Back in the street Booth found the train ready to start. Running up to the baggage car, where Libby and Louis F. Bossieux were stowing equipment, he told the privates that he wished to go along. “We informed him that no one was allowed on that train but men in uniform,” Libby explained. “It was a soldiers’ train.” Down the line exceptions were being made, however. Southall’s party was pushing one of its number onboard. Shouts came from the train for Booth to get on.45 The actor pled again for the privilege, saying he was so anxious to go that he would buy a uniform if necessary. This was too much for Libby. “After some consultation with him, Bossieux and I each gave him a portion of our uniform.” Libby provided a coat, Bossieux a cap and accoutrements. The result was nondescript but adequate, and the men pulled Booth onboard.46 Surprisingly, the elder Bossieux, a very strict disciplinarian (“and therefore unpopular”), made no objection to his presence, and Captain Elliott, in temporary command of the regiment, granted him permission to stay. Duties would be found for him.47 Welcomed aboard, Booth wandered the densely crowded train, mingling with the soldiers. They were surprised to see him. Crutchfield asked the young actor how Kunkel could possibly get along without him. Booth replied that he didn’t know and didn’t care.48
The engine idled a moment longer, awaiting the arrival of Governor Wise, who would accompany the troops. Bathed by the gas streetlights, an immense crowd stood in Broad Street, “nearly the whole male population appearing to have turned out to witness the departure of the volunteers,” and many women, too, wrote Henry Hudnall of the Richmond Howitzers.49 By now the Marshall Theatre’s audience had joined them. A roar of approval announced the governor. At about ten o’clock the long train jerked forward at last. Soldiers pushed to the windows to wave good-byes. The street came to life, Hudnall continued, and “sent up cheer after cheer, which seemed to shake the very heavens,” as the cars pulled off into the night.
The trip to Charlestown was roundabout. It took Booth and the Grays north through Fredericksburg to Aquia Creek. Here the rail line ended and the soldiers left the train to board a steamer that carried them the remaining forty miles to Washington. They arrived in the nation’s capital around daybreak. “The regiment was then formed and marched down Pennsylvania Ave.,” recalled John O. Taylor of the Grays. Washingtonians, throwing open their windows at the sound of drums, “were not a little surprised to find nearly 400 Virginia troops (who 12 hours before, were not even in uniform), marching through their streets, fully equipped for action.” Wise, wearing his high beaver hat and large silver spectacles, walked prominently with them. Booth was directly behind the governor, his overcoat thrown over his arm. They marched past the White House, a deliberately intimidating act, and headed for the depot of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad. A train had been ordered and should have been ready to take them north to Relay House in Maryland, where the lines split and one branch headed west toward Harpers Ferry. Wise was livid to find no connection waiting, but he did what any good politician would do with a crowd at hand: mounted a wagon and gave a speech.50 The soldiers ate breakfast and milled about until their transportation finally appeared, and the regiment left for Harpers Ferry, arriving there in the late afternoon of Sunday, November 20. Wise stationed several companies at the approaches to Charlestown and traveled on the eight additional miles to the county seat with the Grays and three additional companies.
