They had waited in the pine thicket for four nights. This was the night they would attempt to cross the Potomac River to sanctuary in Virginia on the other side. The three made their way down a series of hidden paths and public roads, Booth riding, the others on foot. Their first destination was Jones’s farm. Jones slipped into the house and, without a word, scooped from the supper table enough food for two men and carried it out of the house.
The fugitives ate, then immediately headed for the river, about a mile away. They would use a fishing boat Jones had arranged for his servant to leave by the river.
Jones waded into the shallows and brought in the boat. He and Herold helped Booth struggle into the craft, laying the weapons and crutches on the hull of the boat. They handed him an oar to steer with. Herold settled in the bow seat to row. Jones crouched down, took a candle from his coat pocket, and told Booth to take out his compass. Jones held the dripping candle over the protective glass cover that shielded the dancing compass needle, showing Booth the course to steer. Jones handed Booth the candle, cautioning him to hide its faint glow during the crossing, lest they be spotted by passing patrol boats. Then Jones gave Booth the name of a contact on the other side.
As Jones grabbed the stern of the boat and shoved it off, a grateful Booth thrust a fistful of Union greenbacks at Jones. Jones refused the gesture, saying that he had not helped him for money. Under protest, he agreed to accept just eighteen dollars, the price he had paid for the boat.
Jones shoved them off; Herold gripped the oars and rowed toward the Virginia shore, two miles away. The river was dark as ink, and the boat soon vanished against the glass-smooth black surface of the strong current under a moonless night.
Thomas Jones never saw Booth, Herold, or his boat again. He made his way back to his farm along deserted roads. One clever man had just outwitted the manhunters. While a frustrated nation sought vengeance, Jones had sheltered and nourished the most hated man in America. They should be landing in Virginia about now, thought Jones. But while Jones slept peacefully, John Wilkes Booth and David Herold were rowing in the wrong direction!
(Previous page) Six days after the assassination, John Wilkes Booth and his accomplices were still on the loose. Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton offered a reward of $100,000 for their capture and threatened death to anyone who aided the fugitives.
Also on April 20, Dr. Mudd was questioned again by the cavalry. Mudd feared the authorities would discover some of his secrets very soon. He thought it might go better for him if he volunteered at least part of the truth. He told Lieutenant Lovett that the man with the broken leg was armed, that he wore a false beard. Most interesting of all, he revealed to one of the manhunters that he knew John Wilkes Booth. He had met him last fall.
In Bryantown, Colonel Wells found it odd that Mudd had failed to recognize a man he had met before, and not just briefly — especially when that man was so famous. After all, Mudd and Booth had met on several occasions, in broad daylight, and Booth had slept at Mudd’s farm in the past.
After hours of questioning, Colonel Wells showed Mudd another photograph of Lincoln’s killer and asked him whether he recognized the man in the picture as the stranger. On second thought, Mudd admitted, he realized it just now. The stranger was John Wilkes Booth! Unintentionally or unknowingly, Mudd claimed, he had helped him escape. Exhausted by the questioning, after agreeing to return to Bryantown the next day to sign a statement, Mudd rode home.
In a few hours, Booth and Herold would reach Virginia, far from the reach of Colonel Wells, his detectives, and Lieutenant Dana and the cavalry. Mudd’s lies delayed the cavalry’s departure long enough to allow the fugitives to escape Maryland.
Thomas Jones would eventually be questioned by Union detectives. They suspected that a man of his reputation must know something of Booth’s escape. They arrested him and eventually imprisoned him. But with no eyewitnesses who could place him with Booth, and him not volunteering anything, he was eventually released, as was Captain Cox. Decades later, when his confession could no longer hurt Booth, Thomas Jones did tell his story to a journalist who recorded it for history.
