DR. McBURNEY’S STATEMENT.
Later Dr. McBurney said in an interview:
“The fact that there is no unfavorable symptom is a most favorable sign. What we are all waiting for is the lapse of time without the occurrence of inflammation or septic conditions.
“I want to say right here that in my opinion everything has been done for him that could and should have been done. The case has been most handsomely handled. If he lives he will owe his life to the promptness and skill of the physicians here.
“The question of time is of the greatest importance in a case of this kind. An operation could not have been performed too soon. It was performed in one of the quickest times on record. It will be famous in the history of surgery.”
This report from so eminent a surgeon served to allay all doubts, and the reports sent out from Buffalo cheered millions of Americans, who had spent a sorrowing Sunday. Prayers had gone up for the President from thousands of hearts and their invocations seemed to be answered by a divine Providence.
Telegrams of sympathy and condolence were changed to congratulations over the good tidings. Hopes rose high, and the somber spirits which had pervaded the land for three days changed to those of a brighter hue. Intimate friends were permitted to see the President for a few moments at a time, and each one on leaving the Milburn home brought cheering news. The bulletins were optimistic, and the members of the Cabinet who had been hastily summoned began to discuss returning.
Vice-President Roosevelt had hurried to Buffalo from Vermont. Senator Hanna had come from Cleveland, his home, and Abner McKinley sped from Denver, with Dr. and Mrs. Herman Baer, the latter being the favorite niece of the stricken President. Roosevelt soon departed for the Adirondack regions on a hunting trip. Hanna returned to Cleveland and hopes ran high, for the departure of these men was taken as proof positive that no serious results were apprehended by the corps of physicians.
The President improved so rapidly on Monday that his friends declared he would be able to attend the duties of his office, at least to a moderate extent, within a month. The worst danger was regarded as past, peritonitis seemed no longer probable, and the only cause for fear was the possibility of a sinking spell. The X-ray instrument was still in the house, but had not been used. It was decided by the doctors that so long as the bullet did not prove immediately dangerous, no serious attempt should be made to locate it, much less to remove it. If it were imbedded in a muscle, or was even loose in the abdominal cavity, it was not regarded as likely to cause much trouble for the time being.
There seemed only one contingency which would necessitate its immediate removal; if it should press against the spinal column it might cause paralysis sooner or later, and would have to be removed to save life. This contingency, however, was remote.
The bulletins throughout Monday were hopeful. One said the President has passed a somewhat restless night, sleeping fairly well; and another declared the President’s condition was “becoming more and more satisfactory,” and adding that “untoward incidents are less likely to occur.” One issued at 3 p. m. stated: “The President’s condition steadily improves and he is comfortable, without pain or unfavorable symptoms. Bowel and kidney functions normally performed.”
The last bulletin for the day, issued at 9:30 p. m., said: “The President’s condition continues favorable. Pulse, 112; temperature, 101°; respiration, 27.”
Mrs. McKinley felt so encouraged that she took a drive during the afternoon. She had just left the President, after an interview in which she displayed quite as much fortitude as the President. She seated herself beside his bed and took his hand. They said little. In each other’s eyes they seemed to read what each would say. Then the President remarked quietly: “We must bear up. It will be better for both.”
There were tears in her eyes as Mrs. McKinley bowed her head in assent. Soon afterward Dr. Rixey lead her gently from the room.
Mrs. McKinley paid another brief visit to the President that evening. They were alone for a moment only, barely sufficient for her to kiss him good night and murmur a few words of cheer.
The way Mrs. McKinley is regarded in the Presidential circle is well expressed by Secretary Wilson.
“It is a little less than wonderful,” he said, “how remarkably well the noble woman bore her trial. She was shocked and frightened, but never for a moment did she show the slightest sign of collapse. Tears came to her relief, and perhaps it is fortunate for her that they did, as such an expression of grief undoubtedly lessened the strain.”
News from the bedside on Tuesday was more favorable than on the preceding day. The danger point was regarded as past, and fast recovery was the general prediction. The doctors had only two services—aside, of course, from careful watching—to perform. One was to open in part the President’s outside wound to remove some foreign substances, and the other was to give him food for the first time. It developed that a portion of the President’s clothing had been carried into the wound by the bullet, and this had not all been removed at the first operation. As slight irritation was caused by the cloth, the surgeons removed it. The operation caused no harm, and little annoyance to the patient.
The President felt so well that he asked for some newspapers to read. The request was denied. The President enjoyed the food given him—beef extract. At 10:30 o’clock on Tuesday night the physicians issued this bulletin: “The condition of the President unchanged in all important particulars. His temperature is 100.6°; pulse, 114; respiration, 28.”
Whenever the physicians would permit the wounded man to talk, he would show his hopefulness. Jokingly he assured the constant watchers that his wants were all filled except one—his desire to smoke. McKinley loved a good cigar and smoked from ten to twenty each day. The craving for a cigar was constant and only by great self-denial did he keep from demanding one. The weakness of his heart, which later was one of the contributing causes of his death, was in part due to the sudden change from free use of cigars to the absolute prohibition which the doctors imposed.
The consultation held by the physicians in attendance upon President McKinley lasted from 9:20 until 11:20 o’clock Tuesday night. Half an hour after they left the Milburn residence the following bulletin was issued:
“The condition of the President is unchanged in all important particulars. His temperature is 100.6°, pulse 114, respiration 28. When the operation was done on Friday last it was noted that the bullet had carried with it a short distance beneath the skin a fragment of the President’s coat. This foreign material was, of course, removed, but a slight irritation of the tissues was produced, the evidence of which has appeared only to-night. It has been necessary on account of this slight disturbance to remove a few stitches and partially open the skin wound. This incident cannot give rise to other complications, but it is communicated to the public, as the surgeons in attendance wish to make their bulletins entirely frank. In consequence of this separation of the edges of the surface wound the healing of the same will be somewhat delayed. The President is now well enough to begin to take nourishment by the mouth in the form of pure beef juice.
“P. M. Rixey.
“M. D. Mann.
“Roswell Park.
“Herman Mynter.
“Charles McBurney.
“George B. Cortelyou,
“Secretary to the President.”
Before the doctors appeared, Secretaries Smith, Wilson, and Hitchcock came out of the house, followed by Secretaries Hay and Root. They said the doctors were still engaged in their consultation, and had not come down stairs. They had been informed, though, they said, that the satisfactory conditions still continued.
Very soon after the doctors had left the morning visitors began coming. First came Comptroller Charles G. Dawes, Senator Fairbanks, and Judge Day. They went into the house about 10:50 o’clock. They were only there a few minutes when Senator Hanna and Secretary Hitchcock, Postmaster-General Smith and Congressman Grosvenor of Ohio appeared. They all expressed themselves as confident of the outcome. The bulletin of the physicians was not taken to indicate anything serious, and the visitors confirmed the hopefulness of the situation. The President showed so much improvement in his condition the people began to send flowers to him. Shortly before noon Tuesday a wagon load of flowers arrived at the Milburn house, the gift of Governor Gregory of Rhode Island to the President. They were accompanied by a message of the tenderest sympathy and encouragement. The flowers, which were in baskets, were placed on the lawn and were photographed before being taken into the house. Two large bouquets came from the First Signal corps, and some of the friends of the Milburns sent other baskets.
