The difference in Lincoln’s usual parting phrase troubles William Crook, but he can’t explain why.
A painting by John Chester Buttre of Lincoln in his office.
Chapter
27
FRIDAY, APRIL 14, 1865
Washington, D. C.
8 P. M.
THE FOUR CONSPIRATORS SQUEEZE into room six at the Herndon House hotel. David Herold, Lewis Powell, and George Atzerodt lounge on the chairs and perch on the edge of the bed as Booth talks them through the plan.
First, Booth tells them that the precise time of the president’s assassination will be ten fifteen P.M.
Second, Booth reminds the group that the murders of Seward and Johnson must also take place at ten fifteen. The precision is vital. Booth hopes to create the illusion that Washington, D.C., is a hotbed of assassins, resulting in the sort of mass chaos that will make it easier for them all to escape.
Next comes the assignments. The job of murdering Secretary of State Seward will be a two-man affair, with Lewis Powell and David Herold working together. Powell will be the man who actually walks up to the door, finds a way to enter the house, and commits the crime. The ruse that will get him in the door is a fake bottle of medication, which Powell will claim was sent by Seward’s physician.
Herold’s role is to assist in the getaway. He knows Washington’s back alleys and shortcuts and will guide Powell, who knows little about the city, to safety. During the murder, Herold must wait outside and hold their horses. Once Powell exits the house, the two men will leave town via the Navy Yard Bridge and rendezvous with the others in the Maryland countryside.
Secretary of State William H. Seward.
Unlike the others, Powell has actually killed before. During the war, the Alabaman fought in several major battles, was wounded at Gettysburg, successfully escaped from a prisoner-of-war camp, and worked for the Confederate Secret Service. He is a solid horseman and quick with a knife. Thanks to his military training, Powell knows the value of reconnaissance. He prepared for his part of the plot that morning by walking past Secretary of State Seward’s home on Madison Place, checking for the best possible ways in and out of the building. He boldly struck up a conversation with Seward’s male nurse, just to make sure the secretary was indeed at home.
George Atzerodt will act alone. Killing Vice President Andrew Johnson does not seem difficult. Though Johnson is a vigorous man, he is known to be unguarded and alone most of the time. Atzerodt is to knock on the door of his hotel room and shoot him when he answers. Atzerodt will also escape Washington over the Navy Yard Bridge, then gallop into Maryland. From there, Atzerodt’s familiarity with smugglers’ trails will allow him to guide the men farther south and away from Union forces.
Finally, it dawns on one very drunk George Atzerodt that the plan has shifted from kidnapping to murder. He moonlights as a smuggler, ferrying mail, contraband, and people across the broad Potomac into Virginia. Atzerodt’s role in the kidnapping was to be an act of commerce, not rebellion. He was to be paid handsomely to smuggle the bound-and-gagged Lincoln into the hands of the Confederates.
Some of the belongings John Wilkes Booth took with him when he left his hotel room on April 14, 1865.
But there is no longer a Confederacy, no longer a kidnapping plot, no longer a need for a boat, and certainly no longer a need for a smuggler—at least in Atzerodt’s mind. The thirty-year-old German immigrant slurs that he wants out.
Booth cannot do without Atzerodt. His boat and his knowledge of the Potomac’s currents are vital to their escape. A massive manhunt will surely begin the instant Lincoln is killed. But with Atzerodt’s guidance, Booth and his men can rush through rural Maryland ahead of the search parties, cross the Potomac, and follow smugglers’ routes south to Mexico.
“Then we will do it,” Booth says, nodding at Herold and Powell, never taking his eyes off the drunk German. “But what will come of you?”
Booth blackmails Atzerodt, saying he’s in too deep to back out. Booth adds that if he’s caught and questioned, he’ll say that Atzerodt was a member of the conspiracy. Finally, Booth says that if Atzerodt still refuses to go along with the conspiracy, Booth will shoot him dead on the spot. Atzerodt sighs and nods. Murder it is.
An 1874 illustration of a typical house in Washington, D.C., indicating it still had a small-town feel despite being the nation’s capital.
