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Assassination of William McKinley
THE North-American Republic had lived eighty-nine
years before political assassination made its entrance into its
domain. From 1776 to 1865, a period occasionally as turbulent, excited
and torn by political discord and strife as any other period in
history, political assassinations kept away from its shores, and
appeared only at the close of the great Civil War between the North
and the South, selecting for its victim the noblest, gentlest, most
kind-hearted of Americans who had filled the Presidential chair.
Sixteen years later, on July 2, 1881,
the second political assassination took place in the United States,
resulting in the death of President James A. Garfield, after months
of intense suffering from a wound inflicted by a bullet fired by
Charles J. Guiteau, a disappointed office-seeker. By removing the
President this man hoped to restore harmony in the Republican party,
which, in the state of New York at least, had been disturbed by
the feud between James G. Blaine and Roscoe Conkling. Guiteau imagined
that President Garfield had become an interested party in this feud
by appointing Mr. Blaine [381][382]
his Secretary of State. His was the act of a vindictive madman.
Twenty years had elapsed since Guiteau’s
horrible crime, and again a President of the United States was prostrated
by the bullet of an assassin, who, at the moment of committing the
crime, proclaimed himself an Anarchist. When William McKinley was
reëlected President in November, 1900, a successful and perhaps
glorious second term seemed to be in store for him. During his first
term the policy of the Republican party had earned great triumphs,
and the President, who was in full accord with his party on all
economical questions, and was even its most prominent leader on
the tariff question, had justly shared these triumphs.
Quite unexpectedly the question of
armed intervention in Cuba had been sprung in the middle of Mr.
McKinley’s first term of office, and after having exhausted all
diplomatic means to prevent war and to induce Spain to grant satisfactory
terms to the Cubans, the President was forced into a declaration
of war by the enthusiasm of the Senators and Representatives assembled
at Washington. But, as if everything undertaken by Mr. McKinley
was to be blessed with phenomenal success, the war with Spain was
not only instrumental in securing the thing for which it had been
undertaken,—the liberty and independence of the island of Cuba,—but
it had also an entirely unexpected effect on the international standing
of the United States. Up to the time of the Spanish-American War
the United States had always been considered an exclusively American
power, and while the European powers seemed to be willing to concede
to it a leading position—a sort of hegemony—in all American affairs
(including Cen- [382][383] tral and
South America), which the United States had assumed by the promulgation
of the Monroe Doctrine in 1823, they had never invited the American
government to their councils treating of European or other non-American
affairs. The Spanish-American War was a revelation to Europe. It
opened its eyes to the fact that over night, while Europe had been
sleeping and dreaming only of its own greatness, a young giant had
grown up on the other side of the Atlantic who was just beginning
to feel his own strength and who seemed to make very light of time-honored
sovereignty rights and inherited titles of possession. As the Atlantic
cable flashed over its wires the reports of American victories and
achievements of astounding magnitude,—the destruction of two powerful
Spanish fleets, followed by the surrender of the large Spanish armies
in the Philippine islands and Cuba,—Europe stood aghast at this
superb display of power and naval superiority, and European statesmen
reluctantly admitted that a new world-power of the first order had
been born, and that it might be prudent to invite it to a seat among
the great powers. History is often a great satirist; it was so in
this case. Spain had for a long time made application for admission
to a seat among the great powers of the world and had pointed to
her great colonies and to her splendid navy as her credentials entitling
her to membership in the illustrious company. But England and Germany,
fearing that Spain would strengthen France and Russia by her influence
and navy, kept her out of it. And now comes a young American nation
which nobody had thought of as a great military and naval power,
makes very short work of Spain’s navy, robs her of all her colonies,
and coolly, without having [383][384]
asked for it, takes the seat which Spain had vainly sighed for.
In a monarchy a large part if not
the whole of the glory of these achievements on land and sea would
have been ascribed to the ruler under whose reign they occurred.
It was so with Louis the Fourteenth and Queen Elizabeth, but William
McKinley was entirely too modest to claim for himself honors which
did not exclusively belong to him. Nevertheless a great deal was
said about imperialism and militarism during the campaign, and these
charges were even made a strong issue against Mr. McKinley’s reëlection.
However, the good judgment of the American people disregarded them
and reëlected Mr. McKinley by a considerably larger majority than
he had received four years before.
It might have been supposed that this
flattering endorsement of Mr. McKinley’s first administration would
have allayed all opposition to him personally, because certainly
his experience, his conceded integrity and ability, his great influence
in the councils of his party, and his immense popularity would have
been of inestimable value in adjusting and solving the new problems
of administration arising from the acquisition of our new insular
possessions in the Pacific and the West Indies. While the two great
political parties, and in fact all other parties, had bowed to this
decision of the people at the ballot-box, there was, unfortunately,
a class of men in the United States as well as in Europe who made
war upon the present organization of society as unjust to the poor
man, and upon all government, which they declared hostile and detrimental
to the rights of individuals, and which they considered the source
of all wrongs and mis- [384][385] eries.
