Newspaper Page Text
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THE WEEKLY CONSTITUTION, TUESDAY, AUGUST 22, 1882.
gratae and the sentiment was with the dlsunionlsts:
and they turned the argument by claiming that
bettert'lroscould be made onto! the union than
in it, and the union more surely preserved by a
new parliamenlofsovertignstates. After a prolong*
ed debate, in which Mr. Hill surpassed even ex
pectation, the ordnance was ordered by a vote of
166 to 130. When the ordinance itself came be
fore the convention, Mr. Hill voted for
it. He has been criticized for this, but
it was a wise and patriotic action. He saw that it
was impossible to prevent the state from seceding.
It was then essential that every Georgian should
acquiesce and stand by his state. His action was
more admirable than that of those who remained
croakers and obstructionists through the whole of
the heroic struggle In which our people were cn
gaged.
When Georgia wasfalrly committed to revolution,
she had no son more courageous or more devoted
than Mr. Hill. It was a high tribute to bis charac
ter and indicative of the confidence of his people,
that the first legislature after secession elected him
Confederate senator on the first ballot over Toombs,
Jackson and Iverson, who had led the secessionists,
and Johnson and Lew, who had stood with him for
the union. Mr. Toombs being elected for the short
terra over the rest after four ballots, declined
an honor that had come to him
so grudgingly and had been already
so spontaneously offered to the eloquent young
unionist. In the confederate senate Mr Hill,
though the youngest man, soon became the leader,
and was the right arm of Davis in the government.
He never wavered or doubted. With unquailing
courage and unquestioning loyalty he stood by the
issue he had advised against making, and was ODe
of the most heroic figures hi the revolution fought
against his judgment.
During the reconstruction period Mr Hill shone
resplendent. Neyer did the man and the occasion
meet more thoroughly. An alien governor had
usurped the executive functions of tho state. Mili
tary satraps held a sway as absolute as it was iirre
sponsible—liayoneta were used to awe and gold to
purchase submission to wrongs most mon
strous and wanton—threats of impris
onment and confiscation were openly
made—the civil law was dethroned, tho liberties of
men and the functions ol government depended on
the caprice of soldiers inflamed with passion and
drunk with new authority. Our people, stunned
with defeat, moved amid the ashes of their homes,
bewildered and uncertain as to what farther resist
ance was demanded at their hands against the pol
icy of reconstruction. At this juncture, Ben Hill
appeared. His voice rang like a trumpet through
the state, yet murky with the smoke of battle, as he
called on Georgians to rally once more and defend
with the ballot the liberties they had lost by the
sword. The enthusiasm with which his appeals
were received is indescribable. He made a speech
at Davis Hall that no man who heard will ever for
get. The hall was Insufficiently lighted, anl the
pallor of men’s faces in the pit almost put
to shame the lamps that flickered
here and there. Mr. • Hill appeared
/ in a fall dress suit of black. Uls superb figure
showed to best advantage, bis gray eyes flash, and
Ms face palld into dead white with earnestness.
Just before he began, the federal generals. In full
uniform, with glittering staff officers, entered the
hall. They marched to the front—their showy uni
forms and flushed faces making sharp'contrast with
the ill-dressed crowd of rebels through which they
pushed their way, and sat in plain censorship over
the orator and his utterance. With incomparable
unconcern Mr. Hill arose. The threatening pres
ence of the soldiers—the jails that yawned behind
them—the dangers that their slightest nod would
bring—had no effect on him. Without hesitation
he launched his denunciations on their heads and
on the power they represented. For two
hours he sfloko as mortal man seldom spoke
before, and when he had done, Georgia was
cate of his election. His canvas of the state dnr- At length Dr. Bidley advised Mr. Hill that whether j they relied on—eould have stood the shock and
ing that campaign was a memorable one. He was the sore was an. ulcer or cancer it had assumed a j pain consequent upon the cutting, he would hive
inspired by the kindlingenthusiasm with which bis threatening shape, and urged that he at once go to ; emerged fron\.that terrible ordeals mud and cured,
words were received, and felt that by his eloquence a surgeon. Mr. Hill reported this advice to Dr. But it failed' The wound never healed. The
and power he was melting the coolness that Bayard who still insisted that the disease was not cancerous talut ate its way from behind the reach
had existed between him and his people and was cancer, and that it would be cared without resort j of the knife to the front once more. The patient
answering the criticism of his enemies I to the knife. The senator urged that it was affect- | for weeks unable to open his month or take solid
in the best possible way. He always I ing his general health, and after some farther dls- ] rood, wasted away. The constant and racking
contended that the Greeley movement was the most enssion notified.Dr. Bayard flatly that he had de- pain, that never gave him one instant of relief.
benifleeut episide of post helium politics in the
south notwithstanding its apparently disastrous
failure. He held that It broke the crust of sec
tional prejudice and let in the sunlight to the
hearts of the people north and south. From 1872,
termined to take decisive steps with the disease.
Dr. Bayard reiterated his former opinion, but of
coarse could offer no further objection.
