Destiny of the Republic Part 7

Still stretched out on the sofa, Bliss looked up at Baxter with contempt. "I know your game," he spat. "You wish to sneak up here and take this case out of my hands. You just try it on.... I know how you are, sneaking around to prescribe for those who have influence and will lobby for you." Enraged, Baxter shouted, "That is a lie!" At this, Bliss sprang to his feet, and his son, who had witnessed the entire exchange, leapt to his father's defense, shouting at Baxter to leave. Baxter, painfully aware of "the impropriety of having any disturbance in a room next to that in which the President lay so grievously wounded," s.n.a.t.c.hed up his hat and strode out of the room, leaving Bliss standing, triumphant, outside Garfield's door.

Bliss's coup, he felt, was complete. In comparison to Baxter, the other doctors would be easy to discourage. That day, he sent out copies of his dictated letter to each of them: Dear Doctor,At the request of the President, I write to advise you that his symptoms are at present so favorable, as to render unnecessary any further consultations, until some change in his condition shall seem to warrant it.Thanking you most cordially for your kind attention and skillful advice, and for which the President and family are deeply grateful.I remainvery respectfullyD. W. Bliss As expected, the men who had followed Garfield from the train station-even Townsend, the first man to treat the president after he was shot-left quickly and quietly after reading the letter, taking Bliss at his word that the president had chosen to trust his case, and his life, solely to him.

Later, when concern about the quality of the president's medical care began to grow, journalists would ask how Bliss came to be in charge of the case. "He just took charge of it," one doctor would say. "He happened to be the first man called after the shooting, and he stuck to it, shoving everybody else aside. Neither the President nor Mrs. Garfield ever asked him to take charge." Outraged by this accusation, Bliss would insist that, in a private meeting, both Garfield and the first lady had asked him to be the president's princ.i.p.al doctor and to "select such counsel as you may think best." To his mortification, however, Lucretia herself publicly contradicted his statement. No such discussion had ever taken place, she said. Neither she nor her husband had chosen Bliss. To his mortification, however, Lucretia herself publicly contradicted his statement. No such discussion had ever taken place, she said. Neither she nor her husband had chosen Bliss.

Lucretia, in fact, had taken matters into her own hands, securing for James two doctors of her choosing. The first was Dr. Susan Ann Edson, one of the first female doctors in the country and Lucretia's personal physician. The stout, bespectacled doctor with the ring of tight gray curls had become such a familiar figure at the White House that even the Garfields' youngest son, Abe, knew her well, referring to her as "Dr. Edson, full of Med'cin." The stout, bespectacled doctor with the ring of tight gray curls had become such a familiar figure at the White House that even the Garfields' youngest son, Abe, knew her well, referring to her as "Dr. Edson, full of Med'cin."

Although James had chosen Baxter for his own physician, Lucretia knew that he trusted Edson as much as she did. Just a month earlier, when Lucretia was near death, Edson had been among the handful of doctors he had asked to come to the White House. Not only did he know that her presence would be a comfort to Lucretia, but he had seen her skill and compa.s.sion six years earlier, when she had struggled to save his son Neddie's life.

Edson, who was referred to in the press as "Mrs. Dr. Edson," had only just returned to her home and practice when her brother and sister, who had been shopping at a market near the Baltimore and Potomac, rushed to her with news of the president's shooting. Quickly packing a small bag, she had reached the White House just as Garfield was being carried in on the train car mattress. His first words to her had been of concern not for himself but for his wife. "What will this do for Crete?" he had asked her anxiously. "Will it put her in bed again? I had rather die." she had reached the White House just as Garfield was being carried in on the train car mattress. His first words to her had been of concern not for himself but for his wife. "What will this do for Crete?" he had asked her anxiously. "Will it put her in bed again? I had rather die."

To Edson, however, Lucretia seemed stronger and more determined than she had ever been. The first lady not only welcomed the sight of her own doctor and insisted that she stay, but immediately sent for yet another physician, a man her husband knew well. Dr. Silas Boynton was James's first cousin and had grown up "tramping through the woods" with him. Lucretia's telegram to Boynton was brief but firm: " Dr. Silas Boynton was James's first cousin and had grown up "tramping through the woods" with him. Lucretia's telegram to Boynton was brief but firm: "Please to have you come as soon as possible."

Bliss found to his surprise and frustration that, despite his determined efforts, neither Edson nor Boynton would leave. Annoyed by their persistence, and hampered by their connection to the first lady, Bliss informed them that, if they must stay, they would be permitted to perform only nursing duties, and would not be consulted as physicians in their own right. Ignoring this pointed insult to their education and experience, both doctors agreed to Bliss's conditions, determined to remain close to the president so that they might watch over him when Lucretia could not.

Very much aware that the world was watching, Bliss was determined not to make any missteps. His temporary ouster from the District of Columbia Medical Society years earlier for consulting with "irregulars"-physicians who were outside the mainstream of medical thought-had led him to shun any a.s.sociation with what he considered to be experimental medicine. In this case above all others, dangerous new ideas were to be avoided at all costs.

