Weichmann showed the detectives around, but he hesitated outside his own room. “Will you be kind enough to tell me the meaning of all this?” he asked.
Clarvoe eyed him suspiciously. “That is a pretty question for you to ask me. Where have you been tonight?”
Weichmann answered, “I have been here in the house.”
“Have you been here all evening?” asked the detective.
“No. I have been down in the country with Mrs. Surratt.” His voice trailed off. He knew this was building to something, but he couldn’t imagine what the detectives were getting at.
“Do you pretend to tell me you have not heard the President has been murdered?”
Lou Weichmann was stunned. “Great God!” he said. “I see it all now.” Was it really true? Of course it was, Clarvoe assured him. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a black bow tie, stained with blood.
“Do you see the blood on that?” Clarvoe said. “That is the blood of Abraham Lincoln. John Wilkes Booth did that, and I suppose John Surratt has assassinated the Secretary of State.” Many suspicious things had happened in the Surratt house, and Louis Weichmann probably thought he had figured out what was going on. But this was unbelievable. Dazed and frightened, Weichmann followed the police downstairs, where his fellow boarders had gathered in the front parlor.
“Mrs. Surratt, what do you think, Booth has murdered the President,” he said.
“My God, Mr. Weichmann, you do not tell me so.” The other boarders all talked among themselves for a while, but with Mary Surratt sitting right in the room, nobody brought up her son’s name.
Downstairs, police talked to Susan Mahoney, a recently hired servant described as “very tall and very black.” Her fiancé, Sam Jackson, had been asleep in the house as well. Neither seemed to have any useful information.42
In the front parlor, John Clarvoe took Mrs. Surratt aside and told her he wanted to ask a few questions. “Be very particular how you answer them,” he warned, “for there is a great deal depends upon them.” They talked about Booth, and she admitted seeing him at about two o’clock on Friday afternoon. She was less forthcoming about her son, of whose whereabouts she claimed to have no idea. She had received a letter from him the day before, postmarked in Canada. If the detectives suspected him of doing something in Washington, they had to be mistaken. Though Clarvoe was skeptical, Mrs. Surratt held firm. “There are a great many mothers,” she assured him, “who do not know where their sons are.”43
AT GENERAL AUGUR’S OFFICE, John Fletcher, the stableman, came in to ask about a horse. With him was Charles Stowell, of Provost Marshal O’Beirne’s office, who had insisted on escorting Fletcher. Stowell could hardly wait to make an inflated announcement as they walked into the office. “Here, General, is a man that knows all about the party!” He had gotten Augur’s attention, and the general began asking questions at once. Slowly, laboriously, John Fletcher repeated his story about the stolen roan horse.
While they talked, Augur noticed how Fletcher kept staring at a saddle and bridle on the floor, next to the general’s desk. “Do you know that saddle and bridle?” he asked. The stableman certainly did. They belonged to a regular customer at Nailor’s. He often came in with a large brown pacing horse, blind in one eye. Fletcher couldn’t remember the man’s name— it was something German—but on his first visit, nearly two weeks ago, he had written it down. General Augur knew that Fletcher had just described the horse Lieutenant Toffey had turned in a short while ago. If he could identify the owner, it could be an important break in the case. So he sent Stowell down to Nailor’s, and he returned with a small card. There was a name childishly scrawled across the back: “George A. Atzerodt.”44
Augur had already sent his men out to look for suspicious characters. Their orders were all the same: “Deploy your troops between the forts of your command and form a continuous line of pickets. Stop every one from going out of the line. . . . Leave sufficient guard at each post. It is supposed one of the assassins is still in town.”These instructions were repeated every few hours to ensure a renewed vigilance. General Martin Hardin, commanding one of Augur’s divisions, issued an order of his own, and followed it with a stunning announcement: “J. Wilkes Booth has been apprehended.” Once again, rumors of Booth’s capture had wormed their way into official channels, and in this case, even the generals passed them along. The troops must have been demoralized every time someone was forced to set the record straight.45