Herold dipped the blades of the oars deep and pulled hard. After spending so much time in the pine thicket — a lost week — it felt good to be on the move again. Booth checked the compass bearings. They were supposed to be rowing from Maryland west across the Potomac to Virginia, then south. But the needle on the compass indicated they were headed north. Was the compass broken? No, the compass was true. Herold was a good enough navigator during the daylight, but not under cloak of darkness, and not haunted by the fear of capture. He had been rowing for far too long: They should be in Virginia by now. His palms and fingers were sore, and his burning arm and leg muscles made it clear that they had already traveled too far. They had to land soon. Herold spotted a familiar-looking landmark: Blossom Point, at the mouth of a creek that ran north. The good news was that he knew the area and had friends there who would help them. The bad news was that they were back in Maryland. And they were farther north than they had been the night before. That left them vulnerable once more to Union patrols that were pursuing them.
They landed the boat at the mouth of a creek in Maryland early in the morning, Friday, April 21. Booth and Herold gathered their weapons and blankets and headed on foot to the nearby house of a friend of Herold’s, where they were fed, and given information. Union troops and detectives were swarming the countryside, motivated in part by the enormous reward being offered by the War Department. The geography of the place they landed made it impossible for them to escape except by crossing the Potomac. Herold and Booth would have to hide in the low-lying wetlands and wait to cross. At this critical moment, when they needed to escape Maryland as quickly as possible, they did something unexplainable — they did nothing! They did not retrieve the boat and row across the river. They sat in the dark and did nothing. They would have to spend another day hiding in Maryland until the following evening when darkness came.
While Booth and Herold tarried, the government pursued them with new energy. The evidence gathered at Mudd’s farm, plus alleged sightings of the fugitives southwest of his farm, suggested that the assassins were making for Virginia. They knew Booth was lame, on crutches. They knew he had shaven off his mustache. Horse-mounted couriers and telegraph wires were alive all day with instructions to troops to enlist the help of fishermen and others on the river to capture the fugitives.
On the night of April 22, after another night’s delay, John Wilkes Booth and David Herold finally climbed aboard the boat and rowed out into the Potomac toward Virginia. This time, they steered the correct course and, after several hours, spotted their destination — the mouth of a creek on the Virginia side of the Potomac. They landed and disembarked. At last, on April 23, nine days after the assassination, John Wilkes Booth and David Herold set foot on Virginia soil.
Their contact, a former Confederate agent, Mrs. Quesenberry, had a place about half an hour away on foot. Booth’s injured leg made the brief walk impossible for him, so Herold went alone to find the woman.
Elizabeth Quesenberry, an ex-Confederate spy, was cautious when Herold approached her. Experience during the war had taught her to be suspicious of strangers, especially those who looked like Herold. Herold revealed that Thomas Jones had sent him to her, which put her mind at ease. Herold revealed the nature of his request for help.
He was traveling with an injured companion. They needed horses to make their way south. Suspecting or already knowing who the two strangers were, Mrs. Quesenberry decided that this was too big a job to handle by herself. With the help of other loyal operatives, she arranged for horses. She would get the two moving south as quickly as possible. Speed was now of the essence.
Mrs. Quesenberry arranged for horses and food, which Herold brought to the waiting Booth. After eating, they saddled up. Dr. Richard Stuart’s house was the next stop on their j
ourney. To their dismay, the doctor refused to help them. Herold pleaded their case, mentioning their Confederate credentials and the recommendation from Dr. Mudd. Stuart, unconvinced and suspicious of the elaborate and ridiculous cover story Herold spun for him, reluctantly offered to feed them. After eating, they would have to be on their way.
Dr. Stuart was a great disappointment, failing to display the Southern hospitality and honor that Booth had come to expect. Booth and Herold sat down to dinner with Stuart and his family. How out of place these dirty, tired travelers must have seemed at the Stuarts’ fine table. But Booth’s filthy clothes, unshaven face, and pungent body could not conceal his obvious good breeding. His excellent manners, educated voice, and physical poise marked him as a gentleman.
