His report on the assassination of a governor-elect:

The bullet that pierced Goebel’s breast
Can not be found in all the West;
Good reason, it is speeding here
To stretch McKinley on his bier.

The Wikipedia has a nice summary of the events that led to this poem:

On January 30, 1900, before the committee had formally published its findings, [Democratic candidate] Goebel was shot by a sniper as he was walking up the steps of the State Capitol building. Incumbent Republican governor William S. Taylor declared a state emergency, called out the militia, and called the General Assembly into special session. In the immediate aftermath of the events, the legislature certified the election in Goebel’s favor, although the Republicans in the General Assembly refused to accept the commission’s finding.

And speaking of death, here is how Bierce put things in his last correspondence:

Good-by — if you hear of my being stood up against a Mexican stone wall and shot to rags please know that I think that a pretty good way to depart this life. It beats old age, disease, or falling down the cellar stairs. To be a Gringo in Mexico — ah, that is euthanasia.

Sometimes I wonder if people living in the United States ever think about what life was like 100 years ago, or how things could end up if they don’t think about it…