“Unhood them,” said one of the uniformed men.
The guards complied, revealing six puffy, unnaturally pale faces topped with tousled, damp hair. As the men, reacting to the sudden burst of daylight, shook their heads and blinked, I recognized only three of them beneath their swollen features: Mr. Payne, Mr. Atzerodt, and Mr. Herold.
“Is that all of them?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then let us begin.”
For an hour or so, the commissioners talked and argued amongst themselves while the eight of us sat silently, the men glancing from time to time out of the windows. At last, a stern-looking man rose and introduced himself as Judge Advocate Burnett. One by one, he asked whether we wished to secure counsel and if so, whom. Mr. Herold named three men; Dr. Mudd, the unhooded prisoner next to me, named one. The other men wanted counsel but required more time to think about the matter.
“Very well. Mrs. Surratt?”
“I wish to retain Senator Reverdy Johnson, sir. And I would like to consult with Mr. William Wallace Kirby as well. He is not a lawyer, but I would like to take what advice he can offer me.”
There was a murmur, suggesting Senator Johnson was too prominent to want to bother representing me. But Judge Advocate Burnett said, as he did to Mr. Herold and Dr. Mudd, “Very well, I will write to them today. Guards, take the prisoners back to their cells.”
The guards started to replace the hoods on the men’s heads, but a man who I had learned during the proceedings was Judge Advocate General Holt, who would be our chief prosecutor, stood. “Leave those damn things off them until they’re out of this courtroom.”
• • •
The next day, General Hartranft came to my cell with a message: Senator Johnson regretted that a scheduling conflict might prevent him from representing me, but asked two younger lawyers, Frederick Aiken and John Clampitt, who had a partnership here in Washington, to appear for me. “I have never heard of them.”
“They have been in practice together for less than six months, I understand.”
Dear God, two fledgling lawyers. But Senator Johnson must have had some faith in their abilities to recommend them to me, so I simply nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
• • •
On Thursday, my lawyers appeared in court. They were not quite as young as I feared—in their late twenties or early thirties—and they brought, in the very brief consultation we had, the encouraging news that Senator Johnson would likely appear for me after all, and perhaps even without a fee. They would be doing the drudge work, they assured me, and merely assisting their more experienced colleague. My heart, though it could hardly be called light, was somewhat less heavy as I was led back to my cell.
I also met with Mr. Kirby. “Mrs. Surratt, if you would tell all you know about your son and Mr. Booth, I believe with all my heart that you would be set free. At the very least, why do you not ask that he give himself up? Say the word, and I will speak to every newspaper editor in Washington. His mother’s plea, printed in the papers, will bring him back. I am certain of it.”
“I do not know what he discussed with Mr. Booth, and if I did, I would never tell. And I will not ask that he return to Washington to be hooded and shackled with these men who sit beside me.”
“Well, I tried.” Mr. Kirby sighed. “In any event, Mrs. Surratt, I am ill positioned to advise you, because it is possible that I might be called as a witness. I helped search for Dr. Mudd, and I have helped search for your son as well. For your sake,” he added, “I do not want to see you sacrificed for him.”
It occurred to me, as it had fleetingly occurred to me before when Superintendent Wood informed me he had included Mr. Kirby in his search party, that Mr. Kirby was as eager as anyone else to collect the reward for capturing my son—the only reward anyone could aspire to now that Mr. Booth was dead and Mr. Herold hooded and shackled in the prisoners’ dock. “Do you know anything of Mr. Clampitt and Mr. Aiken?”
“Mr. Aiken served in the Union army for a while, was a newspaperman for a while, then got back into law.” Mr. Kirby shrugged. “Strange, it’s usually law to journalism, rather than the other way around. Both he and Mr. Clampitt are Democrats. How they are as lawyers I can’t say, but you’ll be in good hands with Mr. Johnson.” He rose. “And now I fear I must be going, Mrs. Surratt.”