Mr. Hill then went to New York for -the purpose
of consulting Dr. J. R. Wood. He had beenad-
to 1874, he was comparatively quiet. In 1874, he vised by Dr ' Walsh and some other surgeon of
was a candidate for the congressional nomination I Washington that his trouble was probably cancer
in the 9th district, but was defeated by Garnett and that he should consult Dr. Wood. While on
McMillen, one of the most brilliant young men the I his way to Dr. Wood’s office he passed the office of
state ever produced. It was held against Mr. Hill Dr. Lewis Sayre & Son and went in. These gentie-
that he did not live in the 9th district, but that his men examined his tongue and pronounced it proba-
home was in Atlanta, as was shown by a statement bly epithelioma. They proposed that if he wished
of his son daring the Greeley campaign, when I they it would summon some professional friends
his residence was questioned. He was also a can- I and have a microscopic examination of the dis-
didate for the senate against General Gordon and I charge made. Upon learning that he intended to
Mr. Stephens, but he had not yet recovered his full consult Dr. Gros3 finally, they advised him to go at
power over the people, and wos’defeated. General I once, as Dr. Gross stood at the head
Gordon beating him quite badly and | of the profession. With an anx-
beating Mr. Stephens by a small
vote. The • Hon. Garnett McMillan died
before he entered congress, and an election was or
dered for Ids vacancy. Mr. Hill was again a candi
date for this place being opposed by the Hon. H.
P. Bell. The convention was called to order and
the balloting opened with Mr. Bell slightly ahead.
Mr. Hill’s friends insisted on the two-thirds rule
and it was made the order of the convention, and
Mr. Bell was unable to secure the requisite ma
jority. Afttr eight days ineffectual balloting Mr.
Hill issued an address to the people declaring him
self a candidate, and claiming that his delegates in
the convention represented a majority of the demo
cratic voters of the district Mr. Bell declined to
make the race a gainst him, and Mr. J, B. Estes
was nominated by the Bell wing of
the convention. Mr. Hill entered the district and
made a canvass unprecedented in its earnestness
and eloquence. This was all that his friends
wanted—that he should get before the people and
iety that may be imagined the senator went Id
Philadelphia. Dr. Gross was at Cape May. Tak
ing the first train Mr. Hill sought him at the sea
side. Upon ascertaining what was wanted the
doctor took the senator to a private room.
THE TRUTH FIRST ANNOUNCED. '
This was on July 19th, 1881.
After a full examination Dr. Gross sat down and
said with great deliberation:
“Senator, do you wish me to tell you exactly
what is the matter with you?”
“I do.”
“Well, sir, you have cancer of the tongue.”
“What is the remedy?” •
“There is only oue.”
“And that is?”
“The knife.”
Right here I wish to incorporate one thing Dr.
Willis\Vestmoreland told me six months ago. He
said:
“When I first saw Mr. Hill’s tongue it could have
been cured by the simplest sort of operation. Tne
once more on her feet yid Georgians were organ-
ized for the protests of ’68 and the victories of ’70. nts
About this time Mr. Hill wrote the series of papers
called “Notes on The Situation,” that in my opin
ion stand alone as the prnfoundcst and most elo
quent political essays ever penned by an American.
They were accepted as the voice of the south, utter
ing her protest and her plea, and as such were dis-_,
cussed no less on the streets of London and the
boulevards of Paris than in the cities of the north.
Even now they stir the blood and kindle the pulses
of the most phlegmatic reader, but this is but a hint
of the sensation they produced when they were
printed. IlacfMr. Hill never spoken one speech
his “Notes on The Situation” would have stamped
him as one of the greatest men Georgia ever pro
duced.
The only political period of Mr. Hill’s life that
met with serious criticism was that which opened
with his unexpected appearance at a banquet
given to Hon. Columbus Dclanp and
presided over by Governor Bnliock. It
was claimed by his enemies that he wos'associatlng
with the enemies of his state for selfish purposes.
Nothing was further from the truth. It happened
that about two years ago, at a banquet to General
3ordon, I sat jnst opposite Mr. Hill. Governor Bul
lock, one of the invited guests, sat next to Major
-rane at the head of the table. Mr. Hill sud-
icnly said to me: "This scene recalls a very
important night in my life—that of the Delano ban
quet. By a strange coincidence the tables arc ar
ranged precisely as they were on that - night. I am
sitting exactly where I sat on that night, and Gov
ernor Bullock occupies precisely the same seat. I
have been thinking of that affair while sitting here
and after the lapse of more than ten years I am pre
pared to say that it was the most patriotic land
bravest act of my life. If I had the power to judge
myself as a patriot and a man by one single act of
my life, I would take that night as the measure of
my aspiration,”
“Yon believed it necessary to conciliate the re
publican administration then?”
•Yes, sir. I knew then, and we all know now
that a plan had been determined on that
wonld put the states again under ^military
rule and that would re-enact the horrors and dis
turbances of rsconstruction. I felt that it was ab
solutely necessary for the prosperity of the state and
the safety of the people that this should be pre
vented. I felt that if the struggle between the races
was renewed under even more irritating circum
stances than those through which we had already
passed, there would be the most horrible results. I
believed that if I could get the ear olthe gentlemen
who visited Atlanta t Anight and could giye (hem
candidly and forcibly the real status of affairs, I
could prevent the carrying out of the programme of
force and oppression and secure for the state the
right to work out its problem in a legitimatetway
unawed by bayonets and undisturbed ?>y military
force. I felt in my own heart that there was but
one way to get an audience of
those men and that was to meet them
on that sxlal occasion. I went there and made
such a speech as I thought would meet the case,
speaking from the depths of a patriotic heart. I was
lalisfied then and I know now that I saved the state
by that night's work. I have said that it was a
brave act because it required bravery to face the
prejudices of that period and to challenge the crit
icism I knew my conduct would provoke. My
duty, however, was plain to me, and I did not
shrink from it. I have outlived the storm that fol
lowed that night, but never, even when it was at it.
height, did I regret for one moment the course 1
had taken, and to-night, reviewing the whole case
under these Ipecu’ar circumstances, I say to you
that I had rather see any single thing that I ever
did blotted ont of my Ufe than that night’s work.'
