CHAPTER 13 Hermann Hagedorn’s: The Boy’s Life of Theodore Roosevelt.

HE GOVERNS A GREAT STATE JUSTLY IN  SPITE  OF THE "INTERESTS"

ROOSEVELT had hitherto been known principally as a powerful agitator of the public mind, 'an inspiration to patriotic effort, a trumpet to the slumbering, the lethargic, the apathetic, a man with a genius for advertising good causes.  He had proved his qualities as an executive, as president of the Police Board; he had proved himself a leader of men on the hot hillsides and in the steaming fever-camps of Cuba.  He had not been a week in office before men began to realize that he was also a notable administrator. 

There were grave issues facing him and the people of the state.  The people knew Theodore Roosevelt.  They had watched him grow up, and they believed in him.  But they also knew Thomas C.  Platt.  They had known him twice as long as they had known Roosevelt.  They had known him as the "Easy Boss" who for years had held the Republican "machine" in the hollow of his hand and who had never failed to use it as the "interests" directed.  They knew that no Republican had ever "bucked" Platt successfully.  

They liked Roosevelt.  They knew he was courageous and they believed he was "square. "

But Senator Platt was "boss" of the Republican party and Roosevelt had accepted his nomination from the hands of Platt and conferred with him during the campaign with a frank openness which seemed to support his opponents in their contention that he would be merely another "shadow Governor. "

For weeks one question above all others agitated the columns of the newspapers Would Platt swallow Roosevelt or would Roosevelt swallow Platt?

The men who constituted the "machine " had their own ideas on the subject.  Among themselves they said that they had Roosevelt "hog-tied. " They knew that the Legislature in both branches and the state department heads with one or two exceptions were controlled absolutely by Platt and did his bidding without question.  They themselves were powerful and unscrupulous men.  They "figured" that although they would have difficulty with the Governor, they would wear out his resistance in the end. 

Roosevelt himself made no statement on the matter.  He had told Quigg that he would consult members of the Republican state organization about legislation and appointments, reserving to himself the final decision.  The "machine" had agreed to this arrangement, but he had not yet been inaugurated before there was a clash. 

"I am glad to say," remarked Senator Platt, cheerfully, one morning a month or so after election "that you are going to have a most admirable man for Superintendent of Public Works. "

"What's that?" ejaculated Roosevelt. 

Platt handed him a telegram.    '' He has accepted,'' he said. 

Roosevelt knew the man and liked him.  But the main business of the Superintendent of Public Works would be to investigate the frauds connected with the deepening of the Erie Canal, and this man came from a city along the line of the canal.  Besides, thought Roosevelt, he would have to make clear sooner or later that he was the Governor-elect, and not Platt; and the sooner the better. 

"I am sorry," he said, quietly, "but I can't appoint that man. "

There was an explosion. 

Roosevelt made his own appointment; but he did not "crow" over the aged Senator.  On the contrary, he allowed Platt to publish the appointment as his own, glad to let the old gentleman save his dignity and to allow the impression to go out that all was harmony between him and the "Boss," for, though this picture of harmony worried the fireside moralists, those Independents "whose independence," Roosevelt explained, "consisted in one part moral obliquity and two parts of mental infirmity," it made for results.  Gradually, and before Platt and the "machine" themselves knew exactly what was happening, business methods began to supplant favoritism and political intrigue in the government of the state. 

From the very beginning Roosevelt insisted on a "policy of light" in the State House.  There were no "back entrances" to his private office, and regularly twice a day the correspondents of the press were invited to hear what the Governor was doing, what he had done, and what he was planning to do. 

Cynics remarked, "There is Theodore getting into the lime-light again. "But Roosevelt knew that if he were to accomplish anything at all as Governor he must have the people at his back, seeing clearly whither he was leading them.  In the Governorship, as in every other public office he had held, he made the people he was serving his most powerful ally. 