While interest at Buffalo materially centered at the Milburn house, the prison in which Czolgosz was confined received attention from many. The President was interested in the assassin, and asked for information a number of times. The physicians would not enter into details, but stated that the man was undoubtedly insane, and that the general public attached no meaning to the attack further than to attribute it to a diseased mind.
Roosevelt left Buffalo for the Adirondack woods Tuesday night. He planned to hunt for a few days and then proceed to his home at Oyster Bay. Senator Hanna and most of the members of the Cabinet left Tuesday or Wednesday.
Wednesday was another day full of hopeful signs. The President continued to show remarkable recuperative powers and passed the day without the slightest unfavorable symptom. He was able to retain food on his stomach, and surprised and amused his doctors by again asking for a cigar. He was not allowed to smoke, but he was placed in a new bed. He was also given a bath. His highest temperature on Wednesday was 100.4°. That was at ten o’clock in the evening. The highest point reached by his pulse was 120—at six o’clock a. m.—and his respiration remained normal at 26.
Mrs. McKinley saw the President on Wednesday morning. When the doctors arrived at the house for the consultation they passed her sitting in the upper corridor of the residence at work on her knitting. She was in good spirits, and after the visit of the doctors they gave their assent to her entering the sick room again. She remained only a minute, as the physicians were avoiding any sapping of the President’s strength by prolonged visits, even by those nearest to him.
Governor Yates of Illinois and State Senator Templeton, chairman of the Exposition Commission of Illinois, called to pay their respects and advise with Secretary Cortelyou as to the propriety of proceeding with the arrangements for Illinois Day at the Exposition, which was set for the following Monday.
Secretary Cortelyou told them that it was the President’s own desire that none of the features of the Exposition should be disturbed by his illness, and assured them that there would not be the slightest impropriety in going ahead with the arrangements. Such was the confidence displayed forty-eight hours before McKinley’s death.
The physicians announced that there was no intention of hurrying Mr. McKinley away from Buffalo, which city is much cooler than either Canton or Washington, and the home of the President of the Buffalo Exposition is a first-class modern residence, admirably equipped for taking care of the patient. It is in a residence part of town, and by utilizing the police and the infantry had been completely isolated.
It was Mrs. McKinley’s wish that they remain at Buffalo until the President had recovered and then spend a month at the home at Canton in final recuperation, after which they were to proceed to Washington. The President favored going to Washington and the Cabinet officers favored this plan. There was no pressing public business, but the routine duties are numerous. Plans were under preparation for the journey to Washington when the distinguished patient began to show signs of a relapse.
It was on Thursday, just six days after the shooting, that the President suffered a relapse. Everybody was still full of hopes until 8:30 o’clock in the evening, when the physicians announced officially that the President’s condition was not so good. The problem of disposing of the food in the stomach was becoming a serious one, and the danger of heart failure increased. At midnight the situation was critical. Calomel and oil were given to flush the bowels and digitalis to quiet the heart. The bowels moved soon afterwards, and the patient improved. The pulse dropped to 120, and the prospect was regarded as brighter.
Secretary Cortelyou announced that there would be no more bulletins during the night, and the physicians departed.
Shortly after two o’clock, after a heavy thunderstorm, the physicians and nurses who were left on watch detected a weakening of the heart action. The pulse fluttered and weakened and the President sank toward a collapse. The end appeared at hand. Restoratives were applied speedily, but they did not at once prove effective. It was then decided to send for the other physicians, relatives, members of the Cabinet, and close personal friends of the President.
Trouble began on Thursday afternoon through the failure of the digestive organs to perform their functions. The necessity for nourishment had been pressing for several days, and the partial failure of artificial means had led to the adoption of natural means. The rectum, through which nourishment had been injected previously to Wednesday, became irritated and rejected the enemas.
PRESIDENT McKINLEY FALLING INTO ARMS OF CORTELYOU, SAYING: “AM I SHOT?”
PRESIDENT McKINLEY BEING PUT IN THE AMBULANCE AFTER BEING SHOT.
The physicians tried to feed him through the mouth, probably before the stomach was prepared. The first administration of beef juice through the mouth, however, seemed to agree with the patient, and the physicians were highly gratified at the way the stomach seemed to receive the food.
Dr. McBurney was especially jubilant over the action of the stomach and before his departure for New York dwelt upon the fact that the stomach seemed to have resumed its normal functions. The breakfast of chicken broth and toast given Thursday morning was spoken of by all the physicians as strong evidence of the President’s marked improvement. It was only when it became apparent late in the morning that this food had not agreed with the President that the first genuine anxiety appeared. The first note of alarm was sounded in the official bulletin Thursday afternoon, which spoke of the President’s fatigue.
President McKinley, already weak from the ordeal of the tragedy and suffering, complained of an increasing feeling of fatigue. He had heretofore been so buoyant and cheerful that his complaints were regarded seriously. The pulse was then also abnormally high, 126 beats to the minute. With a temperature of 100.2° it should have been thirty beats lower.
The weakness of the heart began to arouse serious concern. Instead of growing better, the President’s condition after that grew steadily worse.
The staff of physicians, augmented by Dr. Stockton, who had temporarily taken the place of Dr. McBurney, was summoned early in the evening, and there was a conference.
At 8:30 the physicians announced officially that the President’s condition was not so good. The problem of disposing of the food in the stomach was becoming a serious one and the danger of heart failure increased.
It was believed then that the opening of the bowels, which was effected, would have the effect of allaying the wild pulsations of the heart. His pulse did drop to 120 and the prospect was slightly brighter. But owing to the President’s extreme weakness and his fatigue no attempt was made to conceal the serious apprehension which was felt. The feeling of depression increased in volume and intensity.
Secretary Cortelyou insisted that the truth should be made public by the doctors and the bulletins themselves were telling their unfortunate story all too plainly. There was still hope that the worn and weary patient would be better in the morning, and at midnight Secretary Cortelyou said it was not probable that another bulletin would be issued until morning.
Hope came once more to the breasts of those who had waited for hours in anxiety. The physicians parted for the night and every sign was a cheering one. There had been disquieting pulse action for several hours, but practically all of the unfavorable symptoms had been linked with the stomach trouble, and it was thought they would probably disappear with the removal of the cause which was supposed to have created them.
The unofficial reports at one o’clock and 1:30 o’clock were both of a satisfactory nature and the watchers gathered about the house prepared for an uninterrupted night.
Another thunderstorm came out of the north and a few minutes’ play of the lightning brought rain in a heavy downpour. A bluster wind blew up from the west to complete the cheerlessness of the night.
Shortly after two o’clock the physicians and nurses detected a weakening of the heart action. The pulse fluttered and weakened and the President sank toward collapse. The end appeared to be at hand.
Restoratives were speedily applied and the physicians fought the battle with all the reserve forces of science. Action was immediate and decisive. Digitalis and strychnia were administered, and as a last resort saline solution was injected into the veins.
