Chapter 29: end of life-work
- Ceases to go to office -- doctors called -- resignation -- last editorial -- death at hand -- conclusion -- summation of character
In June, 1897, Mr. Dana began to feel unwell, and to remain away from his office. He made no complaint of acute pain, but showed evidence of discomfort or malaise, the seat of which he located in his side. Having enjoyed extraordinary health throughout life, he naturally thought his trouble was a functional one which would soon pass away, but in this he was disappointed. He grew gradually but slowly worse. The physicians were called, and in due time made the discovery that one of his vital organs was seriously affected, and that a cure was impossible. This was, of course, concealed from him, so far as it was possible to conceal so great a fact. He was never informed as to the real nature and probable course of his ailment, and never asked; but those who were nearest to him never doubted that he had from the earliest consultation of his physicians inferred from their silence, rather than from what they said, that it was incurable and would after a few months prove fatal. And this proved to be. the case. The patient indulged in no repining, but gave up work, and with the cheerfulness of a philosopher who had enjoyed life to the full resigned himself calmly to his fate. He talked freely with his family and friends, showing no sign of revolt or trepidation. In the earlier days of his retirement he gave his views as to the question of life [514] after death as already related. He was calm, collected, and, if not cheerful, at least not overwhelmed by the shadow which was slowly darkening towards the end. He talked freely of passing events, and showed no diminution of interest in what was going on about him. He read the Sun, and occasionally a favorite book, but seemed to recognize the fact that the battle was over, and that nothing remained for him except a short period of rest by the side of the sea, under the trees he loved so well. Of course he was missed from his accustomed place, and it was not long till a country newspaper, which loved him not, spread the report that he had resigned from the Sun. The absurdity of the report was manifest to such as knew the real facts, but fearing that the public might credit it, he formally denied it in an editorial, which was headed “A Falsehood,” and appeared on August 6, 1897, as follows:
A friend in Geneva informs us that certain papers in that neighborhood say that Mr. Dana has resigned as editor of the Sun. This is a falsehood. Mr. Dana has never been of a resigning habit, and hereby declares that he has not commenced the practice in the present case. He can still be found doing business at the same old stand, and the man does not live who can say that he has seen him there, or elsewhere, turn his back upon either a friend or a foe.These were the last words he ever wrote for the Sun. The end was at hand. But a few weeks of declining strength, with but little pain, and no obscuration of the intellect, remained for the untiring scholar, the unselfish patriot, the fearless official, the great independent and indomitable editor. He died at his home, in the midst of his family, surrounded by the scenes he loved so much, on October 17, 1897, in the seventy-ninth year of his age. [515] I have endeavored in this narrative to set forth the principal incidents, and to bring out the salient characteristics of this most interesting life. No important fact which has come to my knowledge has been omitted. I have not argued the case, nor stated the conclusions which might properly be drawn from the words and deeds of this fearless and aggressive man. He lived and fought in the open, concealing no act, hiding no thought, but giving to every cause he espoused, and to every conflict in which he took part, the best there was in him. No man of his time was better known, and it may well be doubted if any man of his time ever exerted a wider or a more wholesome influence in the education of the public mind to the righteous settlement of the great questions which agitated the country for the half-century which closed his life. While he was certainly first in every political conflict, and brought to bear the extraordinary resources of his mind and pen, there were many who were glad to fly to his assistance when once he had sounded the charge. He neither carried on the fight alone, nor wasted time in gathering the spoils of battle. Like the great victor on the strand of Salamis, to his attendants he might well have exclaimed, “Ye may take these things; Ye are not Themistocles.” It was sufficient for him to know that the field was won, and that the Sun had been a leader not unworthy of the cause. That he was a very great editor, if not the greatest the country had produced, will be admitted generally. That he overtopped and overlooked all professional contemporaries of his later years no one will question. He stood alone in the last decade of the century. He had not only outlived the great men whom he had opposed and for whom he had fought, but he had outlived obloquy and detraction. His work was done, and there was but one Dana and one Sun. [516]
