THE LAST NIGHT IN THE WHITE HOUSE.
Borne upon the shoulders of stalwart representatives of the army and
navy, of which he had been Commander-in-Chief for more than four years,
all that was mortal of William McKinley, late President of the United
States, was returned to the capital of the nation.
As President McKinley left the White House the morning of July 5 for a
vacation trip to his home at Canton, O., some of the attachés of the
Executive Mansion assembled on the portico to bid him a fond farewell
and express their hope for a pleasant trip.
“Take good care of yourselves, boys, until I come back in the fall,” was
the President’s response as he entered his waiting carriage and was
driven to the railroad station to take the train for home. These were
the last words ever uttered by William McKinley in the shadow of the big
white mansion which had been his official residence since March 4, 1897.
He came back in the fall, as he had promised he would, not in the flush
of manhood, buoyant in spirits and recuperated from the arduous duties
of his official position, but in a narrow, black-cloth-covered casket,
around which were draped the colors he had fought to defend when in his
teens, and which in maturer years he had seen floating victoriously in
every quarter of the globe.
Following his bier as chief mourner came his successor to the
Presidency, Theodore Roosevelt, accompanied by the members of his
official family and thousands of his countrymen, who mourned in silence
his untimely end.
Never before in the history of the capital of this nation has such a
scene been witnessed as that presented along the magnificent boulevard
known as Pennsylvania avenue. Although it was well-nigh impossible to
distinguish anything perfectly in the gloom of the night, mothers
brought their children in arms, and stood patiently watching until the
cavalcade passed up the avenue and was finally hidden from view in the
grounds surrounding the Executive Mansion.
It was a distinguished party which awaited at the Pennsylvania railroad
station the home-coming of William McKinley.
Among the first arrivals at the railroad station were Secretary of State
Hay and Secretary Gage of the Treasury department. Both wore upon their
high silk hats mourning bands for members of their own families—the
Secretary of State for a son and the Secretary of the Treasury for a
wife who was one of the most notable figures of the administration now
closed.
While waiting the arrival of the funeral train a passenger train pulled
into the station from the west, and among those who alighted and pushed
his way through the crowd was Senator William E. Mason of Illinois,
accompanied by his wife and little ones. As the Senator from Illinois
passed through the crowd he was recognized, and amid the hum and buzz of
conversation could be distinguished the words: “There goes Senator
Mason.”
Meanwhile the crowd on the station platform was each second becoming
augmented by the arrival of men distinguished in army and navy circles
and the walks of civil life. Judson Lyons, Register of the United States
Treasury, whose name adorns every bank note of the government, was
conspicuous in the throng, not only on account of his towering height
and figure but for his color as well, for the successor of General
Rosecrans, formerly Register of the Treasury, is a negro.
Nodding plumes of yellow, red, and white, marking the different branches
of the army, cavalry, artillery, and infantry, respectively, were
conspicuous in the throng, while the gold laced and chapeaued naval
officers present reminded the spectator of an army and navy reception
night at the White House.
To add to this effect, there was Captain Charles McCauley of the Marine
Corps and Captain J. C. Gilmore of the artillery, both of whom had been
detailed at the Executive Mansion by President McKinley to assist him in
receiving the public at the various receptions held during the gay
season when in charge of the State, War, and Navy department here;
Sergeant-at-Arms Ransdell of the United States Senate, the bosom friend
and companion of the late President Harrison, who appointed him Marshal
of the District of Columbia; Acting Secretary of War William Gary
Sanger; Colonel Frank Denny, U. S. Marine Corps; Lieutenant Thomas Wood,
President McFarland, and Commissioner John W. Ross of the District of
Columbia; Chief Wilkie of the U. S. Secret Service; General George H.
Harries and the members of the staff of the National Guard of the
District of Columbia in full uniform.
Standing at attention in full dress uniform, with swords at their side,
stood a dozen sergeants of the Signal Corps of the United States Army,
under the command of Captain Charles McKay Saltzman. It was to be their
solemn duty to act as body bearers for the President of the United
States, relieving the sailors and soldiers who had performed this duty
from Buffalo to the Capitol. These body bearers were George H. Kelly,
Isaac Hamilton, Frank Gunnard, Harry T. Burlingame, Stephen Bledsoe,
Eugene Lazar, Joseph H. Embleton, Harry S. Gribbelle, Charles G. Monroe,
William H. Taylor, Thomas A. Davis, and James S. Holmes.
Not a loud word was uttered, and the scene about the station was of a
most awe-inspiring and impressive nature as an engine draped with black
came slowly puffing into the shed, and instantly all heads were bared.
It was the engine drawing the funeral party, and a hush of expectancy
pervaded the entire group gathered upon the platform to await its
coming. Hardly had the driving wheels ceased to revolve before the body
bearers were boarding the front car, which contained the casket and
floral tributes, which almost concealed from view the earthly remains of
William McKinley. Secretaries Hay and Gage led a mournful procession to
the rear car of the train, in which President Roosevelt and the members
of the Cabinet were seated.
In deference to the wishes of Mrs. McKinley, the family, and immediate
relatives of the President, a passageway was opened for them at the
lower end of the platform in order that they might evade the gaze of a
curious crowd. Carriages were drawn up awaiting the arrival of the
train, and, assisted by Colonel Bingham and Dr. Rixey, Mrs. McKinley was
led to a victoria and driven to the White House. She seemed to be
bearing up remarkably well under the strain to which she has been
subjected, although the lines under her eyes and the haggard expression
of the features showed it was only by the greatest exertion of will
power that she was being restrained from a collapse.
Abner McKinley and his family occupied the next two carriages, and Mrs.