A general alarm went speeding to the consulting physicians and trained nurses as fast as messengers, the telegraph and telephone could carry it.
The restoratives did not at once prove effective and it was realized that the President was in an extremely critical condition.
That realization, with the shadow of death behind it, led to another call, and that a summons to the Cabinet, relatives and close personal friends of the President.
The messengers who returned with the doctors and nurses were hurried off after those within reach, and to those who were absent from the city telegrams conveying the painful tidings were quickly transmitted.
The scene about the house and in the storm-swept street was dramatic in its action and setting, and the spirit of the tragedy was on those who looked upon it. A messenger who darted into the rain and was whisked away in an electric cab gave the outside watchers the first intimation of the ill news from within.
At the same moment new lights burned within the windows of the Milburn residence. Soon the word was passed out that the President had partly collapsed and was critically ill. It was a confirmation that was hardly needed, for the fact had been established by action that needed no words.
Mrs. McKinley went through the long night of sorrow as only the thoroughbred woman does. She slept, but that she could have slept much was impossible. But no traces of the night’s agony showed as she turned her serene face upon early callers next morning.
Mrs. Barber, Mrs. McKinley’s sister, was present, and with her the Misses Barber, her daughters, and her son, Assistant Paymaster Barber of the Navy. When the two sisters met, Mrs. McKinley came nearer to breaking down than she had at any time. Her eyes overflowed and her voice broke. But she soon recovered and was again the strong, consoling wife of a stricken mate.
When the serious condition of the President was realized, early Friday morning, Secretaries Hitchcock and Wilson, the only Cabinet officers in the city, were summoned at once and came in a short time. Drs. Mann and Mynter and Dr. Park, who had been present at the consultations held during the night, arrived just after them. The first two were together in an automobile. They leaped from it before it stopped and ran up to the house. Dr. Park showed the same haste.
Miss Mackenzie, one of the nurses, arrived at 3:10 in a cab. She jumped from her cab and ran up the steps. Mrs. Newell, another of the nurses, followed her in five minutes in an automobile.
Secret Service men, summoned by Operator Foster, came and took possession of the Western Union telegraph wires leading to the Milburn house. Communication was attempted with Vice-President Roosevelt. The Cabinet ministers who were not in Buffalo were sent word to come at once. Senator Hanna was summoned from Cleveland, and answered that he would come as fast as a chartered train could bring him.
Mrs. Lafayette McWilliams drove up to the house at 3:35 and went directly to Mrs. McKinley, who at that time was still sleeping. Then the procession of carriages arriving at the Milburn house at a gallop grew thicker, bringing state dignitaries and friends of the President with their anxiety marked on their faces.
When the immediate danger of death was considered passed the visitors at the house began to depart, and some of the physicians left. At eight o’clock the only person at the house besides doctors and regular attendants were Secretaries Hitchcock and Wilson, Abner McKinley, Colonel Brown of Fostoria, Ohio, John G. Milburn, Miss Alice Barber and Mrs. Lafayette McWilliams.
Crowds of the curious had surrounded the house by that time, the news of the President’s extremity having circulated rapidly through the city. The lines of police and soldiers were doubled, but the crowd grew and seemed content to wait for news from the physicians.
Shortly after eight o’clock the physicians began to arrive at the house again, some of them having gone home for breakfast and rest. Abner McKinley did not go to his breakfast. Mrs. McKinley was still sleeping at eight o’clock and Secretary Cortelyou had lain down to rest, as the strain and anxiety of the night had exhausted him.
Major Diehl called at 9:30 and with him was former Postmaster-General Bissel. They were informed by Dr. Mann that if the President survived the day there was hope for him. The President was in a collapse, he said, although his heart action was slightly strengthened.
A clergyman, Arthur O. Sykes, arrived soon after and caused much excitement among the watchers, as his presence was interpreted as a sign of extremity. It was learned, however, that he only came to bring messages of sympathy from the citizens of Portsmouth, Va.
Senator Hanna arrived at the house in an automobile at 9:35. He arrived at the Central Station on his special train but a few minutes before, after a record-breaking run from Cleveland in a chartered train. Detective Ireland met him at the train and the automobile brought him to the President as fast as possible.
At eleven o’clock the President fell into a slumber. While he slept the sun, whose beams had dispelled the rain clouds of the night, was again overcast. A chilling rain began to fall. Visitors still came into the house, inquired of the President’s condition and departed.
Governor Yates of Illinois was among them. He arrived shortly after eleven o’clock. When he left he said the surgeons had informed him there was a slight improvement in the President’s condition, but not sufficient to remove the grave apprehension felt.
Senator Chauncey M. Depew arrived shortly after noon with Colonel Myron T. Herrick, who had gone to the depot to meet him. Senator Depew had been summoned during the night. Colonel Herrick arrived on the same train that brought Senator Hanna.
The news that came from the house at this time was still of the gravest kind. Nothing more than a fighting chance was conceded by the physicians. That was the news that Colonel Herrick brought out when he left the house at 12:18 to go to dinner.
By far the most hopeful of the watchers was Senator Hanna, who declared his belief that the President had a good chance for his life. He sent for Dr. Rixey and questioned him and the doctor replied:
“The President is gaining strength and has a good fighting chance but for his heart. God knows what it will do.”
The most noted heart specialist in the country, Dr. Janeway of Washington, was summoned during the morning.
The advance of death may be read in the bulletins which were issued by the physicians and others and sent by the newspaper reporters to their respective papers.
Beginning at 10:28 a. m. Dr. Mynter announced that the President had a fighting chance. Then came, at 1:45, “The President is sleeping and an examination will be postponed until later.”
Then for a time no information came which would give the watchers outside any clew as to the positive condition of the patient within. Suddenly a carriage came up at a rapid speed and Dr. Stockton jumped out. He bore what appeared to be a case of surgical instruments.
It was not until after this that the information came that during the morning Mrs. McKinley had been in the room for a brief time, but the fact that her husband was dying was not imparted to her, and every effort was made to keep any suspicion of the true condition from her.
Colonel Alexander came from the house at 2:20 and declared the President had just awakened from a sound sleep which lasted an hour and a half. It was rumored, however, that the sleep was caused by the use of drugs and that Mr. McKinley was really dying.
At 4:45 p. m. Secretary Hitchcock and Secretary Wilson arrived and passed hurriedly into the house. They would answer no questions.
The anxiety of the watchers outside was abated somewhat immediately after this, however, by the appearance from the house of Mrs. Abner McKinley and her daughter, Mrs. Herman Baer. The women drove away, and, it was argued that, were the President in any immediate danger, they would not have left the house.
The President’s physicians issued a bulletin at 4:50 which stated that there had been but a slight improvement since the last official bulletin was issued. This notice said the pulse and temperature were practically the same.
A few minutes after the posting of this bulletin Harry Hamlin came from the house. He would not speak, and, summoning a carriage, he drove away at full speed.
Though no statement was given out, the appearance of every one about the Milburn house indicated that the President’s death was expected any moment. Figures moved about swiftly but noiselessly within the house.
