CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE LAST NIGHT IN THE WHITE HOUSE.

Borne upon the shoulders of stalwart representatives of the army and navy, of which he had been Commander-in-Chief for more than four years, all that was mortal of William McKinley, late President of the United States, was returned to the capital of the nation.

As President McKinley left the White House the morning of July 5 for a vacation trip to his home at Canton, O., some of the attachés of the Executive Mansion assembled on the portico to bid him a fond farewell and express their hope for a pleasant trip.

“Take good care of yourselves, boys, until I come back in the fall,” was the President’s response as he entered his waiting carriage and was driven to the railroad station to take the train for home. These were the last words ever uttered by William McKinley in the shadow of the big white mansion which had been his official residence since March 4, 1897.

He came back in the fall, as he had promised he would, not in the flush of manhood, buoyant in spirits and recuperated from the arduous duties of his official position, but in a narrow, black-cloth-covered casket, around which were draped the colors he had fought to defend when in his teens, and which in maturer years he had seen floating victoriously in every quarter of the globe.

Following his bier as chief mourner came his successor to the Presidency, Theodore Roosevelt, accompanied by the members of his official family and thousands of his countrymen, who mourned in silence his untimely end.

Never before in the history of the capital of this nation has such a scene been witnessed as that presented along the magnificent boulevard known as Pennsylvania avenue. Although it was well-nigh impossible to distinguish anything perfectly in the gloom of the night, mothers brought their children in arms, and stood patiently watching until the cavalcade passed up the avenue and was finally hidden from view in the grounds surrounding the Executive Mansion.

It was a distinguished party which awaited at the Pennsylvania railroad station the home-coming of William McKinley.

Among the first arrivals at the railroad station were Secretary of State Hay and Secretary Gage of the Treasury department. Both wore upon their high silk hats mourning bands for members of their own families—the Secretary of State for a son and the Secretary of the Treasury for a wife who was one of the most notable figures of the administration now closed.

While waiting the arrival of the funeral train a passenger train pulled into the station from the west, and among those who alighted and pushed his way through the crowd was Senator William E. Mason of Illinois, accompanied by his wife and little ones. As the Senator from Illinois passed through the crowd he was recognized, and amid the hum and buzz of conversation could be distinguished the words: “There goes Senator Mason.”

Meanwhile the crowd on the station platform was each second becoming augmented by the arrival of men distinguished in army and navy circles and the walks of civil life. Judson Lyons, Register of the United States Treasury, whose name adorns every bank note of the government, was conspicuous in the throng, not only on account of his towering height and figure but for his color as well, for the successor of General Rosecrans, formerly Register of the Treasury, is a negro.

Nodding plumes of yellow, red, and white, marking the different branches of the army, cavalry, artillery, and infantry, respectively, were conspicuous in the throng, while the gold laced and chapeaued naval officers present reminded the spectator of an army and navy reception night at the White House.

To add to this effect, there was Captain Charles McCauley of the Marine Corps and Captain J. C. Gilmore of the artillery, both of whom had been detailed at the Executive Mansion by President McKinley to assist him in receiving the public at the various receptions held during the gay season when in charge of the State, War, and Navy department here; Sergeant-at-Arms Ransdell of the United States Senate, the bosom friend and companion of the late President Harrison, who appointed him Marshal of the District of Columbia; Acting Secretary of War William Gary Sanger; Colonel Frank Denny, U. S. Marine Corps; Lieutenant Thomas Wood, President McFarland, and Commissioner John W. Ross of the District of Columbia; Chief Wilkie of the U. S. Secret Service; General George H. Harries and the members of the staff of the National Guard of the District of Columbia in full uniform.

Standing at attention in full dress uniform, with swords at their side, stood a dozen sergeants of the Signal Corps of the United States Army, under the command of Captain Charles McKay Saltzman. It was to be their solemn duty to act as body bearers for the President of the United States, relieving the sailors and soldiers who had performed this duty from Buffalo to the Capitol. These body bearers were George H. Kelly, Isaac Hamilton, Frank Gunnard, Harry T. Burlingame, Stephen Bledsoe, Eugene Lazar, Joseph H. Embleton, Harry S. Gribbelle, Charles G. Monroe, William H. Taylor, Thomas A. Davis, and James S. Holmes.

Not a loud word was uttered, and the scene about the station was of a most awe-inspiring and impressive nature as an engine draped with black came slowly puffing into the shed, and instantly all heads were bared. It was the engine drawing the funeral party, and a hush of expectancy pervaded the entire group gathered upon the platform to await its coming. Hardly had the driving wheels ceased to revolve before the body bearers were boarding the front car, which contained the casket and floral tributes, which almost concealed from view the earthly remains of William McKinley. Secretaries Hay and Gage led a mournful procession to the rear car of the train, in which President Roosevelt and the members of the Cabinet were seated.

In deference to the wishes of Mrs. McKinley, the family, and immediate relatives of the President, a passageway was opened for them at the lower end of the platform in order that they might evade the gaze of a curious crowd. Carriages were drawn up awaiting the arrival of the train, and, assisted by Colonel Bingham and Dr. Rixey, Mrs. McKinley was led to a victoria and driven to the White House. She seemed to be bearing up remarkably well under the strain to which she has been subjected, although the lines under her eyes and the haggard expression of the features showed it was only by the greatest exertion of will power that she was being restrained from a collapse.

