On the balmy afternoon of the Sabbath, August 6, quite a large number of solemn-faced Adventists residing in Battle Creek drifted to the grounds of the Sanitarium and milled around the lobby of the main building. They had come to keep vigil for James White. These were his friends, those with whom he had worked, and members of the church he had pastored. They had come knowing that James White, critically ill at the Sanitarium, had just taken a serious turn for the worse. In the early afternoon the report was whispered that he was unconscious and very near death's door. Not a few were seen to furtively wipe away tears. It was all so sudden, so tragic.
Just a week before, they had seen him accompanying his wife to the Tabernacle and join her on the platform. Now, any moment he would breathe his last. They felt they must be near. At five-fifteen, the dreaded word came: James White was dead. The people were stunned.
Some called to mind that just a few days before they had read his editorial in the Review carrying the title "Words of Comfort," dealing with the Christian's hope. In this he asked the question "Is there hope beyond the grave?" Then he cited compelling Scripture evidence that clearly showed that "the hope of the gospel dispels the gloom that enshrouds the grave of the just."--The Review and Herald, July 26, 1881.
The Last Week of His Life
Very shortly after his death, Ellen White recounted their experience through the last week of his life, beginning with Sabbath, July 30. This was three days after the carriage trip home from Charlotte:
Sabbath morning, as usual, we walked to the grove together, and my husband prayed most fervently three times. He seemed reluctant to cease pleading with God for special guidance and blessing. His prayers were heard, and peace and light came to our hearts. My husband praised the Lord, and said, "Now I give it all up to Jesus. I feel a sweet, heavenly peace, an assurance that the Lord will show us our duty; for we desire to do His will."
He accompanied me to the Tabernacle, and opened the services with singing and prayer. It was the last time he was ever to stand by my side in the pulpit. On Sunday he thought he would be able to attend the Eastern camp meetings, and said the Lord could give him strength, if it was his duty to go.
Monday he had a severe chill. Tuesday he did not rally as expected, but we thought the disease an attack of fever and ague [malaria], and supposed that it would soon yield to treatment.
Tuesday night I was attacked with chills, and was very sick, being unable to sit up on the following day.
Dr. Kellogg then proposed that we both be removed to the Sanitarium, where we could enjoy better facilities for treatment. A mattress was placed in a hack, my husband and myself were laid side by side, for the last time, and thus taken to the Sanitarium.
On Friday my symptoms were more favorable. The doctor then informed me that my husband was inclined to sleep, and that danger was apprehended. I was immediately taken to his room, and as soon as I looked upon his countenance I knew that he was dying.
I tried to arouse him. He understood all that was said to him, and responded to all questions that could be answered by Yes or No, but seemed unable to say more.
When I told him I thought he was dying, he manifested no surprise. I asked if Jesus was precious to him. He said, "Yes, oh, yes."
"Have you no desire to live?" I inquired. He answered, "No."
We then knelt by his bedside, and I prayed for my husband in that solemn hour. A peaceful expression rested upon his countenance. I said to him, "Jesus loves you. The everlasting arms are beneath you." He responded, "Yes, yes."
I wished to be certain that he recognized us, and I asked him to tell who we were. He said, "You are Ellen. You"--looking at our elder son--"are Edson. I know you all."
Brother Smith and other brethren then prayed around his bedside, and retired to spend much of the night in prayer. My husband said he felt no pain; but he was evidently failing fast. Dr. Kellogg and his helpers did all that was in their power to hold him back from death. He slowly revived, but continued very weak. I remained with him through the night.
The next morning he took some nourishment, and seemed slightly to revive. About noon he had a chill, which left him unconscious, and he quietly breathed his life away, without a struggle or a groan. I was mercifully spared the anguish of seeing my husband in agony battling with death. The scene was as pleasant as it was possible for a deathbed to be.--Manuscript 6, 1881 (see also In Memoriam, pp. 52-54).
