James Garfield’s Presidency Part 4: Assassination
While Guiteau planned murder, Robertson sailed through the Senate. In New York, Conkling’s foes celebrated. In Albany, the legislature even paused its business to cheer. It was all too much. One year ago, Conkling was the darling of the Senate, set to crown Grant. The Stalwarts were in the ascendant. Now they seemed broken and leaderless.
Conkling and Platt, the latter unfairly branded “me, too” since he resigned after Conkling, tried to return to the Senate. When Grant returned to New York City, he had two objectives. One was to make a fortune in banking and railroads. The other was to shore up the Stalwarts. Grant gave Conkling and Platt his full support, while Arthur was brought in to scheme with them. Otherwise, Grant lived it up in luxury. Grant also received a letter from Garfield, who defended his choices, making it plain that being an enemy of Grant, such as Robertson, did not preclude one from positions of power. Although Garfield made it clear that he had appointed some of Grant’s friends, including Secretary of War Robert Todd Lincoln, he also made it clear that it was his party now.
Grant summered in Elberon, New Jersey, and found out Garfield was staying in the Hotel Elberon. The pair avoided each other. They dined in the same room but did not speak. When Garfield passed Grant, the latter merely raised his hat. Garfield surmised, “It is evident that the third term passion had entered very deeply into his heart, and that he does not bear himself as becomes a citizen.”
For once, Grant surrendered. While Garfield and his wife Lucretia met guests, Grant shook Garfield’s hand, whispered, and walked out, having performed the absolute minimum social obligation. Garfield called it a “tardy recognition of the respect due to the office he once held.” Grant had rarely known personal failure such as this since the 1850s. True, he had lost his share of Civil War battles, and the shadows of Shiloh and Cold Harbor haunted him until his death, but his victories at Fort Donelson, Vicksburg, and Appomattox had few parallels during the conflict. Beaten politically, Grant sadly showed less decorum than Simon Buckner at Fort Donelson or Robert E. Lee at Appomattox. His petulance was more akin to that of John C. Pemberton at Vicksburg.
Grant’s humiliation was nothing compared to Conkling’s consternation. He had to beg for votes in Albany. To make it worse, Platt was discovered having a liaison in a hotel. Conkling’s sexual escapades did not sink his career, but they ended Platt’s, and the story was met with another round of laughter from Half-Breeds and Democrats alike. And then Guiteau made his move. He wrote a letter that he kept on himself:
“The President’s tragic death was a sad necessity, but it will unite the Republican Party and save the Republic. Life is a fleeting dream, and it matters little where one goes. A human life is of small value. During the war, thousands of brave boys went down without a tear. I presume the President is a Christian, and that he will be happier in Paradise than here.
It will be no worse for Mrs. Garfield, dear soul, to part with her husband this way than by natural death. He is liable to go at any time anyway.
I had no ill will towards the President. His death was a political necessity. I am a lawyer, a theologian, a politician. I am a Stalwart of the Stalwarts. I was with General Grant and the rest of our men in New York during the canvass. I have some papers for the press, which I shall leave with Byron Andrews [Washington correspondent of the Chicago Inter-Ocean] and his co-journalists at 1440 N.Y. Ave., where all the reporters can see them.
I am going to jail. CHARLES GUITEAU”
Afraid this letter might be destroyed, he next wrote
“To Gen. Sherman:
I have just shot the President. I shot him several times as I wished him to go as easily as possible. His death was a political necessity. I am a lawyer, a theologian, and a politician. I was with Gen. Grant and the rest of our men in New York during the canvass. I am going to jail. Please order out your troops and take possession of the jail at once.
Very respectfully, CHARLES GUITEAU.”
On July 2, Guiteau shot Garfield within sight of Blaine, hitting him twice. Garfield, having seen the bloodbaths of Shiloh and Chickamauga, was certain he was dead. Guiteau, once apprehended, declared, “I did it. I will go to jail for it. I am a Stalwart and Arthur will be President.” With those words, a stake was plunged into the heart of an already tottering, Stalwart machine. Never mind that Conkling barely knew him, Logan thought him crazy, and Arthur was at best a friendly acquaintance. It was for these men that he shot Garfield, but he might as well have shot Conkling.
