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

by Berry, John C.

  The carriage pulled into the drive in front of the Harris mansion right at 8:00 PM, so the party was going to be late for the play. Major Rathbone had been looking at the window for the arrival of the President and the couple descended the front steps as the carriage was pulling up in front of the house. Major Rathbone was wearing his dress uniform. The crown of his head was nearly bald from a severely receding hairline. He sported a rather large mustache that was connected to bushy sideburns that came so low on his cheek they gave the appearance of a beard. Rathbone had kind eyes and a rather small head that belied his courage and strength. His fiancé was a beauty. She had her hair braided and rolled into a fashionable and elegant bun. She, like the First Lady, was wearing a bonnet and a silk spring dress. Their dresses bloomed out from around them, lifted by the full crinoline hidden beneath. They were fully and formally dressed for their night at the theater. Clara descended the steps with her arm in Major Rathbone’s. The foggy night had grown chilly and she had made sure that she wore a warm cape as Ford’s Theater had no central heat and could be rather cold by the third act of the play.

  Lincoln hopped out of the carriage and handed Clara up the steps. “Good evenin’, Miss Harris. You look lovely this evenin’. Major.” He nodded at the Major and Rathbone waited for the President to climb back into the carriage and fold his long legs into a sitting position. As Rathbone sat down and pulled the door closed, Lincoln called to Burke to head for the theater.

  “Oh, Mrs. Lincoln, did you go to the grand Illumination last evening?” Clara asked Mary.

  “No, Clara, dear, we stayed home. Was it wonderful?” The First Lady asked.

  “All of the buildings were lit up with candles and gas jets and festooned with flags. There were immense bonfires throughout the city and the streets flowed with people like a river with water.”

  “My dear Clara, what a poetess you are!” Exclaimed Lincoln, flashing a smile at her through the dark.

  “Yes, flowing with whiskey and ale, too, I might add,” remarked the Major. “There were a few times that I had to pull her to me in order to keep a drunken sot from tripping into her.”

  “I am sure that you are not complaining about that work,” the President laughed and Clara blushed so deeply he could see her glowing through the dark.

  “Henry, do you recall which building it was that had configured their gas jets to look like stars? It was so beautiful I thought I would weep,” she said looking to the Major.

  “I cannot recall. We saw so many, but it was a sight to see. It was the Willard Hotel that used them to spell out the word ‘Union,’ wasn’t it?”

  “Now that is a word that we can see and speak more often than not in the coming years,” Lincoln remarked.

  “We went down to the Navy Yard today and walked around on the USS Montauk. It’s an ironclad monitor ship in for repairs,” Mary said to her friend.

  “It’d seen some good hittin’ in her time. Bombarded Charleston Harbor to help liberate Fort Sumter,” Lincoln added. The party grew quiet for a moment. Lincoln looked out at the foggy night and the gaslights glowing. They had turned from the cobblestone of Pennsylvania Avenue and were now clopping down E Street, which was a dirt street. The carriage wheels were quieter now that they were off the cobblestones, but the carriage bounced along as the spring rains had rutted the dirt street and left potholes. From time to time a hotel would loom out of the fog as they went by. The President’s mind fell into the permutations and combinations of bringing the southern states back into the Union. As they turned onto 10th Street, they could hear the barkers standing outside of Ford’s guiding them: “Ford’s Theatre this way! Ford’s this way!” They stood by fires burning in barrels and hallooed through the fog so patrons could find their way safely to the theater.

  Burke pulled the carriage up to the carriage stone. The President hopped out and handed each of the ladies down; the Major joined them on the sidewalk. A handful of people had been waiting outside of the theater to see the President as he went inside. They stood and stared through the fog whispering and then broke into quiet applause and hurrahs. He turned to them and bowed his head as Mary took his arm and they walked into the theater. Once inside the lobby, Lincoln removed his stovepipe hat, white gloves, and overcoat and folded it over his left arm. Mary was wearing a light gray spring silk dress with black pinhead check and an old fashioned black coal scuttle bonnet trimmed with white satin. Over her dress, she was wearing a black velvet cloak edged with ermine, which she decided to leave on.