The criticism that followed the speech made by
Mr. Hill on that night was severe and unsparing.
For a while it kept him out. of political life
and made him many bitter enemies. He resented
the suspicion with which his action was viewed
and instead of making explanations or conciliat
ing those who differed with him he answered
assault with counter assanl, and stood by
Ms action. The consequence was that he was es
tranged from the leaders of his people for a year or
two. In 1872 he was an earnest advocate of the
nomination of Greeley and a most eloquent advo-
let them understand fully his power. The result was .
his overwhelming election and his entrance into I cd,1<;er was not one-fourth as b.g as a small pea.
active national politics, from which those who ««« c’lipping of the tongue would have removed
knew him predicted that he would never be dl all traces of it. I was not then perfectly sure that
voreed except by death. In congress he made a “ I *ould have subjected it to a
brilliant record, standing against the assaults of his | I'll
section and against the enemies of constitutional
government, 'fthlle he was southern in all his sen
timents, he was national in all his aspirations, lov
ing the union and believing that the constitution
furnished the basis of the grandest government
that man ever saw. He always maintained
the rights of the south in that union,
and held that it must be a union of coequal states
and not of provinces pinned together by bayo
nets. His two years in congress created the greatest
enthusiasm throughout the southern states, while
lovers of constitutional government all over the
nuion felt that a new leader had risen to doi battle
against the tendeucy to centralization. At the close
of his term he was elected without serious opposi
tion, and in 1877, while occuplng his seat in the
house, was elected to the United States senate over
Hon. Thomas M. Norwood, who had held the seat
for six years, and Governor James M. Smith. The
contest in which he won this prize was a hotly con
tested one. On tiro first day’s balloting Mr. Nor
wood lacked but three votes of carrying both
houses and of securing his re-election. On the
second day Mr. Hill gained, while Mr. Norwood
lost slightly. On the third day Mr. Hill was nomi
nated amid the highest enthusiasm ever seen in
the state capitol. From that time forward Mr. Hill’s
life is fresh in the memory of the people,
ived until the next legislature assembled,
lid have been elected without opposition to
position beheld at the time of his death,
often said to me that the highest point of
ambition was to represent the state of Georgia
in the United States senate, and this point he had
reached, and at this point he was secure for the rest
of his life. The late years of his senatorial, service
were characterized by fierce and eloquent assaults
upon the spirit of political de
bauchcry that. beginning with Mahone-
ism in Virginia and ' backed by the Arthur
administration, threatened to divide the south, re
new the war of races and put the negroes once
more in virtual control of the state government by
giving them the balance of power between two con
tending factions of whites. One of his chief regrets
in having to die when he did was that he had left
unfinished the crusade that he had begun against
this unholy alliance. While sick in Washington
awaiting the throat operation, he had written
speech reviewing the whole southern question, and
giving special attention to affairs in Georgia and
Virginia, which he said was the grandest speech
that he had ever prepared. It was his ambition to
live to deliver this speech in the Unite! States sen
the state ct
* 11
v
Had I dreamed its true character would not have
beeu ascertained in nearly a year, Mr. Hill would
never have left inyoffios till I had removed it.
heard in about ten days that it had yielded to as
tringents, and was astounded to hear a month or so
afterward that it was still troubling Mr. Hill, and
being treated as a benign ulcer, t then urged his
friends to have him consult a surgeon at once.
From the moment of the first operation I have
never had the slightest hope of his recovery.”
■To return to the scene of July 19th. When Sen
ator Hill understood the situation, he insisted that
the knife should be used at once. He was informed
that the operation must be a heroic oue, and that
he might die while it was being performed. He
still insisted that no time should be lost. Dr. Gross
then agreed to return to Philadelphia on the en
suing day, and designated Jefferson hospital as the
best place for the operation on account of its supe
rior light and facilities. The senator was entirely
alone. He toid me of the agony he endured
the night before the operation. He never
closed his eyes. His whole life, with its
bitter struggles, its splendid present, and the pos
sibilities of his future, came in ' review
before him. He said that as he thought of his
vigor, his abounding health and strength,
seemed impossible that he should be doomed to
e#riy and irrevocable death, ne wrotealetter to his
son-in law, Dr. Ridley, announcing the decision of
Dr. Gross. With the morning he was ready for tin
knife.
None of his family knew that an operation wa'
to be performed until it was all over. In consider
ation for their feelings he spared them the suffer
ing he endured. His son, B. H. Hill, Jr., first
learned of it iu a Richm rad ^>aper, whieh he read
at Rawley springs. He at once started for Phila-1
delphia, arriving simultaneously with Dr. Ridley.
They went together to the hospital. Upon seeing
them Mr. Hill, sti’l under prostration, inclined his
head and burst into tears.
It is needless to recount the alternations of hope
and despair that hare moved the public from that
21st of July until the end. One remarkable thing
is the confidence of the physicians who had charge
of the case. The hopeful spirit of the press was
based on the opinions of those who should have
known, and on the insistent hope of Mr. Hill him
self. In fact, among friend, family and physi
cians there ' was hope to the very last.