This doctrine was originated by a French philosopher, Pierre Joseph
Proudhon, in his famous pamphlet published in 1850 and entitled:
“What is Property?” He denounces the unequal division and distribution
of property among men and the unjust accumulation of capital in
the hands of the few as the source of all social evils, and, concluding
with the emphatic declaration that all property is theft, demands
its readjustment and reapportionment on a basis of strict justice
as the sole hope for happiness. Proudhon’s ideas and arguments found
an echo throughout Europe. He had considered the question only in
its economical bearings; but some of his disciples extended the
inquiry in all other directions, and showed the hurtful influence
of accumulated power and property on all other social conditions,
especially on politics and the government of nations. They demanded
the reinstatement of the individual in all his natural rights, and
a destruction of all those powers and laws which stood in the way
of the free and unobstructed exercise of those rights. This meant
a declaration of war on all established authority and government.
It meant anarchy in the literal sense of the word, and the men who
had adopted this doctrine as their political platform called themselves
Anarchists.
On the twenty-ninth of September,
1872, a violent schism occurred at the congress of the International
Association of Laborers, held at the Hague, between the partisans
of Carl Marx and those of Bakúnin, and from this date we must count
the origin of the anarchistic party. In the United States the first
symptoms of an anarchistic movement appeared in 1878. At the Socialist
congress held at Albany, N. Y., the majority of dele- [385][386]
gates, who were advocates of peaceable methods of propagandism,
were opposed by a minority of revolutionists preaching the most
extreme measures. The leader of this minority was Justus Schwab,
who was then publishing a socialistic newspaper, “The Voice of the
People,” at St. Louis. He was a friend and admirer of John Most,
who had been imprisoned in England for his revolutionary and seditious
articles, and who was, unquestionably, the intellectual leader of
the radical minority at Albany. The final rupture between the two
factions occurred a year later, at the congress at Alleghany [sic],
Pa., in 1879, when the radical revolutionists, who were in a majority,
expelled the moderate faction from the convention. The radical wing
has grown rapidly in numbers and power, and its influence has made
itself felt repeatedly on lamentable occasions, the last of which
was the assassination of William McKinley, President of the United
States, during the Pan-American Exposition at Buffalo, on September
6, 1901.
The great American cities, from the
Atlantic coast to the Pacific, are hot-beds of extreme political
radicalism; Italian Carbonarism and Russian Nihilism are represented
in those cities by some of their most daring representatives, whose
official programme is destruction of authority by the assassination
of its most exalted heads, and subversion of law. By placing William
McKinley in line with the monarchs who were the special targets
of their inflammatory harangues and writings, danger and death were
attracted to his person with magnetic power; and what in the intention
of party opponents was but a forcible means of attacking Mr. McKinley’s
and his party’s colonial policy (to disappear again with his election)
may have lingered in the heated imaginations of these [386][387]
avowed regicides, and may have intensified their feelings against
him, as the most exalted representative of law and order (with alleged
imperial designs) in this country. Several months before the assassination
took place it was reported that detectives had ferreted out at Paterson,
N. J., which is known as a gathering-place of Italian anarchists
and assassins, a conspiracy which had for its object the assassination
of all European monarchs and of President McKinley. This report,
when published in the newspapers, was received with laughter and
contempt by the reading public. The mere idea appeared too absurd
to deserve even a moment’s attention, and the result was that to
the recent assassinations of the Empress of Austria and King Humbert
of Italy was added the tragedy of Buffalo.
Only a few months after Mr. McKinley
was inaugurated for his second term of office, the Pan-American
Exposition was held at Buffalo. Mr. McKinley had, from the very
inception of the great undertaking which was to shed new lustre
upon his administration, given to it great attention and cordial
encouragement. For the first time, such an exposition was to exhibit
all the products, natural and artificial, of the two Americas in
one common presentation, challenging the admiration or the criticism
of the world on the intellectual and industrial standing which this
display manifested. The result was grand, and in many respects surpassed
expectation. It emphasized the impression already created by the
Chicago World’s Fair of 1893, that America would within a short
time become a dangerous rival for Europe in many departments of
industry, not only at home, but even in foreign countries which
up to that time had almost [387][388]
held a monopoly for supplying certain articles of manufacture. The
departments in which articles of steel and iron manufacture, electrical
machines, etc., were exhibited showed such superiority over what
old Europe could show that even the most prejudiced visitors from
abroad had to concede it.
