It was near midnight when the Sixteenth New York approached the small village of Bowling Green. A half mile outside of town the troopers stopped. Baker and Doherty along with ten or eleven troopers dismounted. Conger remained on his horse. The rest of the unit stayed with the horses. Arriving at the hotel on foot, the troopers quietly surrounded the building with orders to make sure no one escaped. With their weapons drawn, the three officers climbed the wooden steps of the porch and began pounding on the hotel door. Getting no response, Conger and Doherty walked around to the rear of the house where they found a Black man. Doherty asked the man where Willie Jett could be found. The man said that Jett was in bed in the hotel. Conger then inquired where the room was located. Doherty next pounded on the rear door. Within a few minutes a woman opened the door. It was the proprietor’s wife, Mrs. Gouldman. She escorted the two men into a front parlor. Doherty asked where her son was sleeping. She led the men to an upstairs bedroom where her son and Jett were sleeping together in a bed. Rousing Jett from his sleep, the men took him back downstairs and began questioning him.26
The eighteen-year-old Willie Jett did not need any coaxing. He knew the game was up. Jett asked Conger if he could speak to him privately. Doherty and Baker agreed to leave the room. Jett was willing to cooperate with the search party. Like Rollins, though, he was afraid to give the appearance of cooperating with Yankees. He told Doherty that the men they were looking for were holed up at a farmhouse up the road on the way to Port Royal. He would lead him there but did not want to appear to be a willing accomplice. Conger obliged. Jett was allowed to go back upstairs and get dressed before joining the troopers.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tell Mother I Die for My Country
Poor Booth, to think that he fell at last. Many a true heart in the South weeps for his death.
Kate Stone
The cavalrymen waiting in front of the hotel were slumped in their saddles, half of them asleep. They had been riding for over twelve hours without rest. Cavalrymen knew how to sleep astride a horse. It was something they learned early in the war. Their brief respite was suddenly broken when the three officers came out of the hotel with Willie Jett in tow. The four men mounted their horses and the troop started back in the direction of Port Royal. Richard Garrett’s farm was located ten miles to the north of Bowling Green. They would backtrack to the Garretts’ with Jett leading the way.
When the troop arrived at the lane leading into Garretts’ place, Doherty gave the signal to pull up. Conger and Baker took Jett and proceeded ahead of the column so as not to alert anyone to their presence. On reaching the gate that blocked the lane leading up to the farmhouse, the men dismounted and waited for Doherty and the rest of the men to come up. The three men conferred briefly and Doherty gave the signal for his men to split into two groups and surround the house. Doherty then told his men to draw their pistols and proceed carefully. Booth and Herold were believed to be in the farmhouse.1 Jett and William Rollins were left under guard at the gate. It was a few minutes after 2:00 A.M., Wednesday morning. The scene was cast in total darkness. The moon was new and at its lowest illumination of the month. The darkness favored the prey more than it did the predator.2
Doherty tethered his horse to a tree as Conger and Baker climbed the steps leading to the porch. They began pounding heavily on the front door. After several minutes the door opened, revealing the dim light of a candle. An old man peered through a crack in the door. He started to ask the men what they wanted. Before he could get the words out of his mouth he was rudely grabbed by the front of his nightshirt and dragged outside.
“Where are the men that were here today?” One of the soldiers barked.
The old man was flustered and shaken. He said that the men who had been there had gone to the woods.
“Liar!” someone barked back. “Where are they?”
Richard Garrett could do little more than stammer. One of the officers yelled to the soldiers who were waiting near their mounts. “Bring a rope, hang the damned old rebel and we will find the men afterwards. We’ll stretch the truth out him.” Baker yelled to no one in particular.3
As one of the men prepared to toss a rope over the branch of a large locust tree in the front of the house, Jack Garrett stepped forward. He had been sleeping in the corncrib while his brother kept watch over the two men in the barn. Hearing the commotion at the house he came over to see what was the matter. He had feared that the two men had gotten out of the barn and were trying to steal the Garretts’ horses. When he saw the Yankee cavalry he knew there was trouble. His poor father stood trembling in his nightshirt, about to be strung up from a tree in the front yard. Garrett suddenly realized the two fugitives were something more than they had let on. The suspicions that had caused him earlier to padlock the two men inside the tobacco barn were verified.
