On the morning of the 14th of April, 1865, the President's messenger went to Ford's Theatre in Washington City and engaged a private box for the President and General Grant, with their wives, to witness the play of "Our American Cousin," which was to be rendered there that night. The heavy burden of responsibility, the weight of cares and anxieties which had for four long years rested on the head of President Lincoln in his official position of President of the United States and Commander-in-Chief of its army and navy, employed during all that time in suppressing a gigantic rebellion of the slave-holding States of the South against the constitutional and lawful authority of the government, and which had followed him into his second term of office, upon which he had just entered, had been partially lifted by the signal success of the Union arms at Appomattox, and the surrender of Lee's army. General Grant, who had just accepted the unconditional surrender of that army, and finished the work of dismissing to their homes the officers and men who had composed it (and who for four long years had fought with such magnificent bravery, and manifested such earnestness and determinedness of purpose in a cause which, though bad, was no doubt esteemed by them to be just), under no other condition than that they should return to their homes and the pursuits of peaceful life, and desist from all further acts of hostility against the government they had sought, but failed, to overthrow, had gone to Washington to talk over the situation with the President and Secretary of War, and to decide on future operations for the speedy establishment of peace. With the surrender of Lee's army, and the successful march of Sherman from Atlanta to the sea, and his almost unresisted progress up the coast toward the Nation's Capital, it was obvious that the rebellion had collapsed, and that the return of peace was just at hand. All loyal hearts throughout the land throbbed with joy, and praise and thanksgiving ascended to Him who had stamped the righteousness of the union cause with the signet of His approbation, in thus giving us the victory after a long and bloody contest. The years of sacrifice, toil, suffering and danger were almost forgotten in the gladness of that hour; and the war-scarred veterans in the field, and their friends at home, were rejoicing at the prospect of a speedy re-union, under skies of peace. It was an hour big with the memories of the past and hopes of the future. When we think of what President Lincoln had endured through all these years of the war; of his unfaltering purpose to discharge all the duties of his official oath, by protecting, defending and preserving the constitution of his country; of the formidable difficulties that had to be met and overcome—difficulties thrown across his pathway often by friends, always by foes; when we remember his largeness of soul, his unbounded love of, and sympathy with, mankind; his all controlling love of his country and her institutions of freedom; his patient toleration of opposing views of martial and of political policy; his self-poise, and almost infallible appreciation of the situation and its demands, in whatever circumstances he might be placed; his kindness of nature and goodness of heart, we can well conceive what must have been his fullness of joy on this the last day of his sojourn on earth. God, in his providence, led him to the opening of a vista through which his patriotic and philanthropic soul could swell with delightful anticipations of the greatness, the glory, and the happiness that should accrue to mankind through his faithfulness to the obligations of his official oath, by which he had vindicated his authority, and brought to a right solution the great moral question underlying the contest, and thus had made our beloved land a land of freedom in fact, as well as in name. He saw a new and glorious era about to dawn on his country. Like Moses, however, he was only permitted, in vision, to look over into the promised land—the great future of his beloved country.
It is consoling to thus know that to the great Lincoln his last day on earth was the happiest, and at the same time, the meekest day of his life. His biographers, Nicolay and Hay, who were able to write from personal association with, and observation of, this great man, inform us that on this day his soul was filled with the kindliest feelings toward his enemies, and in his last conference with his cabinet his policy of dealing with them was shadowed forth as free from feelings of revenge or desire for the punishment of any. He desired that no man should lose his life for the part he had taken in the rebellion. He held "malice toward none," and was filled with "charity for all." His passage from time to eternity, though brought about by the bullet of an assassin, was a passage through a triumphal arch, whose further portal was the gate of heaven.
The presence of General Grant was known to the city, and it was noised abroad that both he and President Lincoln would honor the theatre with their presence on that evening. The public knowledge of this fact was calculated to bring out a brilliant and large assemblage of people. The loyal citizens would be there to give to the President and the successful and popular commander of his armies in the field a heartfelt and royal ovation in this the hour of their triumph. All felt happy and secure. That they were coming together to witness, on that night, the awful tragedy of the assassination of the nation's head, President Lincoln, was not dreamed of by any except those who had made every preparation in advance for accomplishing the murderous plot, and who were stealthily slipping about through the assembling crowds, like fiends, to assure themselves that every arrangement for the successful accomplishment of their hellish purpose was complete. During the day General Grant received a telegram that called him to Philadelphia on business, and owing to this apparently providential circumstance he was prevented from accompanying the President to the theatre on that eventful night, and also, in all probability, from being, with the President, a victim of the plot, in which there is good reason to conclude, from all the evidence, his life was included, and that for him an assassin had been provided.
In lieu of General and Mrs. Grant, President Lincoln had taken Major Rathbone and Miss Harris, the step-son and daughter of Senator Harris, of New York, into the Presidential party. On reaching the theatre at a somewhat late hour, and after the play had commenced, as soon as the presence of the President became known, the actors stopped playing, the band struck up "Hail to the Chief," and the audience rose and received him with vociferous cheering.