  The party walked up the staircase that led to the dressing circle. As they quietly passed by the crowded house to the back of the dressing circle, members of the audience turned to see the President. A few in the audience were disappointed when they did not see General Grant, but a Major in his place. Most were pleased that the President had come to the show after all. Some in the audience began to stand and turn to face the President. On the stage, the actors realizing, that the President had arrived, adlibbed a few lines in honor of his arrival. “No they don’t see you … but they do see him!” The audience laughed and then wild applause broke out throughout the house. The entire audience now stood and turned to face the President and his party. Halfway across the back wall of the dressing circle, he stopped and took in the rounds of applause and cheers on his behalf. He bowed to them in recognition and then continued his progress across the back of the theater.

  A young Army Surgeon named Charles Leale was sitting in the dressing circle and was struck by how sad and drawn the President appeared. His concern was brief, however, as he clapped as loudly as anyone in the theater as he was a strong supporter of the President and his policies. Leale was a young officer, just twenty-three years old, but the grinding machine of civil war had brought him more patients in a few short years than many would tend to in a lifetime. Though he was young, Leale’s hair was thin and receded well back from his forehead. He sported a thin moustache and sideburns that went down to his jaw line. He was devoted to his patients and would often work late into the evening. This past Tuesday, just three days before, Leale had left the hospital late in the evening and breathed in the fresh spring air. There was a quality to the breeze that only came in the springtime in Washington City and he relished the slight balminess of the breeze. He had decided to take a walk and refresh himself in the evening air. As he walked, he realized there were scores of people walking down Pennsylvania Avenue towards the Executive Mansion. Leale had fallen into step with the growing crowds and as he had walked along, he had gathered that Abraham Lincoln was to make his first speech since Robert E. Lee had surrendered. This was an opportunity that he did not want to pass up. Leale had walked with the crowd onto the grounds of the Executive Mansion and had found himself standing very near the window from which Lincoln addressed the crowd. He had been close enough to distinctly hear the President describe what a reconstructed Union should look like, what steps the country should take to bring individual states in rebellion back into the fold, and the surprise announcement that he supported suffrage for Negroes who had fought for the Union and were intelligent. As Lincoln spoke, the lamplight from the room had created a halo around his head and shoulders. The President’s face had seemed to glow from the candle held over his speech so he could read it. As he had read from his prepared message, he had let each leaf of paper drop to the ground.

  In the same crowd, John Wilkes Booth, Lewis Powell, and David Herold grew restless and angry as Lincoln made the case for Negro suffrage. But Charles Leale had walked slowly back to his room after that speech and reflected on the experience of listening to Lincoln. He was profoundly impressed with his appearance at the window bathed in rays of light that penetrated from the windows of the Executive Mansion.

  Listening to the President was almost a religious experience for Doctor Leale and he committed to himself that he would take advantage of the next opportunity that presented itself for him to see or listen to Lincoln again. He had an intense desire to further study the character
istics of this man who was saving a nation. So when he learned earlier that day that Abraham Lincoln, General Ulysses Grant, and possibly members of the Cabinet would be attending Our American Cousin at Ford’s Theatre that very night, Leale had gone directly to his Ward Master and let him know that he would be excusing himself for a few hours that evening. His rounds ran later than he’d planned, but some of his patients had pressing needs that he had to tend to.

