Destiny of the Republic Part 9

Bliss expected the greatest possible discretion from everyone involved in the president's care, even Alexander Graham Bell. In Bell's case, however, he need not have worried. The inventor was well aware that his reputation too was at risk. In that respect, in fact, he had more to lose than Bliss, as he was by far the more famous man. By trying a new and largely untested invention on a dangerously wounded president, Bell was jeopardizing the respect and admiration he had so recently won. If the induction balance did not work, it would be his failure alone.

Reporters had been following Bell closely since the day he had arrived in Was.h.i.+ngton. "Your arrival and 'Professor' Tainter's was in the papers yesterday," Mabel had warned him on July 16. "Also a full account of what was said to be the instrument you would use." The day before, the Was.h.i.+ngton Post Was.h.i.+ngton Post had printed a brief description of the induction balance and promised that " had printed a brief description of the induction balance and promised that "the experiment will be watched with great interest."

In an attempt to retain some privacy, Bell had avoided sending telegrams. "Ordinary telegrams I presume are private enough," he explained to Mabel in a long-awaited letter, "but in the case of my telegrams to you concerning the experiments to locate the bullet in the body of the President-I have no doubt they are all discussed by the employees of the Telegraph Company-and thus run a great chance of leaking out to the public Press."

In truth, reporters had little idea what Bell was up to, as he spent every day holed up in his laboratory, desperately trying to perfect his invention so that it would be ready when Bliss was. Since he had agreed to a brief interview with a few reporters nearly a week earlier, the only people Bell had allowed in the lab besides his a.s.sistants were fellow scientists and envoys from the White House. That would change on July 22, when he welcomed his first live test subject. Since he had agreed to a brief interview with a few reporters nearly a week earlier, the only people Bell had allowed in the lab besides his a.s.sistants were fellow scientists and envoys from the White House. That would change on July 22, when he welcomed his first live test subject.

That day, a veteran of the Civil War named Lieutenant Simpson knocked on the door of the Volta Laboratory. Bliss had recommended Simpson to Bell because he had "carried a bullet in his body for many years." Bell found a "sonorous spot" on the lieutenant's back, but he worried that it was too faint to be trusted. He ran the test several times, asking Tainter, his father, and even Simpson himself to try to replicate the results. He also attempted a blindfold test, in which Tainter "closed his eyes and turned away." Tainter thought that he heard something in the same area Bell had noted, but Bell was skeptical. "I find that very feeble sounds like that heard are easily conjured up by imagination and expectancy," he wrote to Bliss the following day. Tainter, his father, and even Simpson himself to try to replicate the results. He also attempted a blindfold test, in which Tainter "closed his eyes and turned away." Tainter thought that he heard something in the same area Bell had noted, but Bell was skeptical. "I find that very feeble sounds like that heard are easily conjured up by imagination and expectancy," he wrote to Bliss the following day.

Bell needed more time, but as Garfield's condition continued to worsen, Bliss began to panic. Finally, at noon on July 26, he sat down and wrote a letter to the inventor, avoiding, as had Bell, the telegraph station. "Will you do us the favor to call at the Executive Mansion at about 5 p.m. today and work the experiment with the Induction Balance on the person of the President?" he wrote in an elegant, slanting hand on White House stationery. "We would be glad to have the experiment tried at the time of the dressing changing, about six p.m."

That morning, Bell had slept until eleven. He felt "tired, ill, dispirited and headachy," and had crawled into bed the night before "thoroughly exhausted from several days of hard labour." He was still hunched over his breakfast when Tainter arrived, carrying Bliss's letter, which had been sent to the laboratory by White House courier. As he held the letter in his hands, Bell regarded it with a mingled sense of excitement and fear. "Our last opportunity for improving the apparatus had come!" he would write Mabel later that night. Throwing on some clothes, he rushed to the laboratory with Tainter at his side and immediately set to work. He had one objective in mind: improving the induction balance's hearing range, so that it could detect an even deeper-seated bullet.

The day before, Professor Henry Rowland, who occupied the chair of physics at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, had visited Bell to make a suggestion. If Bell added a condenser, which can store and quickly release an electric charge, to the induction balance's primary circuit, he could increase the current's rate of change, and probably obtain a clearer sound. Bell didn't have a condenser and didn't have time to find one. That morning, however, in a moment of inspiration, he suddenly remembered If Bell added a condenser, which can store and quickly release an electric charge, to the induction balance's primary circuit, he could increase the current's rate of change, and probably obtain a clearer sound. Bell didn't have a condenser and didn't have time to find one. That morning, however, in a moment of inspiration, he suddenly remembered that, when returning from his last trip to England, he had brought with him a large induction coil. Inside the coil was a condenser. that, when returning from his last trip to England, he had brought with him a large induction coil. Inside the coil was a condenser.

Breaking open the instrument, Bell removed the condenser, attached it to his invention, and was thrilled with what he found. Not only did it improve the sound, it increased the induction balance's range. Not only did it improve the sound, it increased the induction balance's range. Bell could now detect a bullet nearly three inches deep in the president's back. That, he hoped, would be enough. Bell could now detect a bullet nearly three inches deep in the president's back. That, he hoped, would be enough.