The party proceeded along the rear of the dress circle, and entered the box that had been prepared for them, the President taking the rocking chair that had been placed there for him on the left of the box, and nearest to the audience, about four feet from the door of entrance to the box. Major Rathbone and the ladies found seats on the President's right. During this time the conspirators were on the alert, scanning the situation, passing about so as to keep up a communication with each other, in preparation for their work. Booth had arranged with Payne to assassinate Secretary Seward at the same time that he would assassinate the President; and no doubt had planned for Payne, after accomplishing his task, to join him and Herold in their flight, crossing the Eastern Branch at the Navy Yard bridge, and then to pass down through Maryland and cross the Potomac, at a selected point, into Virginia, where they might consider themselves as being safe amongst their friends. Secretary Seward was known to have received severe injuries from the upsetting of his carriage, and to be lying in a critical condition under the care of Dr. Verdi. Booth had planned to take advantage of this circumstance for gaining admittance for Payne into the sick chamber, where, by springing with the ferocity of a tiger upon the sick man, he might make quick work in dispatching him with his dagger. To this end he had prepared a package rolled up in paper, and had schooled Payne in the artifice, teaching him to represent himself as having been sent by Dr. Verdi with this package of medicine, which it was necessary he should deliver in person, as he had important verbal directions as to the manner of its use, which required him to see the Secretary.
About ten o'clock Booth rode up the alley back of the theatre where he had been accustomed to keep his horse, and having reached the rear entrance, called for Ned three times, each time a little louder than before. At the third call Ned Spangler answered to his summons by appearing at the door. Booth's first salutation was in the form of a question: "Ned, you will help me all you can, won't you?" To which Spangler replied, "Oh, yes!" Booth then requested him to send "Peanuts" (a boy employed about the theatre), to hold his horse. Spangler gave the boy orders to do this, and upon the boy making the objection that he might be out of place at the time he had a duty to perform, Spangler bade him go, saying that he would stand responsible for him. The boy then took the reins, and held the horse for about half an hour, until Booth returned to reward him with a curse and a kick, as he jerked the rein from him preparatory to remounting for his flight. After entering the theatre, Booth passed rapidly across the stage, glancing at the box occupied by his intended victim, and looking up his accomplices, he passed out of the front door on to the walk where he was met by two of his fellow conspirators. One of these was a low, villainous-looking fellow, whilst the other was a very neatly-dressed man. Booth held a private conference with these by the door where he and the vulgar-looking fellow had stationed themselves. The neatly-dressed man crossed the walk to the rear of the President's carriage and peeped into it. One of the witnesses, who was sitting on the platform in front of the theatre, had his attention arrested by the manner and conduct of these men, and so watched them very closely.
It was at the close of the second act that Booth and his two fellow conspirators appeared at the door. Booth said, "I think he will come down now"; and they aligned themselves to await his coming. Their communications with each other were in whispered tones. Finding that the President would remain until the close of the play, they then began to prepare to assassinate him in the theatre. The neatly-dressed man called the time three times in succession at short intervals, each time a little louder than before. Booth now entered the saloon, took a drink of whiskey, and then went at once into the theatre. He passed quickly along next to the wall behind the chairs, and having reached a point near the door that led to the passage behind the box, he stopped, took a small pack of visiting cards from his pocket, selected one and replaced the others; stood a second with it in his hand, and then showed it to the President's messenger, who was sitting just below him, and then, without waiting, passed through the door from the lobby into the passage, closing and barring it after him. Taking a hasty, but careful, look through the hole which he had had made in the door for the purpose of assuring himself of the President's position, and cocking his pistol and with his finger on the trigger, he pulled open the door, and stealthily entered the box, where he stood right behind and within three feet of the President. The play had advanced to the second scene of the third act, and whilst the audience was intensely interested Booth fired the fatal shot—the ball penetrating the skull on the back of the left side of the head, inflicting a wound in the brain (the ball passing entirely through and lodging behind the right eye), of which he died at about half-past seven o'clock on the morning of the fifteenth. He was unconscious from the moment he was struck until his spirit passed from earth. An unspeakable calm settled on that remarkable face, leaving the impress of a happy soul on the casket it had left behind.
Thus died the man who said, "Senator Douglass says he don't care whether slavery is voted up, or voted down; but God cares, and humanity cares, and I care."
As soon as Booth had fired his pistol, and was satisfied that his end was accomplished, he cried out, "Revenge for the South!" and throwing his pistol down, he took his dagger in his right hand, and placed his left hand on the balustrade preparatory to his leap of twelve feet to the stage. Just at this moment Major Rathbone sprang forward and tried to catch him. In this he failed, but received a severe cut in his arm from a back-handed thrust of Booth's dagger. Time was everything now to the assassin. He must make good his escape whilst the audience stood dazed, and before it had time to comprehend clearly what had happened. With his left hand on the railing, he boldly leaped from the box to the stage. The front of the box had been draped for the occasion with the American flag, which was stretched across its front, and reached down nearly or quite to the floor. In the descent, Booth's spur caught in the flag, tearing out a piece which he dragged nearly half way across the stage. The flag, however, was avenged for this double insult which he had put upon it; for by this entanglement his descent was deflected, causing him to strike the stage obliquely, and partially to fall, thus fracturing the fibula of his left leg, on account of which injury his flight was impeded, and his permanent escape made impossible. As he recovered himself from his partial fall and started to run across the stage with his dagger brandished aloft, he cried out in a theatrical tone, "Sic semper tyrannis!" and quickly passed out at a little back door opening into the alley where he had left his horse, and, though closely pursued, succeeded in mounting, and rode rapidly away.
