CHAPTER XVIII

PRESIDENT MCKINLEY ASSASSINATED

The address of President McKinley breathing the spirit of the Master's words, "Peace on earth, good will to men," and praying that God would "graciously vouchsafe prosperity, happiness and peace to all our neighbors," was welcomed throughout the world as an earnest of a new era of peace and amity among the nations of the earth.

The columns of European newspapers next morning were filled with favorable comment concerning its significance, and the entire press of our own country voiced the approval of the American people of the sublime utterances of their President.

But on that very day when the whole world was devoting attention to the significant words of the President, like a thunder clap from a clear sky came the announcement: "President McKinley has been shot by an assassin." The shock was appalling. The people seemed stunned. There was a gleam of hope -the report might be a canard. But, alas, it was not. The news was confirmed.

President McKinley was shot while holding a reception in the Temple of Music at the Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo, at about 4 p. m., on September 6, 1901. He had just begun to shake hands with the people who were filing in front of him. The great building was packed with people and at intervals cheers for the President went up. He had just patted

the head of a pretty child that had been lifted to him, had spoken a pleasant word to the child's mother, and was extending his hand to greet the next in line when two shots rang out.

Immediately after the shots had been fired Secretary Cortelyou and President Milburn sprang to the President's aid, while Detective Ireland and James B. Parker, a colored man, hurled themselves upon the assassin and attempted to disarm him. He struggled desperately and wrenching his arm free made a motion as if to fire a third shot when Detective Foster grabbed the pistol and wrenched it from his grasp.

In another instant blows rained upon him from a dozen fists and clubs. He was covered with blood and would soon have been killed, had not the President prevented this by saying, "Let no one hurt him." These words undoubtedly saved the life of the assassin, to be disposed of according to law.

Those who were back of the President saw a small, dark, well-dressed young man, with what seemed to be a bandage about his right hand, extend his left to the President, and as he reached to take it they saw a flash of fire through the supposed bandage and heard two reports of a pistol in rapid succession. They saw the outstretched hand of the President fall and the President drop back into the arms of those near him.

Then there was a moment's pause, and the only action in the great chamber was the silent struggle in front of the wounded Executive.

Then a woman shrieked:

"He has shot the President!"

Confusion reigned supreme.

But the confusion was only for a moment. The police awoke to the situation in an instant and in a solid phalanx wedged their way through the writhing crowd. Officials, detectives and plain people were tossed aside. A policeman got a hand on the collar of the President's assailant and jerked him from the rush of the people that were still about him.

In another moment he was swallowed up in a solid block of policemen, upon which the surging waves of frenzied people broke in vain. In this way the man was dragged out of the main hall and imprisoned in an adjoining room.

• When the door of that room closed behind him, the

crowd surged back to where the President was. A line of police had been thrown before him that kept people back, while his physician, who reached his side within three minutes of the time of the shooting, began hastily to investigate the President's condition.

In the body of the hall there was terrible confusion. Women were fainting or falling into hysterics and were allowed to lie where they fell. There was one who shouted: "He's dead! He's dead! He's dead! Oh, my God!"

It was only a hysterical woman's cry, but the crowd. took it to be inspired and in a moment a thousand people had echoed it.

A level-headed policeman of those about the President realized where that cry might lead the crowd, and answered it:

"No," shouted this giant, with a voice like a clap of thunder, "the doctor says he'll live."

That stilled the excitement and checked the riot. There was intense silence while the little knot of men bent over the President, and the doctor did the simple things that were required in advance of the surgical operations that were to be performed.

Both bullets had struck the President, one in the center of the breast and the other in the pit of the stomach.

When the President was shot, he fell into the arms of Detective Gerry, whom he coolly asked: "Am I shot?"

Gerry unbuttoned the President's vest, and, seeing blood, replied: "I fear you are, Mr. President."

No time was lost in getting the President to the emergency hospital of the Exposition.