Fakirs Marred the Funeral Day
These Mercenaries Held Nothing Sacred and Cried
Near House of Death.
Canton, O., Sept. 19.—Cold, damp
and gray, the funeral day dawned at Canton. Lowering clouds overcast
the heavens and a chilling mist, falling on the restless, turbulent,
surging thousands which filled the streets, penetrated through the
clothing and added to the depression which affected those who had
come to perform the last offices for the martyred dead.
This little town was today the centre
of interest for all the world. The President, the Cabinet and diplomats
were here, and so were thousands unknown to fame. The trains lined
up on the tracks miles each side of the depot.
Every road ran special trains, and
every train was packed to suffocation. The streets were almost impassable,
and it is only by the most superhuman efforts that one could work
his way through the dense throngs.
Over the heads of the multitude came
the cries of fakirs. Thousands of them drifted to Canton. They erected
their stands during the night, and at the first sign of daylight
began to shout their wares, cheap button pictures, mourning ribbons,
photos of the dead President and his stricken wife, and red carnations.
Not even in the vicinity of the dead
President’s home was sacred to these vandals, and those in the very
death chamber could hear the discordant howls of the mercenary pirates.