toward the door.

roger bevins iii

I mean, it does, he said. Or did. But now I am—I am something quite apart. From it. I cannot explain.

hans vollman

Stop talking, Mr. Vollman said. You will kindly stop talking at once.

There is a name for what ails us, the boy said. Do you not know it? Do you really not know it?

roger bevins iii

Many were now attempting to flee, causing a bit of a jam at the door.

hans vollman

It is quite amazing, the boy said.

Stop, Mr. Vollman said. Please stop. For the good of all.

Dead, the boy said. Everyone, we are dead!

roger bevins iii

Suddenly, from behind us, there occurred, like lightning-cracks, three rapid-fire repetitions of the familiar, yet always bone-chilling, firesound associated with the matterlightblooming phenomenon.

hans vollman

I did not dare to look around to see who had gone.

roger bevins iii

Dead! the lad shouted, almost joyfully, strutting into the middle of the room. Dead, dead, dead!

That word.

That terrible word.

hans vollman

Purdy, Bark, and Ella Blow were flailing within a window casement, like trapped birds, weakened and compromised by the lad’s reckless pronouncements.

roger bevins iii

Verna Blow stood below, pleading with her mother to come down.

hans vollman

Now look, Mr. Vollman said to the boy. You are wrong. If what you say is true—who is it that is saying it?