It was dark and threatening rain when the men arrived in Charlestown. Colonel Davis had informed the citizens of the soldiers’ coming, adding obsequiously that they were led by Wise, “our Great Chief who at the first alarm threw around you an impregnable wall of chivalry and himself stood ready to shed his blood in your defence.”51 Charlestown greeted the governor and his troopers as if they were just such a set of deliverers. Eighty-four hot dinners were ready for the Grays at a local hotel, but the grateful public intervened and led the soldiers away to private homes.52 Later the Grays found quarters at a large stone warehouse.53 Booth bunked down on a straw pallet that he shared with his fellow soldier Wirt Harrison. Alfriend put his bed next to Booth’s.54 This warehouse, an old tin factory, would be home for the duration of their stay. The Grays had to share the simple structure with the Black Horse Cavalry of Fauquier County, but it was a happy association. The supply wagon of the Black Horse, parked in the rear yard of the building, contained a store of whiskey. The cavalry shared it liberally with their Richmond comrades.55
Over the next two weeks Booth became a frequent sight in the area. Joseph E. Whiting, an actor who played a supporting role in John and Edwin’s Richard III performance in Baltimore in 1858, noticed him on sentry duty in front of the jail where Brown and his companions were confined.56 Alfriend remembered him taking night duty as a sentinel.57 Booth was also said to have assisted the cavalry in guarding the road to Martinsburg.58 Booth’s official duties were those of a sergeant in the regimental quartermaster’s department.59 He was put to work under the direction of Robert A. Caskie, the theater buff who had done quartermaster duty for the Grays during their summer visit to New York City. Pedestrian as the job was, Booth could have done nothing more helpful to his friends. Caskie’s first order was to procure overcoats to protect the soldiers from the chilly night air of the mountains.60
Although Wise found the region quiet, he continued the precautionary buildup of soldiers, pouring in militia from every part of Virginia—the Alexandria Rifles, Clarke Guard, Shepherdstown Cavalry, Woodis Riflemen, Mount Vernon Guards, Winchester Rifles, Petersburg Artillery, Newtown Cavalry, Wheeling Rifles, Montgomery Guard, and cadets from the Virginia Military Institute. This imposing concentration swelled to twelve hundred armed men or more, nearly doubling the size of the town. Additionally, several hundred federal troops secured the armory at Harpers Ferry. It became apparent that no attempt to rescue Brown could succeed. “Perfect quiet prevails,” Major General William B. Taliaferro, who had superseded Davis in command, reported to the governor.61
Nevertheless, tensions remained high. The woods were feared full of “land-pirates, barn-burners, Brownites, and assassins.”62 Nervous pickets reported seeing rockets streak over nearby hills, presumably fired by abolitionist fanatics. Wise worried that if these friends of Brown could not rescue him, they would seize others as hostages for him or kill people in revenge. Sure enough, one night a shot rang out. Alarm swept the town, shutters were slammed, lights extinguished, and soldiers filled the streets. The excitement was extreme until it was learned that a sentry had opened fire on a cow.63 “New troops are very apt in the novelty of their situation to mistake objects,” explained Taliaferro. When these alarms occurred (and they occurred frequently), the Grays would dash to the jail double-quick and form a hollow square around it to repel any rescue attempt.64 No “Brownite” ever appeared. Alfred Collier, one of the Grays, finally saw a dark presence charging his way. He opened fire—at a horse. His shot missed, and the animal trotted nonchalantly past Collier, through a gate and into a barn. It was bad enough to fire at a horse, but in that event, one must certainly hit it. Collier became the laughingstock of the company.
One night scouts came in to report that a party of Northern raiders had crossed the Potomac and established a signal light on a mountain outside town. “The report created intense excitement,” recalled W. H. Caskie, the brother of Booth’s commanding officer. Subsequent investigation confirmed the presence of the light but could not determine its source. Eager to learn the nature of these pyrotechnics, Booth secured permission from Taliaferro to make a personal reconnaissance. He crawled under cover of darkness to the location, where he discovered to his surprise “that the so-called signals were merely sparks from the chimney of a little cabin occupied by an old couple who were burning large chunks of wood to keep comfortable.” Booth spoke to the husband and wife and learned that they were guilty of no more than living a life so isolated that they had never heard of John Brown. When the actor reported his findings to Taliaferro, the general did not believe him. Booth replied indignantly that i
f the general would not take his word, he should send him back to the spot with someone in whom he had more confidence. The following night Booth returned to the cabin with a scouting party. The scouts asked the elderly pair if they had seen anyone unusual in the neighborhood. The old couple replied that they certainly had. A soldierly-looking man had been prowling around their place in the wee hours of the morning asking questions. In fact that very man was in the cabin with them now, they exclaimed, and the pair pointed dramatically at Booth. Once the laughter died down, Caskie wrote, “the excitement blew over as suddenly as it had appeared.”65
