A Night of Horrors: A Historical Thriller about the 24 Hours of Lincoln's Assassination

by Berry, John C.

  She had also been horrified at the state of the Executive Mansion. The wallpaper was curling from the walls. The furniture was often broken, and the carpets literally threadbare. She could not believe that the Congress did not appropriate funds for the upkeep of the President’s home, but it did not. Mary felt it was but national honor that must be upheld, so she also set about purchasing new furniture and carpets and repairing the walls. This, too, she did on credit.

  The creditors would send her letters reminding her of her outstanding bills from time to time. But Mary knew that as long as her husband was in office, she could hold her creditors at bay. No one would embarrass the President by presenting her debt to him. But as soon as her beloved husband left office, she knew that the bills would come due. Abraham would not be angry with her. She knew that all too well. He would be hurt and demoralized that she would behave in such a manner. He would take the responsibility onto himself to service their debt. She knew what his reaction would be and that is what made this so hard for her. She found that she could not stop ordering the dresses and his ignorance of their debt gave her a temporary comfort, but also a growing panic and concern.

  “You know, Mother,” Lincoln’s bright voice brought her out of her concerns. “I think we should plan to travel. I should like to go west to the Rockies and then to California. Colfax is heading out there for a trip. I told him that I envied him his itinerary.”

  “Where else would you like to go, Husband?” His cheerfulness was pulling her from her dark thoughts.

  “Well, Palestine for one. To go to the towns and villages where Christ walked would be a thrill beyond imagining. And Europe. I think we should go to Europe as well, Mary, don’t you?”

  “Oh, Father, you are such a boy at heart today,” Mary said and laughed. She placed her hand on his face and again noticed the gauntness to his cheek and the creases of endless worry around his eyes and forehead. The worry from her mounting debt and the constant concern she felt for her husband’s health had eaten away at her mood. Now, Mary felt a grating headache coming up behind her eyes. She worried it would sap her mood and didn’t want to spoil the day.

  The sun began to set over Washington City. The glow of the sun, as it touched the horizon, cast deep oranges and purples on the gray-streaked clouds. The spring day suddenly seemed to turn chilly and threatened rain. Abraham Lincoln felt the cold set in his bones as he often did at the end of the day. The carriage turned back into the grounds of the Executive Mansion. Lincoln checked his pocket watch and it was just past 6:00 PM. As they pulled up to the front of the house, he noticed a couple of friends walking across the lawn, away from the house. The President brightened at the thought of telling stories to these two. Lincoln hopped out of the carriage and called them back.

  “It is Governor Oglesby and General Haynie, Mother,” he informed her.

  “Father, I have developed a most troublesome headache. I am not sure that I want to go to the theater after all.”

  “Now, Mother, you heard that the people are expecting us. General Grant will not be there. I do not think I can disappoint them as well. Besides, if I do not go to the theater, I will be worn out with visitors here. We must go to the theater, if you can bear it.”

  “Alright, then. I will try.” He helped her step out of the carriage and she went into the house while he stood and awaited his friends who were walking back to talk with him.

  “Governor Oglesby and General Haynie, you must join Mrs. Lincoln and me at the theater this evening,” he called by way of greeting. Mary stopped at the front door and turned to see their reaction.

  “I apologize, Mr. President, but we are both engaged at a dinner party this evening,” the Governor called back. “But we did want to stop by for a brief visit prior to dinner if you have time. It is purely a social visit, I assure you.”

  Lincoln turned to his wife standing at the door and they exchanged a look. “That makes twelve, Mother,” he winked and she smiled back and turned to go into the Executive Mansion.