  Once Leale had finished, he rushed home to change into civilian clothes as he did not want to be detained by the provost marshals who invariably challenged men in uniform in Washington City to see their special pass that allowed them to be in the city. Leale arrived at the theater fifteen minutes after 8:00 and worried that he’d missed Lincoln’s entrance. He purchased a seat and planned to go to the orchestra section so that he could have a better view into the private box where the President would be sitting. As he entered the auditorium from the lobby, he quickly looked up to the President’s Box and saw that it had been decorated with flags and a portrait of George Washington. He also realized that it was empty and he had not missed the grand entrance of the man whom he had made special plans to study that night. To his disappointment, he saw that he would have to sit in the dressing circle because the orchestra was full. His spirits brightened when he found a single empty seat towards the front of the dress circle and just 40 feet from the President’s Box. As Leale was becoming engrossed in the play, a wild cheer broke out in the auditorium. He stood and turned to see President Lincoln making his way across the back of the dressing circle. He was walking with a young lady on his arm and a major was escorting Mrs. Lincoln behind them. So it wasn’t going to be General Grant and the Cabinet after all.

  Dr. Leale was immediately struck by the President’s stoical face. His deep-set eyes gave him a pathetically sad appearance. He was surprised that the enthusiastically cheering audience did not seem to make him happier. Rather, he alone of all the members in the theater looked peculiarly sorrowful as he slowly walked with bowed head and drooping shoulders towards their box. He stopped and gave the audience a smile and bowed, but the happy expression was fleeting. The doctor thought it odd that at a moment such as this, a moment of victory and redemption for a nation, should create such sorrow in the man who had applied a firm and guiding hand to ensure a victorious outcome. He watched as Lincoln made his way to the box. The man in front guiding the party opened the door to four members of the Presidential party, closed it, and then took a seat outside the door. As he returned to his seat, Leale constantly looked over to the box to see if he could catch a glimpse of the President as the play proceeded. He could not see Lincoln too well, but he had been pleased with the clear view he had of him as he walked by to his box. Leale’s heart lifted and he felt like a boy gazing on his hero. As Lincoln and his party stepped down to the door that led to their private box, the actors returned to their play and the theatergoers all took their seats.

  No one in the Presidential party noticed the plank of wood lying on the ground against the wall as they entered the small vestibule outside of their private box. Major Rathbone did not see the odd small hole that had been drilled into the door just above the doorknob. Lincoln took off his woolen overcoat and hung it on the door and slipped his white gloves into the pockets. He took his seat in the rocking chair that was farthest from the stage. Mary took the seat next to her husband. Rathbone escorted Clara to one of the chairs at the opposite end of the box and then he sat on the end of the sofa closest to his fiancé. Lincoln was pleased to see that the flags that draped the box sheltered him from prying eyes, but it also made it hard for him to see who was at the theater tonight. That was one of his favorite pastimes. He settled in and turned his attention to the stage and reached over to grab his wife’s hand.

  “What will Miss Harris say, Husband?” She asked Lincoln in mock embarrassment.

  “That I love my wife, I reckon,” was his response and he smiled at her. The glow of the footlights caught his brown eyes and they lit up just as they did back home in Springfield when he would talk of the future they would have together. She squeezed his hand and smiled warmly then turned her attention to the play already in progress on the stage below them.

  The box the President sat in was actually designed by the Ford brothers more to allow the audience members to see the dignitaries who had secured the box than for the occupants to have a good view of the stage. It was just off the dressing circle that was the first level above the orchestra section in the theater. The dressing circle curved around the back of the theater and led to boxes at each end. The President’s box was stage left and literally was above the left side of the stage, so while prying eyes had just as good a vantage into the box as they did to the stage, those inside the box were virtually on the side of the stage and looking across the length of the stage. That was Ford’s genius, as the residents of Washington City were often more interested in watching statesmen and their wives out in public than they were the playacting on the stage.

  Dr. Leale peered over to the box periodically and saw the President pull the flag back and look down into the orchestra section and back over to the dressing circle. When the doctor could make out the President, he would spend the next several minutes watching him rather than the play. Lincoln put his elbows on his knees and then placed his chin on his hands. It struck the doctor that the President was suffering from exhaustion. Then Lincoln would sit up and laugh heartily at something in the play and Leale would look back down at the stage and try to figure out what he’d missed. All in all, it was turning out to be a wonderful night for theater-going.