High on Bliss's list of suspect medical theories was Joseph Lister's antisepsis-a fact that would surprise no one less than Lister himself. "I had a taste of what has been alas! experienced so largely by our profession," he had lamented years earlier, "how ignorant prejudice with good intentions may obstruct legitimate scientific inquiry." This prejudice persisted despite the fact that, in the sixteen years since Lister had introduced it, antisepsis had fundamentally changed the way British and European doctors practiced medicine, and had saved countless lives. In his own hospital in London, Lister had not seen a single case of hospital gangrene or pyaemia, a particularly virulent and common form of septicemia, since he had begun using antisepsis. He was certain that, were antisepsis to be adopted in the United States, " it, antisepsis had fundamentally changed the way British and European doctors practiced medicine, and had saved countless lives. In his own hospital in London, Lister had not seen a single case of hospital gangrene or pyaemia, a particularly virulent and common form of septicemia, since he had begun using antisepsis. He was certain that, were antisepsis to be adopted in the United States, "all evil consequences might be averted."

Although five years had pa.s.sed since Lister presented his case to the Medical Congress at the Centennial Exhibition, many American doctors still dismissed not just his discovery, but even Louis Pasteur's. They found the notion of "invisible germs" to be ridiculous, and they refused to even consider the idea that they could be the cause of so much disease and death. "In order to successfully practice Mr. Lister's Antiseptic Method," one doctor scoffed, "it is necessary that we should believe, or act as if we believed, the atmosphere to be loaded with germs."

Why go to all the trouble that antisepsis required simply to fight something that they could not see and did not believe existed? Even the editor of the highly respected Medical Record Medical Record found more to fear than to admire in Lister's theory. " found more to fear than to admire in Lister's theory. "Judging the future by the past," he wrote, "we are likely to be as much ridiculed in the next century for our blind belief in the power of unseen germs, as our forefathers were for their faith in the influence of spirits, of certain planets and the like, inducing certain maladies."

Not only did many American doctors not believe in germs, they took pride in the particular brand of filth that defined their profession. They spoke fondly of the "good old surgical stink" that pervaded their hospitals and operating rooms, and they resisted making too many concessions even to basic hygiene. Many surgeons walked directly from the street to the operating room without bothering to change their clothes. Those who did shrug on a laboratory coat, however, were an even greater danger to their patients. They looped strands of silk sutures through their b.u.t.tonholes for easy access during surgery, and they refused to change or even wash their coats. They believed that the thicker the layers of dried blood and pus, black and crumbling as they bent over their patients, the greater the tribute to their years of experience.

Some physicians felt that Lister's findings simply did not apply to them and their patients. Doctors who lived and worked in the country, away from the soot and grime of the industrialized cities, argued that their air was so pure they did not need antisepsis. them and their patients. Doctors who lived and worked in the country, away from the soot and grime of the industrialized cities, argued that their air was so pure they did not need antisepsis. They preferred, moreover, to rely on their own methods of treatment, which not infrequently involved applying a hot poultice of cow manure to an open wound. They preferred, moreover, to rely on their own methods of treatment, which not infrequently involved applying a hot poultice of cow manure to an open wound.

Even those doctors willing to try antisepsis rarely achieved better results than they had with traditional practices. Their failure, however, was hardly a mystery. Although they dipped their instruments in carbolic acid, they used wooden handles, which could not be sterilized, and they rested them on unsterilized towels. If the surgical knife they had carefully sterilized happened to fall on the floor during an operation, they would simply pick it up and continue to use it. If a procedure required both hands, they would hold the knife in their teeth until they needed it again.

In the midst of the arrogance, distrust, and misunderstanding that characterized the American medical establishment's att.i.tude toward Lister's theories, there was a small but growing bastion of doctors who understood the importance of practicing antisepsis, not halfheartedly but precisely. A young surgeon in New York would later write that he and his colleagues had watched with helpless horror the progress of Garfield's medical care. The president's life might have been spared, he wrote with disgust, "had the physician in charge abstained from probing Garfield's wound while he lay on a filthy mattress spread on the floor of a railroad station."

Even as far west as Kansas, Lister's followers sought to intervene on the president's behalf. In a letter to Lucretia the day after the shooting, Dr. E. L. Patee, a highly respected surgeon from Manhattan, Kansas, warned her that she must shield her husband from potentially harmful medical care. "Do not allow probing of the wound," he urged. "Probing generally does more harm than the ball." Although he lived far from what was then considered the center of medical thought in the United States, Patee had read carefully Lister's work and understood its importance. "Saturate everything with carbolic acid," he begged the first lady. "Our whole state is in...great grief. G.o.d help you."

