|
The Shooting of the President
I WAS standing on the steps leading to the Temple of Music. A dense
crowd jostled and pushed back and forth in constant motion. All
around me was the surging multitude, keenly alive to the tingling
sensation of the President’s presence. The mingled sounds of gay
concord and festivity filled the air; there were laughter and jest
and good-nature on all sides. I remember the thrill of the scene
that passed through me as I gazed from my vantage-ground over the
brilliant spectacle. I felt the pulse of a nation quicken and throb
in glad response to the proud honor of the occasion. The President
had finished his address, and, as a citizen among citizens, was
levelling the hearts of the people to his own in sympathetic greeting.
Suddenly two shots in quick succession
rang out from the building within. Instantly a hush fell upon the
multitude far and near. Men and women stood transfixed in a solid
mass. I shall never forget the interminable length of that awful
stillness and pent-up emotion; it lasted in reality about five or
six minutes.
A whisper began to pass from mouth
to mouth like an electric current, “The President has been shot!”
Low murmurs on the part of the men and quiet sobbing from the women
began to slacken the tension. Here and there women fainted, and
way had to be made for their removal. Suddenly the clanging bell
of an ambulance was heard. The crowd began to break bounds and sway
about tumultuously. All at once some one caught sight of a man being
conducted to a carriage, and the cry broke out, “The assassin!”
Immediately the throng made for the carriage, which was speedily
surrounded. I saw the door wrenched open once, and the driver had
to use his whip vigorously to lash the pressing mob back out of
his way. The great congregation of souls which, a few minutes ago,
had been stirred to the depths of silent emotion by the horror of
the tragedy that had fallen like a thunder-bolt, now burst out in
savage oaths and imprecations. Cries of “Lynch him!” “Shoot him!”
“Kill the brute!” rent the air about me, and made me shudder at
the sudden awakening of vindictive and vengeful desire where, but
a moment since, there reigned the gentleness of profound grief too
deep for utterance. The exhibition of these contrasting elements
in human nature in so brief a space of time is indelibly fixed in
my memory. No one who witnessed the terrible scene is ever likely
to forget it.
|