Booth reminds the others that their post-assassination rendezvous point is the road to Nanjemoy, on the Maryland side of the Potomac at a place called Soper’s Hill.
Booth shakes hands with each man. They leave one at a time and go their separate ways.
Chapter
28
FRIDAY, APRIL 14, 1865
Washington, D. C.
8:30 P. M.
BOOTH GOBBLES DOWN a quick dinner in the National Hotel’s dining room. As soon as he finishes, he walks up to his room to get his weapons and gear. Our American Cousin starts at eight, and his plan will go into action shortly after ten P.M.
His cue is simple: there is a moment in the third act when the actor Harry Hawk, playing the part of Asa Trenchard, is the only person onstage. He utters a line that never fails to make the audience laugh. “Don’t know the manners of good society, eh?” he says to the character of the busybody, Mrs. Mountchessington, who has insulted him before exiting the stage. “Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal—you sockdologizing old man-trap.”
The instant the Ford’s audience explodes into laughter, Booth will kill Lincoln. He will toss the pistol aside and then use his knife to battle his way out if cornered.
The key part of his plan is to keep moving forward at all times—forward from the back wall of the box, forward to Lincoln’s rocking chair, forward up and over the railing and down onto the stage, forward to the backstage door, forward to Maryland, and then forward all the way to Mexico, exile, and safety.
But Booth will stop for an instant in the midst of all that rapid movement. The actor in him cannot resist the chance to utter one last bold line from center stage. After leaping from the balcony Booth will stand tall and, in his best actor’s voice, pronounce the Latin phrase sic semper tyrannis—thus always to tyrants. As Booth sees it, Lincoln is an evil tyrant who wants to destroy the South and its way of life. Booth will be the South’s hero and slay the evil Lincoln.
John Wilkes Booth’s knife and its sheath.
Booth has stolen the phrase, truth be told, from the state of Virginia. It is the commonwealth’s motto.
No matter. The words are perfect.
Booth leaves quite a bit of evidence behind in his hotel room. Among the personal effects that authorities will later find are a broken comb, tobacco, embroidered slippers, and one very telling scrap of paper. On it are written the keys to top-secret coded Confederate messages that link him with Jefferson Davis’s office in Richmond and with the million-dollar gold fund in Montreal. Finally, there is a suitcase filled with documents and letters that implicate John Surratt and, by extension, his mother, Mary.
He walks downstairs and slides his key across the front desk. “Are you going to Ford’s tonight?” he asks George W. Bunker, the clerk on duty.
“No,” comes the reply.
“You ought to go,” Booth says with a wink on his way out the door. “There is going to be some splendid acting.”
Chapter
29
FRIDAY, APRIL 14, 1865
Washington, D. C.
8:05 P. M.
“WOULD YOU HAVE US BE LATE?” Mary Lincoln chides her husband, standing in his office doorway. Speaker of the House Schuyler Colfax dropped by a half hour ago and was granted a few minutes of Lincoln’s time. But those few minutes have stretched into half an hour. The curtain has already risen on Our American Cousin. Making matters worse, the Lincolns still have to pick up their theater guests. They’ll be lucky to arrive at Ford’s in time for the second act.
Schuyler Colfax.
Next, for
mer Massachusetts congressman George Ashmun wants to see Lincoln. But Mary’s pleas against any additional delay finally have an effect. Lincoln hastily pulls a card from his jacket pocket and jots a short note inviting Ashmun to return at nine in the morning.
Finally, Lincoln walks downstairs and out onto the front porch, where the presidential carriage awaits.
Personal assistant Charles Forbes helps Mary up the steps of the carriage as Lincoln says a few final words to Ashmun and Colfax, who have followed him outside. The president hears footsteps on the gravel and the familiar voice of former Illinois congressman Isaac Arnold calling his name.
Lincoln is about to follow Mary into the carriage, but he waits. Arnold was a faithful supporter of Lincoln during the war’s darkest hours, and the resulting dip in the president’s popularity cost Arnold his seat in the House. The least Lincoln can do is acknowledge him. He bends his head to listen as Arnold whispers in his ear.