Unfortunately, young, inexperienced surgeons and rural doctors had little hope of being heard. The morning after Patee wrote to Lucretia, two surgeons arrived at the White House, summoned there by Bliss. David Hayes Agnew, the chief of surgery at the University of Pennsylvania, and Frank Hamilton, a surgeon at the Bellevue Medical College in New York, were " little hope of being heard. The morning after Patee wrote to Lucretia, two surgeons arrived at the White House, summoned there by Bliss. David Hayes Agnew, the chief of surgery at the University of Pennsylvania, and Frank Hamilton, a surgeon at the Bellevue Medical College in New York, were "old men," an American doctor would write, "and not likely to be pioneers in a new field of surgery." Both men had attended Lister's talk at the Centennial Exhibition, and both had made it clear that they distrusted his ideas. So vigorously had Agnew and Lister disagreed that day that a journalist covering the conference had written that " Both men had attended Lister's talk at the Centennial Exhibition, and both had made it clear that they distrusted his ideas. So vigorously had Agnew and Lister disagreed that day that a journalist covering the conference had written that "these gentlemen used no b.u.t.tons to their foils. Thrusts were given in earnest." Hamilton had openly questioned the value of antisepsis, while extolling the virtues of his own practice of treating wounds with simple warm water, a common and germ-laden procedure that Lister had long warned "would in many cases sacrifice a limb or a life."

In the five years since he had heard Lister speak, Hamilton's opinions had not changed, and his arrogance, it seemed, had only grown. Soon after reaching the White House, he a.s.sured a reporter that the president's care would "bear the severest scrutiny of the experts," and that there was little danger of him dying. "The symptoms are so encouraging," Hamilton said, "that it seems to me the President now has pretty clear sailing. He is fairly in deep water, with no threatening rocks and little danger of running aground."

In his confidence, Hamilton was exceeded only by Bliss, who was impatient to present himself to the American people as the calm, competent leader of the president's medical team. Just a few days after the shooting, he settled into Joseph Stanley Brown's office with a journalist from the New York Times New York Times. Languidly lighting a cigar, he told the reporter, "I think that we have very little to fear." As a crowd began to gather around him, anxious for news of the president, Bliss warmed to his subject. "President Garfield has made a remarkable journey through this case, and it was a happy wound after all," he a.s.sured his audience. "I think it almost certain that we shall pull him through."

As Bliss spoke, smoke from his cigar rising in thick curls and filling the room with a heavy, pungent smell, the bright sky outside Brown's window darkened. Without warning, an afternoon thunderstorm swept through the city. Rain fell in torrents, distorting the trees and river beyond, and lightning illuminated the grounds in short, sharp flashes. darkened. Without warning, an afternoon thunderstorm swept through the city. Rain fell in torrents, distorting the trees and river beyond, and lightning illuminated the grounds in short, sharp flashes.

The president, Bliss said, was "the most admirable patient I have ever had. He obeys me to the letter in everything, and he never makes any complaints about my orders." This quality above all others, Bliss believed, would serve Garfield well. As he had stressed to another reporter only a few days earlier, the president could not hope for better medical care. "If I can't save him," he said, "no one can."

As he sat in his father-in-law's house in Boston, surrounded by chattering children and a wife eager for his attention, Alexander Graham Bell's mind was still churning. Since he had learned of the a.s.sa.s.sination attempt, he had been able to think of nothing but the president. "I cannot possibly persuade him to sit, just these days," Mabel complained in a letter to her mother. "He is hard at work day and night...for the President's benefit."

Bell knew he could find the bullet. He just did not yet know how. His first thought was that he might be able to flood Garfield's body with light. He had read about a patient in Paris whose tumor had been revealed when his doctors inserted an electric light in his stomach, setting him aglow "like a Chinese lantern." After considering Garfield's injury, "it occurred to me," Bell wrote, "that leaden bullets were certainly more opaque than tumors." Deciding to run a few quick tests, he asked his secretary to hold a bullet and a miniature light in his mouth. As he had hoped, Bell could clearly see the bullet, a dark shadow against the young man's illuminated cheek. Deciding to run a few quick tests, he asked his secretary to hold a bullet and a miniature light in his mouth. As he had hoped, Bell could clearly see the bullet, a dark shadow against the young man's illuminated cheek.

In a simplistic way, the technique antic.i.p.ated the medical X-ray. The problem was that, even if Bell used an intensely bright light in a darkened room, the bullet would have to be very near the surface to be discernible. If it was deep in his back, as Garfield's likely was, hidden behind dense layers of tissue and organs, it would never be seen. The problem was that, even if Bell used an intensely bright light in a darkened room, the bullet would have to be very near the surface to be discernible. If it was deep in his back, as Garfield's likely was, hidden behind dense layers of tissue and organs, it would never be seen.

As Bell worried about the flaws in his initial idea, the answer suddenly came to him. What he needed was not a light, but a metal detector. The memory of an earlier invention, he would later write, " memory of an earlier invention, he would later write, "returned vividly to my mind."

Four years earlier, while struggling to fend off interference from nearby telegraph wires, which were cluttering his telephone lines with their rapid clicking sounds, Bell had found an ingenious solution. The problem stemmed from the telegraph wires' constantly changing magnetic field, which created, or induced, corresponding currents in the telephone wires. Bell realized that if he split the telephone wire in two and placed one wire on each side of the telegraph line, the currents would cancel each other out. "The currents induced in one of the telephone conductors," he would later explain, "were exactly equal and opposite to those induced in the other." The technique, known as balancing the induction, left the line silent.