As he left the laboratory, Bell made a rare stop at the telegraph station. Deciding to try his hand at subterfuge, he wrote to Mabel that the "trial of the apparatus on [the] President" would not take place for several days. The telegram, he later told her, was "intended not for you at all-but for the employees of the Telegraph Company."

A few hours later, Bell and Tainter arrived at the White House. Between them, they carried the newly improved induction balance, with all of its many parts and a tangle of wires. Approaching the house, they headed not for the front door, where they would risk being seen by the crowds of people still camped out in the park across the street, but to a private entrance in the back.

Bell was uncomfortably aware that the president had expressed reservations about this test. "Mr. Garfield himself is reported to have said that he was much obliged, but did not care to offer himself to be experimented on," Mabel had written to her mother a week earlier. "Of course not, but Alec isn't going to experiment upon him." The test, however, was an experiment. Bell's invention was less than a month old and had undergone significant changes only that afternoon. He had tested it, moreover, on only one other person, a man who had been perfectly well for many years.

After being quickly ushered inside, Bell and Tainter were shown up the narrow servants' staircase to the president's room. When Bell walked in the door, he was astonished by what he saw. The president lay sleeping, a peaceful expression on his face. He looked "so calm and grand," Bell later wrote Mabel, "he reminded me of a Greek hero chiselled in marble." Garfield, however, bore little resemblance to the man Bell had seen so many times before in pictures and paintings, always with the appearance of vibrant health-"the look of a man who was accustomed to work in the open air." The man before him now was an "ashen gray colour," Bell wrote, "which makes one feel for a moment that you are not looking upon a living man. It made my heart bleed to look at him and think of all he must have suffered to bring him to this." wrote, "which makes one feel for a moment that you are not looking upon a living man. It made my heart bleed to look at him and think of all he must have suffered to bring him to this."

While the president slept, Bell worked quickly in an adjoining room to set up the induction balance. Having sent Tainter to the bas.e.m.e.nt with the interrupter, which was too loud to have nearby as they performed the test, he now arranged the battery, condenser, and balancing coils on a simple wooden table. After everything had been connected, Bell lifted the telephone receiver to his ear. To his horror, what he heard was not the cool silence of a balanced induction, but a strange sputtering sound he had never heard before.

Frantically, Bell tried everything he could think of to get rid of the sound. He sent Tainter back to the bas.e.m.e.nt to check on the interrupter, and he carefully adjusted each of the four coils. No matter what he did, the sputtering remained. Pulling a lead bullet out of his pocket, he quickly ran a test and found, to his tremendous relief, that the invention appeared to work. The sound, however, was distracting, and Bell was concerned that the induction balance's hearing distance might be affected as well. The sound, however, was distracting, and Bell was concerned that the induction balance's hearing distance might be affected as well.

Before Tainter could even return from the bas.e.m.e.nt, Bell turned to find Garfield's doctors standing in the door that separated the two rooms, beckoning him to come in. Gripping the handle of the induction balance's round, wooden detector in one hand and the telephone receiver in the other, Bell stepped back into the president's room, wires snaking behind him. Bliss had ordered the screen that surrounded the president's bed to be removed. Garfield was now awake, his wound had been dressed, and he was looking directly at Bell.

Taking in the long wires that stretched out the door and down the hallway, and were about to be draped over his body, Garfield asked Bell to explain to him how the instrument worked. After listening intently, the president allowed himself to be rolled over onto his left side so that the test could begin. He rested his head on an attendant's shoulder, supporting the weight of his body by clasping his arms around the man's neck. "His head was so buried on the gentleman's shoulder," Bell would later recall, "that he could not see any person in the room."

Garfield's bed was surrounded by doctors, eager to see as much of the procedure as possible. The focus of their attention, however, was not just the president and Bell, but Bliss. procedure as possible. The focus of their attention, however, was not just the president and Bell, but Bliss. After carefully pulling Garfield's dressing gown to one side so that his back was exposed down to his thighs, the doctor turned expectantly to Bell, who handed him the induction balance's exploring arm. Although it made more sense for Bell to search for the bullet himself while he listened through the telephone receiver, as he had done many times before, Bliss had made it understood that he would be the one to handle the exploring arm, and to decide which areas would be explored. After carefully pulling Garfield's dressing gown to one side so that his back was exposed down to his thighs, the doctor turned expectantly to Bell, who handed him the induction balance's exploring arm. Although it made more sense for Bell to search for the bullet himself while he listened through the telephone receiver, as he had done many times before, Bliss had made it understood that he would be the one to handle the exploring arm, and to decide which areas would be explored.

As everyone in the room looked on in silence, Bliss took the wooden disk by its handle and slowly began to run the coils along the president's spine, starting at the wound and traveling downward. Bell stood behind Garfield's bed, the telephone receiver pressed to his ear. Although he waited to hear the distinctive buzzing sound that he knew would indicate the presence of a bullet, the only sound that reached him was the same faint, maddening sputter that had earlier appeared without warning.

