CHAPTER XXVIII.

The President Plans a Ten-Days' Pleasure-Trip.--Morning of the Fateful Day.--Secretary Blaine Accompanies him to the Station.--A Mysterious-looking Character.--Sudden Report of a Pistol.--The President Turns and Receives the Fatal Shot.--Arrest of the Assassin.--The President Recovers Consciousness and is Taken Back to the White House.

"A WASP flew out upon our fairest son, And stung him to the quick with poisoned shaft, The while he chatted carelessly and laughed, And knew not of the fateful mischief done. And so this life, amid our lore begun, Envenomed by the insect's hellish craft, Was drunk by Death in one long, feverish draught, And he was lost--our precious, priceless one! Oh, mystery of blind, remorseless fate! Oh, cruel end of a most causeless hate! That life so mean should murder life so great!"

J. G. HOLLAND.

The anniversary of our National Independence was now close at hand. In spite of the shameful and distressing party factions of the previous weeks, the country had never seemed in a more prosperous condition. The electric state of the political atmosphere had proved itself an element of purification, not of destruction, and the outlook for the future grew brighter every day.

On the morning of July second, the President arose at an early hour. Worn out with the harassing disturbances of the past weeks, he felt the urgent need of a few days' rest and recreation. Mrs. Garfield, who had been spending a little time at Long Branch, was to join him in New York; and together with a few members of the Cabinet and their families, the President had planned a ten-days' trip through New England.

It was a lovely summer's morning. The dew sparkled on the beautiful lawn and gay parterres in front of the White House, the cool trickle of the fountain mingled with the twittering of the sparrows as they flitted in and out of their nests under the great front porch.

All nature seemed in sympathy with the joyous mood of the President, as he gaily tried an athletic feat with one of his boys, laughed, jested, and talked about the commencement exercises at Williams College, which he hoped to attend in a few days.

Not one breath of impending danger, not one note of warning was there in the clear, sunny atmosphere of that bright July morning!

Shortly after breakfast, Secretary Blaine drove up to the White House and accompanied the President to the station of the Baltimore and Potomac Railroad, where the express train to New York leaves at 9.30.

Finding they were ten minutes before time, the President and his Secretary remained in the carriage, earnestly talking, until the depot official reminded them that the train was about to start.

Arm in arm they passed through the broad entrance-door into the ladies' waiting-room, which gave them the readiest access to the train beyond.

The room was almost empty, as most of the passengers had already taken their seats in the cars, but pacing nervously up and down the adjoining rooms, was a thin, wiry-looking man, whose peculiar appearance had once or twice been commented upon by some of the railroad officials. Still, there was really nothing about him to excite suspicion. He might have simply missed the train; and, as he seemed inclined to mind his own business, no further notice had been taken of him.

As the President passed through the room, this ill-favored looking man suddenly sprang up behind him, and, taking a heavy revolver from his pocket, deliberately aimed it at the noble, commanding figure.

At the sharp report the President turned his head with a troubled look of surprise, and Secretary Blaine sprang quickly to one side. The wretch immediately re-cocked his pistol, set his teeth, and fired again.

This time the President fell senseless to the floor, and a dazed crowd surrounded him while Secretary Blaine sprang after the assassin. The cowardly knave was easily secured, and then all thoughts centred upon the suffering victim. Mrs. White, who had charge of the ladies' waiting-room, was the first to see the President fall, and, running to his assistance, she knelt down and supported him in her arms. The dreadful tidings flew hither and thither on eagle-wings. Postmaster-General James, Secretary Windom, Secretary Hunt, and others of the party who were to accompany the President on his trip, were soon at his side, and messengers were sent in all directions.

A physician was soon on the spot; the wounded man was tenderly placed upon a mattress, and carried without delay to the White House.

Yet, before he was taken from the station, he suddenly aroused from his half-unconscious state, and turning to one of his friends he said, with his old, self-forgetting thoughtfulness,--

"Rockwell, I want you to send a message to my wife. Tell her I am seriously hurt; how seriously I cannot yet say. I am myself, and hope she will come to me soon. I send my love to her."