This was inspired by the fortitude of
the patient and his superb physical strength, which
seemed to defy the ravages of the knife, and to in-
'V
isf r i
vite the most heroic surgery. When his son Ben
ate, but God willed it otherwise and the grand life I wentt0 gg e at Atlantic City, he stopped in
In its maturity and strength was cut short. Itwashis | Philadelphia. There he saw Dr. Gross, who assured
him that his father was doing well, that there was
subject had raised the southern people to a sense of I no trace 0 j the disease.and that he only needed sea
duty and to a sense of danger, and had checked | a j r> a ppeut e and confidence to hasten into perfect
the movement that he had viewed with so much
alarm.
In all Mr. Hill's political Ufe<-now that it Is clos- I
ed and can be reviewed as a whole—none can deny
that he was moved with patriotic impulse in all its |
important events. His love for the union was
health. Ben told me afterwards how happy this
assurance made him, and with what a light heart
he started for the sea shore.
Upon reaching his father he was inexpressibly
shocked at his appearance. The wound in his neck
was fearful, its inflamed and ugly edges being em-
simply Avorship, but it was love for a union ad-1 phasizedby the pallor and thinness of the senator,
ministered within constitutional limits and pur
poses of co-equal states. But above tills feeling
and Indeed above other sentiments save those pure
ly personal, was placed his love for Georgia, the
state of hishirlh. In his life he was a fearless and
eloquent champion of peace and con.servatism.and
in his death the republic loses itsjmost gifted orator
and one of its purest patriots.
Mft. HILL'S SICKNESS.
(Then Mr. Hill was first elected to the senate the
who had lost forty peunds in less than as many
days. He was in constant pain, and was unable to
eat an ounce of solid food and was kept alive only
by stimulants. His son sent for Dr. Gross and had
another examination made. At its conclusion the
doctor walked from the room, beckoning to Ben Jr.
to follow him. Once in another room he turned and
with streaming eyes, for he had learned to love his
patient, said:
“There fs not the slightest hope for your father's
recovery. I feel it my duty to inform you, os his
president of the senate announced his election “for I eldest son, of this fact.”.
the term of six years.” I This was on the 20th of March, and this was the
Speaker Gus Bacon ajlded. “You had better say I first time that Dr. Gross had pronounced the case
for the term of his natural life.” hopeless.
No one dreamed as the speaker made this flatter-1 Mr. Hill never recovered from the effects of the
ing amendment in deference to the senator’s abil- I last operation, which must be considered a most
ity, that he would not live through a single term. I unfortunate and ill-advised piece of surgery, in
He was then in the very prime of life—of perfect view of what followed It. The history of that op-
health and vijpr—temperate in habit, decorous, eration is peculiar, as I had it from a member of the
lusty and apparently good for twenty years of ac- I family. After the second operation there was a
dve service. * I slight swelling of the gland that demanded at-
Just about four years ago Senator Hill noticed a I tendon. Mr. Hill went to Philadelphia
pimple on the left side ef his tongue. It was not I and Dr. Gross told him that the small
arger than a pin’s head if so large. It was hardly I lump that had formed on the gland must be
so much a pimple as a hair-like crack in the tongue, I taken out. For the third dme, therefore, the sena-
and was scarcely perceptible to the eye. Mr. Hill had I tor was put nnder the knife. He understood thor-
a tooth with a jagged edge And imagined that this oughly that only a slight operadon was to be per-
had abrased the surface of me tongue, and that the I formed. When he awaked from the influence of
nicodne from smoking bad perhaps poisoned the | the ether, he said he felt as if the entire side of his
abrasion. He let the matter go on for a year with- I face and neck had beeu taken off. He was horrified
out giving it attention. Finding that it was an ob- I to discover that the eudre glands had been removed
sdnate sore, he tnen asked the advice of local phy- I and that he had been subjected to a more heroic
sicians. After treating it with astringents awhile, I and exhaustive catting than ever before. From
and being unc&tain as to what it was, they advised I this shock—from the exhaustion induced by the
that he had better go to Philadelphia and consult I severity of the operation—hj never entirely rallied.
Dr. Gross. I His spirits had been bouyaut,his faith unshaken,up
On his trip north in response to this advice Mr. I to that time. After that his nervous system was
Hill went to New York. While there he met Mr. A. shattered, his spirits flagged, and he resigned him-
J. Requier, formerly of Mobile, who, learning I self to the worst.
oLhis trouble, advised him at once to see a Dr. I it appears that the surgeons determined on a
Bayard, a homeopathic physician of distinction. I change of plan after they,had their patient under
and an uncle oi Senator Bayard. Mr. Requier urged I the influence ol ether. They had intended to only
this point, citing a remarkable core that Dr. Bay- I remove the small lumps (hat had swollen on the
ard had made. Mr. HiU. upon this advice, sought I gland. Upon examination they found that the
Dr. Bayard, who at once pronounced the sore a whole gland was affected, and the younger Dr.
benign ulcer and treated it as such. I Gross insisted that the whole gland must be taken
In the meantime the public had become aware of I out. The suggestion was heroic, and the elder Dr.
the trouble. A violent campaign was in progress in I Gross hesitated. His son Insisted, and it is said took
the state, and Mr. Hill stated that a sore on his I the knife and proceeded upon the terrible work,
tongue would prevent his taking an active part in 1 His father acquiescing, it was acsomplished, the
it. There was some criticism of this statement, I knife being sent clear through from the outside of
those who insisted noon the senator's participation, | the neck to the "young" flesh that had grown in the
derisively alluding toit.as “a campaign, cancer.”