Turning Garfield over onto his back, they tried again, this time pa.s.sing the coils over his abdomen. At one point, Bell thought he heard a "sharp and sudden reinforcement of sound," but he was unable to find it again. "That horrid unbalanced spluttering kept coming & going," Bell would later write in bitter frustration. Finally, with the President quickly tiring, he had no choice but to end the experiment. Finally, with the President quickly tiring, he had no choice but to end the experiment.

Although Bliss asked him to try again at another date, Bell felt the sharp sting of humiliation. "I feel woefully disappointed & disheartened," he admitted to Mabel that night. The only consolation lay in knowing that he would "go right at the problem again tomorrow."

Returning to his laboratory early the next morning, Bell was sickened to find that the problem lay not in the induction balance at all, but simply in the way he had set it up. In his haste to improve the invention, Bell had added the condenser at the last minute. While setting up the induction balance at the White House, he had connected the condenser to only one side of the instrument. Had he connected it to both sides, the sputtering sound would have been banished immediately, and the instrument would have worked perfectly.

More than ever, Bell was convinced of the necessity for secrecy. He had worked as hard as he possibly could, using every conceivable resource and idea, and still he had made a devastating mistake. Although, in his letter to Mabel, Bell described as faithfully as he could all that had happened at the White House that night, even drawing a sketch of the room, he sternly reminded her that the letter was intended for no one but her. " had worked as hard as he possibly could, using every conceivable resource and idea, and still he had made a devastating mistake. Although, in his letter to Mabel, Bell described as faithfully as he could all that had happened at the White House that night, even drawing a sketch of the room, he sternly reminded her that the letter was intended for no one but her. "Private and confidential," he wrote in a postscript. "Don't tell any one the contents."

CHAPTER 19

ON A M MOUNTAINTOP, ALONE

Light itself is a great corrective. A thousand wrongs and abuses that are grown in darkness disappear like owls and bats before the light of day.

JAMES A. GARFIELD

On July 23, three days before Bell arrived at the White House with his induction balance, Conkling had woken early in his room at the Fifth Avenue Hotel in New York, already seething with anger. While most of the hotel's occupants still slept, Conkling sat down to breakfast dressed in his customary black cutaway suit, yellow waistcoat, and brightly colored b.u.t.terfly bow tie, an array of newspapers spread before him. As he did every day, his private secretary had carefully marked with blue pencil any article in which Conkling's name appeared. On that day, the papers were awash in blue.

Conkling, who had always worked in the shadows, demanding secrecy and anonymity, had rarely approved of anything that was written about him. Now, the mere sight of his name in print could be relied on to leave him trembling with rage. Picking up the New York Times New York Times, he saw, printed in bold letters across the front page, the words "ROSCOE CONKLING BEATEN." It was a headline no New Yorker, least of all Conkling himself, had ever expected to see.

Since his dramatic resignation in May, Conkling had called in every favor and used every opportunity for intimidation to win back his Senate seat. For more than two months, the citizens of New York had been forced to wait for the New York legislature to hold an election while Conkling and his men, including the vice president of the United States, had made promises, threats, and even alliances with Democrats. After the president's shooting, Conkling was rarely seen in public, but had redoubled his efforts behind the scenes, forcing those Stalwarts who were still loyal to him to meet every morning at ten to " and his men, including the vice president of the United States, had made promises, threats, and even alliances with Democrats. After the president's shooting, Conkling was rarely seen in public, but had redoubled his efforts behind the scenes, forcing those Stalwarts who were still loyal to him to meet every morning at ten to "renew their pledges of firmness and adherence."

Despite the desperate efforts of what one New York newspaper mockingly referred to as "Conkling's Servile Band," an election had finally taken place on July 22. Not only had Conkling failed to regain his seat that day, but he had lost it to a rumpled, overweight, little-known congressman named Elbridge Lapham, a man to whom he scarcely would have deigned to speak in the past.

The fact that Lapham was a professed Stalwart only further enraged Conkling. Simply by accepting the seat, he railed, Lapham showed himself to be a traitor, and he "must not reap the reward of his perfidy!" The contest, however, had been decided, and Conkling was astonished to find himself powerless to change it.

Finis.h.i.+ng his breakfast, Conkling stood up from the table and walked across the room to where his suitcase sat, already packed. Despite the early hour, a clutch of reporters waited in the hotel lobby for him, watching as he descended the stairs looking "moody and fretful." He quickly paid his bill and then turned to leave, ignoring the men hovering nervously around him. In answer to their questions, he would say only that he was going away. "No one," one reporter wrote, "dared to ask him his destination."

Conkling was going home to Utica, to the three-story gray stone mansion on the Mohawk River that he had bought with a single year's salary when he was practicing law. His wife, a quiet, practical woman who recoiled from her husband's political and social intrigues, lived there with their daughter in relative seclusion. Since taking his place in the Senate fourteen years earlier, Conkling had made only rare and brief appearances in Utica, and he did not plan to stay long now.