Of course he could not afford to run any risks in regard to his escape, and for all this he had made his arrangements in advance. Spangler had faithfully redeemed his promise to render him all the aid he could by keeping the passage to the door clear at the critical moment, and also by doing all he could to retard pursuit. When a fellow-employee cried out, "That was Booth!" Ned ordered him to shut up, saying "You don't know who it was." Booth was closely pursued by a man by the name of Stewart, who followed him into the alley, making every effort he could to stop him; but Booth kept his horse in motion, so that Stewart failed to get hold of the rein, and the assassin was soon off at a rapid pace.
Stewart testified that Spangler, or a man resembling him, stood near the door, and could have prevented Booth's exit had he been so disposed. It is evident his purpose was to aid, rather than hinder, his escape. All the occupants of the stage, actors and assistants, male and female, were in a state of confusion and intense excitement except this man, who evidently had not been taken by surprise, but was prepared in mind for what had happened, and had played his part in the tragedy.
At the same hour that Booth fired the fatal shot, Payne appeared at the door of Secretary Seward's house, in the guise of a messenger from Dr. Verdi, holding in his hand the package that Booth had prepared for him, and demanded to see the Secretary, saying that he had a verbal message which was of particular importance in regard to the use, or application of, the medicine, and that he must see the Secretary himself. Dr. Verdi had left his patient but a short time previous, and had consoled the family that had for days been suffering the greatest anxiety on account of the Secretary's condition by taking a favorable view of the symptoms. The family, worn with watching and anxiety, were disposing of themselves for the night. Major A. H. Seward had retired to his room. Sergeant George F. Robinson, acting as attendant nurse, was watching by the bedside, in company with Miss Seward, the Secretary's daughter. Frederick Seward occupied the room at the head of the stairs. All the rooms occupied by the Secretary and his family were on the second floor, and were reached by a flight of stairs in the hallway.
The second waiter, William H. Bell, a colored lad of nineteen, was stationed at the hall door. Being somewhat relieved of their anxiety by the doctor's favorable view of the case, all were anticipating a night of quiet rest. The door bell rang, and was responded to by Bell, the colored waiter. Immediately upon his opening of the door, Payne stepped into the hall. He was a tall, broad-shouldered, muscular man, as agile and ferocious as a panther; a low-browed, scowling, villainous-looking specimen of humanity, the animal preponderating largely in every feature of his visage and expression of his countenance. There he stood, holding in his left hand the package, and keeping his right hand in his overcoat pocket. He demanded of the boy to be allowed to see the Secretary, telling his story about being sent by Dr. Verdi to deliver the medicine with his directions. The porter told him that his orders were to admit no one, and that he could not see Mr. Seward; that he would deliver the package himself. To this Payne would not consent, but persisted in saying that he must see Mr. Seward. After considerable parleying, he started up stairs, and the porter, seeing that he would go, and thinking that he might complain of his conduct to the Secretary, asked him to pardon him, to which Payne replied, "O, I know, that's all right." He was wearing heavy boots, and took no pains to walk lightly as he went up the stairs, whereupon the porter requested him not to make so much noise, to which, however, he paid no attention. As he approached the head of the stairs, he was met by Mr. Frederick Seward, who had been attracted by the noise, to whom he said, "I want to see Mr. Seward." Frederick went into his father's room, and finding him asleep, returned saying, "You cannot see him." All this time Payne stood holding out the package in his left hand, grasping with his right hand the pistol in his overcoat pocket. Frederick requested him to give him the package, saying he would deliver it; but Payne persisted in saying that that would not do; he must see Mr. Seward,—he must see him.
Frederick finally said, "I am the proprietor here, and his son; if you cannot leave your message with me, you cannot leave it at all." Payne still continued parleying with Frederick for some time; but finding that his talking availed nothing, he started as if to go down stairs. This, however, was only a feint on his part in order to throw Frederick off of his guard and to get rid of the porter who stood behind him. He again walked so heavily that the porter requested him not to make so much noise; but at that moment, Payne, having prepared himself for the encounter, turned quickly, and making a spring towards Frederick, struck him two or three times with the pistol, which he had all the time held in his hand, fracturing his skull and knocking him senseless to the floor. Having learned which was the room occupied by the invalid by seeing Frederick go into it, Payne rushed past the prostrate man, opened the door of the Secretary's room, and was met by Sergeant Robinson. Having broken and thrown down his revolver in his encounter with Frederick, he had drawn his dagger, and at his first encounter with the sergeant he struck him with his knife, cutting an ugly gash in his forehead, and partially knocking him down. He then pressed rapidly forward, knife in hand, to where the invalid lay in his bed. Throwing himself upon him, he commenced striking at his face and neck with his dagger. The Secretary was reclining in a half-sitting posture, having the coverings well drawn up about his neck and chin, to which circumstance the failure of the would-be assassin to take his life was no doubt due. The sergeant, as soon as he recovered his equilibrium, sprang upon Payne, and Major Seward, having been awakened by the screams of his sister, sprang into the room in his night-dress. Finding the sergeant grappling him in such a way as to hinder the effectiveness of his thrusts at the Secretary, and probably thinking that he had accomplished his purpose, he turned his attention toward making his escape. In disentangling himself from the grasp of the two men who now had hold of him, he gave to Major Seward several severe cuts about the head and face, crying all the time, "I am mad! I am mad!" Finally, pulling himself loose, he started to make his way to the street. Meeting a Mr. Emrick W. Hansel, another nurse, on the stairs, he made a thrust at him with his knife, inflicting an ugly wound. He now left the house, leaving five of its inmates stabbed, cut, and bleeding behind him. Having reached the street, he deliberately threw his dagger away, mounted the horse which he had hitched in front of the door, and rode off. Thus, for the time being, this inhuman monster passed from sight, having made good his retreat minus his dagger, hat, and revolver. He was not a moment too soon in withdrawing from the house. The colored porter, as soon as he saw the violence done to Frederick Seward at the head of the stairs, ran down and out into the street with the cry of "murder," and did not stop until he reached General Angur's headquarters, where he reported the occurrence and ran back immediately, accompanied by two or three soldiers. They reached the house just in time to see Payne mount his horse and ride away. He was followed some distance by the porter, who kept nearly up with him for some time, as he rode slowly at first, but he then mended his pace, and was soon out of sight. The soldiers, having no orders and not comprehending the situation, made no effort to stop him, although the colored boy who gave the alarm, and who preceded them, pointed him out to them as the man who had so ruthlessly broken the quiet of that house and produced such consternation amongst its peaceful inmates.
