SCENES AT BUFFALO FOLLOWING THE ASSASSINATION.
The people of Buffalo and the visitors within their gates behaved
admirably during all the weary days and nights after the shooting of the
President. That spirit of mob law, which pervaded the multitude that
surged about the Temple of Music in the Exposition grounds at the time
of the shooting, speedily gave way to one of obedience to law. The
knowledge that the President’s life had not ebbed away, and that eminent
physicians said he would recover, had a tendency to restore men’s minds
to the normal, and soon the question which passed from man to man was
“what news from the President?”
Even the thought of wreaking vengeance on the assassin seemed to have
fallen into abeyance. The people became quiet in demeanor, but there was
constant anxiety that the physicians had not told all, and that the
Nation might at any time be called on to mourn the death of its Chief
Executive. This feeling was intensified by the hurrying to the city of
members of the Cabinet who were not in attendance on the President at
the time he faced the assassin. The first trains brought Vice-President
Roosevelt, Secretaries Hay, Gage, Root, Long and Hitchcock,
Attorney-General Knox and Postmaster-General Smith. Senator Mark Hanna
and other close friends of the President also started hastily for
Buffalo, and many of them remained there until the end. The presence of
these personages, perhaps, had a tendency to quiet public feeling,
inasmuch as they one and all bore themselves with marked dignity during
the trying time.
When the President was moved from the Exposition grounds to the
residence of Mr. Milburn, there were thousands of people in the streets,
but there was no disturbance. Only the tenderest sympathy for the
stricken President was manifested, and never, during the President’s
gallant fight for life, was there aught to complain of on the part of
the people.
The Milburn home is situated in the center of a large lot on which stand
magnificent trees. As it became, from the time the President was taken
there, the center of interest for the civilized world, special
preparations were made to meet the exigencies of the case. It was
necessary that only those should have ingress and egress who had
business there, and hence the premises were surrounded with police and
soldiers. Ropes were stretched so that the crowds which were
irresistibly drawn to the scene could be more easily kept back, and the
most complete arrangements were made to enable the newspaper men to
secure and send broadcast the news of the President’s condition. A huge
tent was erected on the lawn and there, from day to day, the doctors,
members of the Cabinet, the Vice-President and others were importuned by
the reporters for hopeful tidings, which they knew not only the people
of Buffalo but the world at large so eagerly awaited.
During all this period the police of Buffalo were working desperately to
learn the antecedents of Czolgosz, the assassin; to trace his movements,
and to ascertain, if possible, whether he had accomplices. The
villainous wretch, whose brutal act had caused all right thinking people
to regard him with horror, remained safely in the police station at
Buffalo, where he had been taken by the police after the first struggle
to keep the people from lynching him. After recovering from the fright
occasioned by his first contact with the outraged people, he became
flippant and tried to glorify his terrible crime and invest it with the
halo of a service to humanity. All these facts were promptly conveyed to
the people by the newspapers, and served to intensify the feeling
against Czolgosz.
When the fact became known that the President was growing worse, and the
physicians became guarded in the expressions as to whether he would
recover, the people began to gather on the streets and discuss the
punishment of the assassin. As the bulletins became more and more
ominous, the feeling rose to fever heat, and there was a rush toward the
police station where Czolgosz was confined. Thousands of excited
citizens clamored for the life of the criminal, but the police forced
them back. Two regiments of the National Guard, the Sixty-fifth and
Seventy-fourth, were ordered to assemble in their armories to meet any
emergency that might arise.
“We do not propose to allow our prisoner to be taken from us,” said
Superintendent Bull, of the police force. “We are able to protect him,
and we have the Sixty-fifth and Seventy-fourth Regiments under arms if
we need them. No matter how dastardly this man’s crime is, we intend for
the good name of American people to keep him safe for the vengeance of
the law.”
The fact that the President lingered until early in the morning, before
death ensued, probably prevented any real conflict between the police
and the indignant people.
The members of the two regiments were summoned to their armories by
messenger, telegraph, and proclamation in theaters and public places.
This news only helped to direct attention from the dying President to
the cell which held his assassin.
That these preparations were quite necessary became apparent by 8:30
o’clock Friday night, when the people had assembled in the vicinity of
police headquarters in such numbers that the streets were blocked and
impassable.