Although, in the wake of his humiliating defeat, he vowed that he was "done with politics now and forever," no one who knew him believed that he was about to bow out gracefully. Conkling would never again debase himself by asking for a single vote. Fortunately, votes were no longer necessary. He had, he believed, something much more valuable than a Senate seat. He had Chester Arthur. himself by asking for a single vote. Fortunately, votes were no longer necessary. He had, he believed, something much more valuable than a Senate seat. He had Chester Arthur.

Like Conkling, Arthur had largely disappeared from view after Garfield's shooting. It was widely a.s.sumed that he was in close and constant discussions with the man who had made him, planning for the day when he would be king, and Conkling his Cromwell. So little respect was there for the vice president, and so openly had he aligned himself with the president's fiercest enemy, that to accuse him now of conspiring with Conkling was simply stating the obvious. "I presume that if Mr. Arthur should become President, in his ignorance and inexperience he would be compelled to rely on some one more capable than himself," the political writer George William Curtis shrugged. "Obviously that person would be Mr. Conkling."

Hatred for Conkling and Arthur grew with each setback Garfield suffered. Newspapers only fueled the fire, a.s.suring readers that, while they prayed for their president's recovery, these two men plotted how best to take advantage of the tragedy. "Disguise it as they may seek to do," one article read, "the men who have chosen to a.s.sume an att.i.tude of hostility to the Administration are speculating hourly upon the chances of Garfield's life or death."

Enraged by the very idea of Arthur taking over the presidency, Americans across the country readied themselves as if for battle. Some took a tactical approach, frantically trying to revive the rumor, started during the campaign, that the vice president had been born in Canada, and so was const.i.tutionally prohibited from becoming president. Others were ready to take more drastic measures. Police departments prepared their men for riots as agitated crowds gathered in city streets. In Ohio, men angrily proclaimed that they would not hesitate to " Some took a tactical approach, frantically trying to revive the rumor, started during the campaign, that the vice president had been born in Canada, and so was const.i.tutionally prohibited from becoming president. Others were ready to take more drastic measures. Police departments prepared their men for riots as agitated crowds gathered in city streets. In Ohio, men angrily proclaimed that they would not hesitate to "shoulder their muskets and go to Was.h.i.+ngton to prevent the inauguration of Arthur."

As they oiled their guns, however, the object of their wrath, the once-preening politician whom they pictured waiting hungrily in the wings, sat alone in a borrowed house, terrified and distraught. To the few people who were able to see him in those first days after the shooting, Arthur seemed not just concerned or saddened, but shattered. His friends were reminded of the dazed, hollow man he had been little more than a year earlier, when he had lost his wife to pneumonia. " wings, sat alone in a borrowed house, terrified and distraught. To the few people who were able to see him in those first days after the shooting, Arthur seemed not just concerned or saddened, but shattered. His friends were reminded of the dazed, hollow man he had been little more than a year earlier, when he had lost his wife to pneumonia. "There is no doubt that he is suffering keenly," one man confided to a reporter. "No one can look on him for a moment without being convinced of that fact. He cannot, if he would, control the evidences of his feelings."

The day after the shooting, Arthur had arrived in Was.h.i.+ngton at 8:00 a.m. and gone directly to the White House. Although Bliss had refused to let him see the president, Arthur had stayed for nearly two hours. A senator waiting in Joseph Stanley Brown's office caught sight of him as he paced the halls and noted with astonishment that the vice president "seemed to be overcome." Before Arthur left, Lucretia agreed to see him. Eager to express his sympathy to the first lady, he found to his embarra.s.sment that he was "unable to conceal his emotion," tears filling his eyes and his voice tightening as he tried to speak.

After leaving the White House, Arthur returned to the house on Capitol Hill where he was staying, the enormous granite home of Senator John Jones, a Stalwart Republican from Nevada. For the next few days, he did not leave, turning away a stream of visitors and causing an undercurrent of alarm that ran just below the surface of the larger national crisis. This was the man who could be called upon at any moment to lead the nation, and he had effectively disappeared.

Finally, a journalist from New York managed to gain entry into Senator Jones's home. Jones and his family, who had fled the heat and filth of the summer, intending to return a few months later, had left the house in a state of complete disarray. The little light that slanted through cracks in the shuttered windows revealed furniture shoved into corners or piled in the middle of rooms. Arthur, who was as famously fastidious in his home decor as he was his dress, had done nothing to make sense of the confusion.

Stepping into one of the home's several parlors, the reporter finally found the vice president, sitting on a sofa, "his head bowed down and looking vacantly out through a low, open window." At the sound of footsteps, Arthur looked up in surprise, and the reporter could see with startling clarity "the impression which the calamity...had left on his countenance." Arthur's eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with tears, and it was clear from the streaks on his face that he had been crying. "His whole manner," the reporter would later write, "rather than the words he uttered, showed a depth of feeling...which would astonish even many of those who think they know the man well." footsteps, Arthur looked up in surprise, and the reporter could see with startling clarity "the impression which the calamity...had left on his countenance." Arthur's eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with tears, and it was clear from the streaks on his face that he had been crying. "His whole manner," the reporter would later write, "rather than the words he uttered, showed a depth of feeling...which would astonish even many of those who think they know the man well."

