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Misfire-
How Fifteen Dollars Changed History
Or A Continued Garfield Presidency


(1881-2012: 131 Years That Shaped America and the World)

Credits:
Written by William_Dellinger and LordVetinari



Baltimore and Potomac Passenger Terminal. South-West Corner of Sixth Street and Constitution Avenue NW. Washington D.C.
July 2nd, 1881, 9:30 A.M.



[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Charles J. Guiteau glanced at the party of men ahead of him, mumbling to himself as he paced back and forth. His target was heading into the station, accompanied by several prominent members of his Cabinet. Quietly following behind, he tapped the ivory gripped, .44 Webley Bulldog revolver in his coat pocket, feeling the smooth grip. He'd had to pay more than he'd expected for such a weapon, and thus had been forced to buy slightly inferior bullets. His wrist still ached from the test firing he had done earlier that week with it. But it had been worth it, just to get this beauty over the one with purely wooden grip.

He pulled out the revolver, running his head along the smooth, shining surface. It was fitting that such a beautiful weapon would become a Weapon of God, destined to cleanse America from corruption. Chester Arthur would become President, ushering in a New Age of Greatness. Guiteau would be part of that Age, the man who made it all possible. He would be heralded as a hero, a visionary.

In front of him, the party surrounding the President entered the station. Guiteau needed to catch up and do the deed. For several weeks he'd warned the White House and the President that changes would have to be made if the Republican Party wished to avoid catastrophe. Now, after ignoring his letters, they would learn their error. Garfield would die, and Arthur would be President. No one had condoned his actions, except himself and God. Guiteau would be the savior of the republic, preventing the Stalwarts from losing their position in government.


I will not be ignored any longer.
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[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]
[/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He stepped into the station, and saw the President greeting some others the bystanders, as he made his way further into the waiting room of the station. [/FONT]Guiteau checked the round in the revolver one more time. He'd only loaded one, confident that God would guide his hand. The round was special, different from the others in the munitions box, oddly-shaped. That round had spoken to him, called to him, if you will. It was special. Guiteau had felt the Hand of God in that moment, guiding his movements in loading that one odd round. As he looked at the President, his mind raced and inwardly congratulated him on his timing. [FONT=Times New Roman, serif]His back is unprotected. Now was is the time to strike. Lord, guide my hand. [/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Slowly he pulled out the revolver, and pointed it at the back of the President. He pulled the trigger.[/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman, serif]
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[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Click.[/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman, serif][1][/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman, serif]

The hammer came down, but the poor quality cartridge in the chamber did not fire. He stood startled and annoyed for a second moment, cursing the makers of the cartridges for this failure on their part. He slapped the gun, trying to force it to fire. Nearby, a waiting passenger noticed his actions, and saw the gun. Guiteau was too absorbed to notice that he was drawing attention to himself, his fury at the cartridge failure blinding him.

“That man has a gun!”

A cry went up, carried along by more and more passengers in the waiting room. Every person in the station was staring at him, fear and anger in their eyes. The President's eyes went wide, guessing that he must have been the target. Next to the President, Secretary of State Blaine also looked on in wide eyed confusion and horror, as the would-be assassin finally stopped hitting his gun, looking around in
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incredulousness[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]. Guiteau screamed his rage, calling upon God to give him Samson's strength. He reversed the gun in his hand and charged the President, using the weapon as a club, determined to kill him. However, as soon as he reached the President, another figure, Secretary of War Robert Todd Lincoln, came out of the crowd, hitting Guiteau mid-stride. Guiteau hit the ground hard, surprised by the fierce action of the Secretary of War, could barely defend herself as the burly Cabinet member pounded him with heavy blows. Angry men gathered around, and had it not been for the President's words, Guiteau might very have been dragged out and beaten to death with canes and boot-heels by the crowd.

Two passengers grabbed the would be assassin by the collar and shoulders respectively, keeping his
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[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]weakly struggling form between them, marching him out of the station.
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[/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Blood running through his eyes and realizing at last that he had failed, Guiteau hung his head. Now Arthur would never be President. He had failed the party and God. [/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman, serif]

[/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman, serif]I've failed.[/FONT]




******
[1] And this is the POD, dear readers. In OTL, Guiteau borrowed $15 to purchase the gun, some ammunition and a penknife. In TTL, the price was slightly higher, and his desire for a good-looking gun overrode practical concerns. Thus, he spent most of his money on that instead of a cheaper plain wooden grip gun. With most of his money gone to the gun, he had to buy cartridges of dubious quality. Thus, while he had success with some test-firing it at trees and the Potomac, apparently a bad one got past him. And a markup in price of a gun leads to a misfire, and an entirely different history.
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