Abner McKinley and his family occupied the next two carriages, and Mrs. Baer, formerly Miss Mabel McKinley, and her husband, were assigned a carriage to themselves. Mrs. Baer was attired in deep mourning, and it was with difficulty, even with the aid of her crutches, that she could sustain herself sufficiently to traverse the short distance from the train to her carriage.

While this scene was in the focus the members of the Cabinet and guard of honor, composed of army and navy officers, were escorting President Roosevelt from his car to his position in the carriage just behind the hearse which was to convey the body of his predecessor to the executive mansion. Close beside the President walked big George Foster, the secret service agent, who had accompanied President McKinley on nearly all of his trips.

General John R. Brooke walked beside the President on the left, and immediately behind came Secretaries Gage and Hay, walking arm in arm. Five special detectives kept guard over this quartet—Sergeants Clark and Foy of New York, Detective Carroll of Newark, N. J., and Detectives Helan and McNamee of Washington.

These detectives had instructions not to let the President out of their sight until he was safely ensconced in his house, the residence of his brother-in-law, Paymaster W. S. Cowles of the United States Navy, in the fashionable part of Washington. As soon as the President entered his carriage with General Brooke the detectives closed around it and permitted no one to come within twenty feet of its occupant.

Prior to the President entering his carriage there was a delay for a few minutes at the entrance to the baggage-room to permit the remains of President McKinley to be borne through the crowd and placed in the hearse awaiting them. This sable equipage was drawn by six black horses, each animal covered with a heavy black netting, and each horse led by a negro groom in regulation funeral dress.

There was a shuffling of feet as the crowd of distinguished men in attendance upon the President followed his footsteps, which led towards waiting carriages and, surrounded by clattering cavalry and fully equipped infantry, President Roosevelt and the escort left the railroad station and started up Pennsylvania avenue through the lanes of people, who occupied every available inch of room from the curbstone to the building line of the houses against which they pressed.

It was a weird but solemn spectacle that greeted the vision of President Roosevelt and his escort as they rode through the silent streets of the capital to make preparation for the funeral services to be held in the Capitol Building next day. Men, women, and children peered into the darkness in a vain endeavor to ascertain who were the occupants of the carriages, but in this they were disappointed, for darkness threw a veil over the scene from one end of the route to the other.

All that could be seen was the gleam of sabers as the cavalry clattered up the avenue and the gleam of a musket barrel and the glitter of gold lace when an electric light or a gas jet threw some gleams of radiance upon them.

Not a word was uttered during that solemn drive, and Theodore Roosevelt, twenty-sixth President of the United States, was not even visible as he came to take the position which had been filled so ably and efficiently by William McKinley.

It was a different inauguration procession from that in which President Roosevelt participated last March, for while on that occasion there was glad acclaim and exulting shouts of gratified patriots, on this occasion there was silence, somberness, and gloom, painful in its intensity.

And thus Theodore Roosevelt entered the Capitol of the nation to become the first citizen of the greatest republic on earth.

In the east room at the White House, where President McKinley so often was the central figure of noble gatherings, his mortal remains were placed. It was his last night in the place he had made his home for four and one-half years.

Up-stairs the widow occupied the room where she underwent so much suffering and where she was nursed back to health by the devoted husband who now is lost to her for all time.

Except for the immediate family, the guards, and the servants, the executive mansion was deserted, the public retiring and leaving those nearest and dearest to the dead President alone with their grief.

Throughout the day workmen had been busy placing the great east room in condition for the reception of the body of the dead President. That immense room, in which President McKinley had participated in so many public functions, and had taken the hands of thousands of his countrymen, was transformed into a tomb for the time being, and all evidences of past festivities were removed.

It was in this same room that the remains of Lincoln, Garfield, Secretary of State Gresham, and other distinguished public servants rested before final interment. It was also in this magnificent apartment that Nellie Grant was married to Algernon Sartoris of England while her father was President.

As the shades of evening began to fall the guards around the White House were doubled. The gates were closed and policemen were stationed at the various entrances, with positive instructions to allow no one to pass except those on actual duty in an official capacity.

In the meantime the interior of the east room had been robbed of its barren appearance by the placing of a number of potted plants and palms around the room and in the recesses of the windows. In addition to the floral decorations from the Executive greenhouses the tributes from foreign and domestic officials converted the room into a beautiful and fragrant floral bower.

The display of floral tributes deposited in the east room was perhaps never equaled in the history of a public or private funeral in the United States. The predominating emblems were laurel wreaths, but they were so diversified in construction and ornamentation with colored flowers and ribbons that no two pieces were actually alike.

One of the most striking set pieces was an immense shield, appropriately inscribed, and profusely decorated with purple ribbon, from “The American Army in the Philippines.” This floral tribute was made up on an order by cable at a cost of over $500. Another striking piece was an immense floral pedestal, surmounted by a floral wreath, standing twelve feet high. This came from the Commissioner of Pensions and his associates in the Pension bureau. There were magnificent wreaths from Mrs. Garret A. Hobart, the wife of the late Vice-President, also one from the government of Costa Rica, one from the President of Costa Rica, Rafael Iglesias.

An immense laurel wreath, decorated with yellow, blue, and red ribbons, came from the Colombian Legation. There was also an immense wreath of orchids inscribed from the Municipality of Havana, Cuba.

And there, sleeping the dreamless sleep of death, beneath a wilderness of blossoms from the loving hands of his countrymen, William McKinley passed his last night in the White House.