As Taliaferro’s little army settled into place, Charlestown became a garrison town ringed with infantry pickets and patrols of cavalry. Cannon commanded the streets, schools were closed, ordinary business was suspended, and strict military law was observed. Drums beat reveille early each morning, assembling soldiers in the streets where roll was called. In squads of ten or fifteen, the men trooped to a hotel or private home for breakfast. A dress parade might follow, after which orders were read to the soldiers. The remainder of the day was employed in cleaning weapons, policing barracks, discussing the merits of firearms, lining up at the post office, or visiting one another’s camps. Toward dark those going on picket duty, wrapped well against the weather, received the password and affixed bayonets to their rifles before setting out. The remaining soldiers made themselves comfortable in their quarters. Four companies filled the courthouse, one of which, Richmond’s Company F, occupied the courtroom where Brown’s trial occurred. Units were also stashed about here and there in churches, halls, and other vacant spaces. December approached, and warm stoves were the focal point of each barrack. Around them music and laughter sounded in the night.66
The inconveniences and temporary loss of freedom attendant to the presence of so many soldiers annoyed some residents. One wit published a “PROCLAMATION!” filled with biting satire. Anonymously issued on November 30, the broadside appeared at first glance to be an official document. In it, however, the writer expressed contempt for “the mushroom, corn-stalk military now quartered among us” and resentment at what he felt was the overly numerous retinue of self-important officers, staff, and “toot horns” who were their bosses. He went after both. “Soldiers, for fear of an attack by Brown’s men, will remain in their Barracks, as in case they expose themselves on the streets, they may run the risk of being hurt,” the proclamation read. “The General commanding, the Mayors, Attorneys, Colonels, Majors, Captains, Lieutenants, and Corporals being more numerous than the rank and file, and therefore of more importance, are hereby particularly warned to remain in their Quarters, as in case of attack, especially during the night, the citizens who are able and willing to defend the town from all attacks, either by Brown’s men or anybody else, may be incommoded in the performance of their duties.”67 “Gen. Tumblebug” signed the document as commander in chief and “Bob Dunghill” as military secretary. Taliaferro was not amused by the broadside, possibly because its author touched a nerve. The five Richmond companies and their regimental staff carried sixty-five men above the rank of private, including Quartermaster Sergeant Booth.68
Most Charlestown citizens reacted more positively to the soldiers. Reassured by their presence, the public welcomed them into nearly every home. Lucy Ambler, daughter of the town’s Episcopal minister, wrote that the soldiers’ impact on Charlestown society reminded her of a Jane Austen novel when a regiment comes to camp in a small town. “It must be owned that the young people experienced a series of delightful thrills when they heard that an invading force of the flower of Virginia chivalry was about to be quartered among them,” she wrote. “It is safe to hazard a guess that every young woman in the neighborhood was at the station [when they arrived] unless restrained by parental authority.” One of the village belles passed an immediate verdict on the Grays as they marched up the muddy street. “Beautiful,” she announced.69
While the crisis disrupted the ordinary course of life in Charlestown, the army compensated the region by flooding it with dollars, and Booth was at the center of all the action. His office was responsible for the daily needs of some four hundred soldiers of the 1st Regiment. The department purchased everything these men required, from tin cups and twine to nails and blankets. The men were active eaters as well.70 Food and supplies were brought from Baltimore, Washington, and Richmond, or purchased locally.71 Booth helped sort, label, and deliver the largesse, and he was regularly in and out of village shops.72 John O. Taylor of the Grays wrote, “He proved to be a good man for the place.”73 Some merchants and farmers, reprimanded for price-gouging, were difficult to deal with. Nevertheless, Booth, in the area of his limited responsibility, was reported in both Charlestown and Richmond to be an efficient soldier well versed in military matters.74 Caskie wrote, in a barbed compliment many years later, that “the actor, by strict attention to duty, natural modesty, and gentlemanly conduct, wormed himself in the good graces of the officers.”75
While at work in the quartermaster’s office, Booth was introduced to John Yates Beall, a local farmer who lived at Walnut Grove plantation.76 Beall was in Charlestown to sell farm products and became a familiar figure at headquarters. He provided the soldiers a ton of fresh beef and for their horses seven tons of hay and hundreds of bushels of oats.77 In time legend would say that Booth and Beall were devoted friends, college roommates at the University of Virginia, even cousins. None of it was true, nor was Booth engaged to Beall’s sister Mary.78 But the two became acquainted, as Booth told his friend John McCullough.79 The pair had an additional opportunity to rub elbows at the home of Beall’s aunt Louisa, where a number of the Grays boarded.80 After Booth left Charlestown, he never saw Beall again. Their brief friendship would prove fateful, however.
