“Drouet Broussard, you have told me everything I needed to hear. I now know you are a man of honor and a man of his word. I needn’t know of the location of the takings from the mint building to know you did exactly what you described and how you described it. But, most importantly, you did not give up the name of your collaborator, the beautiful and vivacious Loreta Janeta Velazquez.”
At that, my heart began beating harder than it had when knife fighting with the assorted alleyway thugs shortly after the mint heist. Though I trusted St. Helen, I felt an innate urge to protect Loreta.
“I know assorted ladies who have worked on behalf of our little society but, pray, please enlighten me as to this Velazquez for this is the first I have heard of her.”
St. Helen, now beaming a smile of immense satisfaction, looked around the room to make sure no one sat within earshot. Then, in a whispered voice, he answered.
“My friend, that seals it. But it’s no good, for I know you have worked intimately close with the lady of whom I speak. Let’s just say I have also worked with her. I like her, I admire her, and she is one of the few people in this world whose friendship I cherish. I liked you from the beginning, Broussard, and now I know why. You keep your word, and you protect your friends. Cassius told Brutus that a friend should bear his friend’s infirmities, so now I shall tell you who I am and what I have done.
“I am John Wilkes Booth, and I am the assassin of Abraham Lincoln, president of the United States.”
17
The Professed Assassin’s Story
My years with the society had taught me to sometimes doubt nothing, however far-fetched, while questioning everything, regardless of its apparent plausibility. Sometimes things are not always as they seem, and often-times great revelations are gleaned from reading between the lines of accepted narratives that omit vital information either accidentally or deliberately.
Many might laugh to hear the recounted details of certain exploits of which I had been directly involved or to which I had been privy, as said exploits might seem too fantastic to be believed. My service to the society had been as a relative underling in the grand scheme of things, so what impressive feats had been accomplished by those mysterious notables at the top of the cabal? What strings had they pulled in the highest of places to further the aims of our clandestine fraternity? My own fruitful imagination would surely fall short in contriving all that had passed.
I had met my contact at the Pickwick Club many times to receive information and material necessary to conduct the affairs of this league of schemers. Never once did I know who first gave the sealed packages to him, nor did I know who had supplied his supplier. Truthfully, I had long held as an absolute certainty that many degrees of deniability stood between myself in New Orleans and whoever gave initial orders at the top of our secret apparatus.
In a court of law, how could I implicate anyone above me if I did not know their identity? And how could an operative above me at any level point a finger at his superior if he stood oblivious of his name and whereabouts? Knowing this, let us ask, How easy might it be, then, for one in the upper echelons to issue an order, however diabolical, and never lose a wink of sleep worrying about his own discovery in the evil enterprise?
Quite easily, I surmised.
In spite of this knowledge, however, I had to fight back my initial temptation to harshly question my friend’s shocking claim. Instead, I posed my first response to it in a more moderate fashion.
“As you know, the government claims that you were shot in a Virginia barn and that your body rests six-feet beneath the clay. Naturally, you’ll understand that while I instinctively tend to disbelieve your claim, I do find it quite remarkable and desire greatly to hear the story backing it up.”
“I understand your doubt, especially in light of the government in Washington’s official story claiming otherwise, as printed in thousands of newspapers across the continent over these many years. But I am happy to describe to you in detail how I came to sit before you now in the Pickwick Club of New Orleans for the purpose of collecting money and information from the organization for which we both have labored successfully. Please digest the information I lay before you and believe me or believe me not. I swear it to be truthful.
“This man before you is John Wilkes Booth, son of the late Junius Brutus Booth, Sr., the actor, and a brother of Junius Brutus Booth the second and Edwin Booth, the actor.
“As you may already know, I come from a family whose sympathies solidly favored Lincoln’s government during the late war. Despite my family’s stance for the federal cause, I found myself in possession of strong sympathies for the cause of the southern people, so much that I had completely given up my profession and the study of the art of acting shortly after the war commenced.
“Long before that night at the Ford Theater, I worked on behalf of the Confederate Secret Service with the intention of kidnapping Abraham Lincoln in order to hold him against the release of the many thousands of Confederate soldiers then residing in northern prisons. Once in my hands, I planned to deliver the Yankee president to the Confederate government at Richmond, Virginia to be held as a hostage of war.
“Then, suddenly, on the ninth day of April 1865, Generals Lee and Grant signed the surrender of Confederate forces at Appomattox Courthouse and our plans to kidnap President Lincoln dissolved as so much snow thrown into a fire. Prisoners of war held in both the north and the south would soon be freed and making their way back home.
“Thus, the end of the war necessitated ending the plan to kidnap President Lincoln. War’s end also necessitated consideration of the future of the southern people at the hands of the now victorious northern government and the radical abolitionists who controlled it.
