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Washington Letter
W, Sept. 19, 1901.
Although, the people of Washington
have taken their last view of the face of President McKinley, the
hush of awe and grief still seems to hang over the Capital. The
public buildings have not been decked with emblems of mourning,
this being forbidden, by act of Congress, but the flags will continue
to float at half mast for thirty days, and crape is everywhere on
private and business houses. Moreover, business drags, and the two
days of mourning, coming in mid-week, seem to have checked the very
pulse of the city. Little has been done save what was necessary
for daily life. Today, President Roosevelt will return to Washington
and enter upon his official duties, but he and Mrs. Roosevelt will
for the present reside with the President’s sister, Mrs. Cowles,
and not in the White House.
The scene which followed the arrival
of the President’s body on Monday night was in some ways even more
impressive than the splendid and sombre pageant of the next day,
for it was the spontaneous tribute of the people. As the casket
was borne up Pennsylvania avenue, the sides of that historic thoroughfare
were lined with spectators, and after it had passed the crowd quietly
disregarded the ropes and filled up the street, following the military
guard like an informal procession. It was all silent; there was
no music, save that now and then some one would sing a stanza of
“Nearer, My God, to Thee,” the hymn which will now be forever associated
with President McKinley, and then the voices of those nearest would
join in the singing till the air was filled with the plaintive harmony.
This happened at intervals all the way from Buffalo to Washington,
wherever the train stopped at a station. At Harrisburg the sound,
coming through the closed windows of Mrs. McKinley’s car, arrested
her attention, and she asked, “What is that?” Dr. Rixey, his own
eyes filled with tears, replied, “It is the people who are singing
for love of your husband. They cannot help it.” It is said that
then, for the first and only time during the sad journey, Mrs. McKinley
shed tears. No more spontaneous and beautiful tribute was ever paid
to the leader of a people than the silent, reverent procession which,
without arrangement or marshals, followed the body of the dead President
to the gates of his home.
The funeral procession the next day
was perhaps the most magnificent ever seen in Washington. To the
wailing of the Dead March of Chopin, the long line of military and
civil organizations moved from the Executive Mansion to the Capitol,
under the gray skies of a wind-swept autumn day. There was no glamour
or glitter except here and there where a uniform with its gilded
ornaments caught the light. The colors were draped with black, and
knots of crape were worn not only by those in line, but by the majority
of the spectators.
There came near being another tragedy
on the steps of the Capitol, while the people were waiting to be
let into the rotunda where the catafalque was placed. Nobody seems
to know quite how it happened, but it is clear that some one blundered.
Some say it was a Capitol employe [sic] who prematurely announced
that the doors were open and the public would be admitted. At any
rate, about one o’clock there were thousands of people outside the
doors, covering the walks and extending in a line for several blocks
beyond the Capitol grounds, when suddenly this packed mass of humanity
surged forward and in spite of the efforts of the police and military
guards, there was a crush which resulted in the injury of nearly
a hundred persons. The only wonder is that nobody was killed, and
indeed, two or three may die of their injuries. Women and old men
were knocked down and trampled underfoot, and when the steps were
finally cleared a mass of debris, pocketbooks, umbrellas, hats,
shoes, corsets and all sorts of articles of clothing, was found,
torn away from the owners by the pressure of the crowd. The state
of things was not improved by the action of some mounted policeman
who vainly attempted to break the jam by urging their horses into
it. They might as well have spurred them against the walls of the
Capitol itself. The mob closed upon them and caught them, and the
prancing of frightened horses was added to the terrors of the situation.
It seems as if, in a city which has had as much experience with
crowds as this one, such a thing could have been prevented. The
responsibility should be fixed and the guilty person punished if
the incident is not to be repeated.
The fakirs who sold mementoes were
suppressed by the police when they became too noisy, but it was
not so easy to dispose of the camera fiends. One of them tried to
take a snap-shot of President Roosevelt just as the casket was lifted
out of the hearse, and the light, flashing into the eyes of the
hearse horses, made them rear and plunge. There was a growl from
the bystanders, and somebody was heard to remark, “That man ought
to have a coat of tar and feathers.”
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