Dr. J. H. Kellogg, who attended James White through this week, gave an account of the case in the Review:
I first learned of the illness of Brother White about 4:00 P.M., Tuesday, August 2, when I received a message from him requesting me to visit him at his residence, which I immediately did. I found him suffering with a very high fever, the pulse being 112, and the temperature 103 3/4 degrees F. I learned that about 10:00 A.M. of the same day he had suffered with a very severe congestive chill.
At this time his head was greatly congested, and he complained of severe pain in the spine, extending into the lower limbs. He seemed to be greatly prostrated, and was very restless. Treatment to relieve the fever and pain was immediately ordered, and administered by a bath attendant from the Sanitarium. After a short time copious perspiration appeared, and he was greatly relieved.
At 8:00 P.M. I saw him again, and found his pulse diminished to 96, and his temperature to 101 degrees F. At 11:30 P.M. his fever had entirely subsided.--Ibid., August 9, 1881
The case seemed to follow the rather familiar course of malarial fever, with elevated temperature in the afternoons. On Wednesday evening he was taken to the Sanitarium for treatment, accompanied by his wife. Kellogg picks up the account:
About noon on Thursday he began to show symptoms of fever again.... The pulse was rather weak, however, and in the evening, after the fever had subsided, became for a short time very rapid. He slept well through the night, however, and in the morning stated that he felt much better, though weak. He ate a light breakfast with relish, and expressed himself as feeling very comfortable and wholly free from pain during the forenoon, but took no dinner.--Ibid.
There was some fever on Friday afternoon, and he was inclined to doze much of the time. Dr. Kellogg called in as a consultant a Dr. Millspaugh, one of Battle Creek's leading physicians. He was in full agreement with the diagnosis and favored the treatment administered.
Friday evening some friends called, but talked only a little, as James White was inclined to sleep. His pulse was slightly irregular. Dr. Kellogg administered "strong stimulants," and Ellen White and a number of special friends were advised that his condition was critical. Kellogg continued:
The grave symptoms grew rapidly worse for an hour, notwithstanding the most vigorous efforts which could be made by the use of stimulating and restorative means of every sort, which were ready at hand. The pulse became exceedingly rapid, reaching 160, and was very feeble and extremely irregular. The respiration was short and labored. The pupils were dilated almost to the extreme limit. Still the body was warm, and there was no evidence of chilliness, but the tendency to collapse from failure of the heart seemed irresistible. Consciousness was not entirely suspended, as he was able to answer any brief question intelligently.--Ibid.
In the early-morning hours of Sabbath he improved slightly. After some sleep he took a little fluid nourishment and improved for several hours. Thus it was till a little past the noon hour. Dr. Kellogg reported on the events of the afternoon:
About 1:00 P.M. his pulse suddenly began to increase in frequency, and soon became very feeble and irregular. Within thirty minutes he became unconscious, and his pulse rapidly rose to 176, and his respiration to 60 per minute. His temperature was 99 degrees F., one-half degree above the normal temperature. The same measures used with the previous attack were again employed, but without effect, and he remained in the condition described until he breathed his last, just after 5:00 P.M....
The case presented some strange and very remarkable features, which are only explicable upon the supposition that the severe shocks of apoplexy which he had suffered during the later portion of his life had so seriously impaired certain portions of the brain as to render him unusually susceptible to the malarious poison to which he had been exposed a short time before his death.--Ibid.
We return to Ellen White's account of the experience:
At times I felt that I could not have my husband die. But these words seemed to be impressed on my mind: "Be still, and know that I am God." ...I keenly feel my loss, but I dare not give myself up to useless grief. This would not bring back my husband. And I am not so selfish as to wish, if I could, to bring him from his peaceful slumber to engage again in the battles of life. Like a tired warrior, he has lain down to sleep. I will look with pleasure upon his resting place. The best way in which I and my children can honor the memory of him who has fallen is to take the work where he left it, and in the strength of Jesus carry it forward to completion.--Manuscript 6, 1881 (see also In Memoriam, pp. 54, 55).