The idea had worked, and Bell had patented it in England that same year but had given it little thought since. Now, as he considered the president's wound, he recalled that his tests in 1877 had shown him that his method of balancing induction could not only achieve a quiet line, it could detect metal. "When a position of silence was established," he wrote, "a piece of metal brought within the field of induction caused the telephone to sound."

After "brooding over the problem," Bell realized that he could turn his system for reducing interference into an instrument for finding metal-the induction balance. He would loop two wires into coils, connecting one coil to a telephone receiver and the other to a battery and a circuit interrupter, thus providing the changing current necessary for induction. Then he would arrange the coils so that they overlapped each other just the right amount. He would know he had them perfectly adjusted when the buzzing sound in the receiver disappeared. If he then pa.s.sed the coils over Garfield's body, the metal bullet would upset the balance, and Bell would literally be able to hear it through the receiver. In this manner, the telephone, his most famous and frustrating invention, would "announce the presence of the bullet."

Bell's instincts told him that the induction balance would work, but he could not be certain until he tested it. Feeling frustrated and helpless in Boston, without his laboratory, his equipment, or his a.s.sistant, he once again turned to Charles Williams's electrical shop, where he had met both Watson and Tainter, and where, just seven years earlier, he had built the first telephone. At "great personal inconvenience," Williams did everything he could to help Bell, giving him laboratory s.p.a.ce, equipment, and his best men. in Boston, without his laboratory, his equipment, or his a.s.sistant, he once again turned to Charles Williams's electrical shop, where he had met both Watson and Tainter, and where, just seven years earlier, he had built the first telephone. At "great personal inconvenience," Williams did everything he could to help Bell, giving him laboratory s.p.a.ce, equipment, and his best men.

Bell, however, still wanted his own man. Tainter, who had continued to work in the Volta Laboratory since the shooting, "received an urgent request from A. G. Bell...to join him." The next day, he was on a train bound for Boston. Both men knew that, if they were to have any hope of helping the president, they had to work quickly. Although still little more than an idea in Bell's mind, their invention would be Garfield's only hope of avoiding death at his doctor's hands.

CHAPTER 15

BLOOD-GUILTY

We should do nothing for revenge.... Nothing for the past.

JAMES A. GARFIELD

From his cell deep in the District Jail, Guiteau was gratified to learn that, as he had predicted, General William Tec.u.mseh Sherman had sent out his troops. The heavily armed company of artillery that flanked the somber stone building, however, was there not to free the president's would-be a.s.sa.s.sin, but to make sure he wasn't dragged outside and lynched. So great was the fear that a mob would overwhelm the prison that its guards had at first denied that Guiteau was even there. "Information had reached them," the New York Times New York Times reported, "that, should the fact be made known that he was there, the building would be attacked." reported, "that, should the fact be made known that he was there, the building would be attacked."

After the initial shock of the president's shooting, the prevailing feeling throughout the country was one of unfettered rage. The fact that Guiteau had been captured and was in jail, awaiting trial, did little to satisfy most Americans' desire for immediate revenge. "There were many who felt intensely dissatisfied that the indignant crowd in Washington was not permitted to wreak summary vengeance on the a.s.sa.s.sin of the President," one reporter wrote. "Many declared that the proper disposition of him would have been to have held him under the grinding wheels of the railroad train which was to have carried President Garfield away."

Although Guiteau was widely a.s.sumed to be insane, the thought that he was alive while the president lay dying was unbearable. "While it seems incredible that a sane man could have done so desperate and utterly inexcusable a deed," a newspaper reported, "the feeling is quite general that it would be best to execute him first and try the question of his sanity afterward." In Brooklyn, as a " would be best to execute him first and try the question of his sanity afterward." In Brooklyn, as a "roar of indignation went up that echoed from end to end of the town," the mayor declared that "the wretch ought to be hanged whether he was insane or not." Rumors spread that a group of six hundred black men had already formed a lynching party, determined to settle the matter themselves. Rumors spread that a group of six hundred black men had already formed a lynching party, determined to settle the matter themselves.

Aside from occasional interviews with reporters in the warden's office, Guiteau rarely left his cell, which was even more difficult to reach than Garfield's sickroom in the White House. On the top floor of the prison's south wing, Cell Two belonged to a grim block of seventeen cells known as Murderers' Row. Guiteau's door was sunk three feet into a brick wall and barred with an L-shaped bar, a steel catch, and a lock that held five tumblers. In fact, so famously escape-proof was Guiteau's cell that fifteen years later the renowned magician Harry Houdini would thrill onlookers by escaping from it after allowing himself to be stripped, searched, and locked in. On the top floor of the prison's south wing, Cell Two belonged to a grim block of seventeen cells known as Murderers' Row. Guiteau's door was sunk three feet into a brick wall and barred with an L-shaped bar, a steel catch, and a lock that held five tumblers. In fact, so famously escape-proof was Guiteau's cell that fifteen years later the renowned magician Harry Houdini would thrill onlookers by escaping from it after allowing himself to be stripped, searched, and locked in.

