U.S. At War: Bugler: Sound Taps

In the capital's hush every sound was audible—the twitter of birds in new-leafed shade trees; the soft, rhythmic scuffing of massed, marching men in the street; the clattering exhaust of armored scout cars moving past, their machine guns cocked skyward. And the beat of muffled drums. As Franklin Roosevelt's flag-draped coffin passed slowly by on its black caisson, the hoofbeats of the white horses, the grind of iron-rimmed wheels on pavement overrode all other sounds.

Men stood bareheaded. Few people wept, so that the occasional sounds of sobbing seemed shockingly loud. As the coffin...

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