He fully needed their support.  Against the measures he considered just were ranged the hundreds of big and little leaders who constituted the "machine," and, behind them, the huge, silent forces of wealth that constituted the "interests. "

The history of Roosevelt's administration as Governor is largely the history of an unceasing struggle to govern honestly and justly in spite of the desire of the men who controlled the party which had elected him that he govern dishonestly and unjustly.  That struggle was in no way a simple one.  He could repudiate Platt and his confederates once and for all and win a certain amount of popular applause by so doing; or he could accept Platt's dictation and secure the powerful support of the "machine" in his future career.  If he did the first, he knew that he would be rendered utterly powerless to pass any legislation whatsoever, or, in fact, to achieve any results in any direction; if he did the second, he knew that he would lose something more precious than political honors namely, his self-respect.  He chose neither to repudiate Platt nor to accept him as his "boss," but to co-operate with him where co-operation was possible, and to fight him only on fundamental issues of right and wrong. 

He determined that he would strive for the best, but if he could not get it, he would fight to get the best possible. 

So it happened that the Governor and the Republican "boss" breakfasted together in Manhattan whenever the political waters grew troubled, and exchanged friendly expressions of mutual regard.  The Governor "had a way with him" that did wonders.  He allowed Platt to propose men for positions, and if the men were honest and able he accepted them.  If they were neither honest nor able, he asked Platt to suggest other names, incidentally suggesting one or two possibilities himself.  It was all very amicable and friendly.  In matters of legislation, Roosevelt, knowing that Platt's control of the Legislature was complete, won him over to important reforms by tact and cajolery. 

The politicians looked on, incredulous, wondering how long this curious alliance would last.  Those who did not know Roosevelt personally believed him to be quarrelsome, egoistic, headstrong, self-sufficient, and unthinking.  They did not know that there were two sides to this man, the one slow, reflective open-minded, eager for counsel; the other quick, reckless, and set.  The man they saw was the man of action; and never dreamed that there was in him another man who sought advice and deliberated and sought advice and deliberated again before he let the fighter in him loose at his enemies. 

So it happened that Platt, the political leader of the "interests," was persuaded to give what Roosevelt later called "a grudging and querulous assent" to the re-enactment of a civil-service law and the passage of a mass of labor legislation which Platt, in opposition, would never have dreamed of countenancing.  Much of this legislation was based on investigations which Roosevelt had personally made with Riis in the Police Board days, and further investigations which they now made together in the congested districts of the East Side.  Some of the legislation he demanded was accepted by the "machine" and passed; some of it was "lost in committee" or defeated on the floor of the Assembly or Senate.  Over all of it the fighting was hard and bitter. 

Once, by a clever political trick, the "machine" defeated a non-partisan appointment in which he had been deeply interested.  Roosevelt laughed outright when the report came.  He knew how the politician loves the sensation of driving a knife into a man's back. 

"They can beat me at that game every time," he said.  "I never look under the table when I play, and I never shall.  Face to face I can defend myself and make a pretty good fight, but any weakling can murder me.  Remember this, however, that if I am hit that way very often I will take to the open, and the blows from the dark will only help me in an out-and-out battle. "

Laws were presented and passed, at Roosevelt's instigation, for forest preservation and the protection of wild life, and against the adulteration of food products.  In every department, meanwhile, the administration of the laws was perfected; political intrigue was punished; honest service was recognized and given its reward.  A new spirit came into the administration of state affairs. 

When a measure was introduced in the Legislature, men were heard to ask with increasing frequency not, "Is it expedient?" or, "How is it going to help me?" or, "What is it worth to the party?" but, "Is it right?"

Roosevelt was stirring the conscience of the people of the state. 

At the end of four months the inevitable happened and Roosevelt reached a point in his relations with Platt and the "machine" when tact and what Bill Sewall used in the Dakota days to call "dieplomacy" failed, and open warfare seemed inescapable. 

A Republican Senator had introduced a bill for taxing franchises.  A franchise is a right, granted by the government of any city to a transportation company, to lay tracks and operate cars along certain public streets.  This right has enormous cash value, but no one had ever thought of levying a tax upon it.  The idea, moreover, of interfering in any way with public-service corporations was, in those days, unheard of.  The corporations had hypnotized the public into believing that any attempt by the people of the state to limit their complete freedom of action was to undermine national prosperity.  Every man who advocated such a thing was said to be a "socialist," an "anarchist," a bad character generally. 

The bill calling for a franchise tax had been introduced during the previous Administration, but had been allowed to slumber "in committee. " Roosevelt decided that the bill was just, and in a special emergency message urged its passage. 