Little alarm was felt among Mr. Hill’s friends or
the public. He remained nnder Dr. Bayard’s
treatment for about eight months, that gentleman
insisting all the time that it was not epithelioma.
place ravaged by the second operation from tbe in
side of the mouth. Of course the surgeons acted for
the best If the knife had been able to reach be
yond the cancerous taint, as they hoped, and if the
patient—whose marvelous strength and fortitude
was deadened by opiates. Between the keen
lentless agony, the use of drugs, the lick of fool
and the loss of flesh and strength. Mr Hilt lost his
nerve and will. The admirable fortitude that had
sustained him up to that time—the supsrb calm
ness with which he met all ugly symptons, and
with which he directed the treatment of hi? case -
ail this was gone. His whole system was shattered.
He never lost his sense of Christian resignation—
not one word of complaint did he utter. But
he was unable to control himself. The appear
ance of even a casual acquaintance would throw
him into tears. He could scarcely command his
voice for ordinary utterances. He took no inter
est in affairs, aud it required persuasion often to
make him take the beef tea and other liquids by
which his life was sustained.
Had Mr. HiU been aware of what was proposed
in this third operation he would not have submit
ted to it. Indeed, for a long time, he hesitated as
to whether he should have even the second opera
tion performed. He was strongly advised to go to
Eureka to try the waters and abandon the knife.
He talked with Mr. \V. P. Orme and othdrs who
had been there, and the wonderful stories they
told had almost persuaded him when he met Mr.
Gustin. of Macon, who had been to the springs for
cancer and had failed to get relief. He gave up the
idea of the sorings and went back to Washington.
It appears that there were two mistakes in Mr.
Hill’s case.
1st. He was kept under mild treatment for eight
months, which allowed tne cancerous poison to get
into his blood. Mr. Hill himself said when near
the end concerning the mistakes of his case and the
dogmatic tenacity with which the profession dings
to an accepted theory: “X am the victim of big
otry.” He said this in no spirit of bitterness and
hardly of crisicism, but as one staling a fact in sad
ness. j 4
2nd. The third operation which hurried the end
should have been omitted.
On this last point Ben HiU, Jr.told me that a phy
sician thoroughly acquainted with his father’s case,
said his Ufe might have been prolonged for several
years, had it not been for.'this third operation,
which struck him down. It is remarkable to see
how rapidly he sunk under it. A full length pic
ture, taken just before this cutting, shows that he
was in fine general health, stalwart, full and strong.
The face is clean shaven, and it is one of the hand
somest pictures he ever had taken. I saw him just
about this time. He was never ruddier, more hope
ful or cheerfuL His step was elastic, his eye was
bright, his appetite good. It must have been a hor
rible pain and suffering that so surely slaughtered
the strong man I saw that day. It is bat just tosay
that Dr. Westmoreland contends that the third
operation was not ill-advisad. He sustains the
course of Dr. Gross, and says if it had not been per
formed death would have come possibly earlier—
certainly in more horrible shape. It is proper to
say also that the family esteem Dr. Grass highly, as
all Georgians must, for his devotion to Mr. Hill,
and even those laymen who consider the last oper
ation wrong must remember that they doubt the
wisdom of the first surgeon of America, and one
whose whole heart was with his patient.
ItwUlbe remembered that duriig the sickness
following the third cutting it was reported the sen
ator was dead.- This rumor was caused as follows:
The long gash in the neck left by the knife was
sewed up, leaving a corner open for the escape of
the pus. The pus accumulated under -the flesh,
and swelling very rapidly pressed against the wind
pipe, almost suffocating him. Governor Brown
called on him one afternoon when this was at its
worst He found Mr. Hill in high fever, with rapid
pulse, gasping for breath, and perfectly unintelli
gible in his attempts to talk. He was very much
alarmed, and told me since that he thought Mr.
HiU was dying. Dr. Garuett was summoned, but
said that he dared not use the kuife where other
surgeens had been cutting. Just as the pressure
was becoming intolerable, the tepder young flesh
on the inside of his mouth, burst under the disten
tion and the pus escaped, giving instant relief.
The fourth and last operation was the simple sllt-
ting open of the surface wound to prevent a recur
rence of this dauger.
Shortly after this it was determined to carry Mr.
HiU to Eureka springs. Those who were most fa
miliar with the case felt that there was little hope,
even in the famed waters of that resort, hut the
family desired that every chance should be taken
Aitera most trying journey, which, however, he
bore much better than was expected, the distin
guished invalid found himself at Eureka. He was
accompanied by his family and by Dr. Wright—tbe
devoted surgeon who had charge of Mr. Hill’s
wound from the first day he entered the hospitaL
From Eureka there came conflicting news. Oue
day the dispatches would indicate that a cure was
effected, and the gext day that death was impend
ing. It was soon discovered that Mr. Hill could iAt
drink enough of the water to do any good, if indeed
there was any virtue iu the water. His family was
discussing the policy of bringing him back to Geor
gia, where he could have the comforts of home and
the companionship of his family. He finally cut
this discussion by announcing that he was coming
back to Georgia. Said he:
“Whatever God may have in the future, I am
willing to bear without a murmur. But if I must
die. I will go back to the old state that gave me
birth and die on her soil and among my own
people.”
