The last photograph of the late President McKinley. Taken as he was ascending the steps of the Temple of Music, September 6, 1901.
Grievously wounded as he was in breast and in stomach, the President’s first thoughts were for others. He requested that the news be broken gently to Mrs. McKinley, and, it was said, expressed regret that the occurrence would be an injury to the exposition. As cries of “Lynch him” arose from the maddened crowd, the stricken chief urged those about him to see that no hurt befel the assassin. The latter was speedily secured in prison to await the result of his black deed, while President McKinley was without delay conveyed to the Emergency Hospital, where his wounds were dressed.
Except for continued weakness and rapid heart action, the symptoms during the early days of the succeeding week gave strong hopes of the patient’s recovery. At the home of Mr. Milburn, President of the exposition, whose guest he was, President McKinley received the tenderest care and most skilful treatment. So far allayed was anxiety that the Cabinet officers left Buffalo, while Vice President Roosevelt betook himself to a sequestered part of the Adirondacks. The President himself, vigorous and naturally sanguine, did not give up till Friday, a week from the date of his injury.
The Milburn Residence, where President McKinley died—Buffalo, N. Y.
Copyright, 1902, by Underwood & Underwood.
Upon that day his condition became alarming. The digestive organs abdicated their functions, nourishment even by injection became impossible, traces of septic poison were manifest. By night the world knew that McKinley was a dying man. In the evening he regained consciousness and bade farewell to those about him. “Good-by, good-by, all; it is God’s way; His will be done.” The murmured words came from his lips, “Nearer, my God, to Thee; e’en tho’ it be a cross that raiseth me.”
At the early morning hour of 2.45, Saturday, September 14th, the rest which is deeper than any sleep came to the sufferer. The autopsy showed that death was due to gangrene of the tissues in the path of the wound, the system having failed to repair the ravages of the bullet that had entered the abdomen.
The next Monday morning, after a simple funeral ceremony at the Milburn mansion, the remains were reverently borne to the Buffalo City Hall, where, till midnight, mourning columns filed past the catafalque. The body lay in state under the Capitol rotunda at Washington for a day, and was borne thence, hardly a moment out of hearing of solemn bells or out of sight of half-masted flags and dumb, mourning multitudes, to the old home at Canton, Ohio. Here the late Chief Magistrate’s fellow-townsmen, his old army comrades, and other thousands joined the procession to the cemetery or tearfully lined the streets as it passed.