He was scarcely prepared for the storm that broke over his head. 

Roosevelt talked the matter over with Platt, who gently reproached him for what he called his "various altruistic ideas," intimating that "altruism" was something which was not considered quite decent among men of the world.  He begged Roosevelt to drop the bill and let it die. 
Roosevelt, anxious to "give in" to the "Boss" on minor matters, for the sake of harmony, knew that here a fundamental principle was at stake and refused absolutely to give in. 

Platt made dire threats.  If the bill were passed, he declared, no corporation would ever contribute a dollar to any campaign in which Roosevelt might henceforth be a candidate.  The people would applaud his independence and forget.  The corporations would be resentful and would never forget. 

"Republican corporations, too?" asked Roosevelt. 

The "Boss" smiled a thin, bland smile.  "The corporations which subscribe most heavily to campaign funds subscribe impartially to both party organizations. "

"Under those circumstances," remarked Roosevelt, "it seems to me there is no alternative for me but to secure the passage of the bill. "

The "machine" allowed the bill to pass in the Senate, planning to "kill" it with delays in the Assembly. 

Roosevelt sent a message to the Assembly demanding an immediate vote on the bill. 

The session was drawing to a close.  The agents for the "interests" in both parties decided that if they could force even a slight delay the session could be adjourned before the bill could be brought to a vote. 

Roosevelt's message never reached the Assembly.  The Speaker of the House, to whom the Governor's secretary had delivered it, tore it up in a rage. 

Roosevelt prepared a duplicate and sent it to the Speaker with a note saying that if the bill were not read from the desk it would be read from the floor, and if it were not read from the floor, he would go to the hall of the Assembly and read it himself. 

The bill was read and passed. Roosevelt signed it in the Executive Chamber. 

"Well," he said, abruptly, snapping his teeth together, "I suppose that's the end of my political career. "

"You're mistaken, Governor," said a state Senator who was present.  "That is only the beginning. " 

He moved his official residence to Oyster Bay and spent the summer alternating work with the keen delights that Sagamore Hill and three adjoining households of children offered.  There were sixteen of the "bunnies" altogether, six of them his own, from Alice, who was fifteen, to Quentin, who was one.  They had a way, in the summers, of running as a herd, with the master of Sagamore Hill as chief counselor, companion, and friend. 

Theodore Roosevelt had a rare way of stimulating their sports and entering, as an equal and contemporary, into the pleasures and sorrows and thrills of boy-and-girl life.  As a boy, he himself had loved to explore and hunt and ride and play in the water.  He had, in fact, never ceased loving these things. 

In the terms of the politician, "he carried his own ward. " The sixteen children of Sagamore and round about elected him leader without a dissenting vote. 

They had great times together that summer.  They played "stage-coach" on the raft, among other things, which meant that the counselor and friend would tell an elaborate story whose climaxes came with the utterance of the word "stage-coach" which was the signal for "Everybody in!" There was a flashing of many legs and then an anxious moment for the Governor of the state standing on the raft, counting heads.  The boys discovered, by and by, that they could breathe out of sight under the raft, which did not simplify life for the Governor on the float.  

The water provided endless delights, for now and again the master of Sagamore would take the children camping overnight on the beach or on a wrecked and abandoned schooner half a dozen miles away.  There was an old barn, moreover, that stood at the meeting-spot of three fences and proved extraordinarily useful in obstacle races, at which the Governor was the conscientious timekeeper.  There were handicap races at Cooper's Bluff, a gigantic sand-bank rising from the edge of the bay, a mile from the house; and, as usual, a Fourth of July celebration that was as far removed from "safe and sane" as children who reveled in close shaves could make it. 

From a mere human standpoint, that summer was a great success; and politically it brought none of the disaster that Platt and the "machine" leaders had gloomily predicted.  The Governor's prestige grew.  He was conscious of his increasing popularity, but it was his heart rather than his head which expanded under it, for he knew too well the impermanence of popular favor. 

What great fun I have had as governor! [he wrote to Mrs.  Robinson in September].  Just at the moment I am on the crest of the wave.  I know perfectly well that the crest is always succeeded by the hollow, which makes it all the wiser to have good fun while on the crest. 