That Sabbath afternoon the reality of the situation fully struck Ellen White. Of this she wrote:
The shock of my husband's death--so sudden, so unexpected--fell upon me with crushing weight. In my feeble condition I had summoned strength to remain at his bedside to the last; but when I saw his eyes closed in death, exhausted nature gave way, and I was completely prostrated. For some time I seemed balancing between life and death. The vital flame burned so low that a breath might extinguish it. At night my pulse would grow feeble, and my breathing fainter and fainter till it seemed about to cease. Only by the blessing of God and the unremitting care and watchfulness of physician and attendants was my life preserved.--Life Sketches of Ellen G. White, 252.
Plans for the funeral called for some delay, for W. C. White and his wife, Mary, were across the continent, almost a week's travel time away. James's brother John, for many years a presiding elder of the Methodist Conference in Ohio, was closer, but might need a little time to arrange to come. Another brother, Samuel, a Baptist minister in Massachusetts, was summoned, but was too feeble to come. A sister, Mary Chase, lived with the Whites in Battle Creek.
The funeral was set for Sabbath afternoon, just a week after James's death. Through the week Ellen White's health and strength dipped to an all-time low. John White, coming on Friday and finding her confined to her bed, said:
Ellen, I am deeply sorry to see you so feeble. A trying ordeal is before you in the funeral services of the morrow. God help you, my dear sister, God help you on this occasion.
Said I, Brother John, you do not know me. The more trying the situation, the more fortitude I possess. I shall give way to no outbursts of grief if my heart break. I serve God not impulsively but intelligently. I have a Saviour who will be to me a very present help in time of trouble. I am a Christian. I know in whom I have believed. He expects from me implicit, unwavering submission.
Undue grief is displeasing to God. I take up my appointed cross and will follow the Lord fully. I will not give myself to abandonment of grief. I will not yield to a morbid and melancholy state of feeling. I will not complain or murmur at the providence of God. Jesus is my Saviour. He lives. He will never leave me or forsake me.--Letter 9, 1881.
James White's Funeral
On Sabbath afternoon, August 13, some 2,500 Seventh-day Adventists and Battle Creek townspeople assembled in the Tabernacle for the funeral of James White. Even though very ill, Ellen attended. She recounted:
We then went in hacks to the Tabernacle, and I was carried in a chair while the mourners followed. I was laid upon a sofa prepared with pillows. I was carefully watched by the doctor.--Ibid.
The funeral address presented by Uriah Smith was appropriate. In it he eulogized the deceased and spoke of his activities in connection with the origin and rise of the Seventh-day Adventist Church:
Before us, shrouded for the tomb, lies the man with whom it had its very beginning. Taking hold of this work while as yet it had neither form nor substance, under the leadings of what he regarded as the clearest indications of Divine Providence, he bore it in his arms heroically forward, making ways where none appeared, removing obstacles calculated to arrest its progress, defending it from enemies without and within, devising means for the development of strength, until it has reached its present growth, and stands today in its highest attainment of vitality.
With every advance movement, with every new enterprise connected with this work, with all its outreachings to occupy new territory, and with the employment of new agencies to accomplish desired ends, his name has been connected, and his efforts have been inseparably interwoven.--In Memoriam, p. 23.
Smith enumerated in some detail, giving illustrations, predominating traits, and characteristics of the man with whom he had worked intimately for so many years:
We first notice that in times of confusion and excitement he was always calm and cool....
Secondly, he was a man never given to fanaticism....
Thirdly, he was endued with remarkable acuteness of perception to determine the most judicious moves to be made....
Fourthly, he was a man who would never yield to discouragements. The word "fail" was not in his vocabulary....
Fifthly, he was a man who would look forward to the future wants of his work, and make provision for them. He foresaw that certain elements of stability must be wrought into the work, which could be secured only through organization....
Sixthly, he was a man of strong personal friendships, and of a remarkably generous nature. To have a regard for the interest of others, and to see that their circumstances were rendered as favorable as possible, was a part of his nature.--Life Sketches of Ellen G. White, 29-31.
Remarks by Ellen G. White
As Smith concluded his remarks, Ellen White quite unexpectedly arose from her couch to speak to the large audience. She later described the experience:
After Elder Smith had given the funeral discourse I did so long to say something to let all know that the Christian's hope was mine and sustained me in that hour of bereavement, but I feared I could not stand upon my feet. I finally determined to make the trial, and the Lord sustained me. The doctor stood ready to catch me, he said, if I fell.... Brother John and Willie and Edson were also watching to aid me, but I went through with what I had to say with clearness.--Letter 9, 1881.
