American Brutus

by Michael W. Kauffman

  Edwin Stanton was still a little unsteady. News of the assassination had unhinged him, and the horrors of the Seward house had left him shaken and distracted. He feared for his own life, and for good reason. The attacks were presumed to be a Confederate war measure, yet they had missed the most logical targets—Generals Grant, Halleck, Augur, and Hancock, or any telegraph operator in Washington. Stanton himself should have headed the list. But indeed, he and the entire chain of command beneath him were untouched. It remained to be seen whether the conspirators would correct that oversight. 4

  A court of inquiry was convened in the rear parlor of the Petersen house, as three of the city’s most experienced lawyers examined witnesses to the crime. Chief Justice David K. Cartter had appointed himself chief investigator. Cartter, an enormous man with a pockmarked face, was an intimidating figure. His fellow panelists, attorney Britten A. Hill and Justice Abram B. Olin, were seasoned attorneys with a good sense of the relevant. Hill was a law partner in the firm of his cousin, General Thomas Ewing, Jr., and Olin, a former New York congressman, was a sitting justice on the Supreme Court of the District of Columbia. Together, their interviews would put some crucial facts on record in those early hours.5

  The process of taking down testimony was agonizingly slow, and General Halleck suggested it might go faster if they could find a shorthand reporter. There were many such people in Washington, and as it happened, one of Petersen’s boarders knew a “phonographer” who lived right next door. James A. Tanner, lately of the War Department, was eager to help. Though not quite twenty-one, Tanner had already seen more in his brief life than most people could imagine. As a private in the 87th New York Infantry, he had fought on the Virginia Peninsula under George McClellan. Then, as a corporal at the Second Battle of Bull Run, Tanner was nearly killed when a cannonball shattered both feet. He often described the experience of being carried from the field of battle face-down on a stretcher made from a blanket and two rifles. “The blanket was short,” he recalled, “and lying on it on my face, I looked under and saw my feet dangling by the skin as they hung off the other end. Some kind-hearted soul gently lifted them and laid them on the edge of the blanket.” Discharged from the service, Tanner moved to Syracuse and took a course in shorthand. His new skill got him a job in Washington, and brought him to the deathbed of Abraham Lincoln.6

  Surrounded by generals, Cabinet members, and dignitaries, Tanner must have been awed as he scribbled down his notes. The president lay dying in the next room, and the secretary of war was depending on him to take an important role in ferreting out the killers. He would do so in a home that could just as well be the next target for attack, should another come. That was a heady thought for a man so young.

  The sudden and dramatic revival of his department left Edwin Stanton with his greatest challenge since Lee’s surrender five days before. The federal war machine had been winding down, and the demobilization had left hundreds of officers, including General Grant himself, in transit and out of contact with Washington. Fortunately, though, the men from Stanton’s inner circle were still in the capital, and they performed flawlessly in the crisis. Major Eckert expedited the sending of telegrams. Quartermaster General Meigs dispatched horses, supplies, and even ships on short notice. The Army Chief of Staff, Henry W. Halleck, moved personnel where they were needed. All stayed within shouting distance of Stanton, and their presence had a steadying effect on him. Within hours, his dispatches were more focused, his orders more forceful, and his priorities more effectively arranged. Though his press dispatches were not as quick, complete, and accurate as they could have been, that may have been his only failing. He performed remarkably well, even if it took a while for him to catch his stride.7

  Parallel investigations were under way in different parts of the city. While the Petersen house lawyers questioned those who came to them, the Metropolitan Police were collecting evidence and actively tracking down witnesses. Their work centered on the crime scene and those immediately involved with Booth. Near Lafayette Park, General Augur had been busy as well. He had secured the Seward house, posted guards at critical sites, put thousands of soldiers on alert, and sent cavalry detachments to patrol the city. Augur set up a command post of his own, and interviewed several witnesses who appeared there with information. Meanwhile, Washington’s provost marshal, Major James R. O’Beirne, gave most of his attention to the vice president. At the Kirkwood House, O’Beirne’s detectives uncovered evidence of a planned attack on Johnson, and they subsequently took measures to keep him protected. Thus, at four separate locations, information was being gathered on the Booth conspiracy. So far, very little of it had found its way to the man in charge of the pursuit.