Although Payne rode away so leisurely at the start, he put his horse to the top of his speed as soon as he had fairly cleared the streets and reached the suburbs of the city. About two hours later, a bay horse, saddled, and blind of an eye, came running up a by-road that led to Camp Barry, about three-fourths of a mile east of the capitol, and was there halted and taken charge of and placed in General Angur's stables. The horse, when found, bore marks of having been ridden at a furious rate. The sweat was streaming from every pore and dripping to the ground. This proved to be the bay horse that Booth had bought from Gardner, the neighbor of Dr. Mudd, in November, 1864, and which he sold to his co-conspirator, Arnold, in January, 1865, according to his own statement made some time before the assassination.
This was no doubt the horse rode by Payne on that night. The most probable theory is, that being pushed and urged at a furious rate, and being blind of an eye, he stumbled and pitched headlong, throwing, and probably stunning, his rider, after which he regained his footing and made his escape before Payne had sufficiently recovered to get hold of him. The fact of his being a little lame when caught goes to sustain this theory. Thus was the would-be assassin prevented from joining his comrades, Booth and Herold, in their flight, and compelled to skulk and hide in the suburbs of the city for the next two days. He was without arms and hatless, and was compelled to throw away his overcoat, which was afterwards found, on account of the bloodstains on its sleeves. He knew that the alarm would spread rapidly throughout the vicinity, and in his present condition he dared not venture out through the country, so he was compelled to spend the time in hiding and skulking until he was forced from his retreat by hunger. Making a covering for his head out of a sleeve from his under-shirt, which he drew over it like a turban, he shouldered a pick, which he had stolen from the trenches, and at near the hour of midnight on the 17th he entered the city. He went directly to the house of Mrs. Surratt, as the safest place he could find to rest, hide, and refresh himself, and obtain an outfit in which he might make his escape. Here he felt that he could trust the secret of his presence. Unfortunately for him, as well as for Mrs. Surratt, the government had by this time come into possession of such information as justified it in sending its military police to that house, with orders to arrest its inmates.
It had been discovered that the house of Mrs. Surratt had been the headquarters of the conspirators in Washington City. The officer in charge of the police, Major H. W. Smith, had reached the house but a short time before Payne arrived. Payne came with his turban on his head, and the pick on his shoulder, and rang the door-bell. Major Smith responded to the bell, and asked him to come in. Seeing the officer, he said he believed he was mistaken in the house. Being asked whose house he sought, he replied, "Mrs. Surratt's." The officer replied, "This is the place," and drawing his revolver on him, ordered him to come in. Payne entered, and the officer closed the door. He then inquired who he was, and what he wanted. To these questions he replied that he was a poor man, and a laborer, and that Mrs. Surratt had sent for him to dig a drain for her. On being asked what brought him there at that time of night, he replied that he "merely called to see what time Mrs. Surratt wanted him to go to work in the morning." The officer saw that his hands bore no marks of labor, and at once suspected he had caged one of the conspirators. He placed him under arrest and took him along with the others in the house, to General Angur's headquarters, where he was held for identification. William H. Bell, the colored boy who was second waiter at Mr. Seward's, being sent for, at once unhesitatingly identified him as the man who had produced such consternation in the house of Mr. Seward, on the night of the 14th, by his determined efforts to take the Secretary's life. Lewis Payne, having been thus captured and identified, and Mrs. Mary E. Surratt, were the first amongst the conspirators to be held for trial.
After the attack at Secretary Seward's, Dr. Verdi and two or three other surgeons were at once called to examine and treat the Secretary and the other victims of Payne's dagger. The house in which the onslaught was made had the appearance of a charnal house or slaughter-pen. The Secretary was found to have received three or four severe cuts about the face and neck, which were only made dangerous by the loss of blood they had occasioned and the weak condition of the patient.
The Secretary made a slow but good recovery. Of the other four wounded men, the wounds of Mr. Frederick Seward proved the most serious, as his skull had been fractured and depressed, so as to render him unconscious, from which condition he was only recalled by a surgical operation.
All finally recovered. Here again we are called to notice the providences in the case, leading to the capture of Payne, and to the bringing on his head the just reward of his deeds.