  Lincoln took his two friends up to the reception room outside of his office on the second floor and they sat down to chat. A sparkle took Lincoln’s eye and he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a copy of The Nasby Papers. These satirical stories were written from the point of view of an itinerate, illiterate preacher. Lincoln would often pull them from a desk drawer or a pocket in his coat and read to visitors. Leading Senators of the Republican Party were often stunned to find themselves being read to when they had arrived to discuss the saving of the Union Army. On those occasions, Lincoln did not care about the reception of his recital. Lincoln appreciated the healing nature of humor and the stress release of laughter if these too serious men did not. But Haynie and Oglesby were friends and joined in the President’s laughter as he regaled them with stories of John Phoenix. They talked and laughed along with the President, greatly enjoying the warmth and lightness of his mood.

  There was a knock at the door and the three men looked up.

  “Sir, Mrs. Lincoln says that you must come down for dinner or you will be late for the theater.” It was the butler, Charles.

  “Well, Charlie, I reckon I’ll be down shortly.” The butler had not even turned to go when Lincoln held the book up and began to read aloud and laugh simultaneously. His two friends grinned at each other and shook their heads.

  “Now, Mr. President, we do not want to be the cause for strife in the Executive Mansion,” Oglesby quipped.

  “What’s that you say?” Lincoln asked, having read right over his friend’s comment.

  “I say, we don’t want to be the cause for strife between you and the First Lady,” he repeated.

  “Now this is the best one in this volume. Listen here,” and ignoring the point his friend was attempting to make, the President launched off into another story. The three men were laughing uproariously when Charles appeared at the door of the reception room and knocked again.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. Mrs. Lincoln has sent me again and asked me to remind you that you have guests who are awaitin’ you once you’ve eaten dinner.”

  “Well, gentlemen, I suppose that a night of laughter among friends is better for my soul than a visit to the theater. But my appearance has been advertised and I reckon that I won’t disappoint the people.” He laid the slim volume onto the desk and stood up. The three men walked back down the stairs and Lincoln stepped into the family dining room at the foot of the stairs and the two men headed out by way of the vestibule at the front of the house.

  “Father, really. You know that we have guests accompanying us tonight,” Mary Lincoln chided her husband as he took his seat at the table.

  “Mother, the business of the nation,” he said by way of his standard reply.

  “And what business was that, Pa?” Little Tad asked his father.

  “The Nasby Papers!” Lincoln stated solemnly and then broke into a wide smile.

  “Such nonsense. And to keep us waiting for that trash.” Mary had never been a fan of the great enjoyment her husband took from lowbrow novels. “What would the nation say if they knew how much time you spent reading that man.”

  “Do you still read those, Father?” Robert asked.

  “Of course, I think that Locke is a master at the satirical form. I tried to get that man to take a place in my administration, but I couldn’t bring him to do it. It would’ve done me good to have him close at hand over the past four years, that I can tell you.”

  The Lincolns hastily finished their meal. Robert reminded his parents that he was going to bed early and Tad went to get his evening clothes on and comb his hair so he could go see Aladdin at the National Theatre.

  “Mary, I will stop by the War Department prior to our departure. I shouldn’t be long, but I do want to see if there is any word from Sherman.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

  “Of course, Father, but don’t be late. I’m going up to change for the theater.” Mary knew it was useless to argue with he
r husband about going by the War Department as he was there constantly. When he went prior to leaving for a dinner party or for the theater, he had a peace of mind he otherwise did not have. On those few times that Lincoln did not visit the Telegraph Office, he was distracted throughout the night. So she left to prepare for the play at Ford’s Theatre.

  The Final Word

  While the Lincolns were taking their tour of the USS Montauk, Booth was riding back to Ford’s Theatre. Rather than riding up to the front of the theater on Tenth Street, Booth turned into a small side street off of F Street and then took a small alley, known as Baptist Alley to the locals, to the back side of the theater where the stage hands and actors and actresses entered the theater. Several weeks earlier, Booth had one of the stagehands arrange for a makeshift stable here in the alley. This was in preparation for the abduction of the President. Now, Booth planned to stable his horse here for the evening so that it would be at the ready for his escape after shooting the tyrant.