The police roped off all the streets at a distance of three hundred to
four hundred feet from the nearest of the buildings and refused to admit
any one within that limit. One hundred patrolmen guarded the ropes and
fought back the crowds, while ten mounted men galloped to and fro,
holding the crowds in repression.
New details of police from the outside stations came in from time to
time, and Superintendent Bull kept in constant touch on the telephone
with Colonel Welch, who was at the Sixty-fifth armory, less than a mile
away.
In order to divert the attention of the excited crowds, the false report
that Czolgosz had been spirited away was sent out. While the source
cannot be traced, it is believed the report emanated from the police
headquarters. The mob was also informed, whenever possible, that there
was no reason to believe that there would be a miscarriage of justice,
whether through the pretext that the assassin was insanely irresponsible
for his act or through the possibility that he might die before justice
could be meted out to him.
It was learned indirectly that Superintendent Bull had asked the
insanity experts, who have had Czolgosz under their observation for a
week, and Police Surgeon Dr. Fowler, who has had charge of the
prisoner’s physical health, to prepare a statement of the exact truth
about the prisoner’s health of mind and body.
The President’s clothes, which were removed at the Exposition Hospital,
were later sent to the Milburn residence, where the pockets were
emptied. The attendant told what he found.
In his right-hand trousers pocket was some $1.80 in currency. With these
coins was a small silver nugget, well worn, as if the President had
carried it as a pocket piece for a long time.
Three small penknives, pearl-handled, were in the pockets of his
trousers. Evidently they were gifts that he prized and was in the habit
of carrying all of them. Another battered coin, presumably a pocket
piece, was in the left-hand pocket.
The President’s wallet was well worn and of black leather, about four
inches by five. It was marked with his name. In it was $45 in bills. A
number of cards, which evidently had rested in the wallet for some time,
were in one of the compartments.
In a vest pocket was a silver-shell lead pencil. Three cigars were
found. They were not the black perfectos which the President likes, but
were short ones which had been given to him at Niagara Falls that day.
On two of them he had chewed, much as General Grant used to bite a
cigar.
The President’s watch was an open-faced gold case American-made
timekeeper. Attached to it was the gold chain which the President always
wore. No letters, telegrams or papers were found. There was not on the
President’s person a single clew to his identity, unless it was to be
found in the cards in his wallet, which were not examined.
One of the most striking features of the fateful week at Buffalo was the
exclusive use of automobiles by the public officials, friends, relatives
and physicians on their trips to and from the Milburn residence.
Heretofore the modern vehicles were used chiefly for pleasure and many
doubted their utility, but on the well-paved streets of Buffalo they
were found to have many advantages over carriages drawn by horses. Lines
of the motor cabs were stationed a short distance from the house and
whenever a call for one was sent out it approached speedily but
noiselessly. No sound as loud as a horse’s hoof on the pavement was made
by the vehicles.
The wounded President was transferred from the Emergency Hospital on the
Exposition grounds to the Milburn residence in an automobile, and the
horseless carriages were sent to the railroad stations to meet officials
and relatives coming to the bedside of the stricken man.
When the startling report of the assassination first sped along the
wires, causing grief and consternation everywhere, Senator Hanna was at
his home in Cleveland. Hanna was undoubtedly McKinley’s most intimate
friend in public life, as well as the President’s adviser. Hanna was
intensely excited by the news and at once began to make plans for
reaching Buffalo as soon as possible. A special train could have been
made up, but the time to reach the station would have been considerable.
Some one suggested that the Lake Shore Limited, which is the fastest
train between Chicago and New York, be flagged near Hanna’s home, and
this was at once done. The railway officials gave their consent by
telephone, and when the train approached near the house—the railroad is
but a few rods from the Hanna residence—it slacked up and the Senator
boarded it. Steam was put on and the delay made up in a few hours. The
train reached Buffalo on time.
[Illustration:
MRS. McKINLEY ALONE WITH HER BELOVED DEAD.]
[Illustration:
PRESIDENT McKINLEY’S BODY LYING IN STATE AT BUFFALO.]
