An ambulance was hastily called. The White House was notified. Harry, his eldest son, rushed to the station and very gently the wounded man was placed on a mattress and carefully lifted into the ambulance, his son beside him. The President whispered: “Rockwell, I want you to send a message to Crete. Tell her I am seriously hurt, how seriously I cannot yet say. I am myself, and hope she will come to me soon. I send my love to her.” Preceded by three mounted policemen and followed by others to keep the crowd back, the wounded President was borne to the White House. Such wild confusion as ensued can better be imagined than described. Like wildfire the news spread over the city, and soon the wires were flashing their terrible story to every city and town. Once again the nation was plunged into horror and grief over the fate that had befallen its head. Then followed days and weeks of prayerful anxiety among the watchers at the bedside and the people of the nation. General Corbin, assistant adjutant general, had immediately provided a special train for Mrs. Garfield and Mollie. They returned to the White House as fast as the train could bring them, living through such agony and apprehension as can be appreciated only by those who have been confronted with a similar experience. To her great relief, Mrs. Garfield found her husband alive and able to talk with her, though suffering intensely. Hopes ran high for his recovery because of his splendid health and strength, but soon it was apparent to the most optimistic that he would not recover. Physicians conferred and disagreed over the case and its diagnosis and treatment. Great authorities were consulted, but none could make a suggestion that brought relief, and the suffering man slipped farther down into the valley of the shadow. Into the minds of all watchers soon came the conviction that life was just a matter of days. He expressed a desire to be taken where he could see the ocean, and elaborate preparations were made to insure a journey to Elberon, N. J., as comfortable for the sufferer as possible. Accordingly, on September 6th, a mattress was placed on an express wagon, and the trip to the station was made between daybreak and sunrise. In order to avoid driving over the cobblestones, the railroad put a little stretch of track from the station down to Pennsylvania Avenue and ran a car throughout its length, so that the invalid might be lifted directly from his mattress in the express wagon into the car. But even the sight of the sea did not benefit him, and while every comfort was provided for him at the cottage of O. G. Francklyn, he steadily failed. He died on September 19, 1881.