With the Yankee cavalry in his front yard, Jack Garrett had more to worry about than his father’s house being torched. His father was about to be strung up. He had to act quickly. “Wait!” He hollered. “I will tell you what you want to know.” Garrett tried to free his father from the cavalryman’s grip. “Don’t injure father,” Jack said. “The men you want are in the tobacco barn.”4 Conger quickly motioned to Doherty, who waved his men toward the barn not more than a hundred feet from the house. Garrett’s youngest son, William, now appeared and Baker told him to get the key to the barn. The younger Garrett returned with the key. Baker grabbed the candle from the old man and told William Garrett to come with him.5 The two men approached the barn door, and Baker told Garrett to unlock it and go inside and get the arms from the two men. Garrett balked, saying they would shoot him if he went in. Baker was unsympathetic, telling Garrett if he didn’t go in he would shoot him.
After a few minutes Garrett came back out, visibly shaken. He said the man had refused to give up his arms and had ordered him out or he would shoot him.6 Booth next tried to finesse the situation by engaging Baker in conversation. Baker would have none of it, telling Booth that he must surrender or the barn would be set on fire. Booth requested time “for reflection”: “Captain, that’s rather rough. I am nothing but a cripple, I have but one leg, and you ought to give me a chance for a fair fight.”7 Baker relented. He gave Booth five minutes to come out.8 Booth was trapped and he knew it. There was no chance for him to slip out and get to the woods as he had done earlier in the day. The barn was completely surrounded.
After a few minutes had gone by, Booth called to Baker that Herold wanted to surrender. “Captain, there is a man in here who wants to surrender.” Baker told him to come out and to bring his weapon. Booth replied, “He has no arms, they are all mine.” Herold was now banging against the door, calling to be let out. Baker opened the door slowly, and as soon as Herold emerged he was hustled off by two guards who bound him securely to a tree near the house. Years later Richard Baynham Garrett, the youngest of Richard Garrett’s five children, would describe the scene he witnessed as a young man: “The poor little wretch was dragged away, whining and crying like a child, and securely bound to a tree in the yard. ... He kept up his whimpering until the Captain had to order him gagged.”9
Baker continued the pressure on Booth. He gave him two more minutes. Booth answered, “Well Captain, you may prepare a stretcher for me. Throw open your door, draw up your men in a line, and let’s have a fair fight.”10 Conger had heard enough. He grabbed a small shock of hay and, lighting it, thrust it into a pile of brush that the men had piled against the rear wall of the barn.11 The fire spread rapidly, shooting across the dried straw that covered the floor of the barn and lapping up the walls on either side. The fire illuminated the inside of the building. Booth could be clearly seen by peering through the open slats in the side of the barn. He was leaning on one crutch, the butt of the Spencer carbine resting against one hip. In his other hand he held a Colt revolver.
The fire spread rapidly and black smoke rose up the walls and rolled across the ceiling. Booth began to feel the intense heat building
inside the barn. At first he looked around as if assessing the situation, somewhat bewildered. He moved toward the door that was opened slightly so that his movements could be observed. He was ten feet from the door, a rifle in one hand, revolver in the other. One crutch had fallen at his feet. Suddenly a shot was heard. Booth threw up his hands in a reflex reaction, then fell to the floor of the barn. For several seconds everyone stood frozen, stunned at what had happened. Then Baker rushed into the barn and knelt over the motionless Booth. Conger soon followed, and the two men dragged Booth outside and laid him under a locust tree not far from the door.