Senator Hanna took a hopeful view of the situation, and assured everyone
with whom he conversed of the recovery of the President. He remained at
Buffalo until Tuesday, and then returned to Cleveland, where the
G. A. R. Encampment was being held. When he parted from the President he
stated that in his opinion, for which he relied chiefly on the
physicians, McKinley would be well in a month. Hanna spent Wednesday and
Thursday in Cleveland, leaving for Buffalo on a special train when
notified of the relapse of the patient. The death of McKinley touched
Hanna deeply. He had to be led from the bedside on the occasion of the
last interview between the two men. He was almost a total collapse, his
face was drawn and his entire form trembled.
On Sunday night, September 8th, two days after the President had been
shot, and at a time when it was believed he would recover, Senator Hanna
had a remarkable dream, prophetic of the fatal end.
On Monday a newspaper correspondent asked him if he had any fears of a
relapse, when he replied:
“That reminds me of a dream I had last night. You know dreams go by
contraries. Well, sir, in this dream I was up at the Milburn house
waiting to hear how the President was getting along, and everybody was
feeling very good. We thought the danger was all past. I was sitting
there talking with General Brooke and Mr. Cortelyou, and we were
felicitating ourselves on how well the physicians had been carrying the
case.
“Suddenly, in my dream, Dr. McBurney entered the room through the door
leading to the sick room with a look of the utmost horror and distress
on his face. I rushed up to him, and putting a hand on either shoulder,
said: ‘What is it, Doctor? what is it? let us know the worst.’
“Dr. McBurney replied: ‘My dear Senator, it is absolutely the worst that
could happen. The President has had a tremendous change for the worse;
his temperature is now 440 degrees.’ I fell back in my chair in utter
collapse, and then I awoke. But, do you know, I could not rest easy
until I saw the early bulletins this morning?”
Everyone thought of Mrs. McKinley and the hearts of all went out to her
in sympathy when it was known that the end was near. They had tried all
day to keep the fatal news from her, but it is probable that when she
saw the President she divined something of his serious condition. Mrs.
McWilliams, Mrs. Barber, Miss Mary McKinley, and Mrs. Duncan were with
her and gave her the most tender and loving ministration. The crowds
eagerly scanning the bulletin boards feared for her. It was a matter of
current belief that the wife never would survive the shock. There were
plenty who said and believed that she would not live through the night;
that the papers would tell the world that Emma Goldman’s disciple had
murdered a woman and a frail invalid as well as the President of the
United States.
It was recalled that the President had several times spoken of his
assassin and that he had expressed satisfaction when he learned that the
man had not been injured by the crowd. All this was gratifying, but it
failed to alleviate the sorrow of that Friday night and the few hours of
Saturday in which the President continued alive. All Buffalo, all the
Nation, watched with deepest anxiety hoping against hope.
The devotion to duty of Private Secretary George B. Cortelyou during the
long painful days that came between the shooting and the death of
President McKinley offers one of the most striking features of the
historic tragedy.
When the chief fell wounded Secretary Cortelyou was practically forced
to fill a part of the vacant place and assume all of its
responsibilities. He was at the side of the President when Leon Czolgosz
fired the murderous shots, and upon him rested the immediate
responsibility of issuing the order for the surgical operation that was
performed at the emergency hospital.
When Mr. McKinley came from the operating table it fell to Mr. Cortelyou
to make the arrangements for his shelter and care, and from that time to
the end he was called upon to pass judgment upon every grave question
that arose except the technical medical and surgical matters in
connection with the care of the wounded chieftain.
He stood between the sick-room and the world as far as information on
the progress of the case was concerned, and the place called for the
most delicate judgment. In addition to his official connection with the
dying President it was his duty to supervise all of the private personal
affairs of his superior.
In addition to the work which he could do by verbal direction the
executive correspondence by mail and wire trebled and quadrupled. It
exceeded that of any other period in the public life of Mr. McKinley,
including the days that succeeded both his first and second elections.
It seemed that Mr. Cortelyou must fail in the mere physical task of
handling it, but no physical exaction seemed too great for him.
His personal affection for his chief was complete, and the President’s
death was a grievous shock to him. He has not faltered, however, and
still stands in the place that he must occupy until the last offices
have been performed at the grave of Mr. McKinley.