The Century illustrated monthly magazine . body was placed upon it, and two hours after Booths death I was on the way back toBelle Plain, where I had left the steamboat. I had released Rollins and sent him aheadto have his ferry-boat ready to take us acrossthe river. About 6 p. m. I reached the boat,and found the captain preparing to return toWashington. We reached Washington at 2A. M., April 27. I placed the body of Boothand the prisoner Herold on board the monitorMontauk, after which I marched my worn-outcommand up through the navy yard to theirquarters. The next morning an autops
The Century illustrated monthly magazine . body was placed upon it, and two hours after Booths death I was on the way back toBelle Plain, where I had left the steamboat. I had released Rollins and sent him aheadto have his ferry-boat ready to take us acrossthe river. About 6 p. m. I reached the boat,and found the captain preparing to return toWashington. We reached Washington at 2A. M., April 27. I placed the body of Boothand the prisoner Herold on board the monitorMontauk, after which I marched my worn-outcommand up through the navy yard to theirquarters. The next morning an autopsy was held, andmeasures were taken to identify the body ofBooth. The portion of the neck and headthrough which the bullet had passed was cutout, and is to-day preserved in the NationalMuseum of Anatomy at Washington. The bodywas buried in a cell in the Penitentiarj^, whereit remained nearly four years, ^\•ith the bodiesof the other assassins. It was then given tohis friends, and now lies in a cemetery in Bal-timore, Edward P. THE WINTER FIELDS. WINDS here, and sleet, and frost that bites like low, bleak hill rounds under the low sky. Naked of flock and fold the fallows lie. Thin-streaked with meager drift. The gusts revealBy fits the dim, gray snakes of fence that steal Through the white dusk. The hill-foot poplars sigh. While storm and death with winter trample by; And the iron fields ring sharp, and blind hghts , in the lonely ridges, wrenched with pain, Harsh, solitary hillocks, bound and dumb. Grave glebes, close-lipped beneath the scourge and chain,Lurks hid the germ of ecstasv, the sum Of life that waits on summer, till the rain Whisper in April and the crocus come. Charles G. D. Roberts, SANCHO MITARRA.
Size: 2946px × 849px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauthornicolayj, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookyear1890