"As I arose," she later declared, "strength was given me, and I spoke about ten minutes, exalting the mercy and love of God in the presence of that crowded assembly."--Life Sketches of Ellen G. White, 252. Her remarks were stenographically reported. Standing and steadying herself with a hand on the casket, she spoke in a clear voice:
I want to say a few words to those present on this occasion. My dear Saviour has been my strength and support in this time of need. When taken from my sickbed to be with my husband in his dying moments, at first the suddenness of the stroke seemed too heavy to bear, and I cried to God to spare him to me--not to take him away, and leave me to labor alone. Two weeks ago we stood side by side in this desk; but when I shall stand before you again, he will be missing. He will not be present to help me then. I shall be alone, and yet not alone, for my Saviour will be with me....
And now I take up my lifework alone. I thank my Saviour I have two sons He has given me to stand by my side. Henceforth the mother must lean upon the children; for the strong, brave, noble-hearted husband is at rest. The turmoil with him is over.
How long I shall fight the battles of life alone I cannot say; but there is one thing that I will say to you, and that is, that when I saw my husband breathe his last, I felt that Jesus was more precious to me then than He ever had been in any previous hour in my life.
When I stood by my firstborn and closed his eyes in death, I could say, "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord." And I felt then that I had a Comforter in Jesus Christ. And when my little one was torn from my arms, and I could no longer see its little head upon the pillow by my side, then I could say, "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord."
And now he upon whose large affections I have leaned, with whom I have labored--and we have been united in labor for thirty-six years--is taken away; but I can lay my hands upon his eyes and say, I commit my treasure to Thee until the morning of the resurrection.--In Memoriam, pp. 40-42.
She spoke at length of the Christian's hope and of Jesus, who from henceforth would be her counselor and friend till she would meet her husband in that land "where there is no parting, where there is no separation, and where none shall anymore say, 'I am sick'" (Ibid., 43). The prospects were too bright for the shedding of tears. In closing she remarked:
I look to that morning when the broken family links shall be reunited, and we shall see the King in His beauty, and behold His matchless charms, and cast our glittering crowns at His feet, and touch the golden harp and fill all heaven with the strains of our music and songs to the Lamb. We will sing together there. We will triumph together around the great white throne.--Ibid.
Ninety-five carriages joined in the funeral procession to Oak Hill Cemetery; in addition, nearly a hundred people went on foot. White was laid to rest in the family plot, where his two sons and his father and mother, John and Elizabeth White, were buried.
After the funeral Ellen White was taken back to the Sanitarium for the night. On Sunday she was taken on a bed out to their home, where she was joined by the members of the family who had attended the funeral. James's brother John was delighted with the place, but as for Ellen, she declared:
The light of my home had gone and henceforth I should love it for his sake who thought so much of it. It just met his taste.... But how can I ever regard it as I could if he had lived?--Letter 9, 1881.
The Public Press
James White was known quite well across the land, not only as one of the founders of the Seventh-day Adventist Church--a church that had grown to seventeen thousand in his lifetime--but also as an astute businessman managing large publishing interests and closely connected with the educational and medical interests in Battle Creek. He was highly esteemed by the Honorable George Willard, one-time Congressman from the State of Michigan and publisher of the Battle Creek Daily Journal. In his editorial on page one of the August 8 issue, Willard eulogized:
He was a man of the patriarchal pattern, and his character was cast in the heroic mold. If the logical clearness to formulate a creed; if the power to infect others with one's own zeal, and impress them with one's own convictions; if the executive ability to establish a sect and to give it form and stability; if the genius to shape and direct the destiny of great communities, be a mark of true greatness, Elder White is certainly entitled to the appellation, for he possessed not one of these qualities only, but all of them in a marked degree.
