The exterior of the car was painted a rich chocolate color, which had been rubbed with oil and rottenstone to produce a deep, shiny finish that enhanced the overall appearance of the car. Directly beneath the sixth and seventh windows was a five and a half foot oval panel containing the United States coat of arms. The car was unusual in that it had four trucks of four wheels each, giving the car a total of sixteen wheels for the body to ride on, double the usual number. The use of these unusual trucks have led to the conclusion by some that the car was armor-clad in an attempt to make it bullet proof. The reminiscences of several individuals who worked on the construction of the car seem to refute this idea.35 The presence of twelve large windows on each side of the car would defeat any purpose of making the car bulletproof or bombproof.
Shortly after Lincoln’s death, Mary Lincoln insisted on having her husband taken home to Springfield. New York City, along with Washington, floated proposals to inter the remains in their respective cities but Mary was adamant. Stanton bowed to Mary’s wishes and issued orders on April 18 to the officer in charge of the Military Car Shops in Alexandria, Virginia, to prepare a suitable funeral car. Myron H. Lamson, who had worked as the assistant foreman in overseeing the construction of the president’s car, requested permission to make a few alterations to the recently completed car so it could be used as the funeral coach. Stanton gave his approval. Lamson prepared a special catafalque that was mounted in the center of the stateroom. The catafalque contained clamps that held the casket secure when on the train and allowed for easy removal at those stops where it was scheduled for public viewing.36
In assuming control over transporting the corpse back to Springfield, Stanton appointed a commission of railroad men to make all of the arrangements involving the numerous railroads the train would pass over on its trip. The funeral train would travel over sixteen different rail lines on its 1,600-mile journey to Springfield. Its speed would range from five to twenty miles per hour, the slower speed when passing crowds, the faster speed when running through the rural countryside. The train would take priority over all rail traffic for the twelve days it traveled from Washington to Springfield. Wartime regulations were still in effect and the War Department, under its secretary, declared the trip a “military necessity.” This meant, among other things, that the military would decide where and when the train would travel and who would ride along with the casket to Springfield. The major problem was in deciding which cities would be official stops and which cities would be passed by. Every community pleaded with the government to allow it to formally honor the president. The specially appointed commission found it impossible to honor every request since it would have added several days and hundreds of miles to the trip home. Still, most of the communities along the way were determined to honor their fallen president to the maximum effort of their abilities. For many it simply meant standing along the roadbed with heads uncovered as the train passed.
Once the route had been released, memorial arches were constructed over the tracks for the train to pass under while en route. All along the sixteen hundred mile journey thousands upon thousands of citizens turned out and stood or sat in their buggies and wagons waiting for the train. In many instances these people turned out twenty-four hours in advance. In certain remote stretches an entire family would sit by the roadbed waiting for the train to appear. In other instances, the tracks were lined with crowds that often numbered over ten thousand. In many areas women covered the tracks with flowers as a symbol of respect. It was a heartfelt outpouring from the common citizens who understood what Abraham Lincoln had meant to them just as he had understood what the common citizen meant to him. These were the people Lincoln had in mind when he spoke those immortal words, “government of the people, by the people, for the people,” and they knew it.
Back in Washington preparations continued. The small casket of Willie Lincoln had been placed aboard the train for the trip to Springfield where he would be interred with his father. Willie had died in the White House in February of 1862, and his body had been placed in the crypt of the prestigious Carroll family in Georgetown’s Oak Hill Cemetery. The Lincolns had planned on taking their beloved son home to Springfield when the president’s term expired in March 1869. Now he would return at his father’s side four years sooner than planned.
Also accompanying his father home was Robert Lincoln. Mary Lincoln and young Tad remained in Washington, Mary too sick to make the trip and little Taddy too young to leave his mother’s side. Supreme Court Justice David Davis, Major General David O. Hunter, and Ward Hill Lamon were among Lincoln’s closer friends who rode with Robert in the special family car located behind the funeral coach. The War Department was represented by Brigadier General Edward D. Townsend, the navy by Rear Admiral Charles E. Davis. Among the dozens of politicians were several senators, representatives, and four governors including Richard Oglesby of Illinois. Rounding out the contingent were a number of newspaper correspondents who filed detailed reports at each stop along the long journey. There were nine coaches in all, eight carrying passengers and a ninth carrying their baggage.