On the morning of the 15th of April, 1865, the telegraph wires carried to every part of the United States that was in communication with Washington, and to the rest of the civilized world, the astounding intelligence that Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, had been assassinated on the previous night by John Wilkes Booth, at Ford's Theatre in Washington City; that at the same hour a most savage attempt had been made to assassinate the Secretary of State, Hon. William H. Seward, and that he was lying in a most critical and dangerous condition from the wounds which he had received, and would probably die. Never, perhaps, in the history of the race were so many hearts bleeding, and so many eyes suffused with tears at one time, as on that sorrowful day. The nation was filled with grief, mingled with indignation and horror at the deed. The land was literally draped in mourning. Every city, and every town and village, displayed the sable habiliments of grief. The response came back to our people, in kind, from every civilized people on earth.
The writer was at the time a member of Grant's victorious army, and had large opportunities for witnessing the effects produced by the sad intelligence on the soldiery of our country. From the highest officers down to the rank and file of the army, sorrow and grief were depicted on every countenance. From Appomattox to Richmond the victorious army that had been filled with joyful and hopeful anticipations over its successes, and the prospect of the speedy dawn of peace, and of returning to their homes and friends and to the pursuits of peaceful life, after four years of arduous military service, was at once plunged into the deepest sadness and gloom. Strong men wept. It was as though every soldier had lost his dearest friend. There was always a day of sadness in the army after every great battle, even in the triumphs of victory, at the thought of the many brave comrades who had given up their lives for their country, and would never again be seen in the ranks,—who were even then being gathered up from the field and carefully laid away in silence to await the resurrection morn; and of the others, who with loss of limbs and fearful wounds, were receiving the care of the surgeons and nurses in the hospitals improvised for the occasion; but never before had such a pall of grief been thrown over the entire army.
The depth of sorrow into which the nation was plunged by the news of his assassination revealed, as nothing else could have done, the place Abraham Lincoln held in the confidence and affections of the loyal people of the land. The first shock of the sad intelligence was almost paralytic. The people—even the army—for the moment stood dazed and bewildered. What was the meaning of all this? Was the war to be prolonged? Were we now to be called upon to turn our victorious arms upon the enemy in the rear, of whose existence we had all the time been conscious? Such were the questions that first suggested themselves. If so, the army was then in a state of mind to have made a short work of it. The victory over our armed foe in front, who had so bravely met us, and often with success, on many a hotly-contested field, would never have been yielded to the disloyal cowards who, through all of these years of the war, from their safe retreats and hiding-places, threw every obstacle they could in the way of our now martyred President, and who had planned and accomplished his taking off.
The extent of the conspiracy had not as yet been revealed; but enough was known to the government to evince the fact that this was an act of deep political significance, having behind it a very different class of men from the dissolute and depraved assassins who were executing their behests, and not merely done for the gratification of personal and political revenge. It was obvious that the occasion called for the most vigorous and decided measures on the part of the government to meet and overcome the strategy of assassinations just now entered upon. It very soon became known to the authorities that the plot had been but very partially executed, and that the purpose of the conspirators was to subvert the constitution by depriving the nation of its executive head, and leaving no constitutional way of electing a new President, and at the same time to deprive the armies in the field of a lawful commander. To accomplish this, the President, Vice-President, Secretary of State, and General Grant were all to have been assassinated. The conspirators in Canada and also the rebel president, when they heard that only President Lincoln had been killed, could not conceal their disappointment, and virtually confessed that their deep-laid scheme had proven a failure. The former still adhered to their purpose, and in their rage declared, "We are not done with them yet." We hardly dare to venture upon the consideration of what would have been the result had they completed the work they had planned. We have reason for profound thankfulness to that God who has thus far so wisely and graciously watched over our national progress, that he did not permit its accomplishment. But we, who were actors on the stage at that time, knowing how the principal actors in our national affairs, both civil and military, had been schooled in self-sacrificing, patriotic devotion to the institutions of our fathers, and their unfaltering purpose to transmit them unimpaired to their children and children's children for a perpetual inheritance, can but feel assured that even in the dire extremity now under consideration they would have proven true to their trust, and would have found a way to restore all of the machinery of government provided for in the Constitution. The people are above the Constitution even as the maker is above the thing made.
The rebel armies had been so completely overcome that they could no longer have formed even a nucleus around which the traitors in the North could have organized an opposition that could have been regarded with other than feelings of contempt by our victorious hosts. The time had passed; the opportunity was gone. No wonder the conspirators in Canada gnashed their teeth with rage and disappointment because "the boys had not been allowed to act when they wanted to." They had amongst their many schemes concocted during the summer of 1864, such as making raids, liberating rebel prisoners of war held in Northern prisons, burning cities, spreading pestilence, and poisoning reservoirs, been led also to consider this scheme of assassinations. All of these things were to be done in aid of the rebellion.
As their cause became desperate on account of the continued success of our arms, so did they become desperate in planning to retrieve. As early as January, 1865, they received a communication from Jefferson Davis suggesting these things and urging them to stop at nothing, however desperate, and plainly intimating that Lincoln ought not to be allowed to live; but it was not until the latter part of March, 1865, that they were prepared to present to him a definitely-prepared plan for the accomplishment of their purposes that he could accept and sanction. They had thus been long delayed, and now they were compelled to realize that their work was a failure. No wonder that they all, from Jefferson Davis down, felt and expressed grievous disappointment. It reminds us of Milton's description of the malignant schemes, failures, disappointments, and rage of the Prince of Devils in his contests with the Almighty.