“I am an actor by nature, an artist if you will, and not an assassin, and I do not believe I am in possession of a mean heart, but I and others with whom I worked and conspired stood convinced that the death of President Abraham Lincoln and the succession of Vice-President Andrew Johnson of Tennessee to the Yankee presidency stood as the only hope of protecting the southern people from tyrannical rule and the confiscation of their landed estates. Certainly, Johnson had been loyal to the cause of the Yankee government up until then, but he was a southerner by birth and upbringing, and we stood convinced he would not allow for the oppressive rule of the southern people as intended by the abolitionists who controlled President Lincoln.
“However, I had never contemplated taking the life of President Lincoln until the very morning of the day I did so. After several failed attempts to kidnap Lincoln, David E. Herold and myself mounted horses and left Washington City by way of Surrattville using the underground route used so successfully by Confederate spies and scouts throughout the war. Our mission was to perfect one last plan to kidnap the president.
“We made the necessary arrangements for crossing the Potomac and Rappahannock rivers on that route and then returned to Washington City and entered the metropolis on April 14, 1865. At the bridge crossing on the east end of the Potomac River, we were stopped by Yankee troops on guard at that point. We both wondered why these troops stood guard there.
“As it turns out, stories had been circulating throughout Washington City and the countryside all around of planned attempts on the president’s life. None of these reports had reached the ears of anyone in our circle of conspirators until then. Based on these accounts, troops had been ordered to monitor the crossing point on the east end of the river and at other points so that no person could enter or exit Washington City without first giving their name and a full account of their business.
“We hesitated in giving our names and were arrested at once. From about eleven o’clock in the morning until two o’clock in the afternoon, we were held in the blockhouse and that is when we first heard about General Lee’s surrender at Appomattox Courthouse, news that crushed our spirits and gave us to know that a death blow had been delivered to the Confederacy and to the southern people.
“Our guards let out whoops of glee and their collective mood improved to such a degree that they released us and we were allowed to enter Washington City, but only after we had made a satisfactory account of ourselves.”
Thus far in his account, St. Helen, or Booth, had delivered enough detail to fully garner my attention, and I somehow knew that the best of the narrative lay ahead.
“So, you and Herold enter Washington City and go where, exactly?”
“We made a direct beeline to the Kirkwood Hotel.”
I then remembered Loreta telling me that she had stayed at the Kirkwood House while in Washington City during her heyday as a double agent on behalf of the Confederate government. She had even confirmed that she met with Andrew Johnson there on several occasions as part of her work.
“Is this Kirkwood Hotel the same establishment as the Kirkwood House? I believe I have heard it mentioned both ways.”
“Yes, one and the same, and the longtime rendezvous point of the conspirators against Lincoln.”
“Did you ever see Vice-President Andrew Johnson while there?”
“Of course, I saw him. He lived there while in Washington City. In fact, the only reason we conspirators frequented the hotel at all was to meet with Andrew Johnson to lay plans to kidnap President Lincoln, and that is who we went to meet after convincing the troops to allow us entry into the city.”
“Then it is likely you brushed by Loreta Velazquez there from time to time.”
“Yes, this is also true. I know she is your friend and, as I have said, she is also mine. In fact, back when the plan was to kidnap Lincoln, she went with me to Ford’s Theatre and helped me survey the premises as well as the streets and alleyways surrounding it. We established plans for me to make a brisk exit from the area after I had completed my mission there. But, as you know, the plan to kidnap Lincoln never materialized.
“Anyway, when I arrived at the hotel, I called on Vice-President Johnson. We talked about the surrender and how it rendered useless our plans to kidnap President Lincoln and deliver him to the Confederate government in Richmond. We also discussed the sad fate of the southern people who now stood at the heels of the abolitionists who now fully controlled Lincoln and the government in Washington City.
“Johnson’s face tightened, and his voice rang with anger and some excitement when he said to me, ‘Will you waver at this most supreme moment in history?’
“At first, I did not grasp his meaning and remained silent so he could further explain himself. He did so with a cowardly pale face and quivering lips.
“‘You know my meaning, Booth. Do you possess nerve enough to kill him?’
“And now you know from whom came the initial suggestion that President Lincoln be assassinated—from his own vice-president who lusted after the high office himself.
“Johnson then told me he knew of my meeting with Albert Pike, Judah Benjamin and John Slidell in this very club some years before when we originally discussed assassinating Lincoln. While that original plan had evolved into one of kidnapping the president and using him as collateral for gaining freedom for imprisoned Confederate troops, the situation had now changed, and the original plan for assassination could now proceed apace.
“I asked Johnson how he knew of my meeting at the Pickwick with the aforementioned esteemed gentlemen, and he answered that he knew much more than that in his esteemed position in the upper echelons of our secret society.
“I then explained to Johnson that I had been jailed in the blockhouse that very day by Yankee troops on the east end of the river using the Confederate underground route. I feared I could not make good an escape after committing the act as he proposed, as it would then render Washington City a jailed municipality from which no one could escape.
“To this, Johnson said he had read in the newspapers that General and Mrs. U.S. Grant were in the city to be honored that very evening at a guest box in the Ford Theater as guests of the president and Mrs. Lincoln. The president, Johnson said, desired to publicly showcase and congratulate his able general while presenting an image of cooperation and solidarity at this hour of victory.