It had been expected that President
McKinley, by his presence on several days in some official capacity,
would heighten the interest and emphasize the importance of the
Exposition. He had promised and planned to do so. In the summer
of 1901 he made a trip to the Pacific coast, and was everywhere
welcomed with boisterous enthusiasm. Mrs. McKinley accompanied him,
sharing his popularity and triumphs. Perhaps no President since
George Washington had to a higher degree possessed the confidence
and love of the whole people than Mr. McKinley did at the time of
his second inauguration. Even his political opponents conceded his
eminent worth, his integrity, his loyalty to duty, and his sincere
desire to promote the general welfare of the country. The short
addresses which he made during his trip to California found an enthusiastic
echo in the hearts of his fellow-citizens, East and West; the ovations
he received and which he accepted with becoming modesty and tact,
were heartily endorsed by the nation as symptomatic of the universal
feeling of harmony and of good-will toward the administration. The
ante-election charges of imperialism were laughed at, and both parties
seemed to be willing to make the best of the results of the war.
Moreover the great urbanity of manners, and the personal amiability
which distinguished Mr. McKinley were the strongest refutations
of these ridiculous imperialistic [388][389]
charges and of Mr. McKinley’s ambition to be clothed with royal
honors. He showed equal courtesy to rich and poor, and his grasp
of the laborer’s hand was just as cordial as of the rich merchant’s.
The Presidential party had reached
San Francisco, and its reception there was fully as enthusiastic
as it had been in the cities along the route to the Pacific. It
had been the President’s intention to stop at Buffalo on his return
from his trip to California, to be the guest of the managers of
the Exposition for a few days, and to perform those duties and ceremonies
which were expected of him as head of the nation. Unfortunately
this programme could not be carried out. Mrs. McKinley, always in
very delicate health, fell seriously ill at San Francisco, and for
several days her life was despaired of. She recovered; but as soon
as she was able to bear the discomforts of transportation, without
inviting the danger of a relapse, the President’s return to the
East was decided on, and all his previous appointments were cancelled.
His intention to visit Buffalo, during the continuance of the Exposition,
was, however, not abandoned, but simply postponed to a more opportune
time, after Mrs. McKinley should have recovered her usual strength.
Mr. McKinley came to Buffalo in the
first week of September. The Exposition had attracted many thousands
of visitors who were anxious to greet the President. On the fifth—which
had been made President’s Day—he delivered an address to a very
large audience, in which he spoke feelingly of the blessings bestowed
by Providence on this country, and in eloquent terms referred to
the unexampled prosperity enjoyed by its citizens. That secret and
unaccountable influence which frequently in- [389][390]
spires men on the verge of the grave and endows them with almost
prophetic foresight seemed to have taken possession of Mr. McKinley
on this occasion. The speech was, perhaps, the best he had ever
made. It was the speech of a statesman and patriot, full of wisdom
and love of country. He did not know, when he made it, that it would
be his farewell address to the American people; but if he had known
it and written it for that purpose, he could not have made it loftier
in spirit, more patriotic in sentiment, and more convincing in argument.
On the afternoon of the next day a
grand reception had been arranged for the President at the Temple
of Music. An immense multitude had assembled, eager to shake hands
with Mr. McKinley and to have the honor of exchanging a few words
with him. He was in the very best of spirits and performed the ceremony
of handshaking with that amiable and cordial expression on his features
which won him so many hearts. It had been arranged that only one
person at a time should pass by him, and that after a rapid salutation
his place should be taken by the next comer. Hundreds had already
exchanged greetings with the President, when a young man with smooth
face and dark hair stepped up to him. Mr. McKinley noticed that
the right hand of the young man was bandaged, as though it had been
wounded, and he therefore made a move to grasp his left hand; but
at that moment the young man raised his right hand, and in quick
succession fired two shots at the President, which both wounded
him,—the one aimed at his chest, lightly, because the bullet deflected
from the breastbone; the other, which had penetrated the abdomen,
very seriously. The assassin had carried a revolver in his right
hand and [390][391] had covered it
with a handkerchief in order to avoid detection. Mr. McKinley did
not realize immediately that he was wounded, although from the effects
of the shot he staggered and fell into the arms of a detective who
was standing near him.
“Am I shot?” asked the President.
The officer opened the President’s vest, and seeing the blood, answered:
“Yes, I am afraid you are, Mr. President.”
The assassin was immediately thrown
to the ground. Twenty men were upon him, and it was with some difficulty
that he was rescued from their grasp. At first he gave a fictitious
name, and, when asked for his motive, replied: “I am an Anarchist,
and have done my duty.” His statements shortly after his arrest
seemed to implicate a number of more or less prominent Anarchists
in the crime and to make it appear as the result of a widespread
conspiracy. In consequence a number of the recognized leaders of
the party—especially Emma Goldmann, whom the assailant named as
the person whose teachings had inspired him with the idea of committing
the crime—were arrested and held for a preliminary examination;
but nothing could be proven against them, and they were discharged.
