George Saunders: Lincoln in the Bardo

Craughwell, op. cit.

Extravagant claims were made of the Sagnet process, stating that the remains became a “shell in effigy; a sculpture.”

“Lincoln Lore,” op. cit.

A trestle table was assembled in place for the procedure. The carpets in the Green Room were rolled back and the flooring protected by use of a large square of tenting fabric.

In “The Doctor’s Assistant: Memoirs of D. Root,” by Donovan G. Root, M.D.

The procedure did not require draining the body of the blood. The boy was undressed and an incision made in the left thigh. The zinc chloride was pumped in using a small-diameter metal pump. No unusual difficulties were encountered. The entry point required a small suture and the boy was re-dressed.

Wedge and Wedge, op. cit.

The mother being distraught, the burial clothes had been selected by the father and sent down to us in an oversized hat-box.

Root, op. cit.

Willie was attired in the usual type of clothing worn for everyday. It consisted of pants, jacket, white stockings, and low-cut shoes. The white shirt collar was turned down over the jacket, and the cuffs were turned back over the sleeves.

In “Abraham Lincoln: From Skeptic to Prophet,” by Wayne C. Temple, quoting “Illinois State Journal,” July 7, 1871.

We had all of us of the household many times seen that little gray suit on the living boy.

Hilyard, op. cit., account of D. Strumphort, butler.

Little Willie, pathetically wasted, was dressed in one of his old brown suits, white socks, and low-cut shoes, like an ill-used marionette.

Epstein, op. cit.

He lay with eyes closed — his brown hair parted as we had known it — pale in the slumber of death; but otherwise unchanged, for he was dressed as if for the evening, and held in one of his hands, crossed upon his breast, a bunch of exquisite flowers.

Willis, op. cit.

The President came in for a look — only too early. The trestle table was still up. Jenkins was just gathering up the tarp. The tools of our craft were yet visible in the open box. The pump still gurgled. I was sorry for this. It impeded upon the desired effect. The President blanched noticeably, thanked us, quickly left the room.

Root, op. cit.

The boy sat stock-still, eyes very wide indeed.

roger bevins iii

They buried Willie Lincoln on a day of great wind, that tore the roofs off houses and slashed the flags to ribbons.

Leech, op. cit.

In the procession to Oak Hill Cemetery in Georgetown two white horses drew the hearse bearing the little boy who had known only happiness. But black horses drew the carriage in which sat the worn and grief-stricken President.

Randall, op. cit.

The gale blew the roofs off tall houses, shattered glass windows, leveled fields of military tents, turned muddy streets into canals and canals into rapids. Gusts of wind destroyed several churches and many shacks, uprooted trees, blew out the skylights of the Library of Congress; waves inundated the Long Bridge over the Potomac to Alexandria.

Epstein, op. cit.

The father drove, unseeing, through the wreckage.

Leech, op. cit.

The carriages of the funeral procession stretched for so many blocks that they took a long time to wind their way up to the heights of Georgetown and to the beautiful Oak Hill Cemetery with its crown of oak trees.

Kunhardt and Kunhardt, op. cit.

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.

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