None of them would say how soon it might come. He agreed with his associates that the end could not be far off. Sands returned to the porch, shaking his head. It fluttered with every effort to breathe. His wasted, feeble body could not bear heavier covering. The hands lay white, limp, and cold on the sheet that covered him. The General's breath came in quick gasps. Sands, who had spent the night at the hotel, joined them. They saw that the General was sinking, that he could not last long, yet the limit of his endurance could not be fixed at 7:30 o'clock. The doctor said he would inform them instantly of any change. The family took the doctor's advice and withdrew. Such had been his condition since 3 o'clock. At times he would open his eyes the vision was clear, but there was no sign that he more than barely recognized the surroundings. When attendants touched his hands, stroked his forehead, or moistened his lips he did not heed them. The members of the family had gone to their rooms about 7 o'clock on the advice of Dr. The rays of the morning sun fell across the cottage porch upon a family waiting only for death. They did not care to risk annoyance to him by grouping about him before it became necessary. ![]() Grant sat by the General the other members of the family kept either in the other parts of the room or on the porch, almost within whispering call. It has reminded me over and over again to-night of the death mask of Peter the Great." The head has not been seen to advantage in his sick chair, but now that he is recumbent it stands boldly out in the wreck of body. The broad forehead is as fine and commanding as ever. As he is going, there is a change apparent in everything except his head. She says little and bears up wonderfully. When she speaks to him he opens his eyes. All was failing except the brain, which would be the last to die, the Pastor said. Newman left the cottage for a few moments, came word of rapid sinking, of the death rattle, of cold extremities, and of the discoloration of the finger nails. He Breathed his heart lives his lungs live his brain lives and that is about all."Īt 5 o'clock, when Dr. "He is conscious," the Doctor said "that is, he has not lost his power of recognition. Douglas walked to the hill top after he had looked at the General. Sands, considering himself of no use in the case, had gone quietly to bed at the hotel early in the evening, and was not disturbed.ĭr. Douglas, who had been resting a little at the cottage, joined Dr. His lungs and pulse were failing, but there was yet no cloud on the brain.Īt about 4 o'clock Dr. He could make no other recognition, but that of the eyes was clear. Power to open them had been restored to him, and it was occasionally invoked when some member of the family, or the doctor, or one of the attendants spoke to him. The General lay on the bed, his face leaden, yet with some warmth left in its hue. They moved quietly about the sick room and out on the porch. It was not kept from them that he was beyond saving. ![]() The family had all been near the General through the night. It was soon evident that the General was too far gone to be aided by stimulants. Shrady, in the hope of easing, rather than of sustaining the General, as he was past that, have been giving hypodermics of brandy with great frequency, and applying hot cloths and mustard to various parts of the body, especially the hands and feet, which were growing very cold. It was about 4 o'clock when the rattle in the throat began. He coughed somewhat after midnight, and was able with the doctor's aid to dislodge the mucus and throw it off, but from about 3 o'clock he could neither dislodge it or expectorate, and it began to clog his throat and settle back into his lungs. It was quick during the evening, 44 at midnight, 50 at 3 o'clock, and 60 at 5 o'clock. But when the respiration grew rapid and weak all his powers that depended upon it failed him. Before that it had been little more than an aspiration at any time of the night, and then only answers to inquiries. The General did not speak even in a whisper after 3 o'clock this morning. There was serious failure at 9 o'clock and at midnight, but not at 4 o'clock, and as day came, bringing but slight change, the hope was that he might last until midday. It was expected at 9 o'clock, again at about midnight, and again neat 4 o'clock. There seemed no hope that death could be held off through the night. All night had the family been on watch, part of the time in the parlor, where he lay, rarely venturing further away from him than the porch on which the parlor opens. The end came with so little immediate notice as to be in the nature of a surprise. Grant passed from life at six minutes after eight o'clock this morning. Surrounded by all of his family and with no sign of pain, Gen.
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