  The assumption was that John Wilkes Booth had shot the president. Booth was well known to theater patrons, and he had made no effort to disguise himself. He had also known his way around the stage. As Laura Keene noted, “A person not familiar with the theater could not have possibly made his escape so well and quickly.”8

  Some eyewitnesses, such as Jim Ferguson and Laura Keene, positively recognized Booth. Their identification was confirmed by William H. Bennett, a restaurateur who had known Booth for two years. “I recognized him distinctly,” said Bennett, and “I exclaimed on the stage that it was Wilkes Booth.” Henry B. Phillips, of the Ford’s Theatre stock company, saw Harry Hawk just after the shooting, and Hawk told him, “That was Wilkes Booth who rushed past me . . . I could swear to it if I was on my death bed.” (Phillips, who had known Booth “almost from infancy,” had not seen the man himself.) For a while, this was the general drift of the testimony, and James Tanner was convinced that “in fifteen minutes I had testimony enough down to hang Wilkes Booth.” 9

  But that was hindsight. An hour after the assassination, there was still room for doubt. Harry Hawk, who could swear on his deathbed, refused to swear to it right away. He actually waffled on the identification, saying, “Still I am not positive. . . .” Major Rathbone could not identify the killer, despite his close encounter, and some people who knew Booth claimed he was not the man they saw on stage. As Sarah Hamlin Batchelder noted, certainty developed over time. “Geo[rge] said to me then, it is a man . . . who looks just like Wilkes Booth—he did not however know it was really he, but a few hours & it seemed beyond doubt it was indeed.”10

  No matter who had done the shooting, investigators continued to believe the assassin had had accomplices in the theater. Everyone who worked there came under suspicion, and police repeatedly interviewed the stage crew in the early morning hours. They asked Peanuts Borrows how he came to be holding Booth’s horse at the back door of the theater. According to the boy, Booth had actually asked for the stagehand Ned Spangler, but Spangler was busy, and Booth turned the reins over to Borrows instead. Asked why nobody caught up with Booth in the alley, Ford’s employee Jake Rittersback said that someone had slammed the door shut just after the assassin went through it. Rittersback also said he knew right away that the assassin was Booth, but when he said something to that effect on the stage, Ned Spangler told him to shut up.11

  Police were hearing the name of Edman “Ned” Spangler a lot, and detectives didn’t take long to decide that he was a suspect. Spangler had often run errands for Booth, and he had been seen talking with him several times on the day of the assassination. He had been among those who fed Booth’s horse from time to time, and had sold the assassin’s buggy for him earlier that week. As stagehand Joe Simms put it, “They were always very much together.” Though Booth was friendly with all the stagehands, Spangler had been closer to him than most. And he disappeared for a short time after the shooting.12

  While police focused on the theater staff, General Christopher C. Augur directed most of his energy to preventing further attacks. Commander of the 22nd Army Corps, Augur was a distinctive figure about town—extravagantly coifed, with graying hair and a pair of side whiskers that nearly touched his shoulders. He had spent years in command of garrison troops, and was once the commandan
t of cadets at West Point. He had fought valiantly in the war, but after receiving a serious wound at Cedar Mountain, he had been reassigned to head the Defenses of Washington. In the Booth investigation, his detective force took an active role, and was always at Stanton’s disposal. 13

  One of the most important eyewitnesses happened to be Augur’s subordinate. Captain Theodore S. McGowan had been sitting just outside the door to the president’s box when he saw a man show Charles Forbes, the president’s messenger, a large, official-looking envelope with a printed heading and some bold writing on it. McGowan paid little attention, but soon observed another man who wanted to get by as well. This second man stopped at the door to the passageway and stood there for a moment looking around. He drew a number of visiting cards from his coat pocket, and as McGowan put it:

  “With some attention [he] selected one, returning the remainder. Then, stepping down upon the next level & to the messenger’s right side, he stooped & exhibited the card. I do not know whether the card was carried in by the messenger or his assent given to the entrance of the man who presented it. The latter is more probable, for, in a few moments, I saw the man enter the door of the lobby leading to the box & close it behind him.” 14

  McGowan was the only witness who saw how Booth got into the box. Forbes, the messenger, apparently did not give his side of the story. That was one of many puzzling gaps in the investigation.

