Democratic Sentinel, Volume 5, Number 43, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 December 1881 — A BAD SHOT. [ARTICLE]

A BAD SHOT.

A Third Unsuccessful Attempt Upon Use Life of the Assatwln of President <>a,rficld. Another attempt upon the life of the assassin Guiteau was made shortly after the adjournment of court on the sixth day of the trial. The prisoner was being conveyed back to jail in the prison van, Ferry H. Carson, a guards' man, stood upon the rear steps of the van. Ihe driver, James Leonard, was accompanied by Officer Edeliu, of the mounted police force but upon this occasion Edelin was not mounted, and sat upon the box by the side of the driver. As tho van turned into East Capitol street, heading for the jail, a man mounted upon a wiry sorrel gelding o’ashed up to the side of the vehicle. Tho rider deliberately looked in through the narrow barrel ventilator upon the ride of the wagon until he saw Guiteau crouching down upon the right hand of the vau. “Oh, there you are, you sou of a shouted the rider, as he wheeled off and discharged one shot from a revolver through tho side of the van at Guiteau. A shriek of abject terror was luaid inside, Guiteau yelling : “Oh, my God! my God !I am shot! Help ! Murder !” Then he fell in a fit of fright upon the floor of the wagon. The would-be assassin of the occasion dashed away without risking a second shot. As he put spurs to his horse he held his revolver upon tho officers until he passed tnem. He bent low over his horse’s neck aDd spurred with fiery energy toward the north. The officers were "so overwhelmed with surprise at the suddenness and unexpectedness of the attack that they hardly realized what was done until the bold rider was off aud away. Officer Edelin fired ono shot after him, but it did not delay him at all, as it went very wide of its mark. The officers at first paid no attentior to Guiteau, who kept shrieking with terror, saying thatJie was killed, and constantly calling for help. The officers stupidly imagined that they could pursue the fleet rider with theii heavy van. It was wheeled about, and the horses attaohed to it were lashed to a gallop, while Edelin sat with a cocked revolver in his hand looking for a shot at tho flying man. The van reached tho high incline overlooking the railroad tracks only in time to see the sorrel gelding bolt straight across the tracks - toward the open country. Some hours of afterward a drunken, half-w it ted fellow named Bill Jones was arrested in the vicinity of tho Soldiers’ Home, but ho proved to be the wrong man, after lying in jail twentyfour hours. The real shooter escaped. Th« , easy manner m which he succeeded iu making himself scarce, and the general conduct of tin police officers, leads to the belief that there if a conspiracy in Washington to mako way with the assassin, and that the Aen who have beer detailed to guard the wretch aro at least disposed to wink at, if not aid, the conspirators it their plans. When the officers saw that furthei pursuit was impossible, they opened tin van and looked for Guiteau. He wai in a pitiable plight. Already he had suffered a hundred deaths from abject terror. His face was livid and bathed in a cold sweat. His teeth were chattering as if in some deadlj chill. His wound was bleeding quite freely, staining his murderous right hand a bright red. His terror had also produced a spontaneous movement of the bowels, so that, all combined, he presented a disgusting appearance. On examination it was found that the ball had just grazed Guiteau’s left wrist, inflicting a mere scratch. The ball struck the opposite side of tho van and fell upon the floor, where it was found on reaching the jail. It was not until Guiteau was inside ol the jail that the assassin recovered his composure in a measure. Ho was taken to his cell, whore the slight wound was dressed, and a change of cloth ng provided for him. After all was done Guiteau said : “ I want after this to have a strong body guard. I desire to prevent a recurrence of this attack.” Then ho subsided into a gloomy fir, as if tho fact was beginning to pierce the dense shell of his vanity that he did not have a friend upon the earth, and that death was reaching out itt hand for him from every quarter. An lowa minister has adopted a new system of prices for marrying. He charges 4 cents a pound for the groom and 2 cents for the bride as his wed-ding-fee. “My dear boy,” wrote an Irishman to his son, “never put off till to-mor-row what you have duuo ti/-day,”