By now, Dr. Stuart knew exactly who his visitors were. They were dirty, desperate, and on the run. And one had a broken leg. They fit the profile of the men now known to the whole country as Lincoln’s assassins. After dinner, Stuart practically ordered Booth and Herold to leave his home, which they did without protest.
Later Booth would write a letter to Dr. Stuart, chiding him for his lack of Southern hospitality and honor. As an insult, Booth enclosed a small sum of money as a payment for the meal they had eaten, but not enjoyed, at Stuart’s.
Denied a bed and hospitality for the night, Booth and Herold continued to search for transportation at the house of one of Stuart’s neighbors, a man of color named Lucas. Lucas, too, was reluctant to help the strangers. Under protest, he finally agreed to rent them a team of horses and a wagon, with his son Charlie acting as driver for the trip south. It took threats of violence by Booth to persuade Lucas to allow the fugitives to stay the night at his cabin. In the morning, Booth paid twenty dollars for the use of the wagon, the team, and driver.
When they arrived at their destination, Port Conway, young Charlie Lucas stopped the wagon in front of the home of William Rollins, a farmer and fisherman. There Booth and Herold quenched their thirst and sought a ride south, across the Rappahannock River to Port Royal, then on to a nearby railroad station.
The tide was rising, and the fisherman was eager to prepare for the day’s catch. He agreed to ferry Booth and Herold across the river as soon as he set his fishing nets. At that moment, three mounted figures appeared on the hill just above Port Conway. They were soldiers! And the wagon driven by Charlie Lucas, parked in front of William Rollins’s house, caught their attention. The men spurred their horses and descended into town.
Booth and Herold tensed for action. An encounter with soldiers was inevitable. Herold walked toward the riders as they approached, creating distance between them and Booth. The jackets the soldiers wore were not the blue of Union soldiers. A few casual questions and Herold determined they were Confederates! These were soldiers likely to be sympathetic to their plight. Herold gave the soldiers false names and claimed he and Booth were on their way to join up with the Confederates themselves. He pretended he was an enthusiastic militant Confederate eager to continue to fight the war, wherever it was. One of the soldiers, Willie Jett, reacted skeptically to Herold’s story. He asked a simple question: “Who are you?”
Herold replied, his voice trembling, “We are the assassinators of the president! . . . Yonder is J. Wilkes Booth, the man who killed the president.” Jett told the other two soldiers, Ruggles and Bainbridge, the exciting news he had just learned.
When Rollins returned from setting his nets, he asked Booth if he was ready to be ferried across the river now. The soldiers huddled with the fugitives and hatched a plan. They would accompany the assassins in the ferryboat and help them on the other side. To the man who piloted the men across the river, the strangers were unremarkable, just another band of bedraggled rebels heading home after losing the war. The successful crossing represented a high point of this phase of the escape. After many disappointments, they had crossed safely south and found loyal Confederate comrades. Overcome with emotion, Booth shouted out, “I’m safe in glorious old Virginia, thank God!”
Willie Jett, Ruggles, Bainbridge, and the fugitives made their way to Locust Hill, a farm owned by Richard H. Garrett, seeking shelter for the night. Willie introduced himself and presented Booth: “Here is a wounded Confederate soldier that we want you to take care of for a day or so. Will you do it?”
Garrett thought of his sons, who had returned from the war safely just a few days ago. He would return that blessing with a kindness. He agreed to take them in.
The soldiers took Herold with them on a ride into a nearby town while Booth spent the night of April 24 at Garrett’s farm. Booth spun a believable tale for the Garretts. He had been wounded in battle and was now being chased by the Union cavalry.
Until now, most of the investigation and manhunt were focused on southern Maryland. That was about to change. Lafayette Baker, the notorious detective and War Department agent — and a favorite of Stanton’s — had been in Washington since April 16. Since his arrival, his deceitful, egotistical, and self-promoting ways had rubbed a number of the manhunters the wrong way. He even tried to steal other detectives’ leads. He was snooping around the telegraph office when the message came in: Two men had been seen crossing the Potomac. This report required action! Lafayette Baker seized the telegram, rushed back to his headquarters, and alerted his cousin Luther Byron Baker to the news of the sighting. Lafayette said, “I think Booth has crossed the river and I want you to go right out.”