I had better be in his good hands, because you are washing yours of me. I did not say this, of course. “Thank you for stopping by, sir.”
The next day, Friday, was the first day of testimony, although the public was not allowed inside. The gentlemen of the press were here, though, staring hard at us defendants. I was grateful General Hartranft had procured some clothing from the boardinghouse for me, so not only could I change my garments for the first time in weeks, but I could also hide myself behind a veil from the reporters’ scrutiny. The men came into the courtroom without their hoods but still in manacles and shackles.
The government was determined to link this mad scheme of Mr. Booth’s to the upper reaches of the Confederacy. There was a great deal of testimony about Mr. Booth’s travels and his oil investments. General Grant himself appeared as a witness, chiefly to discuss the jurisdiction of the Military Department of Washington, and the commissioners promptly assumed their best posture and gazed at the victorious general like moonstruck privates. General and Mrs. Grant, I had learned, were to have accompanied President and Mrs. Lincoln to the theater on Good Friday but changed their plans, and as the general testified, I wondered whether his presence might have thwarted Booth’s plans—or whether he might have shared the president’s fate.
An actor friend of Mr. Booth’s, a handsome man who identified himself as Samuel Knapp Chester, took the stand—more, I thought, as if he were taking the stage. Even we defendants listened in fascination as he detailed Mr. Booth’s futile attempts to get him to join his plan to kidnap the president. If only Johnny—and I—had been as wary…
“Did he have any conversation with you at a later period, after the inauguration, as to the opportunity he had for the assassination of the president? Did he speak of that?”
Mr. Chester nodded. “Yes, sir. On Friday, one week previous to the assassination, he was in New York. We were in the House of Lords at the time, sitting at a table, and had not been there long before he exclaimed, striking the table, ‘What an excellent chance I had to kill the president, if I had wished, on inauguration day!’”
If he had wished. Had he still been planning only to kidnap at that point? When, and why, had he changed his mind? If only I could drag him back from the dead and force him to go to this stand and tell us all.
And had he not considered the consequences his act would bring upon the innocent—his family, his friends, his fellow actors, the young ladies, like my daughter and Nora, who had enjoyed his company so much?
But, I reflected behind the shield of my veil, I had not considered them all that well myself.
As the men, preparing to go back to their cells, cast a last wistful look out the window, an older man entered the room. After conferring with my attorneys, he said, “Mrs. Surratt? I am Senator Reverdy Johnson, and I will be serving as your counsel.”
Close to seventy, Reverdy Johnson was a stately figure with a resonant voice. Whatever other mistakes I had made over the last few months, I had at least chosen my lawyer wisely. I pushed back my veil—thinking, as I did, of little Mrs. Slater and Johnny. “Senator Johnson, I am so grateful you have agreed to represent me.”
“I could not refuse a Southern Maryland lady, Mrs. Surratt. Now, do you have any questions for me?”
“Why is there to be a military trial?”
Senator Johnson shook his head. “The explanation is that the assassination of President Lincoln was a wartime act, and that Booth and his accomplices violated the laws of war, and that you and the rest should therefore be tried by a military court instead of a civili
an one. All that is balderdash. The truth is, there are still so many Confederate sympathizers in Washington, Secretary Stanton fears that he could not obtain a conviction by a jury were you to be tried by a civilian court. I am preparing an argument against the jurisdiction of this court, but for the time being, we must proceed here.”
“Will I be allowed to testify?”
“No, but in that one respect, it makes no difference what sort of trial you have. Except in the state of Maine, a defendant in a criminal case cannot testify in his own defense.”
“Sir, what do you think will happen to me? I know that we are on trial for our lives.”
“No woman has been hanged by the federal government, Mrs. Surratt, and I cannot imagine they would dare to do it now. It would be against all notions of chivalry, all that we hold dear. Besides, there are enough desperate-looking characters in that lot to hang. I would not like to be Mr. Atzerodt’s counsel, for instance, and that Payne fellow, having actually attempted the murder of Secretary Seward, doesn’t stand a chance.”