Although he soon returned to New York, anxious to allay fears that he was about to seize control of the White House, Arthur had already begun a transformation so complete that few would have believed it possible. He had, whether out of fear or force of habit, continued to help Conkling try to regain his Senate seat, but as soon as the election was over, he had begun to pull away. Conkling had "received no visit from the Vice-President since the news of the election of Mr. Lapham was received in this City," the New York Times New York Times reported, "and this was remarked as very queer conduct for Gen. Arthur." reported, "and this was remarked as very queer conduct for Gen. Arthur."

Not only had Arthur begun to pull away from Conkling, but he had started taking political advice from a very different and, even to him, completely unknown source. After Garfield's shooting, he had received a letter from a woman named Julia Sand. Although he had never met Sand and knew nothing about her, Arthur read the letter, and was surprised to find in it a reflection of his own tortured thoughts. "The hours of Garfield's life are numbered-before this meets your eye, you may be President," Sand had written. "The day he was shot, the thought rose in a thousand minds that you you might be the instigator of the foul act. Is not that a humiliation which cuts deeper than any bullet can pierce?" might be the instigator of the foul act. Is not that a humiliation which cuts deeper than any bullet can pierce?"

Sand, Arthur would later learn, was an unmarried, thirty-two-year-old invalid. For the past five years, she had felt "dead and buried," but the attempt on Garfield's life and Americans' complete lack of faith in Arthur had inspired her to attempt to inspire him. She was as brutally honest in her a.s.sessment of the situation as she was galvanizing. "Your kindest opponents say: 'Arthur will try to do right'-adding gloomily-'He won't succeed, though-making a man President cannot change him,'" she wrote. "But making a man President can change him! Great emergencies awaken generous traits which have lain dormant half a life. If there is a spark of true n.o.bility in you, now is the occasion to let it s.h.i.+ne. Faith in your better nature forces me to write to you-but not to beg you to resign. Do what is more difficult & more brave. Reform!" a spark of true n.o.bility in you, now is the occasion to let it s.h.i.+ne. Faith in your better nature forces me to write to you-but not to beg you to resign. Do what is more difficult & more brave. Reform!"

Arthur not only read Sand's letters, he kept them. Over the years, he would keep twenty-three of her letters, each one urging him to be a better man than he had once believed he could be. " Over the years, he would keep twenty-three of her letters, each one urging him to be a better man than he had once believed he could be. "It is not the proof of highest goodness never to have done wrong," Sand a.s.sured him, "but it is a proof of it...to recognize the evil, to turn resolutely against it." Arthur had been given an extraordinary opportunity, and he had found in Sand perhaps the one person in the nation who believed him capable of change. "Once in awhile there comes a crisis which renders miracles feasible," she wrote. "The great tidal wave of sorrow which has rolled over the country, has swept you loose from your old moorings, & set you on a mountaintop, alone."

As long as Garfield's survival lay in doubt, however, Arthur felt as though he were standing not on a mountaintop, but a precipice. So intense and apparent was his distress that it led to a rumor that the president had died and, prostrate with grief, Arthur had poisoned himself. Both men still lived, but for Arthur, the only relief from the despair that had settled over him was the occasional glimmer of hope from the White House.

"As the President gets better," he told Blaine, "I get better, too."

The president, however, was not getting better-a fact that his doctor, unable to change, was desperate to disguise. For nearly a month, Bliss had rarely left Garfield's bedside, making every decision regarding his care, from what medicine he would receive, to what he could eat, to whom he could see. In a futile effort to have the decaying room "thoroughly aired and cleaned," he insisted that all the carpets and upholstered furniture be removed, and he ordered the other doctors to take off their shoes so that the sound of their footsteps would not disturb the president's rest.

As he grew increasingly nervous, Bliss no longer trusted even the doctors he had handpicked to help him. Soon after taking charge of the case, he had given Robert Reyburn, a professor of surgery at Howard University Soon after taking charge of the case, he had given Robert Reyburn, a professor of surgery at Howard University and a close friend of his, the task of taking the president's temperature several times a day. So many times had Reyburn walked into Garfield's room holding a thermometer that the president had begun referring to him as "Old Temperature." and a close friend of his, the task of taking the president's temperature several times a day. So many times had Reyburn walked into Garfield's room holding a thermometer that the president had begun referring to him as "Old Temperature." Now, Bliss took over even that menial duty, personally taking the president's vital signs and writing the results in his daily medical bulletins. The other doctors were expected to take Bliss's word for it that the bulletins were accurate, and sign them without having examined the president themselves. Now, Bliss took over even that menial duty, personally taking the president's vital signs and writing the results in his daily medical bulletins. The other doctors were expected to take Bliss's word for it that the bulletins were accurate, and sign them without having examined the president themselves.