“I then informed Johnson of my preference of not having General Grant in the guest box if I decided to kill the president there. To that remark, Johnson assured me he could personally guarantee that General and Mrs. Grant would not be in attendance at the Ford Theater with President Lincoln and his family.”
“Why did you insist on not having Mr. and Mrs. Grant present in the box?”
“Because the Grants would have a full contingent of military guards on duty with them and I did not want to face that when entering the box. Simply stated, without the Grants present, I enjoyed far greater odds of carrying out a successful assassination.
“I then pledged my willingness to carry out this supreme act on behalf of the helpless, subjugated Southland whose people I loved and whose cause I gladly championed.
“Johnson then explained that he needed to pull certain strings in his official capacity as vice-president to see that the Grants found themselves elsewhere occupied other than the Ford Theater that evening. He left the room and returned about one hour later donning an evil smile. He extended his hand, and we both shook on the deal. His palm felt cold and clammy to the touch.
“Johnson assured me that the Grants had been called away and that those in attendance with President Lincoln would afford me no interference as I killed him. He also allowed that my escape route would be over the same formerly clandestine thoroughfare over which I had traveled to get to Washington City earlier that day.
“In my escape, I would cross the east end of the Potomac where I had been jailed earlier. The guards at this crossing would be called away, but if any presented themselves to me, I should use the password ‘T.B.’ or ‘T.B. Road.’ Johnson assured me any guards present would understand to allow me passage across the river upon hearing these passwords. By then, Johnson explained, he would have been sworn in as president of the United States and would help me in any way possible in my escape and even offer pardon to me if it ever came to that.”
I had read about Booth’s escape from Washington City and knew that the road he used to get in and out of the city had been the same thoroughfare used by Confederate spies throughout the conflict. I had also read that the route had been discovered by the Yankee government late in the war, a fact limiting its frequent use by Confederates as the fighting came to a close. Toward the end, the route had been under constant watch by troops wearing Yankee blue.
Booth had the choice of a multitude of roads over which to make his escape. The fact that he successfully used the then heavily-guarded Confederate underground route certainly lent credence to the notion of a guiding hand at high levels.
“You possessed a great deal of nerve to agree to use that same route as your escape path, especially since you had been held captive there earlier the same day.”
“At first, the thought of using that pathway in my escape caused me much worry and apprehension, and for the very reason you state. Yes, it only made sense that many hundreds of Yankee troops watched the route day and night, and for one very brief moment during my meeting with Johnson, I suspected he might be laying a trap for me. But that thought fled my brain at once when I calculated the degree to which he coveted the presidency of the United States. On more than one occasion during our association, he made statements reflecting his quest for power in general and his intense desire for the office of the presidency in particular. I knew his earnestness in this.
“And so, with my emotions for the southern cause burning deep within me, I regarded the mission before me as a great opportunity to deal the southern people victory out of defeat by slaying Lincoln so as to make way for Andrew Johnson. I deemed him to be a man friendly to the interests of the southern people and who would protect them from tyranny and from the confiscation of their landed estates at the hands of now revengeful abolitionists.
“I left the Kirkwood House and made my way to the F
ord Theater. When I reached the alleyway behind the establishment, I spied Loreta Velazquez leaving a nearby residence on what appeared to be personal business. I had met Loreta on more than one occasion while dining at the Kirkwood and knew she belonged to our society. As previously mentioned, she had accompanied me as I surveyed the Ford Theater back when the plan was to kidnap Lincoln. I asked her in what spot along the alleyway would be the choicest spot to tie horses for a man desiring a fast exodus at night. As we surveyed the areas all around the alleyway and she pointed to an area of trees and shrubs.
‘That is the best spot. Situate the steeds behind the brush and tie them to one of the lower branches of the trees with brush in front and the animals will not be easily noticed.’”
“When I saw her on my last day in Washington City, we spoke briefly, and I bade her a fond farewell. She was a great friend, but I believe she means much more than that to you. You are a lucky man. Broussard, unlike me, you were smart in your work for the society in not committing a crime so heinous as to mark you for life. I am an assassin who will never know a woman’s true love or peace of mind and heart again.”
“I have to ask you a question. On that trip to the theater, one of your last to the place, did you tell her of your plan to assassinate the president?”
“No, but a premonition told me she highly suspected that my intentions had grown more sinister. As I think back on it, the combined situation of finding me near the Ford Theater and me telling her she would not see me again probably triggered the forces of her intuition. But enough of that.
“After Loreta departed, I went about the business of preparing for the dastardly deed ahead. I stepped inside the theater and found the box intended for Lincoln, an easy feat since the space had been heavily decorated with patriotic buntings for the evening’s grand occasion. I raised the fastenings on the door into the box so that when I entered later that night, no one could open it from the outside afterward.
Ghost Knights Of New Orleans Page 15