The end seemed at hand when the physicians announced at 5:25 that the condition of the President was very bad—in fact, could not be worse.
The news was flashed to the White House from an official source at Buffalo that at 5:45 the President’s condition was most grave. That his heart was responding but poorly to stimulants. Secretary Root, accompanied by Carlton Sprague, reached the Milburn residence a few minutes after five o’clock. It was said that Secretary Long would arrive at 11:40 o’clock.
To those who were so anxiously waiting for Vice-President Roosevelt or knowledge of his whereabouts, word came from the train dispatcher at Saratoga that at 7:30 p. m. Mr. Roosevelt had not been found, so far as he knew, by the guides who were scouring the Adirondack woods for him. The Vice-President had not reached North Creek, fifty-nine miles north of Saratoga.
At eight o’clock word came that under the influence of oxygen the President regained consciousness for a moment. Dr. McBurney arrived at the house at eight o’clock, and a moment later a guard was placed around the tent in which was located the direct wire to the White House.
CHAPTER III.
DEATH-BED OF PRESIDENT McKINLEY.
William McKinley, twenty-fifth President of the United States, died at fifteen minutes past two o’clock on the morning of Saturday, September 14, 1901, at the age of fifty-eight years. He had lived just six and a half days after receiving his wound at the hands of Leon Czolgosz, the anarchist.
From the time President McKinley was carried to the bed in the Milburn home, at Buffalo, there had been a continually rising barometer of hope. Frightful as had been the shock of his wound, serious as were the consequences in a bullet necessarily retained in his body, the great reserves of courage and of strength had come to the President’s rescue, and he had seemed to mend from the start. As the days passed following the assault, the whole nation emerged from that black pall of gloom which fell in the hour when men first whispered: “The President is shot!” Usual vocations were taken up again. Social activities were renewed. The people in general, scarcely pausing from the pressure of a necessary labor, caught the note of encouragement, and were happy as they worked. Apprehension almost faded away as the days of the week followed each other, and every succeeding bulletin painted but brighter the scene in the sick room. By Wednesday the millions of Americans who were watching with eyes of love at that bedside—however near or remote they might be—had quite dismissed the thought of a fatal ending to the President’s case. They accepted his speedy recovery as a fact to be shared with jubilation, and had forgotten the grip of dismay and fear which seized them when the first news came.
And out of this rising glow of happiness came, late Thursday night, another shock—the bitterer for the hope which had preceded it.
“The President is worse.” That was the message men whispered to each other. After bulletins which exhausted the possibility of variety in statement came one which chilled the warm heart of the nation, and frightened far away the hope which had seemed so certain. The Thursday morning statement of physicians and secretary reported all that could be argued from the sanguine statements of preceding days.
At three o’clock in the afternoon there was a note of distress in the reporting. The country had already been apprised, through the watchful press, of such “hurryings to and fro” as presaged a return of peril, and of fear. There were drawn, white faces at the windows of the Milburn house. The calm of preceding days was disturbed. Messengers were sent flying to various destinations. Carriages and automobiles rolled up or rolled away in a haste which could mean but burning anxiety. And in the evening hours came that carefully considered bulletin which was the more portentous for the very vagueness of its terms:
Milburn House, Buffalo, N. Y., September 12.—The following bulletin was issued by the President’s physicians at 8:30 p. m.:
The President’s condition this evening is not quite so good. His food has not agreed with him and has been stopped. Excretion has not yet been properly established. The kidneys are acting well. His pulse is not satisfactory, but has improved in the last two hours. The wound is doing well. He is resting quietly. Temperature, 100.2°; pulse, 128.
P. M. Rixey,
M. D. Mann,
Roswell Park,
Herman Mynter,
Eugene Wasdin,
Charles D. Stockton.
George B. Cortelyou,
Secretary to the President.
Little by little the people learned. Early on Thursday there were signs of pain. There were alarming developments. The physicians, carefully scanning every evidence, breathlessly watching their patient’s every moment, learned that a relapse had come. They battled against it. They called up all the known agencies for assisting nature in opposing the grim enemy that threatened.
But the President was sinking. That was the truth about it.
All through Thursday night, all through Friday that battling for life went on, the patient, brave and uncomplaining victim of a reasonless shot, was subjecting himself utterly to the control of the medical men. And they were exhausting the possibilities of medicine and of surgery. They were doing all that man could do. They were rendering such service as king’s can not command. But the baffling difficulty continued. They could not understand.
Down through the body, hidden from their eyes, ran the channel which a murderous bullet had plowed. And in every inch of its course the fatal gangrene had settled. Death was at his feast in the President’s body!
Nothing could check that devastation. Nothing could spur the heart to combat longer. Nothing could restore those pulses to normal beating.
The President was dying!
All through the early hours of Friday night it was known he could not live to another sunrise. Friends, relatives, cabinet officers, the Vice President—all were summoned; and they were hastening to the bedside in the hush of an awful sorrow.
At three o’clock Friday morning all of the physicians were gathered at the bedside of the President. It was stated that digitalis was being administered. Drs. Mynter and Mann arrived at the house at 2:40, having been sent for hurriedly.
Dr. Park reached the house at 2:50, and shortly after him came Secretaries Hitchcock and Wilson.
Several messengers were hurried from the house and it was understood that they carried dispatches to the absent members of the Cabinet and the kin of the President.
Additional lights burned. The household was astir. It was manifest that the wounded President faced a grave and menacing crisis.
Alarm could be read in the faces of those to whose nursing and care he was committed.
Mrs. Newell, one of the trained nurses suddenly called, arrived at 3:15. She sprang from an electric carriage and ran down the sidewalk to the house.
The scene about the house was dramatic. The attendants could be seen hurrying about behind the unshaded and brightly lighted windows, and messengers came and went hastily through the guarded door.
Outside half a hundred newspaper correspondents were assembled awaiting news.
Meanwhile the nation—the world—stood watching for the final word. Buffalo, where the President was assassinated, stood agape with horror and rage.
It was past midday when he had entered upon his final struggle. The thousands gathered at the Pan-American Exposition, the nation and the outside world were not prepared even then for a realization that the worst was at hand.
A furious rainstorm was sweeping the city when the first ominous announcement came from the Milburn house:
“President McKinley is dying. He can live but a few moments.”
Then signal service operators took possession of the telegraph wires leading to the house of death. Cabinet officers and members of the President’s family began to arrive, and the beginning of the end had come.
Then it was announced that the President might live for several hours. But even then his limbs were growing cold and his pulse was fluttering with the feeble efforts of his will alone. He was conscious. Every light in the house was aglow.
Within, the wife had paid her last tribute to her dying sweetheart of thirty years. Dr. Rixey led her into the room, and as she laid her head alongside his she sobbed:
“I cannot let him go.”
She knew that the President was dying then, and in the dim silence of her adjoining room she waited and wept as the hours sped and the doctors wondered at the mighty battle of the dying man.
It was midnight when Secretary Long of the Navy arrived. He found his beloved chief alive, but unconscious, and Dr. Mann told him, as he stood in the hallway, “The President is pulseless and dying, but he may live an hour.”