Although prison officials went to elaborate lengths to make sure their most famous prisoner could not escape, their efforts were unneeded. Guiteau was not going anywhere. He was perfectly content to be in the prison-safe, comfortable, and well fed-while he waited for his friends to free him. In an interview on July 4 with the district attorney and his own lawyer, Guiteau said that Chester Arthur was "a particular friend of mine." At the very least, the vice president would make certain that he would not be punished for his crime. Soon after settling into his cell, Guiteau wrote Arthur a lighthearted letter, giving some advice on the selection of his cabinet and offering a friendly reminder that, without his help, Arthur would not be about to a.s.sume the presidency. Soon after settling into his cell, Guiteau wrote Arthur a lighthearted letter, giving some advice on the selection of his cabinet and offering a friendly reminder that, without his help, Arthur would not be about to a.s.sume the presidency.

While Guiteau planned Arthur's first term, Arthur, unaware of what had happened, was concerned about the political career of only one man-Roscoe Conkling. Since the New York legislature had refused to reinstate Conkling after his dramatic resignation from the Senate, he had embarked on a desperate campaign to regain his seat. Although Conkling was widely known to be the president's fiercest detractor, Arthur had made no effort to conceal his support. On the contrary, so intimately had he been involved in Conkling's reelection bid that he was jeered in the press for known to be the president's fiercest detractor, Arthur had made no effort to conceal his support. On the contrary, so intimately had he been involved in Conkling's reelection bid that he was jeered in the press for "lobbying like any political henchman." "lobbying like any political henchman." Harper's Weekly Harper's Weekly had run a front-page cartoon of Arthur wearing an ap.r.o.n while he shined Conkling's shoes. had run a front-page cartoon of Arthur wearing an ap.r.o.n while he shined Conkling's shoes.

Even in the moment when he learned that the president had been shot, Arthur was with Conkling. The two men had just stepped off an overnight steamer from Albany to Manhattan, where they had planned to take a brief break from their lobbying, when Arthur was handed a telegram. As he scanned the message, a reporter waiting anxiously on the dock for his reaction watched as his face blanched with shock. As he scanned the message, a reporter waiting anxiously on the dock for his reaction watched as his face blanched with shock.

The thought of Garfield dying terrified Arthur. The vice presidency was a prominent but undemanding job that had suited him well. Now, however, with the president near death, Arthur's position had been suddenly elevated to one of far greater importance than he, or anyone else, had ever believed possible.

Clutching the telegram in his hand, Arthur reacted instinctively, turning, as he always had, to Conkling for direction. Far from frightened by this sudden turn of events, Conkling tucked Arthur even more tightly under his wing. Flagging down a taxi, he quickly steered Arthur into the carriage and climbed in next to him. Rather than seeing the vice president to the train station so that Arthur might take the first express into Washington, or even taking him home, Conkling ordered the driver to take them directly to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and not spare the whip.

As soon as they arrived at the hotel, however, Conkling could tell that even this bastion of Republican stalwartism had already changed. Across the street, the sidewalk was choked with people struggling to see the front windows of a telegraph office that had posted the most recent bulletins about the president's condition. Across the street, the sidewalk was choked with people struggling to see the front windows of a telegraph office that had posted the most recent bulletins about the president's condition. As Conkling and Arthur entered the hotel and walked through its ornate, marbled lobby, they were greeted not by warm, collegial smiles but by faces fixed in fear and anger. The library, sitting rooms, and bar were overflowing with more than a hundred anxious men, all fighting for a position near a small telegraph office and a beleaguered stock indicator, both of which produced bulletins at excruciatingly long intervals. As Conkling and Arthur entered the hotel and walked through its ornate, marbled lobby, they were greeted not by warm, collegial smiles but by faces fixed in fear and anger. The library, sitting rooms, and bar were overflowing with more than a hundred anxious men, all fighting for a position near a small telegraph office and a beleaguered stock indicator, both of which produced bulletins at excruciatingly long intervals.

A reporter who had spent the morning at the hotel, interviewing powerful political men and listening in on their heated conversations, noticed that the general thinking had already begun to shift. The idea had taken root that something other than insanity may have been behind the president's shooting. "More than one excited man declared his belief," the reporter wrote, "that the murder was a political one." If politics was involved, even tangentially, it followed that only one man could be to blame. "This is the result of placating bosses," a man standing in the hotel bar growled. "If Conkling had not been placated at Chicago, President Garfield would not now be lying on his deathbed."

So suffocatingly crowded was the main lobby that it took Arthur and Conkling ten minutes just to reach the reception desk. By the time Conkling had his hands on the hotel register, he and Arthur were encircled by reporters shouting questions. Quickly signing his name, Conkling, his jaw set and teeth clenched, dropped the pen and strode toward the stairs, a knot of reporters at his heels. By the time Conkling had his hands on the hotel register, he and Arthur were encircled by reporters shouting questions. Quickly signing his name, Conkling, his jaw set and teeth clenched, dropped the pen and strode toward the stairs, a knot of reporters at his heels.