“But will they imprison me? What will become of my daughter?”
“I cannot assure you at this time that you will not be imprisoned, Mrs. Surratt. I must hear the evidence—and yes, I will hear it as you hear it. Even so, I have the best of hopes that your imprisonment will not be long or harsh. They will have their pound of flesh in the men here, and then they can make a great show of pardoning you and sending you, suitably chastised, back to your home and family.”
“I will trust in your judgment, Senator Johnson.”
“I believe that our greatest hope lies in challenging the jurisdiction of the court,” Senator Johnson said briskly. “It is something that I will bend all of my energies to. And with that, Mrs. Surratt, I will bid you good day.”
• • •
On Saturday, the spectators came.
The trial was the best show in town, I heard the lawyers telling each other as everyone settled into their places. The general public could not attend, but those who had the connections to get a pass could, and judging from the fine attire of the spectators, these were very well-connected people indeed. Some of the men brought their ladies and courteously gave them the best seats.
The ladies pointed and squealed like children visiting a menagerie. “There’s Payne! There’s that horrid Atzerodt! There’s Mrs. Surratt!” Mr. Herold seemed to find this attention diverting, and he admired the younger and prettier of the ladies. Mr. Payne stared straight ahead, his face never changing expression, which fascinated the ladies all the more. With his strong build and chiseled features, he was their clear favorite; presentable but unexceptional Mr. Arnold and Mr. O’Laughlin, scruffy Mr. Spangler, disreputable Mr. Atzerodt, hobbledehoyish Mr. Herold, and dejected Dr. Mudd barely merited a second glance from them.
After Mr. Payne, I was the second most popular attraction. “There is the horrid creature!” “Look how demure she pretends to be!” “Look how bold she looks!” Two pretty ladies got into a spirited argument about whether I looked sufficiently wicked to have plotted to kill the president, and they were still arguing the point when General Hunter, the president of the commission, called the court to order.
Senator Johnson entered the courtroom. Catching sight of him as a murmur went about, General Hunter asked, “Do I understand Mr. Johnson is appearing for any of these prisoners?”
“I do not know whether I shall be able to appear or not. I have taken no part in the case thus far, except to speak to the counsel. Whether I shall appear or not will depend on whether I can find that I can stay as long as may be necessary. I have no objection to appearing if the court will permit me to leave it at any time.”
Leave?
I was frowning over this when the commissioners and Senator Johnson began arguing over whether he recognized the oath of loyalty to the government. Their exchange was so spirited at one point that my codefendants sensed a fight, for all seven of them sat up straighter, their manacled hands balling instinctively into fists.
But after a great deal more talk, during which the ladies drooped with boredom, everyone was mollified, and the first witness of the day was called. He was a detective, who gave evidence against Mr. Atzerodt.
Then the second witness was called. I heard the name, but only when the witness walked to the stand did I believe what I was hearing. He raised his hand and swore to tell the truth and nothing but the truth.
He was Mr. Weichmann. And he was testifying for the prosecution.
38
NORA
APRIL 30 TO MAY 11, 1865
I could get no information about what had happened to Mrs. Surratt after she was taken away. Even Miss Lomax, who continued to enjoy privileges I did not, was unable to obtain any word as to her fate.
During this period, I had my own tribulations, although in retrospect, they hardly seem worthy of mention. One night, Miss Lomax and I were awakened by an unearthly howling, which we were convinced could only be the anguished noises of some poor prisoner in torment. Only a few days later did we learn the truth: the large gray feline who was the prison’s chief mouser had disappeared for a day or two, only to be found locked in the cellar, from which it emerged with a vigor that proved to be the terror of the Old Capitol’s rodent population. Another time, just before lights-out, two drunken male prisoners found their way to our cell “just to visit the ladies!” It was one of the few times during our imprisonment when we were grateful for the man pacing back and forth outside our door, for we could hear him threatening to blow their brains out if they did not make a quick retreat, an order they tipsily obeyed.
