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American Ideals, and Other Essays, Social and Political. 1897—$1.50— Putnam.

Hero Tales from American History, Roosevelt and Henry Cabot Lodge. 1895—$1.50—Century Company.

New York (new edition with a postscript, 1890-1895). 1895—$1.25—Longmans.

Ranch Life and the Hunting Trail (new popular edition). 1896—$2.50— Century Company.

Winning of the West, Volume 4, Louisiana and the Northwest, 1791-1807. 1896—$2.50—Putnam.

Trail and Camp Fire (Roosevelt and G. B. Grinnell) Book of the Boone and Crockett Club. 1896–$2.50_Forest.

Hunting in Many Lands (Roosevelt and Grinnell). Book of the Boone and Crockett Club. Volume 2. 1895–$2.50—Forest.

Theodore Roosevelt's Works, Sagamore edition, Putnam, 1900. 15 Volumes, cloth per volume 50c, paper 25c.

Episodes from The Winning of the West, 1767-1807-Putnam—1900 (Knickerbocker Literature Series). Cloth 90c.

Oliver Cromwell. 1900–$2.00–1900.

The Strenuous Life; essays and addresses. 1900—$1.50–Century Company.

MAGAZINE ARTICLES. The Wilderness Hunter, Atlantic Monthly, No. 75, page 826. Admiral Dewey, McClure, No. 13, page 483-91. Military Preparedness and Unpreparedness, Century, No. 59, page 149-53. Reform through Social Work, McClure, No. 16, page 448-54. Governor William H. Taft, Outlook, No. 69, page 166-8. With the Cougar Hounds, Scribner, No. 30, page 417-35. Oliver Cromwell, Scribner, January to June, 1900. Fellow Feeling as a Political Factor, Century, January, 1900. Political Impracticabilities, Living Age, December, 1900. Latitude and Longitude among Reformers, Century, June, 1900. Mad Anthony Wayne's Victory, Harper's Monthly, No. 92, page 702-16. St. Clair's Defeat, Harper's Monthly, No. 92, page 387-433. Address at the Opening of the Naval War College, Public Opinion, No. 22,

page 740.

Ethnology of the Polite, Munsey, No. 17, page 395-9.
How Not to Better Social Conditions, Review of Reviews, No. 15,

page 36-9.

Layman's Views on Specific Nomenclature, Science, April 30, page 685-8. On Adams' Law of Civilization and Decay, Forum, No. 22, page 575-89.

Review of Mahan's Life of Nelson, Bookman, June, 1897.
Roll of Honor of New York Police, Century, October, 1897.
Fights between Iron Clads, Century, April 1898.
Letter on United States Navy, Review of Reviews, January, 1898.
Letter to Secretary Alger, Public Opinion, August 11, 1898.
Need of a Navy, Review of Reviews, February, 1898.

Re-organization of the Naval Personnel; Genesis of the Personnel Bill, North American, December, 1898.

CHAPTER XVIII.

RIDE FROM MOUNT MARCY.

From the Source of the Hudson to the Niaraga River-How Roosevelt Came to be on

Mount Marcy When McKinley Died-Delay of Information and Rush from the Adirondacks to Lake Erie-The Splendid Story of the Ride.

A

BSORBED in the sudden announcement of the failure of President

McKinley's strength, the people of all countries gave little attention

for the moment, to the movements of his successor, knowing that in the critical days, when hope of the recovery of the President was entertained, but grave danger known, the Vice-President was close at hand; and in the period of confidence, he hastened to the Northern mountains of New York, to be with his wife and children, for a change from the air of the sea. It was ascertained, too, that when the relapse was followed fast with "unmerciful disaster," Mr. Roosevelt was speedily where duty called him. The fact that he had made a journey full of perils was not well known, or much regarded. It comes out, however, that the ride from the tiny lake on the loftiest Adirondack, to the city identified with the sublime torrent of Niagara, was one of startling risk. A writer close to the centres of official intelligence, dating at New York, wrote accurate information of Roosevelt's second trip during the tragic days across the State of New York, saying it was one of the most trying experiences a traveler ever had to come out of safely.

"Some of his friends, who met him in Buffalo after his arrival on Saturday last, have been in communication with others, who were intimates of his in this city, and they report that it seemed to them that he has been tried as though by fire when he came out of the north woods after that dark and dramatic night ride over the mountains, he came out of uncertainty, in which he had been given every reason to hope for the best, into the appalling certainty that his hopes were groundless.

“He entered his car at the foothills of the Adirondacks a little after sunrise, not to leave it until eight hours later, when he was at the station in Buffalo. He was alone. He had not one friend to turn to for consolation or for counsel. He found himself suddenly in the presence of appalling responsibilities, and not one of his friends has any doubt that every moment of that swift and silent

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ride within a curtained car across New York State he devoted to the most intensely careful examination, and to solemn, no doubt prayerful, consideration of the part he was to take, and the manner in which he was to take it.”