The essential feature of his life's work was constructive. He had the rare power of social organization and laid the foundation and marked the design for the erection of a social and religious structure for others to develop and further complete.... As with all true founders of communities, his life is not a broken shaft, but an enduring column, whereon others are to build.
Willard gave fifty-nine inches to James White in the August 8 issue of the Battle Creek Daily Journal, reporting his death and presenting a life sketch. The August 15 issue carried the report of the funeral, Uriah Smith's sermon, and Ellen White's statement, in all some eighty column inches. He also republished the full account of the week before, giving this explanation:
The very great demand for copies of the Journal containing the account of the life and death of Elder White has induced us to reproduce the articles of last week on the second page of today's issue, while the report of the funeral services and the addresses of Elder Smith and Mrs. White will be found on the last page. We surrender a large portion of our space today to this subject, which is one of general interest.
The public press across the land also gave him favorable notice.
His Associates Unprepared to Take Over
In his funeral sermon Smith made an interesting point.
With every advance movement, with every new enterprise connected with this work, with all its outreachings to occupy new territory, and with the employment of new agencies to accomplish desired ends, his name has been connected, and his efforts have been inseparably interwoven.
Is it strange, then, that we should never have contemplated the coming of a day when others would be obliged to go forward with this work without his active cooperation? Is it any wonder that we should come to feel that in a cause which we have expected would be brief at the longest, he with whom it began, and who has so long continued with it, should continue to the end?--In Memoriam, p. 23.
George I. Butler sounded a somewhat similar note as he wistfully wrote just a month after White's death:
We look forward to our next annual General Conference with much interest and anxiety.... The death of Brother White is a sad and startling event to our people generally. He has been regarded by all of us as the leading man in this cause. Our people have felt safe while he was living to counsel and bear burdens. His voice will no more be heard in our councils. He is gone.
Unquestionably, quite a degree of anxiety prevails among our people as to what course will be taken. Who will bear the general burdens of the cause? Who will act as president of the [SDA] Publishing Association, and exert a leading influence in the college and Sanitarium? What shall be the line of policy adopted? How shall the debts upon our institutions be paid? These and many other questions will occur to the mind of the discerning reader.--The Review and Herald, September 6, 1881.
Butler pointed out that the presence and counsel of Ellen White would be especially needed, and because of his connection with the publishing work at both offices, the presence of W. C. White was essential, as well. In another statement, Butler wrote of James White that he was a natural leader with the courage of a lion, yet manifesting the tenderness of a mother (Ibid., August 16, 1881).
Of course, many expressed their sense of loss through the columns of the Review, particularly Dr. Kellogg, who wrote:
No one, unless it be his bereaved family, can feel more keenly than we the loss of one who had been to us for years a father and a friend. To no one else have we been personally indebted for so many acts of kindness and so much wise counsel. We mourn not only for the irretrievable loss which the cause must sustain, but for a personal loss which cannot be repaired.--Ibid., August 9, 1881
A Close Call for Ellen White
The day of James White's death came close to being just that for Ellen, also. When on Friday evening Dr. Kellogg advised her that James White was failing fast, she had gotten up from her sickbed. Though seeming to be recovering, she was still very ill. She stayed with James through the night and all the next day till his death. Then she almost collapsed. Dr. Kellogg sensed her danger, although she did not. That night he appointed two attendants, and he himself slept close by with clothes on, so that he might be instantly at her side if needed. He charged the two women helpers, Mary Chinnock and Emma Webber: "Watch the pulse and call me at any change." Not sensing her peril and always thoughtful of others, Ellen White
told the two women that they could sleep. But they did not. She wrote of the experience a little later:
At twelve o'clock at night my pulse stopped.... He [Dr. Kellogg] was at my bedside in one minute. I was unable to speak but knew what was going on. I expected to pass away quietly as my husband had done, but the doctor worked unremittingly with the two helpers until three o'clock in the morning.
The strongest electricity was employed; one stood with a cake of ice and another with a hot sponge and passed first hot, then cold, over the spine for three hours until my pulse, though very weak, and fluttery, was improved. For four nights these faithful hands battled with death and were rewarded by seeing a determined improvement.--Letter 9, 1881.