Page:McClure's Magazine v9 n3 to v10 no2.djvu/504

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THE DEATH OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.

A Personal Recollection by General John M. Thayer.

PASSING the winter in Washington in 1848, I was a daily attendant upon either the Senate or the House. The object to which my eyes instinctively turned on entering the House was the form of the ex-President, John Quincy Adams. And so it was with all strangers. Their first question was, "Which is John Quincy Adams?" He lived in his own house on F Street, directly opposite the Ebbitt House. The house is now used for stores and offices, I frequently saw him walking along F Street on pleasant days, on his way to the Capitol, and I noticed that whoever met him, whether an acquaintance or not, lifted his hat to him as he passed.

The House met in the hall now used for statuary. The Whigs occupied the space on the right of the main aisle, as the Republicans do in the present hall; and the Democrats occupied the space on the left, as they do now. The desk of Mr. Adams was a little to the right of the center of the Whig side of the house. I entered the chamber a couple of hours after the session began on Monday, February 21, 1848, and stood back of the outside row of seats, looking directly at the ex-President. The subject before the House was a resolution granting medals to some officers in the Mexican War. The resolution had been read, the previous question was ordered, and on that vote Mr. Adams answered to his name in a clear, distinct voice. The Speaker arose, and was about to put the question, "Shall the bill pass?" when to his left there was a quick, sudden movement, a stifled exclamation, and the members nearest to Mr. Adams rushed toward him. I saw him rising, as I supposed to address the Speaker, and I think he uttered the words "Mr. Speaker;" then he staggered and fell back over the left arm of his chair. He would have fallen to the floor if the member sitting nearest to him had not caught and held him up. He had been seized with paralysis. He was immediately laid upon a sofa and carried into the area in front of the Speaker's desk.

Intense excitement at once pervaded the hall. The Speaker, the Hon. R. C. Winthrop, suggested that some member move for an adjournment, which was done. Members sitting in the outside row of seats did not realize what had occurred till the words passed from mouth to mouth, "Mr. Adams is dying." Then an awful solemnity settled down over the whole assemblage. Members walked noiselessly from desk to desk, and gathered in little groups, talking of what had just befallen. It was frequently remarked that this was just the way the ex-President would have desired to die.

A member who was a physician now had him removed to the rotunda. He lay there for a short time, and then was borne just through the eastern door, that he might have fresh air. But it being too chilly there, he was removed to the Speaker's room, from which he never emerged till he was borne away in his casket.

The news that Mr. Adams had been stricken was communicated to the Senate through Senator Benton, who immediately moved an adjournment, observing that the Senate could not be in a condition to transact business while such a solemn scene was transpiring in the other wing of the Capitol. Mrs. Adams was notified, and with her nephew hastened to her husband's bedside. He had left her but a few hours previously, in apparent good health. He did not recognize her or anyone in attendance, and he continued unconscious, except for a moment, till the end came.

The next day, in the House, the Speaker announced the continued illness of the ex-President, and Mr. Burt of South Carolina moved an adjournment. The Senate also adjourned, and adjournments followed in both houses on the third day.

While sitting at her husband's bedside on Tuesday, Mrs. Adams was taken suddenly ill and fainted, and was carried to her residence. Once Mr. Adams partially recovered consciousness, and feebly uttered the words, now historic: "It is the end of earth; I am content." He expired on Wednesday evening, about an hour after sunset. He had been for nearly sixty years in the public service; had passed a large portion of his life in the glare of thrones and the splendors of