Conkling no doubt a.s.sumed that Arthur would be right behind him, but, for the first time since he had taken office, the vice president did not follow his mentor. Making a visible effort to calm himself, Arthur turned to the reporters gathered around him and, his voice shaking, asked what news they had of the president. After hearing the most recent bulletin, Arthur expressed his "great grief and sympathy," and then hurried up the stairs toward Conkling's suite.

As the vice president hunkered down in New York, and Garfield fought for his life in Washington, the nation began to realize that, at any moment, its fate might be suddenly thrust into the hands of Chester Arthur. Across the country, among men and women of both parties, the prospect of Arthur in the White House elicited reactions of horror. Even a prominent Republican groaned, "Chet Arthur? President of the United States? Good G.o.d!"

Arthur had never been seen as anything more than Conkling's puppet, with no mind or ambition of his own. A large man with a long, fleshy face, carefully groomed sideburns that swept to his chin, and a heavy mustache that drooped dramatically, Arthur put nearly as much thought into his appearance as did the famously preening Conkling. He had even changed his birth date, quietly moving it forward a year out of what a biographer would term " face, carefully groomed sideburns that swept to his chin, and a heavy mustache that drooped dramatically, Arthur put nearly as much thought into his appearance as did the famously preening Conkling. He had even changed his birth date, quietly moving it forward a year out of what a biographer would term "simple vanity."

Arthur was also widely known as a man of leisure, someone who liked fine clothes, old wine, and dinner parties that lasted late into the night. As collector of the New York Customs House, he had rarely arrived at work before noon. In stark contrast to Garfield, he had been a lackl.u.s.ter student, and even now seemed to have little interest in the life of the mind. "I do not think he knows anything," Harriet Blaine wrote disdainfully of Arthur. "He can quote a verse of poetry or a page from d.i.c.kens or Thackery, but these are only leaves springing from a root out of dry ground. His vital forces are not fed, and very soon he has given out his all."

During the campaign, there had been some discussion about the fact that, were Garfield elected, Arthur would be next in line to the presidency, but the possibility of something happening to Garfield had seemed so remote as to be hardly worth considering. He was in the prime of his life, the picture of health and strength, and would be president during a time of peace. Arthur would be constrained by the limits of his office, where he could do little harm. "There is no place in which the powers of mischief will be so small as in the Vice Presidency," E. L. G.o.dkin, the famously acerbic editor of the Nation Nation, had then written. "It is true General Garfield...may die during his term of office, but this is too unlikely a contingency to be worth making extraordinary provisions for."

Now the unthinkable had happened, and Arthur could become president at any moment. The very idea caused hearts to sink and shoulders to shudder. After giving his readers a cursory review of Arthur's political career, G.o.dkin now wrote with disgust, "It is out of this mess of filth that Mr. Arthur will go to the Presidential chair in case of the President's death."

The unavoidable comparison to Garfield, moreover, did not help Arthur's case. Garfield was "a statesman and a thorough-bred gentleman...a man whose mind was filled with great ideas for the good of all," a man at the Fifth Avenue Hotel told a reporter. "Gen. Arthur appears as a politician of the most ordinary character, a man whose sole thought is of political patronage, and a man who has for his bosom friends and intimate companions those with whom no gentleman should a.s.sociate." appears as a politician of the most ordinary character, a man whose sole thought is of political patronage, and a man who has for his bosom friends and intimate companions those with whom no gentleman should a.s.sociate."

It was Arthur's friends, and, in particular, his close ties to Conkling, that worried Americans even more than his own questionable character. "Republicans and Democrats alike are profoundly disturbed at the probable accession to the Presidency of Vice-President Arthur, with the consequence that Conkling shall be the President de facto," one newspaper reported. In his diary, former president Hayes, whose one term in the White House had been made miserable by Conkling, choked with rage at the thought of his nemesis in such proximity to power. "Arthur for President!" he scrawled in horror in his diary. "Conkling the power behind the throne, superior to the throne!"

Conkling's attacks on the president, which had continued to make headlines as he fought for reelection to the Senate, now seemed not just petty and vicious, but darkly suspicious. Rumors linking the former senator and the vice president to Guiteau quickly spread. "There is a theory, which has many adherents," a reporter noted, "that the attempted a.s.sa.s.sination was not the work of a lunatic, but the result of a plot much deeper and darker than has been suspected."

Given the country's tense political situation, this theory may have sprung up without any encouragement at all, but those looking for a conspiracy had been given all the evidence they needed in the words of Guiteau himself. It was already widely known that, as he was being hurried away from the train station, the would-be a.s.sa.s.sin had shouted, "I am a Stalwart, and Arthur will be president!" Although Guiteau insisted he had acted alone, and both Conkling and Arthur quickly denied any relationship with him, in the minds of the American people the connection had been made.