Isaac Newton Arnold.
Lincoln nods. “Excuse me now,” he begs. “I am going to the theater. Come see me in the morning.”
The Harris residence, at H and Fifteenth Streets, is almost right across the street from the White House, so the Lincolns are able to quickly pick up their guests.
As the carriage travels the seven blocks to the theater, Major Rathbone, with his muttonchops and broad mustache, sits facing Lincoln, talking about his experiences in the war. Finally, they reach Ford’s.
Driver Francis Burns steps down and walks the horses the final few feet to the theater. The two cavalry escorts trailing the carriage wheel their horses back to their barracks. They will return and finish their guard duty once the show ends.
It is eight twenty-five when Lincoln steps through the front door of the theater. Now rejoined by bodyguard John Parker, the Lincolns and their guests climb the stairs to their box. Onstage, the actors are more than aware that the audience is in a foul mood. Having bought tickets in hopes of seeing Lincoln and Grant, the theatergoers have monitored the state box, only to find it empty.
Laura Keene as Portia, from the William Shakespeare play The Merchant of Venice.
So when Lincoln finally arrives, there is relief onstage. Laura Keene improvises a line that refers to Lincoln, making the audience turn toward the side of the theater in order to witness his appearance. William Withers, the orchestra director, immediately stops the show’s music and instructs the band to play “Hail to the Chief.”
Lincoln allows Rathbone and Harris to enter the state box first, followed by Mary. Then he walks to the front of the box so the crowd can see him. The audience members rise to their feet and cheer, making a noise that Withers can only describe as “breathtaking.” Lincoln bows twice as the audience cheers.
The Ford’s Theatre state box, restored to how it looked on the night of the assassination. President Lincoln’s rocking chair is on the left.
Ford’s Theatre as seen from the stage.
Only when the applause dies down does Lincoln ease into the rocking chair on the left side of the box.
* * *
A single door leads into the state box. On the other side of the door is a narrow, unlit hallway. At the end of the hallway is yet another door. This is the only route to and from the spot where Lincoln is sitting. It is John Parker’s job to pull up a chair and wait in front of this hallway door, making sure that no one goes in or out.
But on the night of April 14, 1865, as Abraham Lincoln relaxes in his rocking chair and laughs out loud for the first time in months, John Parker gets thirsty. He is bored, and he can’t see the play. Taltavul’s Star Saloon next door calls to him. Pushing his chair against the wall, he leaves the door to the state box hallway unguarded and walks outside. Charles Forbes is taking a nap on the driver’s seat of Lincoln’s carriage, oblivious to the fog and drizzle.
The rocking chair that was placed in the state box when President Lincoln was in the audience.
“How about a little ale?” Parker asks, knowing that Forbes will be an eager drinking buddy. The two walk into Taltavul’s and make themselves comfortable. The show won’t be over for two more hours—plenty of time to have a few beers before the Lincolns need them again.
Chapter
30
FRIDAY, APRIL 14, 1865
Washington, D. C.
9:30 P. M.
BOOTH GUIDES HIS HORSE into the alley behind Ford’s Theatre. The night is quiet, except for the peals of laughter coming from inside the theater. He dismounts and shouts for Ned Spangler to come hold his horse. The stagehand appears at the back door, visibly distressed about the possibility of missing an all-important stage cue. Booth doesn’t care. He demands that Spangler come outside and secure the animal. The last thing Booth needs is for his escape to be ruined by a runaway horse.
Spangler insists that he can’t do the job. Booth persists. Spangler says he is willing to do anything for a great actor such as Booth—anything but lose his job. He dashes back into the theater and returns with Joseph Burroughs, a young boy who does odd jobs at Ford’s Theatre and goes by the nickname “Peanut John.” Booth hands Peanut John the reins and tells him to stay at the back door with the horse until he returns.
Peanut John, hoping that Booth will give him money for the effort, agrees. He sits on the stone step and shivers in the damp night air, his fist clutched tightly around the reins.
