THE ASSASSINATION OF GARFIELD

By Theodore Clarke Smith.

THIS account of Garfield's assassination, shortly after he succeeded Grant in the Presidency, is taken from Smith's "Life and Letters of James Abram Garfield," published by the Yale University Press. The author is at this writing professor of American history at Williams College, of which President Garfield was a graduate and to which he was on his way to attend his class reunion when he was shot, July 2, 1881.

The assassin, Charles J. Guiteau, was an office-seeker whose vanity had been wounded by the refusal of a government post, and whose unbalanced brain had been excited by contemporary dissensions in the Republican party. The crime excited the horror and sympathy of all parties alike; and foreign nations joined in mourning. Garfield had been removed from Washington to Elberon, New Jersey, and died there September 19, 1881. Guiteau was hanged in the jail at Washington, June 30, 1882.

ON July 2, at twenty minutes past nine o'clock, as President Garfield, accompanied by Blaine, entered the Pennsylvania Railroad station in Washington, to begin his journey to Williamstown for his class reunion, a man stepped forward and fired two pistol shots at him, each of which took effect, one grazing the arm, the other striking him in the back near the spine. The President fell under the shock, momentarily unconscious, but after an instant of stunned amazement some of the bystanders carried him to an office room in the building while others seized the assassin. The members of the Cabinet, Hunt, Windom, James and their families, who had already entered the train were hastily recalled and, with Harry and James Garfield, who had entered the station shortly after the shots were fired, assumed charge of the situation.

The first impression was that the wound was a fatal one. The injured man, not bleeding profusely but "presenting the appearance of perfect collapse," was removed from the station to the White House, where various doctors, hastily summoned by different persons, gathered in consultation. From the symptoms it was generally agreed that Garfield was undergoing internal hemorrhage and could not survive the night. It later appeared that the signs of collapse were due to the fact that the bullet had struck the spinal column, torn through part of it, although without actually touching the spinal cord, and had inflicted a violent shock upon the whole nervous system. Under the circumstances the members of the Cabinet promptly notified the Vice-President, Arthur, that he ought to be ready to take the oath of office at any minute and on the following day, the third, he arrived in Washington to wait until the outcome should be known. During the rest of the day the group of physicians did little more than watch the symptoms, after a rather superficial examination of the wound, and give stimulants under the impression that any operation to extract the ball would certainly be fatal, merely accelerating what appeared to be the rapidly approaching end.

During these hours Garfield himself was for the most part conscious and, as the bulletins said, was "mentally clear, conversing intelligently when permitted to do so." From persons who were with the crowd around him at the station or who followed to the White House have come reports showing that at this crisis his steadiness of soul stood perfectly unshaken. Garfield was always a man of marked physical courage and not even the shock of an apparently fatal bullet wound and the idea of approaching death could unnerve him. As he lay at the station before the doctors arrived he said, "I don't think this is serious," and later remarked, "I will live." Whatever his physical suffering he immediately assumed and maintained an attitude of unshaken hopefulness. At the same time he did not hesitate to face facts. One of the doctors told him plainly that he probably had internal hemorrhage. "The President," said the doctor, "replied, 'I am very glad to know my condition. I can bear it.' These words were spoken as calmly and peacefully as anything I ever heard in my life."

During the night which followed, the expected collapse did not occur and by morning, to the surprise of the surgeons and the joy of the whole country, the patient was visibly rallying. Hope now returned and the situation was taken in hand with new determination. "The President,"in the language of the official bulletin, "was cheerful, gave evidence of having rested and made definite inquiries regarding his condition and prospects." Less formally, one of the doctors described what happened." At this time he inquired of me what his chances of recovery were, saying, in his bright and cheerful way, that he desired a frank and full statement, that he was prepared to die, and feared not to learn the worst. He added that personally he was willing to lay down the heavy burden thrust upon him. I replied, 'Mr. President, your injury is formidable. In my judgment you have a chance for recovery.' He placed his hand upon my arm and, turning his face more fully toward me, said with a cheerful smile: `Well, Doctor, we will take that chance.' " Before night these words were telegraphed all over the United States, evoking tears of sympathy and pride at the indomitable courage and steadiness that lay behind them.