Complete Life of William McKinley and Story of His Assassination. Everett Marshall

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СКАЧАТЬ so the heavy hours hurried away. Midnight had come, and gone. The dawn was lingering far in the east, and not even the edge of the world glowed with the promise of day. It had rained on Friday, and a storm had raged which will long be remembered by those who were called abroad in the troubled city. As at the close of Napoleon’s life the elements warred tumultuously, so on the last day of this gentler ruler, the winds and the clouds filled the earth with tears and the sounds of weeping.

      They did not know, but his physicians were helpless from the start. The demon who had struck so surely, might well make mockery of them. Six days of pain, six days of agony, six days of hovering at the slippery brink of death—and on the seventh he was at rest.

      The great heart of the President was still forever. The man who had confessed his God in childhood, bade farewell to earth with the words: “Thy will be done!” The man who had helped his parents and his brothers and his sisters, who had periled his life freely in the defense of his country, who had made an honorable name and given the blessing of a husband’s love to one good woman, the man who had never harmed a human being purposely, who had lived at peace with God and man almost for three-score years, had drifted across the bar. His heart had throbbed lightly, and was still. The varying pulse had ceased, and the calm eyes that had fronted life and death and destiny without ever flinching—this Man was dead. The head of a nation, the chief executive of eighty millions of people, the statesman who had guided his country so wisely and so well, had been thrust from earth by an assassin who had no cause of complaint, who had no wrongs to avenge, no advantage to secure, no benefit to hope.

      And into the silent room where all need for silence had passed, where footfalls need not be guided lightly, where bated breath were no more known, the night wind came through wide-flung windows, and touched the lips and brow and nerveless hands. And the sound of unchecked weeping waited for the dawn.

CHAPTER IV.

       THE STORY OF THE ASSASSIN.

       Table of Contents

      Leon F. Czolgosz, the assassin of President McKinley, was born of Polish parents, who resided in Cleveland at the time he committed the terrible crime. Twenty-six years of age, born in Detroit, of medium height, smooth-shaver, brown hair, and dressed like a workingman completes all the description necessary.

      After the shooting he made a confession, in which he told how he had followed the President from the time of the latter’s arrival at the exposition until the fatal shots were fired. All of this time, like a prowling wild beast, he sought the life of President McKinley.

      He received some education in the common schools of Detroit, but left school and went to work when a boy as a blacksmith’s apprentice. Later he went to work at Cleveland and then went to Chicago.

      While in Chicago he became interested in the Socialist movement. When he went back to Cleveland his interest in the movement increased. He read all the Socialist literature he could lay his hands on, and finally began to take part in Socialistic matters. In time he became well known among Anarchists in Chicago, Cleveland and Detroit, not only as a Socialist, but as an Anarchist of the most bitter type.

      After returning to Cleveland from Chicago he went to work in the wire mills in Newburg, a suburb of Cleveland.

      About two weeks previous to his fearful crime, Czolgosz attended a meeting of Socialists in Cleveland, at which a lecture was given by Emma Goldman, the woman whose anarchistic doctrines have made her notorious all over the country. The extermination of rulers of people is part of her creed.

      It was this lecture and others heard in Chicago prior to that time that instilled in the heart of the Pole the poison of assassination. He went back to his lodging from the lecture with fever in his brain. His mind was filled with the preaching of this woman. The doctrine that rulers had no right to live was burned into his soul. He awoke in the morning with the lecture of Emma Goldman running through his mind.

      A few days afterward he read in a Chicago paper that President McKinley was to visit the Pan-American Exposition and to remain in Buffalo for several days. The lecture of Emma Goldman and the projected visit of the President to Buffalo were linked in his every thought.

      Eight days before the tragedy he packed a small telescope valise with a few of his belongings and took an early train for Buffalo. At that time there was no well-formed purpose in his mind. The plot to murder had not crystallized, but the thought that in Buffalo he would be able, perhaps, to reach the President’s side was what led him to start for the East, and with it was the dim conviction that his mission was one of blood.

      Upon arriving in Buffalo he went at once to an hotel kept by one John Nowak. He went there because he knew Nowak was a Pole. He told Nowak he had come to see the exposition, and that his stay would be indefinite. He inquired of Nowak about the visit of the President, when he would arrive, how long he would be in the city, what he was to do there, and whether the people would be able to see much of him. Nowak told him what the plans were.

      The next day Czolgosz went to the exposition. He went there on the following day, and the day following. The idea that he might kill the President when he came was in his mind, but the purpose was but half formed. At that time it might have been possible to have diverted his mind from the thought of such a mission. But he was alone in the city. He had no friends there. There was nothing to check the fever burning deeper and deeper into his mind.

      On Wednesday morning, the day of the President’s arrival, Czolgosz had his mind made up. His mission to Buffalo was clear to him then. He determined to shoot the President. The first thing he did was to get a revolver.

      He arrived on the grounds shortly before noon. He knew the President would not arrive before the early evening. He had read the papers carefully and knew every detail of the plans. But he was anxious to be on the scene where the assassination was to be committed. He remained at the exposition all day.

      In the afternoon he took up his position close to the railroad gate. He knew the President would enter the grounds that way. After a time other people began to assemble there until there was a crowd that hedged him in on all sides. He came to the conclusion that the place for him to be was outside of the railroad station, close to the tracks.

      He feared that inside the grounds the crush might be so great that he would be brushed aside and prevented from reaching the President. He tried to pass through the gate to the station, but he was too late. Guards had just closed the exit. The President was to arrive soon, and the police did not desire to have the station crowded, so they pushed Czolgosz back into the crowd.

      “LET ME SEE THE TREES; THEY ARE SO BEAUTIFUL,” SAID PRESIDENT McKINLEY.

      MRS. McKINLEY BIDDING HER HUSBAND THE LAST FAREWELL.

      He was in the forefront of the throng when the President came through the gate. The exhibition of tenderness and affection for his wife which the President unconsciously gave her as he led her through the entrance thrilled every one in the throng but Czolgosz. He alone felt no pity for the pale, sweet-faced, suffering woman. He pressed forward with the rest of the crowd as the President approached the carriage. He was gripping the weapon in his pocket in his right hand.

      Several times, as the figure of the Chief Executive came into full view as the guards drew aside, the impulse to rush forward and shoot took possession of him, but each time he changed his mind. He feared that he would be discovered before СКАЧАТЬ