  The theater had already been cleared out before William T. Kent realized that he was missing the key to his house. Kent had gone into the president’s box sometime after the shooting, and had lent Dr. Leale his pocketknife to cut off the president’s collar. Now halfway home, he wondered if his keys had fallen on the floor when he pulled out the knife. So he turned around, and in the company of Lt. Newton Ferree, went back to look for the keys. The crime scene was dimly lit by the time they arrived, as the gas had been lowered to a faint sepia glow. Reporter L. A. Gobright had been allowed in, and a few others milled around in search of souvenirs. By then the place had nearly been picked clean. Actor E. A. Emerson had taken a playbill from under the president’s rocker, and another man had picked up a “Reserved” tag that had fallen nearby. Detective John Clarvoe had acquired the president’s bloodstained cravat, and Isaac Jacquette had made off with the bloodstained wooden bar that Booth had used to jam the door shut. That board was a coveted relic, and even though it was only Rathbone’s blood, Jacquette had to fight off others just to keep it in one piece. 15

  Looking around in the box, Newton Ferree found a valuable souvenir: the president’s collar. Right next to him, in a dark corner, Will Kent kicked a small object on the floor. He felt around on his hands and knees. He thought he might have found his keys, but instead, he came up with a single-shot .44-caliber pistol. It was a so-called gentleman’s pistol, with an ornately carved stock, a silver lock plate, and the name “Deringer” engraved on the side. This, apparently, was the murder weapon. In his excitement, Will Kent looked around for someone in authority. Finding no one, he handed the gun over to Gobright, the reporter.16

  A few hours after the shooting, Lt. John J. Toffey, 10th V.R.C., reported a discovery of his own. After witnessing the assassination, Toffey ran back to his quarters at the Lincoln Hospital to tell the officer of the day what had happened. While they were talking, a riderless horse galloped by. It was a large, heavy-legged horse, saddled and bridled, but with no rider in sight. Suspicious, Toffey and a guard chased the animal down and took it under control. It was exhausted, and had obviously been pushed too hard. Sweat poured off it. And it was blind in one eye. Thinking it must have something to do with the assassination, Toffey took the horse to General Augur’s headquarters at once.17

  BY MIDNIGHT, almost every major official in Washington had paid a visit to the Petersen house. The entire Cabinet showed up within an hour, joining such luminaries as Speaker of the House Schuyler Colfax and Senator Charles Sumner. Dozens of military officers filed through, but only Generals Halleck and Meigs stayed for the duration; most had come for a specific purpose. Captain James McCamly, for example, returned Mrs. Lincoln’s opera glasses, which were found when his detachment secured the theater. Captain William Greer brought in the president’s shawl. Thus a silent and steady traffic kept up throughout the night. Given the dismal prognosis, these deathbed visits must have seemed something like a wake in advance of death.18

  Some of the city’s best-known doctors joined those attending the president. Among them was John Frederick May, who once made medical history with the world’s first leg amputation at the hip. Charles Liebermann, past president of the city’s medical association, was another. In all, as many as fourteen doctors were in attendance during the night.19

  Though the house was crowded, its owner was nowhere in sight. William Petersen, distraught over what was taking place there, refused to watch his property be torn apart. His objections were personal, not political. Two of Petersen’s daughters had died in that same bedroom, and he had come to regard it as a shrine to their memory. But on this night, strange men had trudged through in muddy boots, pushing him aside and taking over his home without so much as a nod of recognition. Souvenir hunters had already gone to work, chipping away at the threshold of his front door to recover bloodstained bits of wood. Finally fed up, Petersen stormed off to an upstairs room, and didn’t emerge until everyone had left the following day.20