At half an hour past midnight Coroner Wilson arrived at the Milburn house, and an unfounded announcement of McKinley’s death was quickly telegraphed to all parts of the country. He left as soon as he found that the order summoning him was a mistake.
But the President, now finally unconscious, and breathing but faintly, struggled on. Midnight, 1 and 2 o’clock, found him wavering on the verge, and the men of science could but stand and marvel at the wondrous but hopeless fight which he had maintained so long. Intervals of apparent consciousness came upon him. Sometimes he opened his fading eyes and gazed calmly around.
At 2 o’clock the dim, gray light began to fall across his shrunken face, and then—death won!
He had been unconscious, the doctors said, for nearly six hours. During all this time he had been gradually sinking. For the last half hour he had been in such condition that it was difficult to tell when he breathed.
With him at the time of his death was Dr. Rixey, alone of all the physicians, and by the side of the bed were grouped Senator Hanna and members of the President’s family.
He died unattended by a minister of the gospel, but his last words were an humble submission to the will of God, in whom he believed. He was reconciled to the cruel fate to which an assassin’s bullet had condemned him, and faced death in the same spirit of calmness and poise which has marked his long and honorable career.
His last conscious words, reduced to writing by Dr. Mann, who stood at his bedside when they were uttered, were as follows:
“Good-by, all; good-by. It is God’s way. His will be done, not ours.”
His relatives and the members of his official family were at the Milburn house, except Secretary Wilson, who did not avail himself of the opportunity and some of his personal and political friends took leave of him. This painful ceremony was simple. His friends came to the door of the sick room, took a longing glance at him and turned tearfully away.
He was practically unconscious during this time, but the powerful heart stimulants, including oxygen, were employed to restore him to consciousness for his final parting with his wife. He asked for her and she sat at his side and held his hand. He consoled her and bade her good-by.
She went through the heart-trying scene with the same bravery and fortitude with which she had borne the grief of the tragedy which ended his life.
That last day on earth had tried him severely. He had commenced wearing away a little before 3 o’clock Friday morning. Throughout the day and evening the expectations of attendants, physicians and friends oscillated as a pendulum between hope and despair. Hopeless bulletins followed encouraging reports from the sick room, and they in turn gave way to recurrent hope.
The truth was too evident to be passed over or concealed. The President’s life was hanging in the balance. The watchers felt that at any moment might come the announcement of a change which would foreshadow the end.
When it was learned that the President was taking small quantities of nourishment hope rose that he would pass the crisis in safety. Everybody knew, though—and no attempt was made to conceal it—that the coming night would in all human probability be his last on earth. It was known that he was being kept alive by the strongest of heart stimulants, and that the physicians had obtained a supply of oxygen to be administered if the worse came.
During the day President McKinley was conscious when he was not sleeping. Early in the morning when he awoke he looked out of the window and saw that the sky was overcast with heavy clouds.
“It is not so bright as it was yesterday,” said he.
His eyes then caught the waving branches of the trees, glistening with rain, and their bright green evidently made an agreeable impression upon him.
“It is pleasant to see them,” said he, feebly.
Mrs. McKinley did not take her usual drive. She saw the President once before night, and then only for a moment. No words passed between them. The physicians led her to the bedside of her husband, and after she had looked at him for a moment they led her away.
While Mrs. McKinley was told that the President was not so well the physicians deemed it best not to attempt to explain to her fully the nature of the complications which had arisen or the real gravity of his condition.
As fast as steam could bring them the President’s secretaries, the members of his family and the physicians who had left convinced that the President would recover, were whirled back to Buffalo. They went at once to the house in which he was lying, and the information which they obtained there was of a nature to heighten rather than to relieve their fears.
All night the doctors worked to keep the President alive. The day broke with a gloomy sky and a pouring rain, broken by frequent bursts of gusty downpours. It seemed as though nature was sympathizing with the gloom which surrounded the ivy-clad house about which the sentries were steadily marching.
The 2 o’clock bulletin, issued at 2:30, swung the pendulum away over on the side of confidence. It stated that the President had more than held his own since morning, and that his condition justified the expectation of further improvement. It added: “He is better than at this time yesterday.”
Faces up and down the street brightened. Telegraph messenger boys, in their youthful spirits, restrained all the day by the gloom around the Milburn house, whooped as they ran and nobody reproved. The sun shone again.
But the news was too good to last. Secretary Cortelyou walked across the street to the press and telegraph tents and explained that the sentence. “He is better than at this time yesterday,” should be stricken out. Then the sky was black again.
The bravery of Mrs. McKinley in this last moment was only paralleled by the heroism with which the President himself, murmuring the words of “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” turned his face away from all so dear to him in life, and passed into the last and eternal sleep.
All through the struggle of Friday when the erratic heart of the President leaped and then failed, Mrs. McKinley’s courage had been at the highest point. The beautiful womanhood within her, the memories of thirty years of perfect married life, the recollections of the tender devotions of the dying President, rose and gave her the strength needed to face the worst.
She remained in her apartments surrounded by friends, anxious to be by the President’s side, but obedient to Dr. Rixey’s wishes that she should not come until she was called.
Oxygen had been given the President, and under its influence he had slightly revived. He told Dr. Rixey that he realized he was about to die, and he asked for Mrs. McKinley.
She came and knelt down by his bed and his eyes rested lovingly upon her. His first solicitude was for her—her care, her happiness. All the love of three decades shone in his face as he feebly put out his hands and covered her own with his.
He knew that he was dying, she only half apprehended it. But even in such a trial she kept herself up most bravely, lifting her tear-stained face to Dr. Rixey’s and exclaiming:
“I know that you will save him. I cannot let him go. The country cannot spare him.”
The President’s strength did not last long. Unconsciousness returned to him, and they led Mrs. McKinley away.
When she was without the room Mr. Milburn told her that the President could hardly live until morning.
Herbert P. Bissell came to her side as she wavered, and Dr. Wasdin hurried from the President’s chamber and administered a restorative.
Little by little Mrs. McKinley gained new strength, and in half an hour was in full control of herself. Several ladies sat beside her, and to one of these she turned and whispered:
“I will be strong for his sake.”
An invalid herself, racked for twenty years with pain, almost helpless at times, since the years in which her children passed from her, the wife and sweetheart of the dying President conquered herself.
And so the heavy hours hurried away. Midnight had come, and gone. The dawn was lingering far in the east, and not even the edge of the world glowed with the promise of day. It had rained on Friday, and a storm had raged which will long be remembered by those who were called abroad in the troubled city. As at the close of Napoleon’s life the elements warred tumultuously, so on the last day of this gentler ruler, the winds and the clouds filled the earth with tears and the sounds of weeping.
They did not know, but his physicians were helpless from the start. The demon who had struck so surely, might well make mockery of them. Six days of pain, six days of agony, six days of hovering at the slippery brink of death—and on the seventh he was at rest.