The rumors and accusations, moreover, were not whispered between friends but shouted from every street corner. Newspapers openly accused Conkling and Arthur of being directly to blame for the tragedy that had befallen the nation. "This crime is as logically and legitimately the result of doctrines of Conkling and his followers as the murder of Lincoln was the result of the teachings of Secessionists," the Cleveland Herald Cleveland Herald charged. charged. "It was not the hand of this miserable office-seeker that armed the deadly blow at the life of Garfield, but the embodied spirit of selfishness, of love of rule, of all that is implied by 'the machine' and the 'one man power,' in a word, of Conklingism and its teachings." "It was not the hand of this miserable office-seeker that armed the deadly blow at the life of Garfield, but the embodied spirit of selfishness, of love of rule, of all that is implied by 'the machine' and the 'one man power,' in a word, of Conklingism and its teachings."

Criticized for going too far and calling Conkling a murderer, the New York Tribune New York Tribune denied that it had ever used the word. That said, it wrote, " denied that it had ever used the word. That said, it wrote, "when a child, in its mad rage, kicks over a table, upsets a lamp, sets the house on fire, and burns people to death, n.o.body supposes that the child intended murder. Mr. Conkling has been acting like a child in a fit of pa.s.sion."

So rapidly did the rumors spread that it became dangerous simply to be known as a Stalwart, especially in Conkling's own state. "Men go around with clenched teeth and white lips," one newspaper reported. "If any Stalwart in New York should be seen rejoicing he would be immediately lynched." In a New York prison, two inmates fought so savagely over the possibility of Arthur a.s.suming the presidency that one man killed the other, bludgeoning him to death with an ax. In a New York prison, two inmates fought so savagely over the possibility of Arthur a.s.suming the presidency that one man killed the other, bludgeoning him to death with an ax.

It did not take Conkling long to understand that neither he nor Arthur was safe from the nation's fury. The lynching parties being formed, he realized, were not for Guiteau alone. "While there is no intimation that Conkling is blood-guilty in this calamity," a reporter in Albany, where Conkling was seeking reelection, wrote, "the country will hold him in a degree blamable."

Even the Fifth Avenue Hotel, where Conkling had for years wielded his political power with the confidence of a king in his palace, no longer promised any refuge. After he had escaped to his rooms on the day of the shooting, Conkling rarely left them. Armed police detectives suddenly appeared, pacing the corridor outside his door. It was clear to everyone present, one reporter wrote, "that the ex-Senator had asked for protection."

Downstairs in the lobby, the hotel's proprietors received an anonymous note. Scrawled on a card, the handwritten message, which had been signed "The Committee," read, "Gens: We will hang Conkling and Co. at nine p.m. sharpe."

PART FOUR

TORTURED FOR THE REPUBLIC

CHAPTER 16

NEITHER DEATH NOR LIFE

I love to believe that no heroic sacrifice is ever lost, that the characters of men are moulded and inspired by what their fathers have done.

JAMES A. GARFIELD

Just two weeks after the attempt on the president's life, Alexander Graham Bell was back in Washington. Although his wife, Mabel, was nearing the advanced stages of her pregnancy and he worried over her, admonishing her not to use the stairs more than necessary and to rest as often as possible, he had not hesitated to leave her. He had promised that they would spend the hottest part of the summer in Maine, but that trip, like everything else in his life, would now have to wait.

A few days earlier, he had contacted Dr. D. Willard Bliss to offer his help in locating the bullet inside the president. Although Bliss was not in the habit of consulting with inventors, Bell had two factors in his favor-his fame and Bliss's fear. As he watched Garfield's temperature ominously rise, Bliss had quietly agreed to meet with the young scientist.

As his train pulled into the station, Bell knew that the president's private secretary, Joseph Stanley Brown, would be waiting for him. Brown quickly spotted Bell and his a.s.sistant Tainter in the rush of people pouring from the train and led them to a carriage that was waiting to take them directly to the White House. As they left the station, Bell could see that the hysteria he had witnessed on the day of the shooting had pa.s.sed. Left in its wake was a palpable feeling of tension and nervousness. The usually noisy, chaotic city was somber and strangely quiet, as if every man were holding his breath. The only pockets of bustling activity were around telegraph stations and newspaper offices, where Bliss's bulletins were posted on enormous wooden billboards. " were around telegraph stations and newspaper offices, where Bliss's bulletins were posted on enormous wooden billboards. "Everywhere people go about with lengthened faces, anxiously inquiring as to the latest reported condition of the president and sadly speculating at the probable outcome of this terrible affair," one newspaper reported.

The entire city was on a deathwatch, and everything, from day-to-day activities to special events, had been postponed, or, in many cases, canceled altogether. Even the Fourth of July celebrations had been called off, for the first time in the city's history. That morning, the only outward recognition of Independence Day in the nation's capital had been the raising of the flag on the White House grounds, and even that had been nothing more than a quiet message to a terrified people that their president still lived. " Even the Fourth of July celebrations had been called off, for the first time in the city's history. That morning, the only outward recognition of Independence Day in the nation's capital had been the raising of the flag on the White House grounds, and even that had been nothing more than a quiet message to a terrified people that their president still lived. "Men looked eagerly to the flag-pole this morning," a reporter had written that day, "fearing to see the ensign at half mast, and breathed a sigh of relief when they found it floated from the top of the pole."