The train with its passengers sat in the Washington depot as the pilot train slowly pulled out of the terminal to the tolling of church bells. At 8 A.M. sharp, Reverend Gurley offered a final prayer, “O Lord, strengthen us under the pressure of this great national sorrow as only Thou can strengthen the weak. Comfort us, as Thou canst sanctify a people when they are passing through the fiery furnaces of a great trial.”37 A final amen and the signal was given. The train slowly pulled out of the station and began its sorrowful journey. Mingling about the station were several hundred soldiers who, on seeing the engine start to move, spontaneously formed in line and presented arms as the train slowly passed.38 Through the draped windows the passengers were able to catch a glimpse of a long line of Black faces passing by. They were members of the Eighth United States Colored Artillery that had marched in the funeral procession a few days earlier.39 As the coach bearing the president’s body passed by the last soldier, a voice called out, “Goodbye, Father Abraham.”
The first stop was at Camden Yards in Baltimore only thirty-eight miles from Washington by rail. The train arrived at 10:00 A.M. Once again huge crowds lined the way making it impossible to move on any of the sidewalks that surrounded the depot buildings.40 The casket was removed to the Mercantile Exchange Building in downtown Baltimore. A heavy downpour pelted the people standing along the route to the Exchange. Baltimore was an enigma in many ways. A slave city in a slave state, it harbored the largest population of free Blacks in the country. A city with strong Southern sympathies, it sent as many soldiers into the Union army as made their way south to the Confederate cause. It was home to John Wilkes Booth and would become home to John Surratt. Now its people turned out by the thousands to view the president as he visited their city for the last time.
The procession made its way through the city streets in a wide loop allowing more citizens to see the great hearse carrying the president’s body. Ironically, as the procession made its way west along Baltimore Street, it passed within a half block of the old Booth home on Exeter Street. The parade took nearly three hours to complete its course, leaving only a little more than one hour for the public to view the president’s body.41 Fewer than five thousand people made it past the coffin during the short time it was placed on view. At 3:00 P.M. the coffin was closed and returned to its special car for the trip to Harrisburg. Back at the Exchange Building the disappointed crowds began demanding that the city reopen the building for the thousands who were unable to get inside. The protest became so great that the mayor and city council agreed to open the building the next day. Early the next morning thousands of Baltimoreans silently filed past the coffinless catafalque paying their respect to Lincoln’s spirit even though his corpse was now miles away.42
At 5:30 P.M. the train reached the state line, where it stopped to take on Pennsylvania governor Andrew Curtin and members of his military staff. The train
next made an unscheduled stop in the city of York fifty miles to the north of Baltimore. Six young ladies, dressed in black, were granted permission to enter the funeral coach and place a large shield made of red, white, and blue flowers on the coffin. General Townsend had granted the ladies’ request but told them that no more than six would be allowed to enter the car and the ceremony must be quick. The ladies complied and, laying their wreath of flowers on the flag-draped casket, quickly departed. Outside the coach a band played a requiem while every bell tower within sound tolled their tribute.43
The train arrived in the capital city of Harrisburg at 8:30 P.M., and the coffin was taken to the House of Representatives in the capitol building amidst a heavy downpour and the booming of minute guns.44 At 9:00 P.M. the doors were opened to the public and the long solemn procession of people once again filed by the coffin in homage. For the next three hours they came, three thousand an hour: men, women, children. At midnight the doors were closed and the undertakers moved in to “refresh” the president by touching up the black splotches that had started to appear on his face and neck. At 7:00 A.M. the doors were opened once again and the public continued to file through. The long lines had stood throughout the night waiting until morning. Few were willing to give up their place in line. At 11:15 A.M. the coffin was placed back on the hearse and the great procession began wending its way to its refuge on the special train. Newspapers reported thousands of people lined the streets along the route.45 No one had anticipated the size or fervor of the crowds. The local officials were taken completely by surprise.