That was a sound piece of philosophy which he had reason to remember more than once during the succeeding months. 

He began the second year of his administration with a message to the Legislature that revealed vividly the amazing growth of his powers during the past twelve months. 

It was not merely an administrator's record of things accomplished and schedule of things yet to be done.  It was a statesman's clear analysis of the social, industrial, and political problems of his time, with a statesman's recommendations for their solution. 

Through that message, delivered on January 3, 1900, Theodore Roosevelt, in a sense, took command of the new century. 

Meanwhile, he was having what he called his "parochial troubles. " With the large issues of capital and labor, of trusts and conservation and just government, absorbing his attention more and more, he was not neglecting to attend to the practical application of his theories.  The result was that for a second time he came to death-grips with Platt and the "machine. "

The Commissioner of Insurance, "Lou" Payn, was a spoils politician of the old school, the "boss" of his county.  His term was drawing to a close.  Roosevelt determined not to reappoint him. 

Platt sent him word peremptorily that Payn must be reappointed. 

The Governor was firm. 

Platt declared that he would fight, and would see to it that any successor whom Roosevelt might name would be refused confirmation by the state Senate. 

Roosevelt, keeping his temper, genially replied that he would make his appointment after the Legislature adjourned. 

Platt insisted that as soon as the Legislature re-convened Payn would be reinstalled. 

"Very good," said Roosevelt.  "You can give me a very uncomfortable time if you want to, but I'll guarantee to make the opposition more uncomfortable still. "

The fight raged for weeks.  Meanwhile, Roosevelt was not letting the administration of public affairs altogether interrupt his other activities.  During the preceding year he had published The Rough Riders, describing the part of his regiment in the Cuban campaign.  He was now busy on a Life of Oliver Cromwell.  He made frequent speeches at public gatherings and in odd moments contrived to keep his body in trim. 

It was at the very height of the Payn affair that his passion for healthy exercise threatened to upset the serious business of the state. 

Recently [he wrote to his sister, Mrs.  Cowles, on January 22d] I have been having a little too much strenuous life with a large gentleman whom I have had up to wrestle with me.  First of all he caved in my ribs.  When I got over those I fetched loose one shoulder-blade, while endeavoring to give him a flying fall.  I think I shall take to boxing as a gentler sport. 

He carried out his intention.  Mike Donovan, the exlight-weight champion, whom he lured to Albany to box with him, has himself left a record of the gentleness of the sport as the Governor conceived it. 

After we shook hands [he writes in a book of reminiscences] I studied him carefully.  Then I led a left jab, following it up with a faint-hearted right that landed like a love-tap high up on his cheek. 

He dropped his hands and stopped.  "Look here, Mike," he said, indignantly, "that is not fair. "

I was afraid I had done something wrong.  "What's the matter, Governor?" I asked. 

"You're not hitting me," he said, shaking his head.  "I'd like you to hit out. "

"All right, Governor," I said, thinking to myself, this man has a pretty good opinion of himself. 

We started in again, and I sent in a hard right to the body as he rushed in, and then tried a swinging left for the jaw.  He stepped inside and drove his right to my ear. 

It jarred me down to the heels. 

I realized from that moment that the Governor was no ordinary amateur.  If I took chances with him I was endangering my reputation. 

The insurance fight went on.  Roosevelt picked out an honest and competent man from the organization as Payn's successor and prepared to send his appointment to the Senate for confirmation.  The afternoon before the nomination was to be made public he conferred with Platt and asked him for the last time to yield. 

Platt refused flatly, saying that if Roosevelt insisted it should be war to the knife.  "That will mean your political destruction," he said.  "Perhaps it will mean the destruction of the Republican party. "

"I am very sorry," Roosevelt answered.  "I simply can't yield in this.  If that means war, then war will have to come.  The nomination goes to the Senate tomorrow morning. "

They parted.  Shortly afterward Platt's right hand lieutenant sent Roosevelt a message requesting an interview that evening.  Roosevelt met him at the Union League Club. 

The man went over the old ground once more.  "Platt won't give in under any circumstances," he asserted.  "If you try to fight him, he'll beat you, and that will be your finish.  It seems too bad for you to end a fine career in a smash-up like that. "

Roosevelt repeated that he intended to stand fast.  The man protested.  They argued the matter for a half-hour more; then Roosevelt rose. 

