Complete Life of William McKinley and Story of His Assassination. Everett Marshall
government, against all peaceable authority and law. It was a blow struck at all the institutions of society that men hold dear and sacred.
With that wonderful self-control that distinguishes the American people, loyal citizens restrained the rising passion in their breasts, and their suppressed rage was further held in check by the word of hope which followed that the President was yet alive.
Alas! it was but a hope, destined to linger but a few days.
The scene of the assassination was the Temple of Music, at the Exposition grounds. The day previous was President’s day at the Exposition, and President McKinley had delivered what many believed to be the greatest speech of his life. Praises for his wisdom and statesmanship were ringing around the world.
On the fateful day the President attended the Exposition as a visitor, and in the afternoon held a reception in the Temple of Music.
The reception to the President was one to which the general public had been invited. President John G. Milburn of the Exposition had introduced the President to the great crowd in the Temple, and men, women and children came forward for a personal greeting.
Among those in line was Leon Czolgosz, whose right hand was wrapped in a handkerchief. Folded in the handkerchief was a 32–caliber self-acting revolver holding five bullets.
A little girl was led up by her father and the President shook hands with her. As she passed along to the right the President looked after her smilingly and waved his hand in a pleasant adieu.
Next in line came a boyish-featured man about 26 years old, preceded by a short Italian who leaned backward against the bandaged hand of his follower. The officers, who attended the President, noted this man, their attention being first attracted by the Italian, whose dark, shaggy brows and black mustache caused the professional protectors to regard him with suspicion.
The man with the bandaged hand and innocent face received no attention from the detectives beyond the mental observation that his right hand was apparently injured, and that he would present his left hand to the President.
The Italian stood before the palm bower. He held the President’s right hand so long that the officers stepped forward to break the clasp, and make room for the man with the bandaged hand, who extended the left hand towards the President’s right.
THE FATAL SHOTS.
The President smiled and presented his right hand in a position to meet the left of the approaching man. Hardly a foot of space intervened between the bodies of the two men. Before their hands met two pistol shots rang out, and the President turned slightly to the left and reeled.
The bandage on the hand of the tall, innocent looking young man had concealed a revolver. He had fired through the bandage without removing any portion of the handkerchief.
The first bullet entered too high for the purpose of the assassin, who had fired again as soon as his finger could move the trigger.
On receiving the first shot President McKinley lifted himself on his toes with something of a gasp. His movement caused the second shot to enter just below the navel. With the second shot the President doubled slightly forward and then sank back. Secret Service Detective Geary caught the President in his arms and President Milburn helped to support him.
ASKS IF HE IS SHOT.
When the President fell into the arms of Detective Geary he coolly asked: “Am I shot?”
Geary unbuttoned the President’s vest, and, seeing blood, replied: “I fear you are, Mr. President.”
It had all happened in an instant. Almost before the noise of the second shot sounded a negro waiter, James F. Parker, leaped upon the assassin, striking him a terrific blow and crushing him to the floor. Soldiers of the United States artillery detailed at the reception sprang upon them, and he was surrounded by a squad of exposition police and secret service detectives. Detective Gallagher seized Czolgosz’s hand, tore away the handkerchief and took the revolver.
The artillerymen, seeing the revolver in Gallagher’s hand, rushed at the assassin and handled him rather roughly. Meanwhile Detective Ireland and the negro held the assassin, endeavoring to shield him from the attacks of the infuriated artillerymen and the blows of the policemen’s clubs.
Supported by Detective Geary and President of the Exposition Milburn, and surrounded by Secretary George B. Cortelyou and half a dozen exposition officials, the President was assisted to a chair. His face was white, but he made no outcry.
When the second shot struck the President he sank back with one hand holding his abdomen, the other fumbling at his breast. His eyes were open and he was clearly conscious of all that had transpired. He looked up into President Milburn’s face and gasped: “Cortelyou,” the name of his private secretary. The President’s secretary bent over him. “Cortelyou,” said the President, “my wife, be careful about her; don’t let her know.”
Moved by a paroxysm he writhed to the left and then his eyes fell on the prostrate form of the assassin, Czolgosz, lying on the floor bloody and helpless beneath the blows of the guard.
The President raised his right hand, red with his own blood, and placed it on the shoulder of his secretary. “Let no one hurt him,” he gasped, and sank back in the chair, while the guards carried Czolgosz out of his sight.
The ambulance from the exposition hospital was summoned immediately and the President, still conscious, sank upon the stretcher. Secretary Cortelyou and Mr. Milburn rode with him in the ambulance, and in nine minutes after the shooting the President was awaiting the arrival of surgeons, who had been summoned from all sections of the city, and by special train from Niagara Falls.
The President continued conscious and conversed with Mr. Cortelyou and Mr. Milburn on his way to the hospital. “I am sorry,” he said, “to have been the cause of trouble to the exposition.”
Three thoughts had found expression with the President—first, that the news should be kept from his wife; second, that the would-be assassin should not be harmed; and, third, regret that the tragedy might hurt the exposition.
The news that the President had been shot passed across the exposition grounds with almost incredible speed, and the crowd around the Temple grew until it counted 50,000 persons. This big crowd followed the ambulance respectfully to the hospital, then divided itself into two parts, one anxious to learn the condition of the President and to catch every rumor that came from the hospital; the other eager to find the assassin and to punish him.
Certain it is that if the officials had not used remarkable diligence in taking Czolgosz out of the way of the crowd he would have been mobbed and beaten to death.
Czolgosz had been carried into a side room at the northwest corner of the Temple. There he was searched, but nothing was found upon him except a letter relating to lodging. The officers washed the blood from his face and asked him who he was and why he had tried to kill the President. He made no answer at first, but finally gave the name of Nieman. He offered no explanation of the deed except that he was an Anarchist and had done his duty.
A detail of exposition guards was sent for a company of soldiers. A carriage was summoned. South of the Temple a space had been roped off. The crowd tore out the iron stanchion holding the ropes and carried the ropes to the flagpole standing near by on the esplanade.
“Lynch him,” cried a hundred voices, and a start was made for one of the entrances of the Temple. Soldiers and police beat back the crowd. Guards and people were wrangling, shouting and fighting.
In this confusion, Czolgosz, still bleeding, his clothes torn, and scarcely able to walk, was