So tight was Bliss's grip on the president's case that it seemed as if he were fighting not for Garfield's survival, but his own. In a confidential note to a friend, written on White House stationery, Bliss complained that he was "devoting all my professional skills-ability-time & thoughts to this case." With little sleep and no relief from worry, his own health had begun to suffer, as had his medical practice, which he had completely neglected since the shooting. He had risked everything he had to treat the president, and, he wrote, underlining not just the sentence but each word with a heavy hand, "I can't can't afford afford to to have have him him die die."

What Bliss needed now, as he watched Garfield's temperature rise and fall like a churning sea, was some good news. On July 30, after instructing Hamilton to insert a drainage tube "farther into the cavity of the [President's] wound," Bliss wrote once again to Bell, asking him to return to the White House for a second test of the induction balance on the president.

Bell was eager to try again, but he had not forgotten the humiliation of his first, failed test. "Courage," Mabel had urged him as soon as she heard the news. "From failure comes success," she wrote. "Be worthy of your patient."

When Bliss's letter arrived, Bell was literally knee-deep in his work. Piles of wire coils littered the laboratory, and battery cells, which consisted of electrodes resting in jars of noxious liquid, sloshed threateningly every time he b.u.mped a table. He was running a new series of experiments, following less scientific theory than empirical method. What he had found was that, not only might it help to double his battery voltage-from four cells to eight-but, more important, he would be better off without the balancing coils. Without the extra coils, he could reduce the resistance, which significantly strengthened the current, and increased the hearing range. cells to eight-but, more important, he would be better off without the balancing coils. Without the extra coils, he could reduce the resistance, which significantly strengthened the current, and increased the hearing range.

The results, he wrote in his laboratory notebook, barely able to contain his excitement, were "Splendid!" In just four days, he had managed to extend the instrument's range to more than five inches. The problem was that the only way to balance the induction with just two coils was to overlap them, and they were extraordinarily sensitive to the slightest movement in relation to one another. In just four days, he had managed to extend the instrument's range to more than five inches. The problem was that the only way to balance the induction with just two coils was to overlap them, and they were extraordinarily sensitive to the slightest movement in relation to one another.

By this point the last thing Bell was worried about was aesthetics, but the induction balance had to be portable. Using what he would later describe as "forced exertions," he and Tainter managed to encase the coils in two rectangular wooden blocks, held together by four pins made of ebonite, a type of hard rubber. The wires now emerged from the sides of the blocks rather than through the top of the handle, but there was no time to make a new handle, so the original one, with an empty hole through the center, would have to do. "In its present form," Bell admitted to Bliss, the instrument was a "very clumsy affair."

On July 31, the day before he was scheduled to return to the White House, Bell tested his redesigned invention on a man who lived at the Soldiers' Home, a veterans' retirement compound that included the summer cottage where Lincoln had written the final draft of the Emanc.i.p.ation Proclamation. The test subject this time was Private John McGill, who, for nearly twenty years, had lived with a bullet from the Civil War battle of Gaines' Mill. Bell had "no difficulty," he wrote to Bliss that night, "in finding a sonorous spot in his back, where undoubtedly the bullet lies imbedded." After the test Bell found that, in this case, he could actually confirm the results simply by pressing his fingers on the "sonorous spot," and feeling the bullet beneath McGill's skin.

At about nine o'clock that night, after sending Mabel a ringingly confident telegram, declaring that there was "no need of further secrecy," Bell allowed a reporter from the Boston Herald Boston Herald to join him in his laboratory. Welcomed with a hail " to join him in his laboratory. Welcomed with a hail "Come up and see us" from Bell himself, the reporter made his way to the door of the brick building, which was nearly hidden behind overgrown trees and shrubs. After stopping for a moment to admire the light streaming from the windows, marveling that "every room was in use," he was led into the laboratory, where Bell, his father, and Tainter stood, surrounded by the detritus of their work. hidden behind overgrown trees and shrubs. After stopping for a moment to admire the light streaming from the windows, marveling that "every room was in use," he was led into the laboratory, where Bell, his father, and Tainter stood, surrounded by the detritus of their work.

Every surface, from tables to chairs to cabinets, even the floor they stood on, was covered with "coils of wire, batteries, instruments and electrical apparatus of every sort," the reporter marveled. "The light from the jets, burning brilliantly in the centre of the room, was reflected from a hundred metallic forms. It was reflected too from the smiling faces of the great electrician and his a.s.sistant, who saw success almost within their grasp."

Bliss was waiting for Bell when he and Tainter arrived at the White House the next morning, carrying between them the induction balance, awkwardly shaped and roughly hewn but working perfectly, and with nearly twice the range it had had just four days earlier. For the first time since he had begun work on this invention, Bell felt calm and confident. "My new form of Induction Balance," he had written to Bliss the day before, "gives brilliant promise of success."

Bliss, however, had a very specific definition of success. He expected Bell not only to find the bullet, but to find it where Bliss believed it to be. He would not allow the inventor and his a.s.sistant to waste his time or the president's energy on fruitless efforts. It was understood that they were to search the right side of Garfield's body, and only the right. Bliss agreed to let Bell and Tainter conduct the test themselves this time, but he would be standing next to the president's bed, closely watching the examination.

