was heard, but for the most part a dead
silence, or a deep, ominous muttering ran like a rising wave up the
street toward Broadway, and again down toward the river on the right. At
length the batons of the police were seen swinging in the air, far up on
the left, parting the crowd, and pressing it back to make way for a
carriage that moved slowly, and with difficult jags through the compact
multitude, and the cry of 'Butler!' 'Butler!' rang out with tremendous
and thrilling effect, and was taken up by the people.

"But not a hurrah! Not one! It was the cry of a great people asking to
know how their President died. The blood bounced in our veins, and the
tears ran like streams down our faces. How it was done I forget, but
Butler was pulled through, and pulled up, and entered the room where we
had just walked back to meet him. A broad crape, a yard long, hung from
his left arm--terrible contrast with the countless flags that were
waving the nation's victory in the breeze. We first realized then the
sad news that Lincoln was dead. When Butler entered the room we shook
hands. Some spoke, some could not; all were in tears. The only word
Butler had for us all, at the first break of the silence was,
'_Gentleman, he died in the fullness of his fame_!' and as he spoke it
his lips quivered, and the tears ran fast down his cheeks.

"Then, after a few moments, came the speaking. And you can imagine the
effect, as the crape fluttered in the wind while his arm was uplifted.
Dickinson, of New York State, was fairly wild. The old man leaped over
the iron railing of the balcony and stood on the very edge, overhanging
the crowd, gesticulating in the most vehement manner, and almost bidding
the crowd 'burn up the rebel, seed, root, and branch,' while a bystander
held on to his coat-tail to keep him from falling over.

"By this time the wave of popular indignation had swelled to its crest.
Two men lay bleeding on one of the side streets, the one dead, the other
next to dying; one on the pavement, the other in the gutter. They had
said a moment before that 'Lincoln ought to have been shot long ago!'
They were not allowed to say it again. Soon two long pieces of scantling
stood out above the heads of the crowd, crossed at the top like the
letter X, and a looped halter pendant from the junction, a dozen men
following its slow motion through the masses, while 'Vengeance' was the
cry.

"On the right suddenly the shout arose, '_The World!_'