The city’s garrison stood at full alert, and pickets were especially vigilant on every road leading to Baltimore. Samuel B. Lawrence, Assistant Adjutant General of the Middle Department, extended his coverage even farther with an order to General Kenly at Wilmington, Delaware: “In consequence of the assassination of the President and Secretary of State the most vigorous measures will be taken in this department to suppress any outbreak. . . . No trains will be permitted to leave this city. Do your utmost to preserve order and keep a sharp lookout for Booth. Report your action.” Rail service had been halted long before this, but if Booth had already boarded a train by then, they might still catch up to him. In any event, he couldn’t get out of the country. The Provost Marshal General, James B. Fry, had already posted guards along the Canadian border.46
What should happen to Booth if he should be caught? Little thought was given to the matter until Stanton was given a report that proved to be false. In the early morning hours of April 15, a man was arrested on the road to Baltimore. He so closely fit the description of Booth that authorities were certain they had captured the assassin. They informed their superiors in Washington. In minutes, Secretaries Stanton and Welles devised a plan for his secure detention. Welles sent an order to Commodore Montgomery at the navy yard: “If the military authorities arrest the murderer of the President and take him to the Yard, put him on a Monitor and anchor her in the stream with a strong guard on vessel, wharf and in Yard. Call upon Comdt. Marine Corps for guard. Have vessel immediately prepared ready to receive him at any hour day or night with necessary instructions. He will be heavily ironed and so guarded as to prevent escape or injury to himself.”
The man in custody proved to be someone else, and the unfortunate look-alike was set free. But Welles’s detention plan was a good one. It was put into effect later, when the real culprits were caught.47
FOUR
“ARREST EVERY MAN, WOMAN, OR CHILD ATTEMPTING TO PASS”
ABRAHAM LINCOLN’S CONDITION HAD CHANGED LITTLE since midnight. His pulse was stable at about 48, and his respiration held at 30. In the early morning hours, Mrs. Lincoln came in to see her husband. He was, to all appearances, dead. The face was drained of color. The bedclothes were stained a deep crimson. One look, and Mary Lincoln burst into sobs. She had already lost two sons, and their deaths had left her devastated. But the sight of her dying husband would test her sanity. She seemed to be the only one who could not accept the hopeless-ness of the case. Kneeling by the bed, she pleaded with her husband to open his eyes and to speak to her. The Reverend Dr. Phineas Gurley, of the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, knelt and prayed beside her. Then he gently suggested that she leave her husband to the doctors and the hands of God.
In the next room, Andrew Johnson was talking with Secretary Stanton when Provost Marshal O’Beirne brought in some of the items his men had found at the Kirkwood House. As O’Beirne saw it, this evidence proved that Johnson was indeed also a target of the conspirators. Evidently, this man Atzerodt had been supposed to kill him. Though nobody knew where Atzerodt had gone, O’Beirne assured the vice president that he and his men had neutralized the threat. From then on, a guard would stay with Johnson at all times. 1
Every so often, Edwin Stanton went to the back room. Each time, he came and went without a word. After one such visit, he returned to the parlor and sat down to write another dispatch for the press:
Washington City,
No. 458 Tenth Street, Apl 15, 1865 — 3 am
Major-General Dix:
New York.
The President still breathes, but is quite insensible, as he has been ever since he was shot. He evidently did not see the person who shot him but was looking on the stage as he was approached behind.
Mr. Seward has rallied, and it is hoped he may live. Frederick Seward’s condition is very critical. The attendant who was present was stabbed through the lungs, and is not expected to live. The wounds of Major Seward are not serious. Investigation strongly indicates J. Wilkes Booth as the assassin of the President. Whether it was the same or a different person that attempted to murder Mr. Seward remains in doubt. Chief Justice Cartter is engaged in taking the evidence. Every exertion has been made to prevent the escape of the murderer. His horse has been found on the road, near Washington.