The crowd of soldiers fell back to avoid the heat of the raging fire. Conger ordered two men to carry Booth to the house, where he was laid out on the front porch. A small straw mattress had been taken from the house and laid on the porch floor. Conger, Baker, and Doherty knelt around the prostrate body as several of the cavalrymen pressed close to see the infamous murderer of their president. Booth was still alive, although his wound appeared fatal. He was paralyzed from the neck down and felt no pain. In fact, he could feel nothing. The bullet had struck him in the neck and passed through a cervical vertebra, severing part of the spinal cord. Baker thought he heard Booth utter the word “water.” He attempted to give him some water by dipping a rag in a cup and placing it in his mouth. It was of little use. Booth then muttered, “Kill me.” Baker told him that he didn’t want to kill him. Conger gave orders for two of the men to hurry to Port Royal and find a doctor.12 Every effort must be made to save Booth’s life.
The man who shot Booth was Sergeant Boston Corbett. He had fired a single shot through an open slat with his Colt revolver, striking Booth in the side of the neck. He claimed to have been no more than twelve feet from where Booth was standing:13 “I immediately took steady aim upon him with my revolver and fired—shooting him through the neck and head.”14 Contrary to common belief, it was not against orders. Conger made that clear when he underwent questioning by his superiors the next day: “They had no orders either to fire or not to fire.”15
Corbett’s act would become part of the stuff that conspiracies are made of. It would be repeated over and over that Corbett carried secret orders from Edwin Stanton to make sure Booth could never talk or tell his story. Too many people would be dragged down if Booth had been allowed to live, they whispered. Some would say Conger shot Booth and that Corbett agreed to take the fall. Still others would claim Booth shot himself, committing suicide before he could be dragged back to Washington and exhibited like some crazy animal. All are wrong. Boston Corbett was telling the truth. He did shoot Booth—and with reason, although not everyone can accept his reasoning. He would later testify during the conspiracy trial: “It was not through fear at all that I shot him, but because it was my impression that it was time the man was shot; for I thought he would do harm to our men in trying to fight his way through that den if I did not.”16
Shortly after dawn Dr. Charles Urquhart arrived from Port Royal. Booth was still alive, although barely. Urquhart carefully examined Booth and then informed the three officers that it was hopeless. Booth could not live much longer. The paralysis was shutting down most of his vital functions. Soon it would shut him down completely. Even though paralysis had stilled his respiratory muscles, Booth’s breathing continued—slow and labored—through the use of his diaphragm.17 As the men stood about watching his lifeless form, Booth opened his eyes. Conger noticed his lips quiver slightly. He was trying to speak. He knelt down, placing his ear close to Booth’s lips. The words came haltingly, “Tell. . . my . . . Mother . . . I. . . die . . . for my country.” Conger repeated the words, asking Booth if that is what he said. He signaled, “Yes.”18
It was a few minutes past seven o’clock when Booth died. He died from asphyxia; he was literally out of breath. A Rochester newspaper graphically described the moment: “As he began to die, the sun rose and threw beams into the treetops. It was of a man’s height when the struggle of death twitched and flickered in the fading bravo’s face. His jaw drew spasmodically and obliquely downward; his eyeballs rolled toward his feet, and began to swell; lividness, like a horrible shadow, fastened upon him, and, with a sort of gurgle and sudden check, he stretched his feet and threw his head back and gave up the ghost.”19
It was twelve days since the night of April 14 when he had entered the box of Ford’s Theatre and ended the life of Abraham Lincoln. Not everyone in the country believed that Lincoln ascended into heaven and Booth into hell. Large numbers believed it was the other way around.20
Luther Baker took an old army blanket from behind his saddle and gave it to two of the men on the porch. Booth’s body was placed in the blanket and the blanket sewn tight. Wrapped in the makeshift shroud, the body was placed in the back of an old farm wagon that Baker had commandeered from a local Black farmer named Ned Freeman. Freeman had been hired by Baker to take the body in his wagon back up to Belle Plain, where the John S. Ide was waiting.