When the carriage reached the White House, it became clear that the nation had changed not just suddenly, but fundamentally and irretrievably. Where once an old policeman and a young secretary had been the only barriers between a president and his people, there now stood armed sentinels, flanking the White House as if it were the palace of a king. A reporter mournfully described the sun rising on the capital and looking "down upon the Executive Mansion of a free country guarded by soldiers." As frightening and un-American as this sight seemed, it did not keep people away. On the contrary, hundreds of people were sprawled out on the lawns just outside the White House gates, many with picnic baskets and blankets, some who had clearly been sleeping there for days, anxious for news.

Bell's carriage was quickly ushered through the gates, but his meeting with Bliss was brief. The two men discussed the basic theory behind the induction balance and then made arrangements for the doctor to visit the Volta Laboratory to see the invention for himself. Before leaving, Bell turned to Brown and handed him a small gift he had carried on his lap from Boston-a basket of grapes that Mabel had sent for Lucretia. Attached was a note that read, "To Mrs. Garfield, a slight token of sympathy from Mr. & Mrs. Alexander Graham Bell." Brown a.s.sured Bell that the first lady would receive the gift. Then he handed Bell something in return, something that he had given to only a very few people-a card that gave the bearer access to the White House at any time, day or night. that the first lady would receive the gift. Then he handed Bell something in return, something that he had given to only a very few people-a card that gave the bearer access to the White House at any time, day or night.

As Bell climbed back into the carriage, eager to return to his laboratory and begin work, Garfield lay in his isolated room on the south side of the White House, where he had been confined to his bed for nearly two weeks, unable to walk or even sit up. Although his temperature had fallen slightly, he was still sweating profusely, his arms and legs were cold, and pus was freely flowing through the drainage tube that his surgeons had inserted that day. On Bliss's orders, he had been given rum, wine, and an injection of morphine, which he had received at least once a day, every day, since the shooting. Although his temperature had fallen slightly, he was still sweating profusely, his arms and legs were cold, and pus was freely flowing through the drainage tube that his surgeons had inserted that day. On Bliss's orders, he had been given rum, wine, and an injection of morphine, which he had received at least once a day, every day, since the shooting.

Although Garfield rarely mentioned it, his doctors knew that he was in excruciating pain. He suffered from what Bliss described as "severe lancinating," or stabbing, pains in his "s.c.r.o.t.u.m, feet and ankles." Garfield admitted that the pain felt like "tiger's claws" on his legs, but tried to rea.s.sure those around him. "They don't usually stay long," he told his friend Rockwell after waking from a fitful sleep one night. "Don't be alarmed."

More difficult for Garfield to deny than the pain was the violent vomiting that often seized him. On the morning of the Fourth of July, as plans for celebrations were being hastily canceled, the president vomited every twenty minutes for two hours. Since then, the vomiting and nausea had slowed, but continued to come in unpredictable waves.

Garfield had for years suffered from severe stomach ailments. He had endured chronic dysentery during the Civil War and later battled dyspepsia so extreme that at one point he was confined to bed for nearly two weeks. Finally, a doctor told him that he would have to have a section of his intestines removed. Finally, a doctor told him that he would have to have a section of his intestines removed. Garfield had avoided such drastic measures, but he carefully controlled his diet, even carrying with him to Congress a lunch that his doctors had prescribed-a sandwich of raw beef on stale bread. Garfield had avoided such drastic measures, but he carefully controlled his diet, even carrying with him to Congress a lunch that his doctors had prescribed-a sandwich of raw beef on stale bread.

Under Bliss's care, however, the president's diet changed dramatically and, for the victim of a gunshot wound, inexplicably. He received a wide variety of rich foods, from bacon and lamb chops to steak and potatoes. Boynton, Garfield's cousin and one of the doctors whom Bliss had demoted to nursing status, openly criticized the way the president was being fed. a wide variety of rich foods, from bacon and lamb chops to steak and potatoes. Boynton, Garfield's cousin and one of the doctors whom Bliss had demoted to nursing status, openly criticized the way the president was being fed. " "He was nauseated...with heavy food," Boynton told the New York Herald New York Herald. "He was given a dose of brandy that capped the climax, and he threw up everything, and a severe fit of vomiting followed."

Although Garfield was dangerously ill, the idea of taking him to a hospital was never considered. Hospitals were only for people who had nowhere else to go. "No sick or injured person who could possibly be nursed at home or in a medical man's private residence," one doctor wrote, "would choose...to enter the squalid and crowded wards of the public inst.i.tutions." They were dimly lit, poorly ventilated, and vastly overpopulated. The stench was unbearable, and ubiquitous. "Patients, no matter how critical their need," one reporter noted, "dread the very name of hospital."