The great heart of the President was still forever. The man who had confessed his God in childhood, bade farewell to earth with the words: “Thy will be done!” The man who had helped his parents and his brothers and his sisters, who had periled his life freely in the defense of his country, who had made an honorable name and given the blessing of a husband’s love to one good woman, the man who had never harmed a human being purposely, who had lived at peace with God and man almost for three-score years, had drifted across the bar. His heart had throbbed lightly, and was still. The varying pulse had ceased, and the calm eyes that had fronted life and death and destiny without ever flinching—this Man was dead. The head of a nation, the chief executive of eighty millions of people, the statesman who had guided his country so wisely and so well, had been thrust from earth by an assassin who had no cause of complaint, who had no wrongs to avenge, no advantage to secure, no benefit to hope.
And into the silent room where all need for silence had passed, where footfalls need not be guided lightly, where bated breath were no more known, the night wind came through wide-flung windows, and touched the lips and brow and nerveless hands. And the sound of unchecked weeping waited for the dawn.
CHAPTER IV.
THE STORY OF THE ASSASSIN.
Leon F. Czolgosz, the assassin of President McKinley, was born of Polish parents, who resided in Cleveland at the time he committed the terrible crime. Twenty-six years of age, born in Detroit, of medium height, smooth-shaver, brown hair, and dressed like a workingman completes all the description necessary.
After the shooting he made a confession, in which he told how he had followed the President from the time of the latter’s arrival at the exposition until the fatal shots were fired. All of this time, like a prowling wild beast, he sought the life of President McKinley.
He received some education in the common schools of Detroit, but left school and went to work when a boy as a blacksmith’s apprentice. Later he went to work at Cleveland and then went to Chicago.
While in Chicago he became interested in the Socialist movement. When he went back to Cleveland his interest in the movement increased. He read all the Socialist literature he could lay his hands on, and finally began to take part in Socialistic matters. In time he became well known among Anarchists in Chicago, Cleveland and Detroit, not only as a Socialist, but as an Anarchist of the most bitter type.
After returning to Cleveland from Chicago he went to work in the wire mills in Newburg, a suburb of Cleveland.
About two weeks previous to his fearful crime, Czolgosz attended a meeting of Socialists in Cleveland, at which a lecture was given by Emma Goldman, the woman whose anarchistic doctrines have made her notorious all over the country. The extermination of rulers of people is part of her creed.
It was this lecture and others heard in Chicago prior to that time that instilled in the heart of the Pole the poison of assassination. He went back to his lodging from the lecture with fever in his brain. His mind was filled with the preaching of this woman. The doctrine that rulers had no right to live was burned into his soul. He awoke in the morning with the lecture of Emma Goldman running through his mind.
A few days afterward he read in a Chicago paper that President McKinley was to visit the Pan-American Exposition and to remain in Buffalo for several days. The lecture of Emma Goldman and the projected visit of the President to Buffalo were linked in his every thought.
Eight days before the tragedy he packed a small telescope valise with a few of his belongings and took an early train for Buffalo. At that time there was no well-formed purpose in his mind. The plot to murder had not crystallized, but the thought that in Buffalo he would be able, perhaps, to reach the President’s side was what led him to start for the East, and with it was the dim conviction that his mission was one of blood.
Upon arriving in Buffalo he went at once to an hotel kept by one John Nowak. He went there because he knew Nowak was a Pole. He told Nowak he had come to see the exposition, and that his stay would be indefinite. He inquired of Nowak about the visit of the President, when he would arrive, how long he would be in the city, what he was to do there, and whether the people would be able to see much of him. Nowak told him what the plans were.
The next day Czolgosz went to the exposition. He went there on the following day, and the day following. The idea that he might kill the President when he came was in his mind, but the purpose was but half formed. At that time it might have been possible to have diverted his mind from the thought of such a mission. But he was alone in the city. He had no friends there. There was nothing to check the fever burning deeper and deeper into his mind.
On Wednesday morning, the day of the President’s arrival, Czolgosz had his mind made up. His mission to Buffalo was clear to him then. He determined to shoot the President. The first thing he did was to get a revolver.
He arrived on the grounds shortly before noon. He knew the President would not arrive before the early evening. He had read the papers carefully and knew every detail of the plans. But he was anxious to be on the scene where the assassination was to be committed. He remained at the exposition all day.
In the afternoon he took up his position close to the railroad gate. He knew the President would enter the grounds that way. After a time other people began to assemble there until there was a crowd that hedged him in on all sides. He came to the conclusion that the place for him to be was outside of the railroad station, close to the tracks.
He feared that inside the grounds the crush might be so great that he would be brushed aside and prevented from reaching the President. He tried to pass through the gate to the station, but he was too late. Guards had just closed the exit. The President was to arrive soon, and the police did not desire to have the station crowded, so they pushed Czolgosz back into the crowd.
“LET ME SEE THE TREES; THEY ARE SO BEAUTIFUL,” SAID PRESIDENT McKINLEY.
MRS. McKINLEY BIDDING HER HUSBAND THE LAST FAREWELL.
He was in the forefront of the throng when the President came through the gate. The exhibition of tenderness and affection for his wife which the President unconsciously gave her as he led her through the entrance thrilled every one in the throng but Czolgosz. He alone felt no pity for the pale, sweet-faced, suffering woman. He pressed forward with the rest of the crowd as the President approached the carriage. He was gripping the weapon in his pocket in his right hand.
Several times, as the figure of the Chief Executive came into full view as the guards drew aside, the impulse to rush forward and shoot took possession of him, but each time he changed his mind. He feared that he would be discovered before he could reach the President. He was afraid that the glint of the revolver, if he drew it from his pocket, might attract the attention of a detective or a soldier or a citizen before he could put his plan into execution, and in that event the assassin knew that all hope of killing the President would be over. He saw the President enter the carriage and drive away. He followed, but the crowd closed in front of him and held him back.
The next morning he was at the exposition early. He took up his position close to the stand beneath the Pylon of Liberty, where the President was to speak. When the time came for the President to arrive the guards pushed him back. He saw the President arrive and mount to the stand. He stood there in the front row of the hurrahing people, mute, with a single thought in his mind.
He heard Mr. McKinley speak. He reckoned up the chances in his mind of stealing closer and shooting down the President where he stood. Once he fully determined to make the attempt, but just then a stalwart guard appeared in front of him. He concluded to wait a better opportunity. After the address he was among those who attempted to crowd up to the President’s carriage. One of the detectives caught him by the shoulder and shoved him back into the crowd.
He saw the President drive away and followed. He tried to pass through the entrance after the President, but the guards halted him and sent him away. He entered the stadium by another entrance, but was not permitted to get within reach of the President.
The next morning he was at the exposition again and was in the crowd at the railroad gate when the President arrived at that point after crossing the grounds from the Lincoln Park entrance. But with the rest of the crowd he was driven back when the President’s carriage arrived. He saw the President pass through the gate to the special train which was to take him to the falls.
Czolgosz waited for the President’s return. In the afternoon he went to the Temple of Music and was one of the first of the throng to enter. He crowded well forward, as close to the stage as possible. He was there when the President entered through the side door. He was one of the first to hurry forward when the President took his position and prepared to shake hands with the people.