From Harrisburg the train headed back east to Philadelphia. It had traveled only a third of the way when it reached the city of Lancaster. The crowds around the depot of this small town were estimated at 40,000.46 As the train approached the city it passed through a small tunnel. Standing near the entrance to the tunnel was a lone figure hunched over with both hands wrapped around the silver head of a wooden cane. The man stood motionless as the train approached and one by one the coaches slowly rolled by. As the funeral car passed the old man raised his hat a few inches off of his head where he held it suspended for no more than two seconds. The car passed and the old man lowered his hat, turned, and walked down the tracks leading away from town.47 The man was Thaddeus Stevens, an unrelenting abolitionist and radical Republican who saw little good in whatever Lincoln did. His policies were too little, too slow, and too soft. Stevens had pushed Lincoln to emancipate the slaves, and when Lincoln did, he pushed him to give the newly freed slaves the vote, as if it was within Lincoln’s power to do so. Now the old man would turn his wrath against a new president. The old one was no longer a problem.
At 4:30 P.M. the train pulled into the Broad Street Station in Philadelphia where again a hearse carried the coffin past tens of thousands of spectators. Philadelphia broke tradition with Baltimore and Washington by using five coal black horses instead of the traditional four white ones. The hearse arrived at Independence Hall at 7:00 P.M. Viewing that evening was by invitation only, with special passes being issued to the select few. Samuel C. Stuart, a police officer from the Fourth District, was one of the lucky ones. Standing on the steps of the Old Court House, where he was on duty, he was approached by a man named John Butler who handed him one of the special passes. As soon as Stuart’s tour ended he hurried over to Independence Hall where he used his pass to get inside. He convinced the doorman to let him keep the pass as a precious memento of the solemn occasion.48
All through the night the lines continued to form. By dawn’s first light they stretched over three miles extending “from the Delaware to the Schuylkill Rivers.”49 At 5:00 A.M. city officials decided to open the doors and let the people begin their passage. Estimates reached 300,000. Someone had cut one of the restraining ropes that were used to keep the line of people orderly. As hundreds pushed their way forward toward the entrance to the building the police quickly formed a long cordon and tried to push the people back. For a brief period bedlam broke out, people shoving and pushing. Eventually the situation was brought under control and the orderly process continued without any further trouble. At 1:00 A.M. the doors were swung shut and the casket placed back on the grand hearse and returned to the Broad Street Station.
Monday morning, April 24 dawned clear. At 4:00 A.M. the train left Philadelphia and headed for New York, eighty-six miles away. The stopover had taken thirty-three hours and had seen the largest gathering of people to date. At Morrisville, opposite the city of Trenton, the governor of New Jersey and his retinue boarded the train. Stopping briefly in Trenton for a half hour, the train then continued on to Newark and then Jersey City arriving at 10 A.M. From here the coffin was ferried across the Hudson River to New York. In New York a new engine with seven new cars would be supplied. Only the special funeral coach would be ferried across the river to join the new train.
As in each of the previous cities designated for ceremonies, tens of thousands of people lined the streets wherever the entourage was scheduled to pass. Along the way were various choruses and glee clubs that broke into song as the hearse passed. At Jersey City it was the Liederkrantz Society, in New York City it was a German Chorus.50 The New York Times described the city crowds as “immense” and “almost soundless, but intensely interested and deeply sympathetic.”51 All of the sidewalks, windows, roofs, lampposts, and trees were filled to capacity with onlookers. Space was at a premium. Several entrepreneurs made available the windows of their office buildings for a rental fee. The owner of 627 Broadway offered three large windows, noting that the room was carpeted and provided with easy chairs giving “every accommodation for viewing the funeral procession of our beloved President.”52 Another enterprising merchant had misjudged the demand for mourning memorabilia. J.R. Hawley ran an ad in the New York Times apologizing for being unable to meet the unprecedented demand for “mourning badges and rosettes.” Hawley was able to round up alternate material and started to fill orders on a first-come basis, cash only. Badges without pin or crepe were twenty-five cents, rosettes, and pins with likenesses were forty cents each. He sold out a second time.53