"There's nothing to be gained by further talk," he said. 

"It's your last chance," cried the other.  "It's your ruin if you don't take it.  On the other hand," he added, "if you do, everything will be made easy for you. "

Roosevelt shook his head.  "There is nothing to add to what I have already said. "

"You have made up your mind?"

"I have. "

"You know it means your ruin?"

"We will see about that," cried the Governor, and walked to the door. 

"You understand the fight begins tomorrow.  And it '11 be to the bitter end. "

"I understand," said Roosevelt, and opened the door.  "Good night. "

And at that last word the politician took a quick step toward him.  "Hold on!" he cried.  "We accept.  Send in your nomination.  The Senator is very sorry, but he will make no further opposition. " 

Roosevelt had "called the bluff. ''' Payn was re-moved.  Roosevelt's appointee was confirmed.  On a clear-cut issue of right and wrong, Roosevelt had stood immovable, and had won. 

And he had won for a reason which the professional politicians who had appealed to his political ambitions would never have understood; he really had no "political ambitions" as they understood the term. 

On the sands at Montauk Point, the previous* autumn, Lincoln Steffens had asked him whether he wasn't thinking of the Presidency. 

Roosevelt had stopped short.  "No, no.  Don't ever say that again.  I never sought an office.  I always wanted a job, for I like work. "

The Governorship was a job, a chance to do certain things that ought to be done. 
I am proud of being Governor and am going to try to make a square and decent one [he had written to Sewall in January].  I do not expect, however, to hold political office again, and in one way that is a help, because the politicians cannot threaten me with what they will do in the future. 
The "Boss" and his henchmen would have saved themselves a great deal of time and trouble if they could have brought themselves to believe that Roosevelt was interested not in "holding an office," but in doing a job. 

Of course, they did not believe it.  Being them-selves men who lived by plotting and intrigue, they naturally thought that he, too, was an intriguer, ascribing to him a Machiavellian cunning which he never possessed.  He was, with all his learning and with all his experience and knowledge of men, still an unusually simple-hearted and, in the deepest sense, unsophisticated boy. 

Like Peter Pan, he had never grown up.  At forty he was applying to the tangled problems of government the ardor, the energy, and the unclouded standards of boyhood. 

And for that reason the politicians found him utterly baffling. 
Roosevelt's utterances concerning the rights of labor and the regulation of trusts had meanwhile been making the "interests" uneasy.  His personal force was great, his popularity was constantly increasing.  If life was to proceed undisturbed for the "predatory rich," it was highly important that Theodore Roosevelt should be "laid on the shelf. " There was no better shelf in American politics than the Vice-Presidency. 

Roosevelt, it happened, knew this as well as the politicians knew it, and he had no intention of stepping into the trap.  For he enjoyed being Governor and he was more than a little elated with his success. 
I am having my hands full here, as usual [he wrote to his sister, the end of February], but somehow I contrive to wiggle through.  Occasionally I talk pretty to the gentlemen; occasionally I thump them with a club; and by generally doing each at the right time and in the right way I have been able to get along better than could reasonably have been expected.  Everything is as straight as a string, and done as honestly as can be done He had his hands firmly on the reins at Albany.  But his activities were by no means confined to his state.  He was beginning to be recognized as the leader of the new progressive movement in the nation. 

During the winter and early spring of 1900 he spoke here and there over the country on the fundamental issues before the nation.  The American people listened, stirred by his youthful enthusiasm and the hot sincerity of his crusading spirit. 

There are dangers of peace and dangers of war [he said at Grant's birthplace in Galena, Illinois, late that April], dangers of excess in militarism and of excess by the avoidance of duty that implies militarism; dangers of slow dry rot and dangers which become acute only in great crises.  When these crises come, the nation will triumph or sink accordingly as it produces or fails to produce statesmen like Lincoln or soldiers like Grant, and accordingly as it does or does not back them up in their efforts.  We do not need men of unsteady brilliancy, or erratic power unbalanced men.  The men we need are the men of strong, earnest, solid character the men who possess the homely virtues, and who to these virtues add rugged courage, rugged honesty, and high resolve.  . . .  To do our duty, that is the sum and substance of the whole matter. 