Czolgosz had his revolver gripped in his right hand, and about both the hand and the revolver was wrapped a handkerchief. He held the weapon to his breast, so that any one who noticed him might suppose that the hand was injured.
He reached the President finally. He did not look into the President’s face. He extended his left hand, pressed the revolver against the President’s breast with his right hand and fired twice.
That was all there was to his story.
“Did you mean to kill the President?” asked the District Attorney.
“I did,” was the reply.
“What was the motive that induced you to commit this crime?” he was asked.
“I am a disciple of Emma Goldman,” he replied.
The following is Czolgosz’s signed confession to the police. It agrees with the above, but we give it in his exact words:
“I was born in Detroit nearly twenty-nine years ago. My parents were Russian Poles. They came here forty-two years ago. I got my education in the public schools of Detroit and then went to Cleveland, where I got work. In Cleveland I read books on socialism and met a great many Socialists. I was pretty well known as a Socialist in the West. After being in Cleveland for several years I went to Chicago, where I remained seven months, after which I went to Newburg, on the outskirt of Cleveland, and went to work in the Newburg wire mills.
“During the last five years I have had as friends Anarchists in Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit, and other Western cities, and I suppose I became more or less bitter. Yes, I know I was bitter. I never had much luck at anything and this preyed upon me. It made me morose and envious, but what started the craze to kill was a lecture I heard some little time ago by Emma Goldman. She was in Cleveland and I and other Anarchists went to hear her. She set me on fire.
“Her doctrine that all rulers should be exterminated was what set me to thinking so that my head nearly split with the pain. Miss Goldman’s words went right through me and when I left the lecture I had made up my mind that I would have to do something heroic for the cause I loved.
“Eight days ago, while I was in Chicago, I read in a Chicago newspaper of President McKinley’s visit to the Pan-American Exposition at Buffalo. That day I bought a ticket for Buffalo and got there with the determination to do something, but I did not know just what. I thought of shooting the President, but I had not formed a plan.
“I went to live at 1078 Broadway, which is a saloon and hotel. John Nowak, a Pole, a sort of politician who has led his people here for years, owns it. I told Nowak that I came to see the fair. He knew nothing about what was setting me crazy. I went to the Exposition grounds a couple of times a day.
“Not until Tuesday morning did the resolution to shoot the President take a hold of me. It was in my heart; there was no escape for me. I could not have conquered it had my life been at stake. There were thousands of people in town on Tuesday. I heard it was President’s Day. All these people seemed bowing to the great ruler. I made up my mind to kill that ruler. I bought a 32–caliber revolver and loaded it.
“On Tuesday night I went to the Fair grounds and was near the railroad gate when the Presidential party arrived. I tried to get near him, but the police forced me back. They forced everybody back so that the great ruler could pass. I was close to the President when he got into the grounds, but was afraid to attempt the assassination because there were so many men in the bodyguard that watched him. I was not afraid of them or that I should get hurt, but afraid I might be seized and that my chance would be gone forever.
“Well, he went away that time and I went home. On Wednesday I went to the grounds and stood right near the President, right under him near the stand from which he spoke.
“I thought half a dozen times of shooting while he was speaking, but I could not get close enough. I was afraid I might miss, and then the great crowd was always jostling, and I was afraid lest my aim fail. I waited on Wednesday, and the President got into his carriage again, and a lot of men were about him and formed a cordon that I could not get through. I was tossed about by the crowd, and my spirits were getting pretty low. I was almost hopeless that night as I went home.
“Yesterday morning I went again to the Exposition grounds. Emma Goldman’s speech was still burning me up. I waited near the central entrance for the President, who was to board his special train from that gate, but the police allowed nobody but the President’s party to pass where the train waited, so I stayed at the grounds all day waiting.
“During yesterday I first thought of hiding my pistol under my handkerchief. I was afraid if I had to draw it from my pocket I would be seen and seized by the guards. I got to the Temple of Music the first one and waited at the spot where the reception was to be held.
“Then he came, the President—the ruler—and I got in line and trembled and trembled until I got right up to him, and then I shot him twice, through my white handkerchief. I would have fired more, but I was stunned by a blow in the face—a frightful blow that knocked me down—and then everybody jumped on me. I thought I would be killed and was surprised the way they treated me.”
Czolgosz ended his story in utter exhaustion. When he had about concluded he was asked: “Did you really mean to kill the President?”
“I did,” was the reply.
“What was your motive, what good could it do you?” he was asked.
“I am an Anarchist. I am a disciple of Emma Goldman. Her words set me on fire,” he replied, with not the slightest tremor.
“I deny that I have had an accomplice at any time,” Czolgosz told District Attorney Penny. “I don’t regret my act, because I was doing what I could for the great cause. I am not connected with the Paterson group or with those Anarchists who sent Bresci to Italy to kill Humbert. I had no confidants; no one to help me. I was alone absolutely.”
Czolgosz, the assassin, was the son of Paul Czolgosz, who lived at 306 Fleet street, Cleveland, Ohio, at the time of the assassination, having moved there from Warrensburg, Ohio, in search of work. Other members of the family were John, who lived at home with his father and stepmother; Mike, a soldier serving in the Philippines; Vladiolan, who was on his father’s farm, located on the Chagrin Falls Suburban line; and Jacob, of Marcelline avenue. There were two uncles living on Hosmer street.
The family was Polish and evidently poor.
Czolgosz’s father talked of his son’s crime. He said his son should be hanged, and that there was no excuse for the crime. At first he appeared not to realize the enormity of the crime, but when aroused he denounced his son, saying he must have been mad.
The stepmother could not speak English, but gave out the following interview through the medium of an interpreter. She said:
“Leon left home sixty days before this terrible affair. We heard from him a few weeks ago. He was then in Indiana and wrote to us that he was going away, stating that in all probability we would not see him again.”
The family had not heard from him since. The stepmother denies Leon was a disciple of Emma Goldman or in any way interested in her doctrines. She said he was not interested in such matters and scarcely intelligent enough to understand them. They had always considered the boy partly demented. Up to three years ago he had worked at the Cleveland rolling mill, but had to quit on account of poor health. Since that time he has been idle. While living on the farm near Warrensville his father had not asked Leon to work, having always considered him too weak for manual labor.
Regarding the shooting of the President, Mrs. Czolgosz said:
“I can’t believe Leon is the one. He was such a timid boy, so afraid of everything. Why, he was the biggest coward you ever saw in your life.”
Leon Czolgosz was born in Alpena County, Michigan, and spent his early life there. Although the family was well known but little was known of Czolgosz, he being only thirteen years of age when the family moved away.
The family is Polish and was strict in religious observances, but the record does not show that Leon Czolgosz was baptized either at Alpena or at Posen, where the family lived a short time before moving to Alpena.
Czolgosz, the father, was born in the Province of Posen, Krais Schubin, County of Bromberg, Village of Haido, near Barin, and came directly to Alpena County from Germany about thirty years ago. He worked on the docks and was regarded as a peaceful, inoffensive, ignorant foreigner. The father of Leon Czolgosz raised ten children, of which the assassin was one of the youngest.
