The Bolivar bulletin. (Bolivar, Tenn.) 1888-1946, 1901-09-13

headline type The Proudest Day In
Buffalo's History"
Tonight, in sackcloth and ashes, in
sombre type, surrounded by gruesome
borders of black, the same newspa-
pers are telling in funeral tones to a
Mortified populace the deplorable de-
tails of 1.-The Blacklist Day In The
History Of Buffalo"
President Mckinley, the idol of the
American people, the nations chief
executive and the city's honored
guest, lies PROSTATE, suffering pangs
inflicted by the bullet of cowardly
assassin while his life hangs in the
balance.
Out on Delaware avenue, at the
home of John G. Milburn, president
of the Pan-American exposition, with
fearful face and heart torn by con-
ficting hopes and fears, sits the faith
full wife, whose devotion is known to
all the nation.
1t was few moments after 4 p. m,
while President Mckinley was hold
ing public reception in the great
Temple of Music on the Pan-American
grounds, that the cowardly attack
was made, with what success time
alone can tell.
Standingin the midst of crowds num-
boring thousands, surrounded by ev-
cry evidence of good viii, pressed by
a motley throng of people, showered
with expressions of love and loyalty,
besieged by multitudes, all eager to
clasp his hands-amid these surround
ings, and with ever-recurring plaudits
of an army of sightseers ringing in
his ears, the blow of the assassin fell,
and in an instant pleasure gave way
to pain, admiration to agony, folly
turned to fury and pandemonium fol-
lowed.
Tonight a surging, swaying, eager
multitude throngs the city's main
thoroughfares, choking the streets in
front of the principal newspapers,
scanning the bulletins with anxious
eyes and grooming or cheering in turn
at each succeeding announcement, as
the nature of the message sinks or
buoys their hopes.
Down at police headquarters, sur
rounded by stern faces, inquisitors of
the law. is a medium-sized man of
commonplace appearance, with his
fixed gaze directed on the floor, who
presses his lips firmly together and
listens with an air of assumed indif-
ference to the persistent stream of
questions, arguments, objurgations,
and admonitions with which his cap
tors seek to induce or compel him to
talk.
1t was just after the daily organ re-
cital in the splendid Temple of Music
that the dastardly attempt was made.
Planned with all the diabolical in
genuity and fnesse of which anarchy
or nihilism is capable, the would-be
assassin carried out the work without
a hitch, and should his designs fail
and the president survive, only to Di-
vine providence can be attributed that
beneficent result.
The president, though well guarded
by United States secret service de-
tectives, was fully exposed to such an
attack as occurred. He stood at the
stands the great pipe organ at the
east side of the magnificent structure.
Throngs of people crowded in at the
various entrances to gaze upon their
chief executive, perchance to clasp his
hand, and then fight their way out in
the good natured mob that every min
ute swelled and multiplied at the
points of ingress and egress to the
building.
The president was in a cheerful
mood, and was enjoying to the full
the hearty evidence of good Will which
everywhere met his gaze. Upon his
right stood John G. Milburn, of Buff
falo, president of the Pan-American
exposition, chatting with the presi-
dent, and introducing to him persons
of especial note who approached.
Upon the presidents left stood Mr..
Cortelyou.
1t was shortly after four O'Clock,
when one of the throng which sur
rounded the presidential party, a
medium-sized man of ordinary appear
ance and plainly dressed in black, APP
preached as if to greet the president.
Both Secretary Cortelyou and Presi-
dent MiIburn noticed that the mans
hand was swathed in a bandage or
handkerchief. Reports of bystanders
differ as to which hand. He worked
his way amid the stream of people
up to the edge of the dais until he