Mr. Hill had gained considerable strength while
at Eureka and was bouyant and happy when he
found himself fairly on his way home. As he got
out of the wagon that brought him to the train he
proposed to wrestle for a wager with one of his com
panions, and said: “I ain’t near being a dead man
yet” Even up to this time |his disease baffled the
closest observers. Dr. Wright, who knew more of it,
perhaps, than any other man, told Ben, Jr.,
that his father would be In the senate
again within a month. A day or two afterward, a >
they were passing through Louisville, he said:
“Your father cannot live much longer.”
“How will death probably come?”
“Through inanition and wearing out”
"But how is that. The food he now takes will
sustain him on indefinitely.”
“He will soon acquire such an aversion to food
that he will neither take it -nor retain it. This,
with the ravage of the disease, will soen bring the
end.”
No event in my memory so moved Atlanta as the
arrival of Mr. Hill on his return from Eureka. The
whole city wore a funereal aspect. Men spoke in
low and solemn tones, and the weight of a great sor
row pressed on the hearts of young and old. At the
depot a great crowd gathered, and the streets
through which his carriage was to pass were lined
with his people for the entire distance.
As he came from the car, way
was made for him. He , lifted h’s hat
and walked steadily though slowly. Hundreds of
strongmen wept as they saw this great man, so
stricken and yet so gallant—but in perfect silence
he moved on to his carriage. Not a word was spoken
as the carriage rolled through the masses who stood
with bare heads and dimmed eyes, but the scene
was impressive beyond comparison.
From the day of Mr. Hill’s arrival in Atlanta, he
steadily declined. The temporary strength he had
gained at Eureka, the natural ra'ly of his system
against the prostration caused by the knife was lost
and day after day found him weaker than before.
He still received his friends, and a daily stream of
visitors paid their respects and tendered their sym
pathy. He was able for some two or three weeks to
talk intelligiby, though the absorbent cotton in his
month deadened the voice and made the syllables
indistinct. He was fond of company, and his mind,
was as alert and his interest in enrrent affairs as
vivid as ever. He seemed anxious to impress upon
his visitors this fact, and also that his general health
was perfect and his system undisturbed.
“I am as well as I ever was. If It was not for thjs
wound”—he wonld say, liftlnghis white fingers in
a pitiful way to his bandaged face. He was per
fectly happy, I think, during those long sunny days
He said to me once, looking at the sunshine stream
ing through his windows, and his family gathered
about him: “If it were not for this pain I should
feel that I were in heaven." He went out riding
twice, aud enjoyed the familiar scenes through
which he was driven. He recognized almost every
one who spoke to him, and returned their saluta
tions with a smile. He walked about the house
without trouble, and one day I saw him standing
alone in his front yard—like a great statue of him
self—pale, bandaged, mournful, with the noonday
sun streaming on his head and the flowers spring
ing about his feet. As we sainted him, he lifted his
hand with the old royal grace, and bending his
body stiffly to one side, smiled in a tender and grace
ful way. But these days were soon over.
When he reached Atlanta there were two distinct
wounds. One extended from the center of tbe chin
back an inch perhaps—the other from under the ear
towards the chin. There was a firm, broad s'rip ot
flesh between these wounds, but this finally gave
J way, and there was but one wound extending from
the middle of the chin to beneath the
left ear. The d.sease then struck deeper, and
the cancer ate its way towards the arteries and the
lungs. The road to death was now marked by
small epochs that came with increasing frequency
as the end was neared.
On July 12th, it was discovered that his speech
was so indistinct he could scarcely be undertood,
and a writing pad with pencil attached was bought
for him. From this time forward he wrote phat he
had fo say, abandoning the effort to talk almost en
tirely. During his whole sickness the only impa
tience he showed was when he could not make him
self understood by speech. And I have thought
that this was perhaps the crucial trial to him.
What a pitiful traves y it was. That the most elo
quent of Americans, on whose utterance the nation
hung enhanced, and the hautboy sweetness of
whose voice enchanted all hearers—should be so
crippled and gashed that he could not convey io
bis family the simplest message of love or inquiry,
hat the strong man, with mind as alert and power
ful as ever, groaned in anguish when he found
himself dumb Indeed, and was forced to write the
words he could not speak.
Mr. Hill was first informed positively that his dis
ease was eaucer and that there was no hope for his
life on the 18th of July—on the day before the
meeting of the gubernatorial convention. He had
readily believed up to this time that his disease
was not cancer aud that some relief would be
sfiorded. At last, however, it was impossible to
ilisguiseits true nature any longer. Onthe Sunday
previous to the ISth he had found it impossible to
swallow even the liquid food on which he had sub
sisted for months. Deglutition accomplished day
after day with more pain, at last was impossi
ble, and it seemed that starvation was definitely
ahead of him. A tube, however, was forced down
his throat, and through this a few drops of
milk administered. The next day the
tube was taken out and it was discovered that
he could swallow a little milk without it. But it
was feared that the throat would permanently
close at any moment. On Tuesday he was Inform
ed of his actual coudltioh. It created no surprise
and was received without emotion. Shortly after
ward with great pain and difficulty he swallowed
about an ounce of milk. At last impressed with
the agony caused by the effort, he put the cup to one
side and said, “That is the last thing I will
ever drink.” He then busied himself by making
h>s will—a duty that he had put off up to this
time. And thus while the great convention was
bustling and throbbing a few squares off and poli
ticians were rushing to and fro with their petty
ambitions, this great man sat in the shadow of death
and made preparation to bid farewell to the
earth and all earthly things at the very
summit of fame, enjoying all the honor that a
devoted people could give, and with all tho qiory
that eloquence and statesmanship could bring.
