Still, it
was long before he would believe her dead, and when there could no
longer be any doubt, and they were preparing a table upon which to lay
her out, he cried, with a choking voice:
"Spread four blankets upon it; for if she does come to she will lie so
hard upon the table."
All night long he sat in the room, occasionally looking into her face,
and feeling if there was any pulsation in her heart. The next morning
when one of his friends arrived, just before daylight, he was nearly
speechless and utterly unconsolable, looking twenty years older.
There was no banquet that day in Nashville. On the morning of the
funeral, the grounds were crowded with people, who saw, with emotion,
the poor old general supported to the grave between two of his old
friends, scarcely able to stand. The remains were interred in the garden
of the Hermitage, in a tomb which the general had recently completed.
The tablet which covers her dust contains the following inscription:
"Here lie the remains of Mrs. Rachel Jackson, wife of President Jackson,
who died the 22nd of December, 1828, aged 61. Her face was fair, her
person pleasing, her temper amiable, her heart kind; she delighted in
relieving the wants of her fellow-creatures, and cultivated that divine
pleasure by the most liberal and unpretending methods; to the poor she
was a benefactor; to the rich an example; to the wretched a comforter;
to the prosperous an ornament; her piety went hand in hand with her
benevolence, and she thanked her Creator for being permitted to do good.
Pages:
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499