Before the body was placed in the blanket, however, Conger carefully went through all of the pockets. He removed the little memorandum book which Booth used as a diary, a small stickpin with the inscription “Dan Bryant to J.W.B.,” a bill of exchange (No. 1492, dated October 27, 1864) drawn on the Ontario Bank of Canada and made out to J. Wilkes Booth for 61 pounds, 12 shillings, and 10 pence. Conger looked at the bank draft and then wrote his initials on the back for future identification purposes. In the little memorandum book were five small photographs of women: four actresses and Booth’s alleged fiancee, Lucy Lambert Hale, the daughter of former senator John Parker Hale of New Hampshire.21 Also in Booth’s pocket was the small-boxed compass that Thomas Jones had given to him at the time of the Potomac River crossing. Conger also removed a small file with a cork on one end, a small pipe, and a spur. Along with the personal items were the two Colt revolvers, a Spencer carbine, and Booth’s large knife marked “Rio Grande Camp Knife.” Conger took the personal items and wrapped them in a piece of paper that he tied with a string.
Conger told Corbett to mount up, and the two men headed back to Port Royal ahead of the rest of the command. From Port Royal they made their way back to Belle Plaine where Conger hailed the steamer Keyport to carry him back to Washington. Corbett remained behind at Belle Plaine to await the cavalry. Conger wanted to report directly to Stanton without delay. Herold and the two Garrett brothers would follow under the watchful guard of the cavalrymen.22
Soon after Conger and Corbett had left, Baker started out alongside Ned Freeman’s old wagon. In the back lay the body of Booth. Doherty and the rest of his command followed later with Davy Herold in tow protesting along the way that he had met Booth by accident and was completely innocent of whatever the soldiers accused him of. They hadn’t accused him of anything yet. That would soon follow.
A corporal and his orderly originally accompanied Baker. Shortly after crossing the Rappahannock River, Baker sent the corporal and orderly back to check on the column of cavalrymen. Neither man returned and Baker continued on toward Belle Plaine with his valuable cargo in Ned Freeman’s wagon. Baker reached the river three miles above Belle Plaine and, after hiding the body in the bushes under Freeman’s care, set out in search of a boat to carry the body out to the steamer. Finding a boat, Luther Baker rowed the body out to the Ide anchored offshore.23
The Ide made the return trip up the Potomac River to the Washington Navy Yard where the ironclad Montauk was moored offshore. On the way up the river Lafayette Baker and Everton Conger met the Ide and boarded it. Conger had arrived back in Washington and reported to Stanton, giving him all the details about Booth’s capture and death. Stanton had then told Baker to proceed at once and meet the Ide and then take custody of Booth’s body. Stanton was not about to let it fall into anyone else’s hands.
Baker commandeered the C. Vanderbilt, a mailboat chartered by the War Department, and along with Conger headed down the Potomac. Somewhere between Belle Plaine and Mount Vernon, Baker intercepted the Ide and boarded her along with
Conger. The Ide then proceeded up the river toward the Navy Yard, making a stop at Alexandria on the way. The military had a telegraph station there that was connected to the War Department. Arriving at Alexandria shortly before 11 P.M., Baker sent a telegram to Eckert informing him of Booth’s and Herold’s capture and asking Eckert to meet him at the Navy Yard.24
With Booth’s body now in Baker’s custody and Stanton assured that it was safely under his care, Baker instructed the captain of the Ide to head for the Navy Yard. At 1:45 A.M. the Ide pulled alongside the Montauk and transferred its infamous cargo. Booth, still wrapped in his shroud, was placed on a carpenter’s bench located on deck beneath a canvas awning. Also aboard the Montauk were Lewis Powell, George Atzerodt, Michael O’Laughlen, and Edman Spangler. The man who had put them there had joined them.
Just a few hours earlier, as Luther Baker and Ned Freeman had slowly rumbled along the road to Belle Plaine, a military honor guard swung open the large doors of the state capitol building in Albany, New York. Inside the assembly chamber a flag draped coffin rested in front of the speaker’s stand. Inside the coffin lay the body of Abraham Lincoln. Over the next twelve hours fifty thousand people would pass the president’s body and bow their heads in reverence. In his first inaugural address Lincoln had declared, “This country, with its institutions, belongs to the people who inhabit it.”25 Four years later, Abraham Lincoln would now belong to the country he preserved and the people who inhabited it.
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