  The president’s vital signs remained steady, and doctors followed his every heartbeat. This was not just medicine, it was history, and every development in the patient’s condition was meticulously recorded. The wound opening was kept clear by positioning Lincoln’s head off the edge of the bed, then monitoring the amount of discharge. On a few occasions, coagula would build, and, as Dr. Leale reported, the effects were immediately noticeable: “[It] would produce signs of increased compression: the breathing becoming profoundly stertorous and intermittent and the pulse to be more feeble and irregular.” Before midnight the pulse rate ranged from 40 to 48 beats per minute, with 24 loud, labored breaths per minute. At 12:30, the pulse began a slow rise upward, and half an hour later, it shot up to 80 beats. That is when Dr. Ezra Abbott, sitting on the bed, noticed a struggling motion of the arms, as if the president were trying to regain consciousness. But Lincoln never opened his eyes, and in a moment, the pulse rate settled back down. It was a false alarm—one of many that kept the doctors alert and on edge. 21

  The ubiquitous C. C. Bangs, of the Christian Commission, was not yet through for the night. When Bangs returned from his last errand, Robert Lincoln, whom he had fetched from the White House, now asked him to get his mother’s friend Elizabeth Dixon. The wife of a Connecticut senator, Mrs. Dixon had once been very close to Mrs. Lincoln. In time, Bangs returned with her and a small entourage, who remained with the first lady well into the next day.22

  Edwin Stanton was still calling in reinforcements to help investigate the attacks. At 1:00 A.M. he handed a message to Major Eckert for transmittal to New York:

  WAR DEPARTMENT,

  April 15, 1865 — 1 a.m.

  John A. Kennedy,

  Chief of Police, New York:

  Send here immediately three or four of your best detectives to investigate the facts as to the assassination of the President and Secretary Seward. They are still alive, but the President’s case is hopeless, and that of Mr. Seward nearly the same.

  Edwin M. Stanton,

  Secretary of War.23

  The New York Police Department had the most experienced detective force in the country. When most cities were just beginning to establish detective corps, some New Yorkers had been solving mysteries for more than a dozen years. Stanton’s telegraphic summons was also a sign of the times. After four years of war, the government had become accustomed to using any and all forms of communication at its disposal. Couriers, mounted patrols, and signal torches were all used routinely in emergencies, and even boats were pressed into service, carrying large placards as they patrolled close to shore. But the ma
gnetic telegraph had become the eyes and ears of the War Department. Military necessity had expanded the telegraph’s reach up to a thousand miles from Washington. And on the night of April 14, those connections were put to good use. Within just a few hours, Union commanders in Richmond knew all about the attacks; troops in Harpers Ferry were on the alert; the mouth of the Potomac was secured; and the nation’s newspapers had all the “particulars” of the case in hand. Over civilian lines, Washington police alerted their counterparts in Baltimore, New York papers filled their morning editions, and detectives everywhere transmitted leads and instructions to where they could do the most good. The telegraph allowed Stanton to order roadblocks on the most likely avenues of escape.24

  It was a telegraphic message that brought the news to General Grant that night. Grant was in Philadelphia, sitting with his wife in Bloodgood’s Restaurant, when a one-legged veteran hobbled in on crutches and handed him a message from Washington.

  War Department, Washington

  April 14, 1865, midnight [sent 12:20 A.M.]

  Lieut. Gen. U. S. GRANT

  On the night train to Burlington:

  The President was assassinated at Ford’s Theatre at 10 30 tonight & cannot live. The wound is a Pistol shot through the head. Secretary Seward & his son Frederick, were also assassinated at their residence & are in a dangerous condition. The Secretary of War desires that you return to Washington immediately. Please answer on receipt of this.