After a few days the assailant made
a full confession. His name was Leon Czolgosz; he was a Pole by
birth, and his family lived at Detroit. He was a believer in Anarchism
and had murdered the President because he considered him the chief
representative of that authority which, in his opinion, was hurtful
to the development of a society founded on the equal rights of all
its members. He had had no accomplices; he had not consulted with
anybody concerning the plan, time, or execution of the [391][392]
crime, but he had resolved upon and executed it on his own responsibility.
While his confession fully exonerated both the Anarchist party at
large and all its members individually, it nevertheless showed what
terrible consequences may arise from the propagandism of a party
which has declared war on the existing organization of society,
when its doctrines inflame the mind of a fanatic or of an unthinking
proselyte. Public opinion in the United States was stirred to its
very depths, all parties vying with one another in showing not only
their abhorrence of the crime, but also their love and admiration
for the illustrious victim.
Unfortunately the hopes of the American
people that Mr. McKinley would survive the foul and senseless attempt
on his life were disappointed. For about a week his condition seemed
to improve, and his strong vitality seemed to rise superior to the
weakening effects of a dangerous surgical operation which failed
to produce the second bullet, deeply seated as it was in the spine.
At first he rallied from the severe shock, and his physicians were
hopeful of saving his life, but in the afternoon of September 12,
a sudden change for the worse occurred which, it was soon noticed,
indicated the approach of dissolution. He remained conscious till
about seven o’clock in the evening of September 13, and faced death
in the same spirit of calmness and submission to the will of God
which had characterized his whole career. “Good-bye, all; good-bye.
It is God’s way. His will be done!” were his last conscious words
to the members of his cabinet and other friends who, overcome with
emotion, were at his bedside. The end came shortly after two o’clock
in the morning, on September 14, apparently without pain. [392][393]
President McKinley’s death made a
profound impression on the American people. The rage of the people
of Buffalo against the assassin was boundless, and but for the efficient
measures for protecting him at the station-house in which he was
imprisoned, he very likely would have fallen a victim to the fury
of the thousands who surrounded it. The entire police force and
several companies of soldiers were kept under arms to be ready for
any emergency.
The body of the dead President was
first taken to Washington, and thence to its final resting-place
at Canton, Ohio. The obsequies were of imposing grandeur and magnificence;
but even more impressive than these, and more honorable to his memory,
was the sorrow of a whole nation in tears over his untimely and
cruel death.
President McKinley’s death is typical
of the modern attempts on the lives of sovereigns and prominent
men. These attempts have lost much of the personal character which
in former times made them so interesting. They are much more the
results of a wholesale conspiracy against the organization of society
than against great individuals. Unfortunately political assassinations
have not become of rarer occurrence during the last fifty years,
as might have been hoped from the progress of education and civilization.
On the contrary, they have multiplied with the spread and development
of Anarchism. The Anarchist makes no distinction between the bad
ruler and the good ruler. The fact that the ruler occupies an exalted
station above his fellow-men makes him an object of hatred for the
Anarchist, and justifies his removal from an elevation which is
a danger to all. At the present time men very high in authority,
whether [393][394] in a monarchy or
in a republic, are always exposed to the daggers or pistols or—what
is much worse—to the dynamite or other explosives of assassins.
The field of operation of these murderers—who
are generally the deluded agents of a central organization of Anarchists,
and who have frequently no personal grievance against their victims—
extends not only all over Europe, from Russia to Spain, but also
to the western hemisphere.
While these murders fall with the
same crushing effect upon the nations immediately stricken in the
persons of their rulers or intellectual leaders, the interest in
the causes leading to them is essentially diminished since they
are all inspired by the same general motive,—destruction of authority,—and
since the hand armed with the fatal weapon strikes with blind fanaticism,
sparing neither age nor sex nor merit; in fact, quite often slaying
those who deserve to live, and sparing those whose death might be
a benefit to their country and the world. In this way we have seen
the Czar Alexander the Second of Russia, the emancipator of the
Russian serfs; General Prim, who, if he had lived longer, might
have secured a constitutional government for Spain and her political
regeneration; the Empress Elizabeth of Austria, a faultless and
much betrayed wife as well as a bereaved mother; King Humbert, whose
best endeavors were made in behalf of a reunited Italy; President
Sadi Carnot, one of the purest and most patriotic statesmen the
French Republic has had; and last, though not least, our genial
and noble-hearted President, William McKinley,—all falling victims
to the senseless vindictiveness of men who do not persecute wrong
and oppression, but power and authority [394][395]
in whatever form they may present themselves. We have selected the
assassination of President McKinley as representative of this class
of political murders, because he was dearest to the American heart,
and also because, in our opinion, he was the most illustrious of
the many victims of anarchistic vengeance.
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