  As Booth slowly walked the horse past the back door to the theater and towards the makeshift stable, Ned Spangler, the stagehand who created the little stable for Booth, stood up and walked over to greet him. The man had been lounging in the warm spring air with a young boy called Peanuts John who cleaned up around Ford’s and performed other menial tasks for the actors and stagehands. Ned Spangler was a tough, hard drinking man who never grew a beard, but his face was always covered in rough stubble. His long brown hair was interminably greasy and pulled back behind his ears. He had a good muscular build, which is why he got the job in the first place helping to build, move, and disassemble the scenery for the plays that were produced at Ford’s. Booth dismounted from the mare and handed the reins to Spangler. The stagehand come stable man began to unbuckle the girth to remove the saddle.

  “Never mind, I do not want the saddle off,” Booth instructed. “Also, leave the bridle on. She’s a bad little bitch,” Booth added with a smile. He walked the short distance from the stable to the backstage area of the theater. He could hear the muffled voices of the actors as they rehearsed Our American Cousin. Spangler walked up next to him after setting the horse in the stable.

  “Hello, Wilkes, how are ya?” He asked his friend and handed him the key to the stable.

  “Ned, did you lock the door to the stable?” Booth asked, ignoring the question. “I’ll need you to be ready to hold on to that mare for me tonight.”

  “She’s in the stable and all ready,” Spangler answered the actor’s first question and ignored the second.

  “No, I’ll need you to hold her outside the door here later tonight.” Spangler looked at the side of Booth’s face. The man was lost in thought, his eyes darting to and fro around the stage.

  “But, Wilkes, I’ll be needed to move the scenery tonight. I can’t just wait outside all night holding your horse,” Spangler protested. Booth turned and looked at Spangler.

  “You’ll damn well do what I pay you for.” Booth spit the words at him. Spangler stepped back and almost bumped into Peanuts John who had just come in the back door to join them.

  “Watch where ya are, boy!” Spangler hissed at him. Booth laughed and told them to come with him over to the Star Saloon for a drink of whiskey. The Star was next door to Ford’s and the actor had become friends with Taltavul, the owner, since he visited regularly. Taltavul wasn’t there when they arrived. Booth ordered whiskey for himself and Spangler and some water for Peanuts John. After asking some questions about the preparation for the benefit showing of the play tonight, Booth suddenly fell quiet. Spangler looked over at the actor and wondered why he wasn’t talking much with the two stagehands as he sat at the bar.

  Booth was once again quickly thinking through the action on the stage that would take place that night, ensuring himself that the stage would be cleared of all but one actor in the third act, and not before. His stomach was tight and gripping as the clock ticked by and brought the time Booth had appointed for the deed ever closer. He held up his glass and looked at the tea-colored whiskey and then drained the glass in one large gulp. He looked from the bottles lined up in front of the mirror behind the bar and stared at himself in the mirror, between the bottles of liquor and into his own eyes. They were blurred in the looking glass, but he could see how dark his eyes were next to his pale face. He checked the clock in the bar for the time and assumed that the rehearsal had come to an end by now. He dropped some coins on the bar to cover the drinks and walked out of the saloon without a word to Spangler or Peanuts John and returned to the back door of the theater.

  It was quiet and dark backstage of Ford’s Theatre. Booth walked through the scenery that was set up for the opening scene of Our American Cousin. He walked to center stage, his riding boots echoing in the empty theater. He paused and looked out over the empty chairs and seats. His heart began to race as he imagined the scene to be repeated just hours from now when he would face the filled house after his great act of patriotism.

  ‘All tyrants must die,’ he thought. ‘That is the motto of Virginia, my adopted state and the truest and greatest state in the Confederacy. The birthplace of true presidents like Washington and Jefferson.’ Then Booth looked up at the box where the President would be sitting. The Ford brothers, ever the showmen, had festooned it with flags and a portrait of George Washington.