It was immediately after his return that Roosevelt refused to allow a guard to be around him, friends saying he was the one man who could afford to consent to be carefully guarded; but his better judgment prevailed, and he rebuked, so far as in his power, those who hailed him demonstratively on the streets when they knew he had taken the oath of office. He was waited upon at Buffalo, in the matter of an alleged vacancy in the White House staff. Appointments upon that staff, which might be called the official family of the President, are always left entirely to him. When President Roosevelt had this matter referred to him, he said, with some asperity: “Don't bother me with anything of that character now."

When the fatal crisis came in McKinley's case, the Vice-President had taken all precautions to be instantly informed if there was an unfavorable turn, but all safeguards against surprise failed. The dreadful news of imminent danger flashed forth unexpectedly. It was the custom of the country for those hastening from Mt. Marcy to the railroad to drive in dizzy whirls around the edges of steep places, taking such luck as comes with rapid movement, along roads that are narrow notches unguarded beside steep places. The important passenger, called in the night and the wilderness to make this journey with the utmost speed, was held by the whip to be a man who should have particular care bestowed upon him. Therefore, when the ticklish turns were approached, the man for whose presence far away there was urgency, was warned that it might be well to "hold up" a little, calling attention to the presence of a precarious bit of road; but got for answer only the reply, “push on," with further notice that the hurried traveler was satisfied with the driver, and desired no precautions. The quick, firm “push on” took the nervousness out of the whip, and the saying was that the Rough Rider Colonel "had his nerves with him," and was not bothered in the least by the drive, which was as dangerous as dismal.

At the termination of the giddy race down and around the mountain, on emerging from the deep shadows, there was a shrill locomotive and glittering car waiting. Here the Vice-President was told the news that the President was dead, having passed away in the early hours of that memorable morning.

One of the most trying of the experiences of President Roosevelt, was the lonesome hours after he took the dark ride through the Northern forest along the central slope of the highest mountain in the State. He entered his car at sunrise, having suddenly faced the certainty that the President had seen the last of earth. The car ride was eight hours, and he had them for communion with himself. Those who met him at Buffalo said he was as one who had been "tried by fire,” and come to a full understanding with himself. He had

in meditation measured his task and would not swerve from his conclusions, but pursue with fixed resolution the course marked out. The ride in the darkness had been a season of thoughtfulness, in which he was forgetful of surroundings. This was repeated at greater length in the closely curtained car. He had the day from morning until afternoon to himself; and in the silences saw along the dim vistas the shadows we are and pursue, unheeding the haunting voices of the wheels. Emerging with self-command from solitude he silently accepted the uncertainties. There was soon evident the maturity of formulated purpose in his acts, but no tentative suggestiveness. There was no wavering in word or deed, but the clear accent of the "high resolve" of which Abraham Lincoln spoke in the oration at Gettysburg. There were dramatic features that will thrill those who study the mimic stage, for generations, in the ride of Roosevelt across the State of New York to do his duty.

It fell to the lot of a correspondent of the New York Herald, to write a description of the wild ride worthy to live in literature. His letter is a picture that has a wierd fascination, and must always have a place in the history of the Heroic Life of the President:

“Saratoga Springs, Saturday, September 15, 1901.—To charge at the head of troopers up San Juan Hill, glory certain whether the death he tempted awaited him or not-that was, of course, a courageous thing.

“Yet many men have done the same before and until war ends many will do the same again. To sit miserably cooped up in a covered mountain buckboard, with none save a silent driver for witness, to whirl dizzily through inky darkness along frightful precipices, where a single misstep of the maddened horses meant death as surely as a Spanish bullet; honor, the highest in his country's power, waiting also at the end of the journey, yet in this case counselling caution rather than courage; to do this not for five intoxicating minutes, but for hour after weary hour, and all the time, instead of faltering, urge his reckless driver on to still higher speed, proves President Theodore Roosevelt's title to being a man of iron will and nerve.

"The full story of that ride will never be written. Save a few frightened deer, roused by the splashing hoofs and peering wide-eyed at the swaying lantern through the fog, there was no spectator of the journey. The drivers, trained hunters from their youth, have learned silence as the first lesson of their calling, and questions elicit naught save the barest outline of the trip.

“'Well, I knew, by feel of the wagon, we were off the road once or twice, and I told Mr. Roosevelt we might be a hundred feet below the next moment for all I could tell, but he just told me to “Go ahead!” said Driver Kellogg.

“ 'Yes, the horses stumbled badly once, and I wanted to slow up; but he said, "Keep right on!" ' admitted Cronin.

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