Читать книгу Complete Life of William McKinley and Story of His Assassination - Everett Marshall - Страница 5

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On Friday, September 6, 1901, the blackest Friday in American history, the American people were shocked and stunned by the news that their beloved President, William McKinley, had been shot down by a cowardly assassin, while attending the Pan-American Exposition at Buffalo.

It was like a flash of lightning from a clear sky. The people were stunned into momentary silence. The sign of grief was on the face of every loyal American, and the hearts of the people beat as one in sympathy for the stricken chief.

The horror of the tragic event grew when it was learned that the assassin was an anarchist, and not an insane man as was first supposed.

Then came the full realization that the murderous bullet of the assassin was aimed not only at the foremost citizen of the Republic, but that the Red Thing called Anarchy had raised its blood-stained hand against 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.