  Booth looked at the railing of the box and let his eyes drop from there down to the floor of the stage. It was but a dozen feet, a height he had jumped many times in his career. He scanned the dress circle and let his eyes cover the path that he would take that night when he entered the theater: across the back and to the door of the box. Then, once inside he’d do the deed and jump to the stage. He turned his body, imagining the path of his flight across the stage, through the scenery, out the back door, onto his horse, and across Washington City and through Southern Maryland and on to Virginia and the South!

  Booth proceeded to the orchestra and grabbed a music stand that was sitting next to the wall. He carried it backstage to one of the workrooms and there he quickly took a saw and cut the base and pedestal from the stand. He then took a back stairway that carried him up to the second floor and a passageway that led to the private boxes. The box that the President purchased was actually two boxes. The Fords always removed a partition when a dignitary rented it so as to make it larger and more accommodating. The entrance to the box was at the same level as the dress circle. There was a door right off the main seating area that opened to a small vestibule. Two doors opened from this vestibule, each leading to a box. Since the partition had been removed, one of the doors was closed and the other stood open. Booth walked through the vestibule and into the box. His boots thumped in the still theater, creating an echoing hollow sound. He stood motionless and felt the quiet theater buzz in his ears.

  Booth looked down on the empty seats and vacant Orchestra pit. He had filled many theaters in his day, including Ford’s Theatre. Even as the leading star, though, there were always the whispers and comments that he wasn’t quite as good as his brother and certainly not on par with his father. The whispered words constantly cut at Booth’s ego.

  “You’ll see,” he always responded. “My name will be greater than any other Booth. More famous than any other actor in America.”

  And then Lincoln was elected and the war came because the Abolitionists would have it no other way. Though he desperately wanted to fight for his beloved South, he could not bring himself to it. Rather, he maintained his status and fame and newfound wealth with his acting career. But when the war began to go against the South, he could no longer simply watch and so he used his status and career to help the Southern cause in small ways.

  But the desperate desire for fame and glory ate away at his heart until the footlights of the stage no longer seemed to glow and burn, but were garish and glaring. So Booth turned his ceaseless energies to ever more daring plans until he stuck with the improbable plot to kidnap and ransom the President of the United States of America.

>   As Booth leaned on the handrail of the Lincoln’s private box in the empty theater, he imagined looking down on throngs of joyful Southerners cheering a war hero. That would be much more satisfying than the cheers and applause for a stage actor. Booth knew that his time had come. In one bold act, he would become the most famous man in America, if not all the world. What perfect symmetry that it would be done in a theater and on stage!

  Wilkes Booth turned back to look at the box. The Ford brothers had already outfitted the box for the Lincolns with a deep burgundy rocking chair, matching sofa, two stuffed sitting chairs, and a plain wooden chair with a white cushioned seat next to the rocking chair, presumably for Mary Lincoln. Booth looked at the arrangements and assumed that other guests had been found for the Presidential party or the Fords didn’t know that Grant had fled the city.

  He walked back to the railing and looked down at the stage and then ran his eyes over the empty seats of the theater. ‘All of these will be filled with an audience who will witness the greatest drama ever performed on a stage!’ He thought to himself. ‘But first, the preparations.’

  He walked back into the vestibule and went to the first door leading out to the dress circle and closed it. He held up the wooden rod he had cut from the music stand. He placed one end against the door, arranging it so that it rested against the molding carved into the face of the door. He shoved the other end of the rod into the wall. A bit of plaster flaked off. Booth hit it with the heel of his hand a couple of times to make a mark. The knocking and pounding echoed around the empty theater, but Booth felt sure no one was within earshot since they were all taking their customary break prior to the show. He took a pin knife from his pocket and used it to cut a hole in the wall just large enough for the end of the stand to rest securely. He set the rod in place, one end in the small hole he cut in the wall and the other propped against the door itself. The result was an effective bar that ensured the door would remain closed to anyone trying to gain access once Booth set it in place. In fact, the more they pushed against the door to open it, the more tightly they’d lodge the brace into place. He would use the brace not only to keep anyone from gaining access to him, it would also ensure no one could get to Lincoln to offer aid once he shot him.