He pleaded for national preparedness; for the acceptance and fulfilment of the nation's international obligations. 

Let us make it evident that we intend to do justice [he said].  Then let us make it equally evident that we will not tolerate injustice being done us in return.  Let us further make it evident that we use no words that we are not prepared to back up with deeds, and that while our speech is always moderate, we are willing and ready to make it good.  Such an attitude will be the surest guaranty of that self-respecting peace, the attainment of which is and must ever be the prime aim of a self-governing people.
 
Roosevelt's friends, meanwhile, were working for the same end as his foes and were pleading with him to allow himself to be nominated for the Vice-Presidency.  But Roosevelt refused utterly to consider the proposal. 

It would be an irksome, wearisome place where I could do nothing [he wrote Mrs.  Cowles].  At present it looks as if I would be renominated.  There is more work to be done in the Governorship in two years than in the Vice-Presidency in four; and with our kaleidoscopic politics it is foolish to look too far ahead as regards places as regards the work itself, I always follow the same lines.  My being in politics is in a sense an accident; and it is only a question of time when I shall be forced out.  The best thing I can do is to strive to get the position in which I can do most work, and that position is surely the Governorship. 
As the time of the national Republican convention drew near, however, both Roosevelt's friends and his foes intensified their efforts to persuade him to accept the second place on the ticket. 
But he went his way, refusing good-humoredly to take them seriously when they suggested that behind the Vice-Presidency might loom a greater honor in 1904. 

Cabot feels that I have a career [he wrote to Mrs.  Cowles, the end of April].    The dear old goose actually regards me as a Presidential possibility of the future, which always makes me thoroughly exasperated, because sooner or later it will have the effect of making other people think that I so regard myself and that therefore I am a ridiculous personage. 

He insisted again and again that he would not accept the nomination for the Vice-Presidency, that he would, in fact, rather be a private citizen than be Vice-President.  Platt apparently accepted his decision.  At the convention in Philadelphia, at which Roosevelt himself was a delegate, Platt, however, threatened to thwart Roosevelt's desire for a re-nomination as Governor if Roosevelt persisted in his refusal.  Roosevelt took up the challenge and announced that he would make the threat public.  Platt submitted.  The New York delegation was instructed to cast its votes for Lieutenant-Governor Woodruff for Vice-President. 

But Roosevelt as well as the "machine" was reckoning without the forces the Roosevelt had by his acts and his utterances awakened in the West.  The demand for Roosevelt for Vice-President became too insistent to be disregarded.  Senator Hanna, the national "boss" who had opposed Roosevelt, began to waver. 

That night a group of newspaper-men called on Roosevelt at his hotel.  He told them with all the emphasis at his command that he did not want the nomination and that he did not intend to be nominated if he could help it. 

It happened that he could not help it.  Strange forces worked together to set aside his personal desire. 

The Western delegates declared that unless Roosevelt were nominated for Vice-President they would abandon McKinley and nominate Roosevelt, not for second but for first place on the ticket. 

Roosevelt finally became convinced that there was a genuine desire that he take second place 
on the ticket in order to strengthen it before the country.  He yielded, deciding to do the duty that offered itself, and let the future bring what it might. 
President McKinley was renominated for President;  Roosevelt was nominated for Vice-President; both by acclamation. 

"I would not like to be in McKinley's shoes," said Roosevelt's classmate, Washbum, to a friend, shortly after.  "He has a man of destiny behind him. "

Roosevelt was sent into the field to be his party's spokesman, and for over two months he "stumped" the country, traveling twenty-two thousand miles making from five to six hundred speeches of considerable length, addressing face to face between three and four million of his fellow-citizens.  He was not an orator of the silvery sort.  His voice had no particularly pleasing quality, and, though he had a gift for creating telling phrases that caught the popular fancy, he had no gift at all for building up elaborate rhetorical effects. 

The strength of his speeches was altogether in the spirit from which they sprang.  He spoke with the passionate ardor of a crusader, and carried his audiences off their feet by the sheer force of his sincerity. 

For Roosevelt it was an exhausting experience.  But his tough constitution bore him through it.  The trip was an extraordinary success.  The campaign awoke, for the people had awakened. 

The Republican ticket was elected. 