What a lesson of the folly of things his sad'fatc con
veyed to the men who thought that all in all was
involved in their scrambles and aspirations in the
capitol!
There were several reasons that induced those
about Mr. Hill to believe that the end was fast ap
proaching at this time. His alarming wcakaess;
the sudden but not unexpected closing of the
throat, the pain with which he swallowed even a
few drops of milk, the irritation of his stomach,
the deepening ravage of his wound all combined
to fill this conviction. In addition to this a mes
sage had just been received that dispelled the last
vestige of hope from even the heart of his son, who
had hoped against hope for months. There was a
physician in Chicego of great fame and charac
ter who had token a hopeful view of
Mr. Util's cose from the beginning, and who had
a remedy or treatment that had been very sucessful
with cancer. The family corresponded with him
for months, and he was disposed to believe, while
declining to occpt any compensation, that Mr. Hill’s
case was not hopeless. His remedy, while a very
severe one, had effected fine results, and I believe
was tried on Mr. Hill for a few days, but abandon
ed because it threatened to prostrate him. At last
Ben, jr., had a thorough diagnosis of his father’s
condition made and sent it to this Chicago surgeon,
with the request that he would examine it care
fully, and if there was the slightest possibility of
a cure in his opinion, that he would come at once
to Atlanta. On the 17th of July aletter was received
in which the physician stated that frem
the diagnosis he was satisfied that
there was not a shadow of hope,
and that while he was willing to give any time or
trouble to the cure of Senator HiU or the ameliora
tion of his condition, that he felt that a journey to
Atlanta with that view would simply raise false
hopes and be without effect. After this there was
nothing for even those who were most devoted to
him to do except to sit with folded hands and wait
for the end. Indeed, when they saw the hourly
and relentless suffering under which he was bowed
it seemed almost a mercy that his pain should be
soothed and his aching heart be stilled even though
it was Death itself that brought the relief.
Up to the last Mr. Hill did not decling to receive
his friends, even though the visits involved the
most affecting consequences. Scarely a man ever
entered that awful but benign presence without
showing an • emotion that was per
ceptible even to the dull eyes of
the sufferer. Men who for years had not shed a tear
and who might have thought that all the fountains
of tenderness were dried within tholrbreasts, found
themselves blinded when they held Mr. Hill’s hand
and looked into his face. When Governor Brown
called to see him it was several minutes before
either could speak. With hands clasped and beads
bowed, the two\senators sobbed and their frames
shook with uncontrollable emotion. When Gov
ernor Colquitt called for the first time, he sat down
near Mr. HiU. The senator reached out his wan
hand, laid it in the governor’s and said: “I
have wanted to see you a long time.” Governor
Colquitt was completely overcome. He bent his
head in his hands, while the tears ran through his
fingers. Mr. HiU was just as much affected. This
was the history of almost every visit. There
was a pathos in Mr. Hill's con
dition and circumstance that overswept and melt
ed even the stoutest heart. Men whose acquain
tance with him was but slight, when they saw him
sitting there so helpless and yet so resigned, were
unable to control themselves. He usuaUy wrote
something for each visitor, and in almost all cases
gave them his autograph. Even to the last this was
written in a firm flowing hand. What he wrote was
usually of a religious vein, and I quote a sentence
given to Mr. Howard Van Epps—and he cherishes
the scrap of paper on which it is written as a prec
ious treasure—as an evidence of what was occupy
lig his mind: “I am in perfect health except my
wound. That pains me very much. My future is
uncertain as to time, but not as to fate. Iam per
fectly resigned. God will take care of me. There
is some work that I should like to finish before. I go,
but God’s will be done.”
•Such, in brief' is the story of this sickness—this
never-lifting shadow that deepened so quickly into
death. It is hut the merest outline. No mortal
pen can fill out the picture. The roughest hand
would falter and the sternest eye grow dim in at
tempting to write down the pathos and the sorrow
of this Iliad. Never, perhaps, was so much of gen
tleness and courage allied for endurance. The un
complaining resignation of a Christian—the engag
ing tenderness of a child—the lofty calmness of a
philosopher—the sturdy fortitude of a stosc, com
bined iu the sick life of this man.
with a genius that had never halted
before inquiry, and a pride and courage that had
borne all things before it, he never even challenged
the justness of his affliction, but bowed his head
under it unquestioning aud silent. With a tongue-
whose eloquence had been Irresistible, and hands
whose invocation whole peoples had
risen to do his bidding, he raised
neither in ' supplication that his impend
ing fate might be averted, but with the one taught
’submission to the God that even then oppressed
him, aud with the other rcachedput to his loved
ones, aud gathered them to his heart. Through all
the horrible ordeal, through pain so fierce and un
relenting that Death Itself was a blessing—through
long days and nights-oi contemplation, when the
strong man must have rebelled against the Fate that
pressed upon him so inexorably—there was never a
wordofcomplaintoroutcry. The child thatdied un
conscious in its mother's arms could never have
left those who loved it a more perfect assurance of
its ineffable and eternal peace—and those who, with
patience and tenderness,faced this sad tragedy to the
end, found their hearts irradiated and their tears-
dried at last, in a light at once divine In its source-
and splendor! ^
PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF MR. HILL
The first time I ever saw Mr. Hill was In the win
ter of’67. I had gone to LaGrange to spend my
Christmas vacation with young Bon Hill, who was
then named Cicero Hilt. I have never seen a hap
pier home than that into which I was welcomed
that winter day. I have never seen a man more?