  A Night of Calm, Disturbed

  Edwin Stanton tugged on the bell pull in his office and a messenger boy came scurrying. These young men sat lined up in the hallways awaiting the ringing summons to the Secretary’s office. The note was to his wife letting her know that he would be arriving early for dinner, but he would need to eat quickly because he was going over to visit William Seward shortly after dinner to see how the Secretary of State was recovering from his near fatal carriage accident. The messenger boys, aides, and even the assistant secretaries of war were always on the lookout for a ringing summons or messenger that called them to the War Secretary’s office. When he had assumed the office of War Secretary on January 20, 1862, Edwin Stanton brought an iron discipline and incorruptible morality to the office. Simon Cameron, his predecessor, had been appointed more for political reasons than for his latent abilities to lead a large department and administer a war. Within a year of assuming office, the war machine that the Union so badly needed had not been built and the department had lacked the discipline necessary to move the war forward. Then the charges of corruption against Cameron had increased and become a political liability to Lincoln. The President had made the decision that he would remove Cameron, but who should replace him? The Secretary of War was the most important seat in his Cabinet and would run the largest department of the United States Government. A number of influential leaders of both Republican and Democratic parties urged Lincoln to appoint Edwin Stanton to the post if Cameron was to be dismissed. Lincoln, a consummate politician, saw the advantages to Stanton, because he was a life-time Democrat, but also an ardent unionist. Bringing on a leader of the opposing party could create some goodwill among his political enemies at a time when the war was not going too well.

  Stanton, a nationally known attorney with a thriving practice, greatly desired to take the position of Secretary of War. He had a patriotic sense of duty, but he also felt that if he was on the inside, he would have the ability to influence, if not control, Lincoln for the good of the country. Stanton had served as Attorney General under the previous President, James Buchanan, for the last months of that administration and had seen the need for strong men to bolster the President in a moment of crisis. James Buchanan had determined that he would try to outlast the growing crisis between north and south in the waning months of his presidency rather than make some of the difficult decisions
that the times demanded. Stanton had worked closely, and in secret, with members of the Senate to sway Buchanan not to appease the Southern states.

  A number of years earlier in Illinois, Stanton had been one of the leading attorneys of a patent lawsuit, and he had hired a somewhat obscure attorney named Abraham Lincoln to conduct some research pertinent to Illinois law. Though they had never met, Lincoln had a solid reputation as a local attorney. The venue for the trial changed, away from Illinois, however, and Stanton no longer had a use for Lincoln and his research. In the busyness of preparation, Stanton had failed to discharge Lincoln from his duties. Lincoln showed up for the trial, with his research in hand. Stanton, rather than explaining his error, instead refused to see Lincoln or even acknowledge his presence. Stanton not only rudely snubbed Lincoln at every turn, he simply ignored him throughout the trial.

  Based on his earlier impressions of the President, Edwin Stanton did not have much confidence in the man’s ability to administer the country, much less a country at war. For this reason, he felt that if Lincoln could overlook his earlier rudeness, then he would be on the inside and able to provide some stability to the rocky beginning of this President’s administration. Stanton received his appointment and went on to become, as many called him, ‘the right hand of the President.’ Lincoln never brought up the treatment he had received from Stanton during the patent trial years before, and Stanton’s opinion of Lincoln’s intelligence and abilities as a national administrator dramatically changed for the better the longer they worked together. Stanton brought an energy and integrity to the War Department, neither of which Cameron possessed. Stanton’s priority was always equipping the fighting men, and he would ensure that there was no graft, nor even the appearance of favoritism. He was famous for not only refusing to appoint personal friends of senators and congressmen, but he would write scathing letters in response to their requests, lecturing them on the impropriety of nepotism in the War Department. Even Mary Lincoln was subjected to his biting and scolding letters.