No words can describe the tragedy which stalked at the Hermitage during her illness. The General would not leave her side. The servants stood about in stricken silence, with the exception of old Hannah, who nursed her, and the few who were allowed to perform little duties to assist her. Friends and relatives gathered—and on the late afternoon of the twenty-second her condition seemed greatly improved. She had persuaded General Jackson to lie down on a sofa in the next room in order that he might be rested for the coming celebration—which, she insisted, he must attend. He obeyed and Mrs. Jackson was removed from her bed that it might be prepared for the night. As she sat in a chair, supported by the arms of the faithful Hannah, she suddenly uttered a cry and her head fell forward.... The General rushed to her and for a time, neither he nor his stricken household would believe that she was dead. At his command they placed her upon a table, the physician made an effort to bleed her, and they worked with her for hours before the desperate old man could understand that there was no hope. All night he remained by her side. Early on the morning of the twenty-third the citizens of Nashville were informed of her death. It was ordered that on the following day, from one until two o’clock, the hour set for her funeral, that the church bells be tolled. The scene was rapidly changed from one of festivity to deep mourning, and on the next day the road was crowded with people on their way to the Hermitage to pay their last respects to a sainted woman. The Reverend William Hume preached her funeral sermon. A gentleman from Philadelphia who was present wrote to a relative: “Such a scene I never wish to witness again. The poor old gentleman was supported to the grave by General Coffee and Major Rutledge. I never pitied any person more in my life. The road to the Hermitage was almost impassable, and an immense number of persons attended the funeral. The remains were interred in the lower part of the garden. I never before saw so much affliction among the servants in the death of a mistress. Some seemed completely stupified by the event; others wrung their hands and shrieked aloud. The woman who had waited on Mrs. Jackson had to be carried from the ground....” The funeral service was, in fact, delayed because she had thrown herself upon her mistress’ grave and refused to move. General Jackson would not allow her to be torn away by force, but waited patiently until her associates could persuade her to allow them to remove her. So ended all thoughts of victory for Andrew Jackson. All that had made victory sweet, all that had made life worth while, had passed away. The only thing to which the broken old man looked forward was his return to their beloved Hermitage. His body, his mind, and his indomitable will he carried to Washington—but his heart he left buried with Rachel in their garden.