In the weeks following Lincoln’s assassination, artists drew many imaginary scenes of the event. Here the artist John L. Magee shows Satan encouraging Booth to kill the president.
Booth slides into the theater. The sound of the onstage actors speaking their lines fills the darkened backstage area. As he removes his riding gloves, he makes a show of saying hello to the cast and crew, most of whom he knows well. His eyes scrutinize the layout, memorizing the location of every stagehand and prop, not wanting anything to get in the way of his exit.
There is a tunnel under the stage, crossing from one side to the other. Booth checks to make sure that nothing clutters the passage. When he reaches the far side, Booth exits Ford’s through yet another backstage door. This one leads to an alley, which runs down to Tenth Street. There’s no one there.
Ford’s Theatre is flanked on either side by taverns—the Greenback Saloon to the left and Taltavul’s Star Saloon to the right. Theatergoers often go to one or the other for a drink at intermission. Now, feeling very pleased with himself, Booth pops into Taltavul’s for a whiskey. He orders a whole bottle, then sits down at the bar. Incredibly, Lincoln’s bodyguard is sipping a large tankard of ale just a few feet away.
At ten o’clock, Booth finally lowers his glass and walks back to Ford’s Theatre.
A painting of the inside of the state box at Ford’s Theatre.
Chapter
31
FRIDAY, APRIL 14, 1865
Washington, D. C.
10:00 P. M.
THE THIRD ACT IS UNDER WAY. Soon the play will be over, and the Lincolns will return to the White House.
It is seven minutes past ten. After exchanging some small talk with ticket taker John Buckingham, who lets the actor in “courtesy of the house,” Booth walks off. Buckingham’s coworker Joseph Sessford points out that Booth has been in and out of the theater all day. “Wonder what he’s up to?” Sessford mutters to Buckingham. They watch as Booth climbs the staircase to the dress circle, which leads to the hallway to the state box. But neither man thinks Booth’s unusual behavior deserves closer scrutiny. They watch him disappear up the stairs and then return their attention to the front door and to the patrons returning late from intermission.
At the top of the stairs, Booth enters the dress circle lobby. He is now inside the darkened theater, standing directly behind the seats of the second-level audience.
Booth approaches the door leading into the state box hallway. He sees Charles Forbes sitting in John Parker’s chair. Instead of staying in the tavern with Parker, the slightly drunk Forbes decided to go into the theater and sit in Parker’s chair. S
ensing that Forbes is not a regular guard, Booth manages to smooth talk the unsuspecting Forbes and gives him a piece of paper with some writing on it. Even though Forbes was questioned later by police about the meeting and the paper, the paper was never found and its message never revealed. Flattered by the attention of the famous actor, Forbes lets Booth step through the doorway without questioning him.
Ford’s Theatre as seen from the left side of the audience section. The flag-draped state box is on the upper level. The doorway Booth used to access the state box hallway is to the right of the state box.
An illustration of the hallway leading to the state box.
Booth now jams the wooden music stand he had seen earlier into the side of the door so that it wedges the door shut from the inside.
He creeps down the hallway. To get a better view of the president, he looks through the peephole in the wall at the back of the box. Authorities will later claim that Booth had carved the hole earlier in the day, but there is no proof of that.
Booth sees that Clara Harris and Major Rathbone are sitting along the wall to his far right, at an angle to the stage, and the Lincolns are along the railing.
He can hear the players down below, and he knows that, in a few short lines, Harry Hawk’s character Asa Trenchard will be alone, delivering his “sockdologizing old man-trap” line.
Booth’s cue is just ten seconds away.
He presses his black hat back down onto his head, then removes the derringer from his coat pocket and grasps it in his right fist. With his left hand, he slides the long, razor-sharp knife from its sheath.
Booth takes a deep breath and softly pushes the door open with his knife hand. The box is dimly lit from the footlights down below. He presses his body against the wall, careful to stay in the shadows while awaiting his cue. Abraham Lincoln’s head is visible over the top of his rocking chair, just four short feet in front of Booth; then Lincoln looks down and to the left, at the audience.
Lincoln's Last Days Page 7
