Destiny of the Republic - Candice Millard [75]
Hoping to spare the president any additional pain, the ambulance driver guided his horse so slowly over the broken brick streets that hundreds of people were able to keep up with his wagon, somberly walking just behind it. Whenever they came to a pothole, policemen would carefully lift the ambulance, trying their best not to jar it. Garfield’s “sufferings must have been intense,” one reporter wrote, “but he gave no sign of it, and was as gentle and submissive as a child.”
Joseph Stanley Brown was working alone in his office, just as Garfield had left him, when one of the White House doormen suddenly appeared before his desk. There was something about the way the man walked in, “haltingly and timidly,” that made Brown uneasy. “Mr. Secretary,” he said, “there is a rumor that the President has been shot.”
Years later, Brown would struggle to explain how he felt when he heard those words. It was as if he were “suddenly congealed,” he said, as if his hectic, bustling world had lurched to a stop. Desperately trying to dismiss the idea, and to sound more confident than he felt, he snapped at the doorman. “Nonsense!” he said. “The story cannot possibly be true.”
The man quickly shuffled away, but Brown could not shake the sickening feeling that had settled over him, nor would he have a chance to. Just moments after he had managed to return his attention to his work, his office door suddenly burst open, and a messenger staggered into the room. “Oh, Mr. Secretary,” he cried, “it’s true, they are bringing the President to the White House now.”
Although Brown would later admit that he was more shocked than he had ever been, or would ever again be, he instinctively sprang into action, reacting with the same intelligence and pragmatism that had convinced Garfield to trust him with such a critical job. “Even in moments of greatest misery,” he would later write, “homely tasks have to be performed, and perhaps they tide us over the worst.” If the president was injured, a bed must be made ready at once. There was a suitable room in the southeast corner of the house, and Brown ordered a steward to prepare it “with all speed.”
Then Brown personally took charge of the fortification of the White House and the protection of the president. With complete confidence and authority, he ordered the gates closed and sent a telegram to the chief of police, requesting a “temporary but adequate detail of officers.” Next he contacted the War Department and arranged for a military contingent for Garfield, a man who had never had so much as a single bodyguard.
Although Brown’s first priority was to secure the White House, he knew that he could not seal it off completely. The American people deserved “full and accurate information” about their president, and he was determined that they would get it. With astonishing speed and efficiency, he had passes issued to journalists and government officials so that they might have access to his office at any time, day or night.
As he raced through the halls of the White House, giving orders, inspecting rooms, and turning an entire wing into a “miniature hospital,” Brown paused for a moment to glance out the window. Below him, he saw a modest wagon trundling up Pennsylvania Avenue. It looked suitable for neither a president nor a wounded man, but as it slowed to enter the gates, he suddenly noticed the crowd gathered around it. Garfield, he knew, was inside.
With his staff watching from the windows, Brown raced down the stairs and out the door to where the wagon had rolled to a stop. As he stood there, still trying to understand what was happening, a group of men reached into the wagon and carefully