After a week or so of durance, Miss Lomax was released. Later, she wrote a memoir of her time here—anonymously and with most of the names disguised, though any lady who was at the Old Capitol at the time would have no difficulty recognizing her or her fellow inmates in its pages. I was rather disappointed—as I suppose those who find themselves put into books are destined to be—to find myself enshrined, under the uninspired name of “Mary,” as a rather timid miss, five years younger than my true age (although perhaps this was a politeness), and without an overabundance of spirit. I was also amused to see that Miss Lomax added weeks onto her own imprisonment. Still, she painted a kind portrait of Mrs. Surratt, who along with Anna was the only person in the book to appear under her true name, and for that I could forgive Miss Lomax any of her deficiencies.
I was not alone after Miss Lomax was freed. A third lady, whom Miss Lomax named in her book as Mrs. Thomas and whom I shall call the same, had been placed in our cell. Her story did not hang together well, and I suspected, and still suspect, she had been placed with us as a spy. Certainly she ate the prison food with gusto and slept on the bed without a bit of squeamishness, which made me believe she was not all that sorry to be here and that prison might indeed be a step up for her. But she was such a talkative lady that, even if I had been so foolish as to say anything compromising, I doubt I would have been allowed to get enough words in edgewise to do so.
In the meantime, I had heard nothing from my father, although another basket of cakes had finally been delivered to me. With Mrs. Surratt’s departure, however, I was allowed the privilege of seeing some other prisoners’ cast-off newspapers, and it was from them I learned the horrid news that Mrs. Surratt and seven men were to go on trial for their lives at the Old Arsenal Penitentiary here in Washington.
The Old Arsenal was located at the very tip of a poor part of Washington known as the Island. A number of young women from the neighborhood, most of them poor Irish, had worked packing cartridges at the arsenal, and the previous summer, there had been a dreadful explosion that had killed twenty-one of them and burned a few others horribly. I had read of the tragedy, and the mass funeral for the victims (which President Lincoln had attended), from the comfortable confines of Georgetown Visitation. There I had guiltily contemplated how similar I was to those girls, in age an
d background, and yet how entirely different, being blessed with a father who could provide for me instead of having to provide for myself.
How could anyone on trial in such a sad place come to any good end?
39
MARY
MAY 13 TO 18, 1865
Everyone in the courtroom, even the ladies, fell silent when Mr. Weichmann took his oath. The very first question Judge Advocate Holt asked was whether he knew my Johnny, to which Mr. Weichmann gave a firm yes.
“When did you begin to board at the house of his mother, Mrs. Surratt, a prisoner here?”
“The first of November, 1864.”
“Mrs. Surratt, who is sitting near you there?”
An officer motioned for me to remove my veil, and Mr. Weichmann, who had his back to me, turned and looked at me for the first time since he had left my boardinghouse to look for Johnny. I could not see his face well enough to read his emotions, and perhaps I could not have read them even if my sight were better. “Yes, sir, she is the lady.”
As Judge Holt briskly examined Mr. Weichmann, who gave his replies in a more firm, confident tone than I ever remembered hearing him use in my boardinghouse, I discovered there was simply nothing this man did not remember. Mr. Booth’s comings and goings. The mysterious Mrs. Slater. Mr. Payne’s visits, first in his guise as Mr. Wood and then as Mr. Payne. Our two carriage drives to the country. The young ladies calling Mr. Atzerodt “Port Tobacco.” Dates, times, places, clothing—Mr. Weichmann had it all perfectly, to the point where I wondered if he had been keeping a pocket diary of all this.
Judge Holt moved on relentlessly as I leaned my head on my arm. Since being moved here, I had been suffering off and on from female problems, and Mr. Weichmann’s testimony was making me no better. “Will you state whether, on the afternoon of the fourteenth of April, the day of the assassination, Mr. Booth did not call and have a private interview with Mrs. Surratt at her house?”
Hanging Mary: A Novel Page 27
