Scenes

At McKinley’s Funeral.
——
A Marysville Citizen Tells of Impressions That Will Never Be Effaced.

     Canton, made historic by the life and death of William McKinley is a city of about thirty thousand inhabitants. It will never look more sombre and pitiful than it did last Thursday. Nightly black hung almost every where [sic] and an atmostphere [sic] of bereavement and even agony seemed to hover over the city. The clouds above were black, too. From the moment the body of the dear President was started on its last journey for the home he loved, and where he hoped to spend his latter years, not a ray of sunshine pierced the gloom. And it was most fitting so, for sunshine would have seemed a mockery in that sad hour.
     There have been gathered larger crowds, but never I think so large a crowd of heart broken [sic] people. “It is too bad! It is too bad!” was the most common expression among the one hundred thousand people that stood with uncovered heads while the funeral car drawn by six black horses, passed by. But most of the great mulitude [sic] spoke not a word and the silence was oppressive. The drums were muffled and the bands were notably silent. Occasional strains of “Nearer My God to Thee,” “How Firm a Foundation,” “Lead Kindly Light,” and “Onward Christian Soldiers” and other favorites of the dead President were wafted in modulated tones on the chilly air, but most of the march to the cemetery was made in a silence unknown to large assemblies.
     Perhaps the Government was never before so fully represented at a funeral. The navy officers in their rich full uniform trimmed in gold cord attracted the most attention, after President Roosevelt. Admiral Dewey could be designated by his pictures by almost every body [sic]. General Miles was easily pointed out a picture of stately military bearing. Senator Hanna’s sad face was the most familiar one among the Senators and General Grosvenor among the Congressmen. Hundreds of closed carriages drawn by the best teams of Northern Ohio, conveyed the distinguished friends and officials.
     But to my mind no part of the solemn parade attracted the universal attention and sympathy of the vast throng as did the unsteady, limping battalion of old soldiers, who marched as an escort of honor, with bowed and uncovered heads. There were about five hundred of them, some of them members of the President’s regiment and all his comrades forty years ago. It was a sad, impressive sight and the march was too long for them, but their determination to make the last march with their ideal soldier President and Comrade nerved their strength and not one dropped out of the ranks.
     The National guard [sic] under the command of Major General Charles Dick honored themselves and the state by their splendid deportment and service. It would certainly have been impossible to fittingly hold the funeral service had it not been for the responsible and untiring work of the military. They formed a line of guards from the family residence to the cemetery on both sides of the streets, standing like statuary in blue, and Union county [sic] may well feel proud of Capt. E. W. Porter’s Co. E. of Marysville for no company discharged the sacred duty with more honor. Troop A. of Cleveland, the finest equipped cavalry company I ever saw, had the post of honor as escort to President Roosevelt. Gen. Dick and staff were nicely mounted and marched at the head of a detachment of his old regiment the 8th and part of other regiments, among them a company or two of colored troups [sic] which show splendid military bearing.
     Many civic organizations marched but the white plumes of the stately Knights Templar and the neat uniforms of the Uniform rank K. of P. were the most noticible [sic]. It was dusk when the last of the procession passed through the cemetery.
     The vault where the remains were left guarded by a detail from the regular Army is built in a knoll in West Lawn Cemetery and here the immense offerings of flowers were placed on the grass up the incline on each side of the tomb, with most beautiful effect. The scene when the body was borne on the shoulders of the marines and placed for a few moments in front of the vault, surrounded by President Roosevelt and the great retinue of Government representatives, with uncovered and bowed heads, will long be remembered. The short impressive closing service of the Methodist ritual was rendered and the canons near by [sic], in place of the usual three volleys, fired three rounds—the honors of war—and a band of buglers took up that sad refrain of “Lights out,” and although I have heard it a thousand times it impressed me, and I think every other listener, as it had never before. And this ended the last sad rites.
     There were several arches trimmed in midnight darkness, across the principal streets. The one I noticed most was the one erected by the school children of Canton in front of their large school building. At the top of the arch was a fine painting of President McKinley beautifully decorated. On each side was painted a cross on which rested a crown. On the left hand column was printed the short sweet words, “He Loved Us” and across on the other column, “We Loved Him.” A volumn [sic] could not tell the story better. In all the beautiful tributes paid to the great soldier, citizen, statesmen [sic], President this, to me, was the most touchingly eloquent. And there by their arch, on raised seats on the school house [sic] grounds, sat the children by the thousands watching their dear friend pass by for the last time.