Edwin M. Stanton
Sec. of War2
That last sentence was telling. Evidently, Stanton regarded the discovery of that one-eyed horse as a major development in the manhunt. Investigators in the War Department assumed it was the assassin’s horse, unaware of what Peanuts Borrows and Jim Ferguson had told police: that Booth had ridden a small mare. But since this horse was found east of the Capitol, General Gustavus DeRussy sealed off the eastern part of the city. His orders were emphatic: “Arrest every man, woman, or child attempting to pass any Bridge or through the lines.” DeRussy and General Hardin were now confident that Booth had not made it past the pickets, and Hardin even ordered the commander of Fort Baker to close off the rivers as well. “The horse and saddle of [the] supposed murderer have been found near Lincoln Hospital,” he wrote. “Check all boats on the Eastern Branch and Potomac River to guard against crossing between bridges. Continue doing so throughout the night.” Authorities felt they were closing in on Booth, and that one-eyed horse was keeping their hopes alive. General Augur even sent Lieutenant Toffey back to scour the neighborhood where he found it. From Lincoln Hospital to Glenwood Cemetery, Toffey would check every building in sight.3
The more he thought about it, the more General Augur was convinced that the stableman, John Fletcher, was an important witness. Augur questioned Fletcher again, and learned the names of a few more of Booth’s associates. But getting to their names was not easy. Fletcher felt no sense of urgency, and insisted on covering every detail in a long and torturous narrative. The story, as he saw it, began on April 3, when two men came to Nailor’s Stable with two horses—one a brown and the other a bay. One of the men, who proved to be Booth, told Fletcher that he was going to Philadelphia, and would like the other man—Atzerodt—to sell the brown horse while he was gone. That horse was blind in one eye. Atzerodt did not return until the day of the assassination, and when Fletcher saw him, he asked what became of that horse his friend wanted him to sell. Atzerodt said that a man in Montgomery County, Maryland, had bought it.
George Atzerodt stopped at the stable a couple of times that day. He still had the bay mare, and he asked Fletcher if he could leave her there that evening. He would need to pick her up at ten o’clock that night, and wondered if the stableman would mind keeping the place open until then. He came back right on schedule, but instead of leaving with the horse, he invited Fletcher to have a drink with him. The stableman went along reluctantly; another horse was long overdue, and Fletcher had begun to think he would never see it again. Mr. Nailor, the stable owner, would probably hold him responsible for that.
That horse was called Charley. Light roan in color, he had a black tail and black mane. He was especially valuable for his gentle gait and mild disposition. The renter, who gave his name as Herold, had asked for him specifically. He picked the horse up at four, and paid in advance. Fletcher insisted he bring it back no later than nine o’clock. Both horse and rider were still gone at ten.
John Fletcher and Atzerodt had a warm glass of ale, then walked back to the stable together. On the way Atzerodt remarked, “If this thing happens tonight, you will hear of a present.”The comment made no sense, and it seemed to come out of nowhere. Fletcher figured the man was drunk, so when Atzerodt mounted up, a few minutes later, the stableman asked if he ought to be riding a horse in his condition. “I would not like to ride that animal through the streets at night,” he warned. “She looks too skittish.” But Atzerodt just shrugged it off. “She is good upon a retreat.”
A retreat? Fletcher suddenly recalled that this man Atzerodt knew Herold, who was still out with Charley, the roan. They sometimes came to the stable together. So he voiced his concern, and Atzerodt reassured him, “Oh, he will be back after a while.” There was something in his manner that made John Fletcher wonder if those two were up to no good. On a hunch, he followed Atzerodt as far as the Kirkwood House. Then he headed back to the stable. And that’s when he heard Charley.
To an expert, each type of horse has its own signature sound. Charley was a racking horse, or, as Fletcher called him, a single-footed pacer. His gait had a distinctive sound, which Fletcher recognized as he walked back to the stable. The horse was coming toward him from the direction of the Treasury building, and when the stableman saw Herold in the saddle, he was livid. “You get off that horse now!” he shouted. “You have had him long enough!” Hearing that, Herold put his spurs to the animal and galloped away.