The hearse arrived at the city hall. Over its main doorway a banner carried the simple words “A Nation Mourns.”54 The coffin was taken inside and placed on a specially constructed dais. Dr. Brown, the official traveling embalmer took over, once again refreshing the president’s appearance. When Brown finished his work Mrs. Charles E. Strong, accompanied by Major General Ambrose E. Burnside, entered carrying a special arrangement of flowers on behalf of the city. The arrangement consisted of a large shield made of scarlet azaleas and double nasturtiums. On the shield was a large cross made of pure white japonica and orange blossoms. Also placed on the casket were white flowers arranged in the letters “A.L.”55
At this point, a seemingly strange event occurred. Jeremiah Gurney jr., a New York photographer, had been granted permission to photograph the body and surrounding scene. Gurney was given exclusive use of the hall for thirty minutes.56 He set up his camera at a spot several feet above the dais where the coffin rested. Gurney had intended to make a commercial venture of his unique picture but when word reached Stanton in Washington he erupted angrily, ordering all of the plates destroyed and the officers on duty at the time of the incident relieved. Brigadier General Edward D. Townsend, in charge of the arrangements, telegraphed Stanton that he was the one in charge at the time the picture was taken and therefore responsible. He asked whom he should appoint in his place when relieved. Stanton backed down, telegraphing Townsend to remain in charge until the remains were “finally interred.”57
Despite appeals from Lincoln’s guards in New York to preserve the pictures, Stanton refused. General Dix had sent a print of one of Gurney’s pictures to Stanton to convince him that the photographs were not objectionable. Stanton was adamant. The plates were apparently destroyed while the lone print made its way into the war secretary’s files, where it remained for twenty-two years. Stanton’s son Lewis discovered the print and sent it
to John Nicolay who, along with John Hay, was writing a ten-volume biography of Lincoln. Nicolay decided not to use the photograph and placed it in his own papers, which eventually made their way into the collections of the Illinois State Historical Society. The picture remained unknown to the world until 1952 when a fifteen-year-old high school student named Ronald Rietveld who was researching the Nicolay papers discovered the photograph.58 It remains one of the most haunting photographs associated with Abraham Lincoln.
At 1:00 P.M. the doors were opened to the public. New York held her place as the number one city in the nation. Over 500,000 people were waiting in line, eclipsing the record set in Philadelphia only hours before. The New York Times described Lincoln’s appearance for its readers: “The color is leaden, almost brown; the forehead recedes sharp and clearly marked; the eyes deep sunk and close held upon the socket; the cheek bones, always high, are unusually prominent; the cheeks hollowed and deep pitted, the unnaturally thin lips shut tight and firm as if glued together, and the small chin, covered with slight beard, seemed pointed and sharp.”59 The description, while unflattering, was accurate.
The New York viewing continued for twenty-five hours with only a small part of the enormous crowd able to view the body. Still, the people waited in line in hopes of seeing the coffin. At 2:00 P.M. the casket was carried on a grand hearse in a long procession that wound its way through the streets of New York to the Hudson River Railroad Depot. Numerous stereographs of the procession attest to the extent of the tribute.
Another interesting incident occurred during the New York stopover. The city council issued an order forbidding Negroes to march in the procession.60 This ruling caused a great deal of outrage among the five thousand Blacks that had made extensive preparations in anticipation of marching. Surely they, as much as anyone else, had reason to honor their fallen president. Word reached Stanton of the prohibition, and he sent a telegram to the city council and officials in charge of the body stating: “that no discrimination respecting color should be exercised in admitting persons to the funeral procession tomorrow.”61 The telegram pointed out that in the nation’s capital, a Black regiment formed part of the president’s escort. The committee scrambled to explain its action by pointing out that the request by the Black organizations to march in the procession had not met the Thursday (April 20) deadline for applications. The request was submitted on Friday, April 21.62 While the late filing was true, the Albany Times questioned the committee’s explanation, asking, “does anybody believe that the application of any organization of white men would have been refused even if made so late as Monday?”63 The city relented, but the damage had been done. Many of the Black marchers had left the city assuming they would not be allowed in the procession. By the time word reached the disbanded units, only three hundred individuals could be reached in time. Police Superintendent John Kennedy, who favored allowing Blacks to march, thought it best to assign a police escort for the Black units that remained.
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