As Bell slowly ran the induction balance over what he referred to as the "suspected spot," he suddenly heard a faint pulsating sound. He tried again several times over the same area, and each time got the same result. Tainter, "the only other person present whose ear had been sufficiently trained to be reliable in such an emergency," repeated the test a number of times as well, a.s.suring Bell that he heard the same sound. Still, Bell wanted another opinion. Finally, he asked the first lady to press her ear to Finally, he asked the first lady to press her ear to the telephone receiver and tell him what she heard. Lucretia agreed that there seemed to be something there. the telephone receiver and tell him what she heard. Lucretia agreed that there seemed to be something there.

This spot, Bell knew, was exactly where Bliss wanted him to find the bullet. Despite that fact-or more likely because of it-he hesitated. There was, he would later write, "a general expectation that the bullet would be found in that part of the body." His fear was that that expectation might lead him to "imagine a difference that did not exist."

As far as Bliss was concerned, they had their answer. Like the rest of the city, he had certainly seen the Was.h.i.+ngton Post Was.h.i.+ngton Post article that morning, announcing that, " article that morning, announcing that, "if success crowns the effort, and the ball is where it is now very strongly suspected to be, the original diagnosis of the wound will be upheld." It was no secret that that diagnosis had come from the president's chief physician.

Without wasting any time, Bliss issued a bulletin to announce the successful test of Alexander Graham Bell's invention. It was "now unanimously agreed," he wrote, "that the location of the ball has been ascertained with reasonable certainty, and that it lies, as heretofore stated, in the front wall of the abdomen, immediately over the groin, about five inches below and to the right of the navel."

As Bliss declared victory, Bell struggled with a nagging sense of unease. Whatever it was that he had heard as he tested the president, he had never heard it before. It certainly was not the faint but distinct buzzing sound that, after weeks of testing, he would have recognized immediately. Unfortunately, it had been clear to everyone in the room that Bell had heard something, and he had been unable to explain what else it could be. "In the absence of any other apparent cause for the phenomenon I was forced to agree in the conclusion that it was due to the presence of the bullet," he would later write. "I was by no means satisfied, however, with the results."

After returning to his laboratory, Bell felt none of the triumph he had felt the night before. As he turned the memory of the test over and over in his mind, trying to understand what had been different this time, he began to wonder if the problem had been some sort of outside interference. The next day, he returned to the White House and asked urgently to speak to Garfield's surgeons. Were they "perfectly sure," he asked, "that all metal had been removed from the neighborhood of the bed." "It was then recollected," Bell would later write, "that underneath the horse-hair mattress on which the President lay was another mattress composed of steel wires." all metal had been removed from the neighborhood of the bed." "It was then recollected," Bell would later write, "that underneath the horse-hair mattress on which the President lay was another mattress composed of steel wires."

The revelation stunned Bell, who had had no way to antic.i.p.ate such an unusual and potentially disastrous factor in his work. Box springs would not become common in the United States for another twenty years. As Bell knew, however, it would be difficult to find a better way to interfere with an induction balance than a mattress made of metal. Still, Bell was not convinced that it was the entire source of the problem. It seemed to him that, since Garfield had been lying on the mattress, he would have heard the pulsating sound everywhere he tested, rather than in just a small area near the wound. He asked the White House to send him an exact duplicate of the president's mattress for testing. Still, Bell was not convinced that it was the entire source of the problem. It seemed to him that, since Garfield had been lying on the mattress, he would have heard the pulsating sound everywhere he tested, rather than in just a small area near the wound. He asked the White House to send him an exact duplicate of the president's mattress for testing.

Acutely aware that time was running out, Bell returned to his lab and threw himself into meeting this new challenge. He had just begun, however, when he received an urgent message from Boston. Mabel, who was in the third trimester of her pregnancy, had fallen ill. She had been pleading with him to visit her and their children for more than a month. Now the situation had taken an ominous turn. He had just begun, however, when he received an urgent message from Boston. Mabel, who was in the third trimester of her pregnancy, had fallen ill. She had been pleading with him to visit her and their children for more than a month. Now the situation had taken an ominous turn. Determined to find a way to keep working, Bell left Tainter with detailed instructions and then rushed aboard a train, already planning to ask Charles Williams for his old work s.p.a.ce in the machine shop. Determined to find a way to keep working, Bell left Tainter with detailed instructions and then rushed aboard a train, already planning to ask Charles Williams for his old work s.p.a.ce in the machine shop.

Waiting for Bell in Boston, however, was a tragedy that was far more personal than the one he was leaving behind, and which would leave him powerless to help Garfield, or indeed himself.

CHAPTER 20

TERROR, HOPE, AND AND D DESPAIR

I have sometimes thought that we cannot know any man thoroughly well while he is in perfect health. As the ebb-tide discloses the real lines of the sh.o.r.e and the bed of the sea, so feebleness, sickness, and pain bring out the real character of a man.