Baer, formerly Miss Mabel McKinley, and her husband, were assigned a
carriage to themselves. Mrs. Baer was attired in deep mourning, and it
was with difficulty, even with the aid of her crutches, that she could
sustain herself sufficiently to traverse the short distance from the
train to her carriage.
While this scene was in the focus the members of the Cabinet and guard
of honor, composed of army and navy officers, were escorting President
Roosevelt from his car to his position in the carriage just behind the
hearse which was to convey the body of his predecessor to the executive
mansion. Close beside the President walked big George Foster, the secret
service agent, who had accompanied President McKinley on nearly all of
his trips.
General John R. Brooke walked beside the President on the left, and
immediately behind came Secretaries Gage and Hay, walking arm in arm.
Five special detectives kept guard over this quartet—Sergeants Clark and
Foy of New York, Detective Carroll of Newark, N. J., and Detectives
Helan and McNamee of Washington.
These detectives had instructions not to let the President out of their
sight until he was safely ensconced in his house, the residence of his
brother-in-law, Paymaster W. S. Cowles of the United States Navy, in the
fashionable part of Washington. As soon as the President entered his
carriage with General Brooke the detectives closed around it and
permitted no one to come within twenty feet of its occupant.
Prior to the President entering his carriage there was a delay for a few
minutes at the entrance to the baggage-room to permit the remains of
President McKinley to be borne through the crowd and placed in the
hearse awaiting them. This sable equipage was drawn by six black horses,
each animal covered with a heavy black netting, and each horse led by a
negro groom in regulation funeral dress.
There was a shuffling of feet as the crowd of distinguished men in
attendance upon the President followed his footsteps, which led towards
waiting carriages and, surrounded by clattering cavalry and fully
equipped infantry, President Roosevelt and the escort left the railroad
station and started up Pennsylvania avenue through the lanes of people,
who occupied every available inch of room from the curbstone to the
building line of the houses against which they pressed.
It was a weird but solemn spectacle that greeted the vision of President
Roosevelt and his escort as they rode through the silent streets of the
capital to make preparation for the funeral services to be held in the
Capitol Building next day. Men, women, and children peered into the
darkness in a vain endeavor to ascertain who were the occupants of the
carriages, but in this they were disappointed, for darkness threw a veil
over the scene from one end of the route to the other.
All that could be seen was the gleam of sabers as the cavalry clattered
up the avenue and the gleam of a musket barrel and the glitter of gold
lace when an electric light or a gas jet threw some gleams of radiance
upon them.
Not a word was uttered during that solemn drive, and Theodore Roosevelt,
twenty-sixth President of the United States, was not even visible as he
came to take the position which had been filled so ably and efficiently
by William McKinley.
It was a different inauguration procession from that in which President
Roosevelt participated last March, for while on that occasion there was
glad acclaim and exulting shouts of gratified patriots, on this occasion
there was silence, somberness, and gloom, painful in its intensity.
And thus Theodore Roosevelt entered the Capitol of the nation to become
the first citizen of the greatest republic on earth.
In the east room at the White House, where President McKinley so often
was the central figure of noble gatherings, his mortal remains were
placed. It was his last night in the place he had made his home for four
and one-half years.
Up-stairs the widow occupied the room where she underwent so much
suffering and where she was nursed back to health by the devoted husband
who now is lost to her for all time.
Except for the immediate family, the guards, and the servants, the
executive mansion was deserted, the public retiring and leaving those
nearest and dearest to the dead President alone with their grief.
Throughout the day workmen had been busy placing the great east room in
condition for the reception of the body of the dead President. That
immense room, in which President McKinley had participated in so many
public functions, and had taken the hands of thousands of his
countrymen, was transformed into a tomb for the time being, and all
evidences of past festivities were removed.
It was in this same room that the remains of Lincoln, Garfield,
Secretary of State Gresham, and other distinguished public servants
rested before final interment. It was also in this magnificent apartment
that Nellie Grant was married to Algernon Sartoris of England while her
father was President.
As the shades of evening began to fall the guards around the White House
were doubled. The gates were closed and policemen were stationed at the
various entrances, with positive instructions to allow no one to pass
except those on actual duty in an official capacity.
In the meantime the interior of the east room had been robbed of its
barren appearance by the placing of a number of potted plants and palms
around the room and in the recesses of the windows. In addition to the
floral decorations from the Executive greenhouses the tributes from
foreign and domestic officials converted the room into a beautiful and
fragrant floral bower.
The display of floral tributes deposited in the east room was perhaps
never equaled in the history of a public or private funeral in the
United States. The predominating emblems were laurel wreaths, but they
were so diversified in construction and ornamentation with colored
flowers and ribbons that no two pieces were actually alike.
One of the most striking set pieces was an immense shield, appropriately
inscribed, and profusely decorated with purple ribbon, from “The
American Army in the Philippines.” This floral tribute was made up on an
order by cable at a cost of over $500. Another striking piece was an
immense floral pedestal, surmounted by a floral wreath, standing twelve
feet high. This came from the Commissioner of Pensions and his
associates in the Pension bureau. There were magnificent wreaths from
Mrs. Garret A. Hobart, the wife of the late Vice-President, also one
from the government of Costa Rica, one from the President of Costa Rica,
Rafael Iglesias.
An immense laurel wreath, decorated with yellow, blue, and red ribbons,
came from the Colombian Legation. There was also an immense wreath of
orchids inscribed from the Municipality of Havana, Cuba.
And there, sleeping the dreamless sleep of death, beneath a wilderness
of blossoms from the loving hands of his countrymen, William McKinley
passed his last night in the White House.
[Illustration:
CROWDS VIEWING THE REMAINS AT THE COURT HOUSE, CANTON.]
[Illustration:
TAKING THE CASKET INTO THE CHURCH AT CANTON.]