The most active measures were at once resorted to by the government to discover the conspirators, and to capture all who could be found of those engaged in it. The civil and military police, as also those engaged in the secret service of the government, were at once set to work. It was soon learned that Booth and a co-conspirator, which proved to be Herold, had passed over the navy-yard bridge, on horseback, very shortly after the hour at which the fatal shot had been fired, and were fleeing toward Surrattsville and Bryantown in Maryland. They had been allowed to pass by the sentinel at the bridge, having represented themselves as citizens on their way to their homes. Booth was first at the bridge, and gave his true name to the sentinel, saying that he lived close to Beautown. Five minutes later Herold came and gave his name as Smith, saying that he lived at White Plains and was on his way home. Having gotten safely on the road, they directly joined company, and pushed on rapidly, arriving at Surrattsville about midnight.
Stopping at Lloyd's tavern in Surrattsville, Herold dismounted and went into the house, saying to Lloyd, "For God's sake, make haste and get those things!" Lloyd, understanding what he wanted from the notification given him by Mrs. Surratt on the evening previous, without making any reply, went and got the carbines, which he had placed in his bedroom that they might be handy, and brought them to Herold, together with the ammunition and field-glass that had been deposited with him, and the two bottles of whiskey that Booth had ordered through Mrs. Surratt the evening before. Herold carried out to Booth one of the bottles of whiskey, drinking from his own bottle in the house before going out. Booth declined taking his carbine, saying his leg was broken and he could not carry it. As they were about leaving, Booth said to Lloyd, "I will tell you some news if you want to hear it"; and then went on to say, "I am pretty certain that we have assassinated the President and Secretary Seward." The moon was now up and shining brightly, and the two confessed criminals resumed their flight. The next heard of them was at the house of Dr. Samuel A. Mudd, near Bryantown, in Maryland, and about thirty miles from Washington, where they arrived at about four o'clock on the morning of the 15th, having travelled at the rate of six miles per hour.
Booth's leg had been broken by a fracture of the fibula, or small bone of the leg, when he fell on the stage on leaping from the President's box, and by this time had become very painful. He greatly needed the support of a splint, and quiet as well. He was in a position, however, to get neither; for although he had reached the house of a co-conspirator, who was a country doctor, and well disposed to render him all the aid he could, he appears to have made a very bungling out, dressing the broken limb with some pasteboard and a bandage that gave but a very imperfect support. As to the rest he required, that was impossible, for although Mudd placed him in an upstairs room and kept him until the afternoon, they were admonished by seeing a squad of soldiers under Lieutenant Dana passing down past Mudd's place, which was a quarter of a mile off the road to Bryantown, that there was no rest for the wicked; and as quickly as it could be done after the soldiers passed, Mudd got rid of his dangerous charge by sending them by an unfrequented route to the house of his friend and neighbor, Samuel Cox, about six miles nearer to the Potomac. Booth was on no new ground, neither amongst strangers either to his person or to his wicked purpose. He had spent a good deal of his time during the previous fall in that part of Maryland, preparing a way for his escape after accomplishing his purpose. His way had seemed clear to him in advance; his route had been selected; his friendly acquaintanceships secured. But, alas! the broken leg. Under the guise of looking at the country with a desire to purchase lands, he had perfected all his arrangements, and had expected to pass swiftly over his route, accompanied by Atzerodt (whose home was in this neighborhood, and who knew all about the contraband trade with the rebel capital, the underground mail route between Richmond and Washington, and all of the people engaged in these operations, and also the place and facilities for crossing the Potomac), and also by Payne and Herold. He had purposed to be safe on the soil of the Old Dominion e'er this time. Instead of realizing all this, he found himself a cripple, scarcely able to travel, and closely pursued by those whom he knew to be on his trail, with no other companion than his devoted but inefficient friend, Herold; and thus he was compelled to realize that
Mudd had done all he could to relieve him, but dare not try to conceal and keep him. He could only forward him to the next stage of his journey and to a safe place of concealment. This he faithfully did. Cox lived near Port Tobacco, the home of Atzerodt; and as his was too public a place to afford safety to the fugitives, he turned them over to his neighbor, Thomas Jones, a contraband trader between Maryland and Richmond, who, in the midst of a constant scouring of the country by pursuing parties, kept his charge concealed in the woods near his house, supplying them with food and doing everything he could for their comfort, waiting and watching constantly to find an opportunity to get them across the Potomac. They were hunted so closely that they could hear the neighing of the horses of the troopers, and fearing they might be betrayed by their horses answering the calls, Herold led them into a swamp near where they lay concealed in the pines and shot them.
The river was being continually patroled by gun-boats, and the task of getting his wards across proved both difficult and dangerous to Jones. The proclamation of the Secretary of War, offering one hundred thousand dollars for the capture of Booth, and warning all persons from aiding the fugitives in any way in making their escape, had been published broadcast, yet Jones was true to his trust. Neither the offered rewards nor the warnings of the proclamation had any effect on him; but for a whole week he kept them secreted in the pines on his premises, where Booth lay night and day wrapped in a pair of blankets that had most likely been furnished him by Dr. Mudd. Finally, being furnished by Jones with a boat, they took their own risks and effected a crossing; but they were seen by a colored man, upon whose report General Baker got on their track and finally effected their capture.