JAMES A. GARFIELD

In his sickroom in the White House, Garfield was exhausted and weakened by the suffering he endured, but he was not surprised. He had been poor, and he had been a soldier, and like any man who had known want or war, he understood that the cruelest enemy was disease. "This fighting with disease," he had written to Lucretia nearly ten years earlier, after watching twenty-two of his men die from typhoid fever during the Civil War, "is infinitely more horrible than battle."

Now, his body, which had miraculously survived the initial trauma of the bullet wound, was so riddled with infection that he was literally rotting to death. Although Bliss closely tracked the spikes in the president's temperature, the chills, restlessness, vomiting, pounding heart, and profuse sweating, he either did not know, or refused to acknowledge, that they were symptoms of severe septicemia. He also insisted that he was not worried about the small, pus-filled lumps that dotted Garfield's back and arms. Known as "septic acne," they were yet another indication of blood infection. When a reporter, who had seen them mentioned in the bulletins, asked Bliss about them, the doctor dismissed them as being fairly common. "They will not be allowed to get large," he said, "but will be opened as they may form."

On August 8, a few days after Bell left for Boston, Bliss directed Agnew to again operate on the president, to "facilitate the escape of pus." When Bliss told Garfield that he would need to undergo another operation, Garfield, with "unfailing cheerfulness," replied, "Very well; whatever you say is necessary must be done." Using a long surgical knife with an ivory handle, Agnew made a deep incision down to and slightly past Garfield's twelfth rib, following what he believed to be the track of the bullet, but which was, in fact, a long, vertical cavity that had been created by the doctors' own fingers and instruments, and filled with infection. Before closing the incision, Agnew inserted two drainage tubes, which, Bliss noted with satisfaction, quickly issued " Using a long surgical knife with an ivory handle, Agnew made a deep incision down to and slightly past Garfield's twelfth rib, following what he believed to be the track of the bullet, but which was, in fact, a long, vertical cavity that had been created by the doctors' own fingers and instruments, and filled with infection. Before closing the incision, Agnew inserted two drainage tubes, which, Bliss noted with satisfaction, quickly issued "a profuse discharge of pus and b.l.o.o.d.y serum." Garfield, Bliss recalled with astonishment, endured the procedure "without an anaesthetic, and without a murmur, or a muscular contraction."

Neither the incisions the surgeons made, however, nor even the drainage tubes they inserted could keep up with the copious amounts of pus Garfield's body was producing. Just two weeks after the surgery, another abscess formed, this one on Garfield's right parotid gland, the largest salivary gland, which lies between the mouth and ear. Within days, the abscess had become so filled with pus that it caused his eye and cheek to swell and paralyzed his face. Finally, it ruptured, flooding Garfield's ear ca.n.a.l and mouth with so much pus, mixed with thick, ropy saliva, that it nearly drowned him.

So toxic was the infection in Garfield's body that it was a danger even to those who were treating him. One morning, while dressing the president's wound, Bliss reached for a knife that was partially hidden under some sheets. Unable to see the blade, he accidentally sliced open the middle finger of his right hand. "It is thought that some pus from the President's wound penetrated the cut," the New York Times New York Times reported the next day, "and produced what is known as pus fever." The resulting infection caused Bliss's hand to become so painfully swollen that he had to carry it in a sling. reported the next day, "and produced what is known as pus fever." The resulting infection caused Bliss's hand to become so painfully swollen that he had to carry it in a sling.

Before his hand had even had a chance to fully heal, Bliss gave an interview in which he proclaimed that there was no evidence of blood infection in the president. " infection in the president. "Not the minutest symptom of pyaemia has appeared thus far in the President's case," he told a reporter. "The wound," he said, "is healthier and healing rapidly.... In a word, the wound is in a state that causes us no apprehension whatever."

What did cause Bliss apprehension was the very real possibility that the president might die-not from infection, but starvation. In less than two months, Garfield had lost more than a third of his body weight, plunging from 210 pounds to 130. In less than two months, Garfield had lost more than a third of his body weight, plunging from 210 pounds to 130. The barrel-chested, broad-shouldered former soldier who had taken office just five months earlier, radiating health and vitality, was now a near skeleton, so weak he could hardly hold a pen. The president, one of his doctors privately told a reporter, had reached " The barrel-chested, broad-shouldered former soldier who had taken office just five months earlier, radiating health and vitality, was now a near skeleton, so weak he could hardly hold a pen. The president, one of his doctors privately told a reporter, had reached "the limit of what a man can lose and yet live."

Not only did Garfield continue to suffer from violent bouts of vomiting, but he had long since lost any interest in eating. Edson, Lucretia's doctor who had agreed to serve as a nurse so that she could watch over the president, had told the New York Herald New York Herald earlier in the month that, " earlier in the month that, "at the best meal he has had lately, after the couple of mouthfuls he would ask to have it removed." Most days, Garfield was able to keep down a little bit of oatmeal. Unfortunately, that happened to be the one food he despised. Most days, Garfield was able to keep down a little bit of oatmeal. Unfortunately, that happened to be the one food he despised.