Yes, two men had been seen crossing the river on April 16. But they were not Booth and Herold.
A telegraphed order to the commander of the Sixteenth New York Cavalry ordered a commissioned officer, Lieutenant Edward P. Doherty, to report to Luther Byron Baker. Baker handed him freshly printed photographs of three men. Doherty did not recognize two of them, but the third man was John Wilkes Booth. He was going after Lincoln’s assassin!
While Colonel Baker stayed behind in Washington to monitor telegraph traffic and protect his interest in the reward money, Edward Doherty, Luther Baker, and Everton Conger made their way across the water by steamboat, landing in Virginia. From there, the troops traveled south over land on horseback. If they kept moving, the soldiers of the Sixteenth New York would reach the same spot where the fugitives had crossed the Rappahannock by tomorrow afternoon, April 25.
(Previous page) Colonel Lafayette C. Baker and aides are depicted taking charge of the search for Booth. Although Baker had the trust of the secretary of war, he was a shady character who thwarted others hunting for Booth, claimed more credit than he deserved, and sought a large share of the reward money.
That evening, John Wilkes Booth enjoyed a leisurely supper with the Garretts. He relished the company and the genuine hospitality, so different from Dr. Stuart’s impolite, hostile reception. Herold rode into the nearby town of Bowling Green with the Confederates to purchase, of all things, a new pair of shoes. He would spend the night with them and rejoin Booth tomorrow, April 25, at Garrett’s farm. Booth would sleep in a real bed tonight. It had been days since he had slept in a proper bed, and this was the first night since the assassination that Booth and Herold spent apart.
Nearby, the cavalry divided their forces. One column was commanded by Everton Conger, one by Edward Doherty. They searched farmhouses and barns, questioned the occupants, making their way south to Port Conway. Booth’s head start over the manhunters began to shrink. It had taken Booth ten days to travel from Washington to the Port Conway ferry. It would take the cavalry, alerted by telegraph and traveling by steamboat, just one day to travel that distance.
On Monday, April 24, Dr. Samuel A. Mudd saw soldiers, too. They had come to his farm to arrest him and take him to the Old Capitol Prison. Confined and isolated, Mudd would wait to learn what price he would have to pay for his part in hiding Lincoln’s assassins.
The morning of April 25, Booth slept in. He talked and played with the Garrett children. He showed them his pocket compass, de
lighting them by making the needle dance when he held the point of his pocketknife above it. Early in the afternoon, the Garretts and Booth sat at the dinner table. Young John Garrett, back from an errand at a neighboring farm, reported that the U.S. government was offering a $140,000 reward for Abraham Lincoln’s assassin. The family discussed the assassination with Booth, speculating on why the murderer did it. The actor, still masquerading as a Confederate soldier, commented on his own crime and analyzed for the Garretts the motives of Lincoln’s killer!
Booth needed rest and would happily have spent a month with the Garretts recovering from his injury and regaining his strength. But it was time to move on. He asked for a map of Virginia. He said he would make his way to the town of Orange Court House, where he hoped to get a horse. He would ride south to join a Confederate army still in the field.
Booth should have left hours ago. He was too far north, within striking distance of Union troops.
Booth came out onto the porch. He became agitated when he saw riders moving past the farm’s front gate. To his obvious relief, the men just rode by. The danger was over for the moment. But Richard Garrett was alarmed by Booth’s reaction to the riders. Five minutes later, a lone man walked up the road to the farm. Booth asked eleven-year-old Richard Jr. to run and fetch his pistols and gun belt from his room upstairs. The Garretts expected a gun battle to break out in their yard at any moment. But Booth did not draw his pistols. It was David Herold, returning from his overnight stay a few miles south.
Chasing Lincoln's Killer Page 10