After leaving Alpena the family was only heard of a few times, and that indirectly, but they were known to be in Cleveland, where several of the children were living with them. Valentine Misgalski, a prominent and intelligent Pole, and former friend of the Czolgosz family, said that he never saw any evidences of viciousness in the family. He remembers Leon and said there was nothing unusual about him as a boy. He attended the parochial school, was devoted to his church, and remembers him as in every way an ordinary boy.
Andrew Czolgosz, uncle of the assassin, lived in Metz Township, thirty miles from Alpena, the most of which distance has to be made overland. He was unable to talk English and conversation had to be carried on through his sons. This family lived in a thickly populated Polish settlement, where the people were ignorant and not always to be trusted, and inquiries had to be made with great care. These people quarrelled and fought among themselves, but at a signal that any one of their members was in danger from any one from the outside, as they call it, a man’s life was in great danger.
It was in this settlement that Paul Czolgosz lived for a short time after coming to this country before settling in Alpena.
During the conversation with Andrew Czolgosz a significant remark was made by one of the sons. Inquiry was made as to where Paul Czolgosz could be found, and also his son Leon, without giving a reason for the inquiry. The old man said his brother was in Cleveland, that he had heard from him occasionally, but he did not know what had become of Leon. He had kept track of some of the boys, but he denied any knowledge of where Leon was.
When the interviewer started to return he asked the boys, who talk English well, if they had heard President McKinley was shot. One of them spoke up quickly, “Did Leon shoot him?” He was told there was a report current to that effect, to which the boy made no reply. An effort was made to resume the conversation, but they would answer no questions, nor would they ask any more questions of their father.
Leon Czolgosz has an aunt living in Alpena, but she would answer no questions. Czolgosz also had a brother living in the Polish settlement.
On the rolls of the Pension Office was the name of Jacob F. Czolgosz. A pension of $30 a month was paid to Jacob because of a wound in the right hand and forearm. The wound was received through the explosion of a shell at Sandy Hook in 1899. Czolgosz enlisted from Cleveland, Ohio (giving his address at 199 Hosmer street), first in Battery M, Sixth Artillery, on September 15, 1898. He was afterward discharged on January 22, 1899, and then re-enlisted in the ordnance branch, in Captain Babbitt’s company, and was serving there when wounded.
He was born at Alpena, Michigan, and was twenty-two years and ten months old when he first enlisted.
Leon Czolgosz was a member of several Anarchist clubs in Cleveland, one of which was named “Sila,” which means “force.” The club met at the corner of Tod street and Third avenue, over a saloon which, it is said, Czolgosz once owned. Three years before the assassination the club disbanded and he left it, but joined another.
“Czolgosz made no secret of the fact that he was an Anarchist,” said Anton Zwolinski, a Cleveland Pole. “He was always talking about it and trying to force Anarchists’ principles on every one whom he talked with. He was a great coward, however, and I am surprised he had the nerve to do as he did. It would not surprise me to learn that he is merely the tool of some other persons. When the Sila Club broke up Czolgosz joined another one.”
Several years previous to his crime, Czolgosz was employed in a Newburg mill, where he was known as Fred Nieman. He was a member of Forest City Castle Lodge No. 22 of the Golden Eagles. His former associates said he was a queer man, but was known to have a most violent temper. It is said that the assassin was a strong infidel and a red-hot Socialist. He was last seen by his Cleveland friends around Newburg the previous spring, when he was living on a farm with his father near Warrensville, Ohio.
John Ginder, an employe of the Newburg wire mill, where Czolgosz formerly worked, and who was also a member of the Golden Eagle Lodge, received a letter from Czolgosz in July, dated West Seneca, N. Y.
The letter, which was taken by the police, was written in red ink and contained a strange reference to the fare to Buffalo. It read as follows:
“West Seneca, N. Y., July 30, 1901.—John Ginder—Dear Sir and Brother: Inclosed you will find $1 to pay my lodge dues. I paid $1 to Brother George Coonish to pay the assessment sent out on account of the death of Brother David Jones.
“Brother Ginder, please send my book to me at my cost, and also send password if you can do so.
“I left Cleveland Thursday, July 11. I am working here and will stay for some time. The fare from here to Buffalo is $5.15.
“Hoping this finds you well, as it leaves me, I remain
Fred C. Nieman.”
Czolgosz was placed on trial before Justice Truman C. White of the State Supreme Bench, at Buffalo, on Monday, September 23. On the following day the jury found him guilty, and on Thursday, September 26, he was sentenced to death by electrocution in the week beginning October 28. He refused to consult with the attorneys appointed to defend him, and practically made no defense.
CHAPTER V.
EMMA GOLDMAN, THE ANARCHIST LEADER.
Russia, the land of the nihilists, and the home of the “propaganda of action”—which means assassination—was the birthplace of Emma Goldman. Though still a young woman, she is recognized as a radical among radicals, when it comes to expounding the principles of her faith. For more than ten years she has been known as an enemy of government.
Miss Goldman’s contempt for the present system of law is pronounced, bitter, and unrelenting, yet she never fails to deny that she is an advocate of violence.
“I have never advocated violence,” she asserted some time ago, in an interview, “but neither do I condemn the Anarchist who resorts to it. I look behind him for the conditions that made him possible, and my horror is swallowed up in pity. Perhaps under the same conditions I would have done the same.”
Miss Goldman says she was born a revolutionist, but that her belief in anarchy was not actually crystallized until after the hanging of the Chicago Anarchists in 1887. Then she became what she describes as an active Anarchist, and her activity has never flagged since then. She has been a prolific writer for all publications in this country that would give space to her articles upon anarchy, and has devoted much of her time to lecturing.
Miss Goldman had frequently lectured in Chicago, but until the attack on President McKinley, the police found no reason to arrest her.
The lectures in Chicago attracted little attention, seldom having been announced in an obtrusive manner. Her reputation was such, however, that the management of Hull House refused to permit her to speak in that establishment.
In 1893 New York police arrested Miss Goldman on a warrant charging her with “inciting to riot.” The arrest was a result of her activity during the famous Debs strike, and it was followed by her imprisonment on Blackwell’s Island for a term of one year, which was shortened to seven months on account of good behavior. She formerly had led a strike of the Waist and Shirt Maker Girls’ union in New York, but without attracting much attention.
In an extended interview which Miss Goldman gave out a few months ago while in New York she told many things about her life and her views on social and political questions which have a special interest at the present moment. She said:
“I am a Russian through and through, although little of my life was spent there. I was born in Russia, but was brought up in Germany and graduated from a German school. All that didn’t make a German of me. I went back to Russia when I was 15 years old, and felt that I was returning to my home. My family was orthodox. None of my revolutionary tendencies was inherited—at least my parents were not responsible for them and were horrified by them.
“While I was in Germany I did not think much about anarchy, but when I went back to St. Petersburg my whole attitude toward life changed, and I went into radicalism with all my heart and soul. You see, things are different in Russia from what they are here or anywhere else. One breathes a revolutionary thought with the air, and without being definitely interested in anarchy one learns its principles. There was discussion and thought and enthusiasm all around me, and something within me responded to it all.