Bored in the absence of danger, the troopers enlivened things on their own. “Our boys are playing all kinds of Deviltry at the Barracks,” wrote Isaac Cocke, referring to the fiddling, singing, dancing, burlesque opera, and other antics he heard and saw.81 Soldiers became “Fox and Hounds,” chasing each other about the streets like boys. Nine Grays crowded into a mule cart and toured the village, presenting an appearance they would have blushed over at home in Richmond.82 Lewis Dinkle, a local photographer, took ambrotypes of Booth and several of his comrades in playful poses near the jail.83 But the Woodis Riflemen outdid everyone. One afternoon they marched hurriedly down the street to the train station, shaking hands along the way and receiving hurried cheers, adieus, and farewell wishes of onlookers. Citizens and soldiers were taken aback, however, when a short time later the Riflemen returned to their barracks, laughing at them, pointing and shouting, “Sold!!”84 “The military aspect of the town yesterday was very gay,” wrote a reporter for the Baltimore American about November 24, 1859, “the weather being fine, and the troops availing themselves of the opportunity of making an exploration of the streets and alleys, many going beyond the suburbs. The Richmond Grays and Company F, which seemed to vie with each other in the handsome appearance they present, remind one of uncaged birds, so wild and gleesome they appear. Amongst them, I notice Mr. J. Wilkes Booth, a son of Junius Brutus Booth, who, though not a member, as soon as he heard the tap of the drum, threw down the sock and buskin and shouldered his musket and marched with the Grays to the reported scene of deadly conflict.”85 Newspapers in Richmond, Petersburg, and New York City reprinted this flattering notice.
Back in his barracks home Booth had an audience quite as captive as Brown, and like the professional he was becoming, he worked it. Nearly every night before taps, this “remarkably handsome man would regale us around the camp fire with recitations from Shakespeare,” recalled Libby. “Entertaining chap, he was—amused us every night.” 86 Alfriend recalled that Booth was very fond of reciting, “which he did in such a fiery, intense, vigorous, brilliant way as to forecast that great genius he subsequently showed on the stage.”87 Watching Booth’s winning personality at work, Libby wrote many years later, no one could have imagined he wo
uld commit the act that he did.
The troops were not alone in requiring some enjoyable distraction. “Booth sensed the need for diversion and entertainment to help ease the tension,” according to local lore, so he agreed to give several evening performances as part of an effort to calm the townspeople.88 The diarist Susan Keys stated that these entertainments occurred in the Zion Episcopal Church, then serving as soldiers’ quarters. Others place them in the Episcopal Lecture Room. Calming or not, Booth’s presentations were memorable. Arthur Hawks, a local boy approaching his twelfth birthday, was so delighted with Booth’s dramatic readings that he spoke of them with animation six decades later.89
Stellar as his performances may have been, Booth was a mere super in the great drama under way. John Brown, star of this show, awaited his fate in the jail across from the courthouse. Booth was anxious to see the lion in his lair, encouraged by knowledge that the old abolitionist received all manner of visitors in his cell. Brown lectured one proslavery minister that the man did not know “the A B C ’s of Christianity,” but he greeted most callers with remarkably good nature.90 Once an entire militia company from Frederick, Maryland, trooped in. Brown rose and dutifully shook each man’s hand.91 At length, worn out by such visits, Brown asked Sheriff James W. Campbell to protect him from morbid curiosity.92 This slowed but did not stop the visitors. John Avis, the jailor, admitted Taylor of the Grays, and Taylor decided that Brown was “about the meanest looking man you would care to see, a very low order of a man.”93
Fortune's Fool: The Life of John Wilkes Booth Page 10