unaffectedly happy and affectionate than was tho
husband and father. Mrs. Hill, lovely, no less in
face and figure than in character, was full of good
ness aud courtesy. Miss Iflll, now Mrs. Thompson,,
charming, accomplished and brilliant, was the idol
oi her lather’s heart—the two sons were smart
manly young fellows, and the youngest daughter
interesting and pretty. As for Mr. HiU nothing
was too trivial to engage his at
tention if it only related to any member
of his family. He was playful, genial and affection
ate always. He made companions of his children
and was as ready to romp with his boys as to ad
vise with them as to their future. Emory Speer-
and myself were added to the family group that.
gathered In. the library night after night—and
charming nights they were. Mr. HiU usually led
the conversation, though there was restraint upon.
no oue. ll,e was then deeply interested in tho re
construction problem,aud would discuss it earnestly
and eloquently—then justas earnestly interest him
self in the details of our day’s hunting or assist us in.
the plans for the morrow.or go over the town gossip -
with his wife, or discuss with his daughter a pair of
$1,500 horses that he had just had sent out from
Kentucky for.her especial use. Before the family
separated for the night there were earnest ■
Christian prayers, at the close of which each son
and daughter kissed the father and mother “good
night.”
Such was Mr. Hills home-life when I first knew
him. Never was there a happier family—surround
ed with every luxury—aliin health and cheerful
ness-each member devoted to the others—wife and .
children proud of the father, who in turn adored
them all—they made an impression on my young
mind that has never been effaced. I little thought
then that the first time I should recall Its details
thus particularly, should be to pay a passing tribute
to the father, then the picture of health and
strength—now wasted away and dead!
And here must close this casual and running re
view. That I have but skimmed the depths of this
noble life, but poorly interpreted its great impulse
and purpose and but saluted the pathos of this he
roic martyrdom, does not belie the expectations
with which I begun. The lesson that he would
have taught will ripen with years. Ages yet to
come will compass the fullness of his fame, and
time will consecrate his suffcrnig. It is foolish to
mourn that his bodily presence is gone. He is
with us to-day, and when we are dead and forgot
ten ne will live with our children's children to in
spire them with the glory of his life, aud strengthen
them with the divine heroism of his death. Those
who loved him best will find him always present.
They will see him enthroned In every heart that -
kindles with sympathy to theirs. They will feel
his kindly presence in the throb of every hand that
clasps their hand iu the universal kinship of grief.
They will see his loving memory beaming from
every eye that softeus as it falls on them. So he
shall live In Georgians and with Georgians forever
and forever. Happy should we be that he crowned
a patriot’s life with a Christian death. And all
men who stand above his honored bier should say—
“Nothing Is here for tears, nothing to wail
Or knock the breast; no weakness, no contempt,.
Dispraise or blame; nothing but well aud fair
And what may quiet us iu a death so noble.”
H. W. G.
THE RIVER.
Oh, rugged river! restless river!
River of years—river of tears—
Thou river of 7 Life!
River of tears! Yet o’er thy bosom Joy, as a bird,.
flashes its gaudy wing,
And drinks its drought of ccstacy from out thy
crystal spring.
Oh, sunlit river! shadowy river!
River of gladness—river of sadness—
Thou river of Life!
River of gladness! Yet o’er the blue of the beauti
ful sky floats a cloud.
Out of whose fleecy whiteness the Loom of God in
weaving a shroud.
Oh. beautiful river! while the star of youth te-
glowing
From the silver-sprinkled sky;
Rivero! Life! when health's elixir flowing
Paints thy waters its rosy dye.
Sunlit river! when the days are full of peace,.
And the calm of the song the river sings,
And the quiet joy the lullaby brings,
We feel will never cease.
And while the waters glow and glisten.
Ah! how seldom do we listen
To the turning of the ponderous wheel of Time, -
Over whose granite sides are rushing
The waves ol the river in a symphony sublime!
But when the waters are black and bleeding,
Dyed with dread Disease’s breath.
And we feel the river leading
To the fathomless sea of Death-
Then, ah! then, in our agony of soul
We cry, “Oh! wheel of Time, one moment stay!:
Turn back the river. $nd cease to roll,
For a life we have is passing away.”
Bnt God is the Miller, and the wheel isftnming,
Though Griefs hot irons our hearts are burning,
And the river’s song—Is only a moan.
And the grinding wheel—sounds a groan.
e « o o » e *
But from out our midnight gloom
Look up! God knoweth best
See the life we have as it catches the bloom
Of Infinite radiance and rest!
It's water’s have mingled with the crystal stream.
Flowing so close to the throne,
And the waves have caught the golden gleam
And the river’s voice, God’s tender tone.
And the river in heaven in its crystal calm
Found its way through the goldeu bars.
Flowing upward—beyond the garden of stars—
To the feet of God and His Lamb.
Oh, royal river! radiant river!
Biver of Light—river of Life—
Thou river of God!
■ H. £. M.-