There can be no doubt that Booth had selected this as the route for his escape months before, and that all of his visits to this part of Maryland had been made with reference to this plan. Being at length across the Potomac, even though under such unfavorable auspices, Booth no doubt drew a free and exultant breath at having been permitted to set his foot at last on the soil of the Old Dominion. He felt that he was now amongst friends who would aid him in his progress, or help him by concealment, as the case might require; and his friend Jones no doubt breathed with a freedom he had not known for some days at finding himself cut loose from his dangerous charge. Booth was greatly disappointed at the cold reception given him by the people on whom he had counted so much after crossing into Virginia. He had expected to be lionized and honored as the hero of the age; but instead of that he received a comparatively cold reception that stung his vanity like the poison of an asp.
It is true the people showed no disposition to betray him; but, at the same time, they manifested a disposition to enter into no compromising friendship with him, or in any way to assume any responsibility in his behalf by helping him to escape. How much of this was due to abhorrence of his crime, and how much to a dread of consequences, can only be a matter of conjecture. The fact that they were willing to let him escape, if he could, would throw the preponderance on the latter as the governing motive of their conduct. Sad, indeed, was Booth's condition at this time. More than a week had elapsed since he had perpetrated his great crime and commenced his guilty flight; and now he found himself on foot, so lame as scarcely to be able to walk a step, even with the help of a crutch, and scarcely more than fifty miles from his starting point. His companion in crime, Herold, was now the only human being on whose friendship and fidelity he could certainly rely. A reward of one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars offered for his capture, the brand of Cain upon him, his fractured bone cutting into the flesh at every movement of his limb,—a constant admonition of a frowning Providence,—it is no wonder that the diurnal entries in his book begin to bear evidence of a remorse that can never be appeased. We can but pity his deplorable condition, for he was a fellow-man; but then he was at the same time a monster in crime, directed by hatred of a fellow-man without just cause, and of wickedness that had brought upon him the blood of one of the greatest and best of men, not only of his own age and country, but of all the ages of the world. When we contemplate his crime, our sympathies refuse to go with him, and our sense of justice finds a grateful feeling of relief in the evidence now clearly pointing to the fact that he is a doomed man.
By the aid of his blind follower, Herold, he is able to maintain his concealment, and after a wretched fashion to resume his flight in an old wagon drawn by two miserable horses and driven by a negro. In this state he reaches Port Conway, on the Rappahannock, in King George County, Virginia. Here his driver refuses to take him any further. It is just at this juncture and in this dilemma that they are met by three confederate soldiers, Major Ruggles, Lieutenant Bainbridge, and Captain William Jett, the latter of Moseby's command.
Herold, thinking they were recruiting for the rebel service, was quick to see in them a means of assistance in getting South, and under the protection of the stars and bars, and so revealed their identity, appealing to them for assistance. A little later, Booth, getting out of the wretched conveyance, came forward, and to assure himself of their disposition toward him, accosted them with the interrogatory, "I suppose you have been told who we are?" then, throwing himself back on his crutch, and straightening himself up, with pistol cocked and drawn, he said, "Yes, I am Wilkes Booth, the slayer of Abraham Lincoln, and I am worth just one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars to the man that captures me." His attitude and speech was that of a man at bay, under the power of a desperate purpose never to be taken alive. These three officers of the confederate army (for they were such at this time, not having been paroled), whilst mildly protesting that they did not sanction his acts as an assassin, assured him that they did not want any blood money, and promised to render him all the assistance in their power in making his escape, a promise which they faithfully kept. Major Ruggles dismounted and placed Booth on his horse, when the whole party crossed over the Rappahannock, from Port Conway, in King George, to Port Royal, in Caroline County, Virginia, and after an ineffectual effort to find quarters for Booth in the town, they took him three miles on the road to Bowling Green, the county seat of the latter county, where they succeeded in getting a man by the name of Garrett to take him in, with the understanding that he would do all he could for his comfort and safety. Garrett took Booth and Herold in with a full knowledge of all the facts in the case, and with some manifest reluctance from a knowledge of the danger he would thus incur.
Bainbridge and Herold went on to Bowling Green, whilst Ruggles and Jett remained over night in the woods near the house, Booth being hid away on the premises and cared for. On the following day Captain Jett went to Bowling Green on a visit, prompted by the tender passion, where he intended to remain a few days; and Lieutenant Bainbridge returned to the Garrett farm, where he rejoined Major Ruggles. The two started for Port Conway, but before getting there, learned that the town was full of Yankee cavalry, when they lost no time in returning to Garrett's, and gave warning to Booth, advising him to lose no time in fleeing to a piece of woods, which they pointed out to him, and then turned to look out for their own safety. The cavalry of which they got this notice was a squad detailed from the Sixteenth New York Regiment, commanded by Lieutenant Dougherty, which had been ordered to report to General L. C. Baker of the Secret Service Department, and by him placed in charge of E. J. Conger and L. B. Baker, officers belonging to his detective force.
Arriving at Port Conway on the afternoon of the day subsequent to the crossing of the parties above referred to, and finding the wife of the ferry keeper at the ferry-house sitting and conversing with another women, Colonel Conger exhibited to them a photograph of Booth, and informed them that that was the man they wanted. It at once became apparent to him, from the manner and actions of the woman, that Booth was not far off. The ferryman, a man by the name of Rollins, was sent for, and being influenced no doubt by fear of compromising himself he became very communicative. He told them all about the party that had crossed the day before, one of whom, Captain Jett, he knew well; and knowing that Jett had been paying attention to a Miss Goldman, the daughter of a Bowling Green hotel keeper, he suggested that he would most probably be found there. Colonel Conger pushed on with his squad of cavalry, commanded by Captain, then Lieutenant, E. P. Dougherty, to Bowling Green, passing the Garrett farm after dark.