In Europe and South America in particular, assassination had become all too common since 1860, the most famous being the murder of Tsar Alexander II months earlier in 1881. The fears that Garfield’s shooting was part of a larger plot hatched by political radicals led Sherman to send soldiers to the White House. Most people if they blamed anyone beyond Guiteau thought Conkling, Arthur, and even Grant were guilty. Some said the men planned the murder or, more commonly, their bitter feud with Garfield created the climate that led to men like Guiteau taking the initiative and Conkling’s reputation plummeted. As one reporter noted, “if any Stalwart in New York should be seen rejoicing, he would be immediately lynched.” One note delivered read “Gens: We will hang Conkling and Co. at nine P.M. sharpe. [sic.] The Committee.” In the coming weeks, both Conkling and Arthur received an increasing number of death threats, and they were given extra police protection. Grant, still the hero of the Civil War, thankfully escaped such harassment.
Guiteau was condemned by his supposed Stalwart friends. Harrison called him a “nuisance” and Storrs said “Such a man ought to have been placed in an asylum years ago.” Arthur at first denied knowing him, then conceded he knew him slightly and added he had done nothing to make Garfield president. Grant recalled being pestered by Guiteau and having him ejected, adding that men such as Guiteau “are thought to be brainless until they startle the community with some such terrible crime as this.” The narrative was crafted of an insane and incompetent office seeker who thought he had friends in high places. Guiteau for his part cared not, even recalling “I had not been so happy for weeks until the 2d day of July when it was all over and I was in my cell. Then I said to myself, ‘Thank God, it is all over.’”
A team of medical experts headed by Willard Bliss, a veteran physician, came to Garfield’s aide. Bliss was no stranger to presidents; he had taken care of Zachary Taylor in 1844. They made sure Garfield had no visitors. Blaine could only see his chief by doubling as a nurse. Blaine for his part calmed fears of conspiracy. He did not blame the Stalwarts; some said it was merely so he could win over Arthur. At any rate, for now Blaine ran the country, but it was summer, Congress was out, and there was little to do anyway.
Arthur said, “It is a most shocking event.” Arthur kept quiet and remained respectful. Conkling was less magnanimous. He said little, but when asked if he now regretted how he had treated Garfield, he shook his head no and walked on. Arthur was eventually called to Washington. At the train station Conkling said goodbye, declaring “Good-bye, Arthur, and God bless you. Will see you Thursday. After all, it is perhaps best that you should go to Washington tonight.” He then whispered. “You have nothing to fear.” Arthur though was not allowed to see Garfield.
Grant was optimistic about Garfield. He thought the wound was not grave and the news of Garfield’s recovery seemed to prove him right. It was felt though that Grant did not show enough sympathy, as he had only sent one note. Grant made it clear “More than this is not necessary, unless the President dies, when I will proceed to Washington.” Despite this, Grant’s feelings were nothing compared to Conkling, who no doubt saw an opportunity if his friend should become president and one of his enemy’s fall. Conkling did call it “one of the most terrible incidents in the history of the country” but he did not give up his fight for a senate seat. An Indiana newspaper quoted Conkling as saying, “The President has forced me to commit suicide or murder. I prefer murder.” It was highly unlikely Conkling uttered those words, but there was some truth in the sentiment.
Hayes beamed, “Garfield will now have a hold on the hearts of the people like that of Washington and Lincoln. He can do any righteous and necessary work.” However, the doctors wanted to remove the bullet and they probed him incessantly. They also tried novel methods. Alexander Graham Bell brought in his new “induction balance,” a rudimentary metal detector. The bed’s springs made it malfunction. The naval engineers, devised a proto air-conditioning unit that kept the room at 77 degrees. However, Garfield’s isolation did not help, with even his bed encased in screens. He began to waste away, practically starving to death, as infection and blood poisoning from the probes worsened his condition. The doctor’s bickered as well, and Bliss in particular was condemned in public. By late August, Garfield weighed 130 pounds. He died on September 19, 1881, the anniversary of Chickamauga.
Arthur broke down and wept, and for a time turned away visitors. He was sworn in around 2:15 a.m. by Judge John R. Brady of the New York Supreme Court in New York City. Arthur did not sleep until near dawn and then left early for Washington. He asked Garfield’s cabinet to stay in place at least until December 1881, to give the country continuity. Blaine, depressed and worn out, tried to resign, but Arthur kept him on for a few more months.