Roosevelt, believing that his political career was ended, looked about for something to occupy him during his term in the Vice-Presidency and after-ward.  He made up his mind to expand his Winning of the West, and, in conjunction with his private secretary, William Loeb, Jr. , who, like himself, had an unfinished law course to his credit, determined to complete his preparation for admission to the bar, which had been interrupted by his election to the Assembly nearly twenty years previous. 

These plans were never carried out. 

On September 6th President McKinley was shot in Buffalo. 

Roosevelt heard the news at Isle La Motte, in Lake Champlain.  He went to Buffalo at once, arriving early the following morning, feeling, as he confessed that evening, "a hundred years old. " The sudden realization that he might at any moment be called to the chief place in the nation staggered him.  The possibility had never entered his head. 

The news with which he was greeted was cheering.  The President was resting well.  Recovery was more than possible.  Roosevelt's spirits rose. 

The bulletins from the bedside continued favorable.  He conferred with the members of the Cabinet, who had hurried to Buffalo.  The affairs of the nation were in firm control.  On the nth the physicians in attendance declared that the President was practically out of danger.  The members of the Cabinet began to leave the city.  Roosevelt decided to join his family, who were at the Tahawus Club in the heart of the Adirondacks. 

The morning of the i3th was misty, threatening rain, but Roosevelt had determined to ascend Mount Marcy with Mrs.  Roosevelt and the children that day, and at six they were on their way.  At a pretty lake called "Tear in the Clouds," Mrs.  Roosevelt and the smaller children turned back, while Roosevelt, who was hoping that above the clouds on the summit there might be sunlight, pushed on with the older boys.  On the peak, as below, they found only fog.  They descended and camped for luncheon at the timber-line.  A thin rain was falling.  They spread out their lunch, feeling wet and uncomfortable. 

News   had   meanwhile   come   to   North   Creek, thirty-five miles from Tahawus, that the President had had a sudden relapse.  The message was telephoned to the lower club, twenty-five miles north.  Mounted messengers were sent to the upper club, ten miles away. 

The man in charge of the club told the riders, when they came, that the Vice-President was somewhere on the sides of Mount Marcy. 

Runners were dispatched in all directions. 

Roosevelt, descending the mountain in the late afternoon, heard shots fired in the distance, at regular intervals.  It occurred to him that it was a signal.  He fired his own gun in answer. 

It was five o'clock when the men who were searching for him found him at last.  They gave him a message from the President's secretary:

The President's condition has changed for the worse.  CORTELYOU. 

He descended quickly to the club-house.  No further news had come.  He sent runners to the lower club-house, ten miles away, where there was telephone connection with the outside world, and waited.  The hours passed. 

He walked alone up and down in front of the cottage where he was living, trying to think it all out. 

At one in the morning the summons arrived, "Come at once. "

He flung his grip into the buckboard that was waiting for him and was off. 

It was a bad night, misty and black.  The road was less a road than a wide trail, cut into gorges only a day or two before by a cloudburst which had drenched Roosevelt on his way to the club. 

The driver turned to the man beside him, hesitating. 

"Go ahead!" cried Roosevelt. 

The man went ahead.  The light wagon jumped from side to side, threatening to fling its passengers out now on this side, now on that.  It skirted dangerous abysses, it just missed dashing into boulders and trees.  The driver turned once more. 

"Go on!" cried Roosevelt. 

He went on.  Into the blackness he went, the horses finding their way by instinct rather than sight, the wagon holding together by the grace of Providence. 

Ten miles down the trail they found fresh horses waiting for them.  Roosevelt helped the driver unhitch the exhausted team by the light of a lantern and hitch the new team to the shaken buckboard.  Then again they were off into the blackness. 

It was thirty-five miles to the railroad at North Creek.  Ten miles farther down they came on another fresh relay.  They changed the horses and again were away along the rocky trail at breakneck speed. 

Roosevelt clung to the seat as the wagon swayed this way and that. 

"Too fast?" cried the driver. 

"Go on!" cried Roosevelt. 

The east was paling as they dashed into North Creek at five in the morning.  A special train was waiting at the station.  The driver drew up at the platform. 

Loeb was there to meet him.  "The President is dead," he said. 

Theodore Roosevelt was President of the United States.