Fletcher ran back to the stable and saddled another horse. The assassination had not yet occurred, and the stableman knew nothing about Booth’s conspiracy. But he was convinced that Herold and Atzerodt were tied together in some kind of scheme, and knowing that Atzerodt came from Southern Maryland, he figured that either he or Herold—or both of them—would be heading in that direction. Fletcher started after them, but he didn’t get far. At the Navy Yard Bridge, a sergeant confirmed that two men had indeed crossed out of the city. The first one might have been Herold, but the second rider looked nothing like Atzerodt. Though the sergeant was willing to let Fletcher cross after them, there was one hitch: he was not willing to bend the rules and let him return to the city before morning. So John Fletcher gave up. He rode back into town, and heard about the assassination shortly afterward. Presumably, the police had more important things to do than look for his horse.4
THE RAIN HAD FAILED to disperse the crowd on Tenth Street. At the Petersen house, Cartter, Olin, and Hill completed their interviews and joined the bedroom vigil. Though no doctor expected to save the president, proper medical procedures demanded a full exploration of the wound. So at about two A.M. the surgeons began to assess the full extent of the damage. Surgeon General Barnes led the examination. Crouching on the floor, Dr. Barnes inserted a silver probe into the track of the ball. It struck something hard about two and a half inches in—probably a plug of bone forced inward by the shot. Barnes gave a gentle push, and the probe went past it, though not by very much. The instrument, it appeared, was too small to do anything more, and Dr. Taft suggested they send out for a Nelaton probe. Not only was it longer, but it had an unglazed porcelain tip that would come away discolored from any contact with lead. A steward was sent to the Judiciary Square Hospital to get one.5
Meanwhile, Stanton placed the security of the capital in the hands of General Grant. Since the general was still on his way back from Burlington, he wired back instructions every time his train stopped. First, he wanted his route back to Washington secured. The ferryboat that would carry his train car over the Susquehanna should be thoroughly searched. Pickets and patrols should be placed along the tracks, with everyone on full alert. From Newark, Delaware, Grant directed that an officer and ten men meet him at the President Street Station in Baltimore. They were to ride with him the rest of the way. In all, hundreds of people were involved in the process of getting General Grant back to Washington unharmed. They were in for a long, tense night.6
At the office of the Provost Marshal, Colonel Ingraham and his officers pored over the papers Tyrrell had found in Booth’s trunk. Among them were a crudely drawn map of the Southern states, some personal correspondence, and a sheet with letters and numerals on a hand-drawn grid— obviously the key to some sort of
cipher code. There was some printed matter pertaining to oil company investments, and a series of letters on the same topic from one Joseph H. Simonds. A letter from Junius Booth mentioned oil as well, and another from Orlando Tompkins asked about the “ile”—obviously some kind of inside joke.
There was also a letter from an actor named Young, who was being drafted and wanted Booth to appear in a play for his benefit. There were notes on theatrical engagements, and a bill from Tiffany’s in New York for braiding hair into a ring. One envelope bore a New York address, along with some cryptic lines scribbled on it like roads on a map. Many of the papers were about family matters: a letter from Booth’s mother; a playbill announcing a benefit for Booth’s niece Blanche; and a note from Ben DeBar enclosing a favorable review of Blanche’s performance.7
Taken together, they gave a superficial but wide-ranging glimpse of the man’s life. They touched upon his professional business, family concerns, investment dealings, and personal gossip. They even suggest something of his legendary sex life. A note from “E. S.” urgently implores her “darling Boy” to pay her a visit. On another slip of paper was a New York address, with a fragment of a woman’s note on the reverse: “I am about your age, possibly a few months younger, and you will probably wonder that a woman——” The rest was torn off.8
Colonel Ingraham was looking for clues to the conspiracy, and this bundle of papers would not disappoint him. One item in particular caught his attention: a letter dated at “Hookstown” on March 27—less than a month earlier—from a man named Sam. In a neat and flowing script, this man refers to an unspecified arrangement and pleads with Booth to delay any further action, at least until they could see what “Richmond” thought of their plans. Now, this was explosive. If Ingraham was reading this correctly, Confederate authorities had some kind of interest in John Wilkes Booth’s plot. It was right there in the letter!
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