Arriving at Goldman's Hotel, he inquired of Mrs. Goldman as to the men that were in the house. She answered him that her wounded son was in a room upstairs, and that he was all the man there was there. Colonel Conger then required her to lead the way upstairs, telling her at the same time that if his men were fired on he would burn the building and carry its inmates to Washington as prisoners. As he entered the room which she showed him, up one flight of stairs, Captain Jett jumped out of bed half-dressed, and admitted his identity. Colonel Conger then informed him that he was cognizant of his movements for the last two days, and proceeded to read to him the proclamation of the Secretary of War, telling him when he had done reading it that if he did not tell him the truth he would hang him; but that if he truly gave him the information that he sought he would protect him. Jett was greatly excited, and told him that he had left Booth at the Garrett Farm, three miles from Port Royal. The Colonel then had Jett's horse taken from the stable, making Jett his unwilling guide to the place of Booth's concealment.
Arriving at Garrett's, the cavalry was so disposed of as to prevent any one from escaping, and after having extorted, by threats, the information that Booth and Herold were concealed in the barn, it was at once surrounded. They were ordered to come out and surrender themselves, which Booth refused to do. After a considerable parley, Herold came to the door and gave himself up. He was followed by the maledictions of Booth, who accused him of cowardly unfaithfulness in thus deserting him. Booth still refusing to surrender, a wisp of hay was fired and thrown in on the hay in the barn. From this start the barn was soon lighted up with the flames of the burning hay. Booth was known to be armed and desperate, and as the burning hay began to illuminate the barn he was seen, carbine in hand, peering through the cracks, and trying to get an aim. He had before offered to fight the crowd for a chance of his life if the Colonel would but withdraw his men one hundred yards. Being answered that they had come to capture him, not to fight, he was preparing to sell his life as dearly as possible. At this moment, Sergeant Boston Corbett, of the Sixteenth New York Cavalry, fired at Booth through a crack in the barn, upon his own responsibility, and struck him on the back part of his head, very nearly in the same part where his own ball had struck the President, only a little lower down, and passing obliquely through the base of the brain and upper part of the spinal cord; it produced instantly almost complete paralysis of every muscle in his body below the seat of the wound, the nerves of organic life only sufficing to keep up a very difficult and imperfect respiration, and a feeble action of the heart for a few hours, when, with the coming of the morning of the 26th of April, 1865, twelve days after the commission of his crime and commencement of his flight, the malefactor expired. He was perfectly clear in his mind, but could not swallow, and was scarcely able to articulate so as to be understood, although he seemed anxious to talk. He requested the officer, who was waiting over him and trying to minister to him, to tell his mother that he died for his country. Thus was avenged, not the loyal North alone, but the cause of justice, the cause of freedom, the cause of humanity. Amongst the articles found on his person the most important as bearing on the conspiracy in which he was engaged was a bill of exchange, as follows:—
No. 1492.
Stamp.THE ONTARIO BANK,
Montreal Branch.
Exchange for £61 12s. 10d.
Montreal, 27th October, 1864.
Sixty days after sight of this first exchange (second and third of same tenor and date unpaid) pay to the order of J. Wilkes Booth sixty-one pounds, twelve shillings, and ten pence sterling. Value received and charge to account of this office.
To Messrs. Glynn, Mills & Co., London.
[Signed]
H. Stanus, Manager.
The body was brought to Washington and identified fully. It was buried, for the time secretly, under the floor of the old Capitol Prison, but afterwards was given up to his friends.
Major Ruggles, in his account of his connection with Booth in his flight, gives it as his opinion that he was not shot, as claimed, by Sergeant Corbett, but that seeing escape hopeless, and knowing death to be his fate, he took his own life, holding his pistol to the back of his head; and in support of this opinion refers to the fact that one chamber of his revolver was found to be empty. He also advances the opinion that had the war still been going on, and Booth had made his escape into the confederate lines, the rebel government would have arrested him and delivered him up to the United States authorities. In this opinion, he takes a charitable view of the virtue and moral integrity of the Richmond government which I shall hereafter show is not warranted by the facts and evidence in the case. In this opinion he is also giving that government credit for a degree of virtue and integrity in striking contrast with the conduct of himself and his companions, who hurriedly entered into a friendly compact with the assassins, knowing them to be such, pledging fidelity and assistance to the full extent of their ability under the circumstances in which they were placed, thus morally and legally making themselves accomplices after the fact.2
Not only was the government bending every energy to overtake and capture Booth and Herold, but also to find out who were their co-conspirators. It undertook a systematic investigation of Booth's haunts, associations, habits, and employment during the recent past. Hotel registers were overhauled, liverymen interviewed, and each clue followed up, so that in a short time enough was known to lead to the arrest of Edward Spangler, Michael O'Laughlin, George A. Atzerodt, Samuel Arnold, and Dr. Samuel A. Mudd, in addition to those heretofore spoken of as having been arrested. By this time the evidence in possession of the government made it clear that what had occurred was but a partial accomplishment of a great conspiracy, which had its origin with the agents of the rebel government in Canada; and that its execution had been entrusted to John Wilkes Booth and John H. Surratt, as leaders, and to such assistants as they should select and employ.