The Last Weeks of Abraham Lincoln

by David Alan Johnson

  At Kinston, about eighty miles away from Fayetteville, Jacob Cox's men managed to hold their line against Braxton Bragg's repeated attacks. Finally, on March 10, Bragg decided that enough was enough and broke off his attack. He marched his men off to join Joseph E. Johnston's Army of Tennessee. General Johnston was hoping to link up with Robert E. Lee's army, if and when Lee was able to slip away from Grant at Petersburg and escape to North Carolina, and he would be needing all the men he could find.

  The atmosphere was becoming noticeably warmer as the month of March went on, and not just in the meteorological sense.

  President Lincoln addressed another matter that was causing him no small amount of distress, namely the execution of deserters from the army. He had been able to save individual soldiers from the firing squad, but on March 11 the president signed a proclamation that all deserters “shall be pardoned.” There was a condition, though: in order to earn the president's pardon, a deserter would have to return to the army and finish his enlistment.

  According to the proclamation, “all deserters returning within sixty days…shall be pardoned on condition of returning to their regiments and companies or such other organizations as they may be assigned to until they shall have served for a period of time equal to their original term of enlistment.”1 Lincoln once claimed that he made more life and death decisions than all of his predecessors put together. He had just made another one.

  On Sunday, March 11, Confederate cavalry left Fayetteville, North Carolina, riding over the bridges across the Cape Fear River. General Sherman's troops occupied the town as soon as the enemy left and began systematically destroying the arsenal and everything in it, along with anything else that might be useful to the Confederates.2

  The men had a personal incentive for wanting to wreck the Fayetteville Arsenal—the factory turned out well over one million .58 caliber minié balls per year, lead bullets that were the infantryman's primary ammunition. Breaking up the arsenal meant that the Confederate army, including Joe Johnston's men, would be receiving at least a million fewer bullets to shoot at them. The destruction went on all day Sunday.

  The pressures of office, added to the preparations for Inauguration Day and all of the other activities of recent weeks, had finally taken their toll on the president. By the middle of March, he was so exhausted that he decided to stay in bed for a few days. There was nothing physically wrong with him; he did not have a cold or a virus or any sort of illness. He was just worn-out, and needed some time off. The New York Herald said, “Mr. Lincoln is reported quite sick to-day, and has denied himself to all visitors.”1 But the Herald did not get its facts straight. Mr. Lincoln was not sick, just tired.

  On the day before, March 12, General William Tecumseh Sherman had contacted General Grant from Fayetteville, North Carolina, to give him an update. “The army is in splendid health, condition, and spirits” Sherman wrote, “though we have had foul weather, and roads that would have stopped travel to almost any other body of men I ever heard of.” General Sherman was obviously in splendid spirits himself. His men continued to wreck the arsenal—to smash it beyond recognition would probably be a more accurate description. “I shall therefore destroy this valuable arsenal so the enemy shall not have its use,” he went on to say.2 He was certainly doing his best to carry out his agenda.

  In Richmond, Congress passed legislation allowing black troops to join the Confederate army. This revolutionary statute had been requested by General Robert E. Lee, who would be needing all the able-bodied men he could get for the battles that he knew were to come—he was as aware as General Grant and President Lincoln that renewed fighting would begin within the next week or ten days. Hundreds of men were deserting his army every day, and General Lee was desperate to find replacements for them.

  Black men had been put to work as laborers for the army, digging trenches and preparing earthworks, but had never been recruited as soldiers. General Lee had expressed a low opinion of blacks as soldiers earlier in the war, but the current crisis in manpower made him change his mind. At the beginning of 1865, General Lee said that he was now in favor of having black troops in the Confederate army, along with an unspecified program of “gradual emancipation.” As Lee now saw the situation, “The services of these men are now necessary to enable us to oppose the enemy.”3

  On March 10, General Lee wrote to Confederate president Jefferson Davis, “I do not know whether the law authorizing the use of negro troops has received your sanction, but if it has, I respectfully recommend that measures be taken to carry it into effect as soon as practicable.” Later in the same communiqué, he reported, “I have received letters from persons offering to select the most suitable among their slaves, as soon as Congress should give the authority,” and asked that President Davis take the necessary steps to “raise some negro companies” as soon as possible.4

  A week after the Confederate Congress passed its legislation, on March 21, the Richmond Sentinel reported that “the company of colored troops under Captain Grimes” would parade in one of the city's squares dressed in Confederate gray. Black units were issued new uniforms and marched through Richmond's streets to encourage other blacks to enlist. Southern blacks did fight for the Confederacy, a fact that has been overlooked by a good many writers and historians. “I had as much right to fight for my native state as you had to fight for yours,” a captured black soldier told a Union officer, “and a blame sight more than your foreigners what's got no homes.”5

  “The President was some indisposed and in bed, but not seriously ill,” Gideon Welles noted on his diary. “The [cabinet] members met in his bedroom.”1 Lincoln was still recuperating from stress and strain and overwork, and was also preparing himself mentally for the fighting that would soon begin again. The cabinet meeting was fairly short; the president does not appear to have written any letters or communiques.

  In North Carolina, General William Tecumseh Sherman was also getting ready for the coming battles. Or, as he put it, he was preparing “for the next and last stage of the war.” Sherman knew that General Joseph E. Johnston was organizing his army in the vicinity of Raleigh. “I was determined, however, to give him as little time for organization as possible,” Sherman said, and began moving his army away from Fayetteville except for one division. This division was to stay at Fayetteville until the arsenal was completely destroyed. The arsenal “was deliberately and completely levelled on the 14th,” General Sherman recounted, “when fire was applied to the wreck.” He intended to leave nothing behind that might be of any use at all to the enemy, not even any standing walls.2

  General Philip Sheridan had been moving north from the Shenandoah Valley for the past several days, heading toward General Grant's army at Petersburg. At Petersburg, Grant's men were expecting to receive orders to move at any time. “Well, I am ready,” Colonel Elisha Hunt Rhodes reflected, “and may God give us victory.”3

  President Lincoln felt fit enough to return to his office after two days of recuperation. It was a fairly routine day: he made several endorsements and appointments, received the Austrian minister, Count Wydenbruck, and sent him a very cordial note wishing him an enjoyable residence in the United States. The president also wrote to Thurlow Weed, who was one of New York State's most influential Republican bosses. Thurlow Weed had praised a recent speech Lincoln made to the Congressional Notification Committee as well as his inaugural address.

  The letter is surprisingly cheerful and upbeat, considering the tension and anxiety the president had been under. “Everyone likes a compliment,” Lincoln wrote. “Thank you for yours on my little notification speech, and on the recent Inaugural Address.” He agreed with Weed that the inaugural speech will “wear as well as—perhaps better than—anything I have produced,” even though it was not immediately popular. “Men are not flattered by being shown that there has been a difference of purpose between the Almighty and them.”1

  That evening, the president and Mrs. Lincoln, along with Colonel James G. Wilson and
Clara Harris, attended a performance of Mozart's opera The Magic Flute at Grover's Theatre. The opera “was performed in excellent style by the German company last night,” according to the Washington Evening Star.2

  “Mr. Lincoln's life was almost devoid of recreation,” according to his secretary, John Hay.3 Actually, the president's life was not all that lacking for either recreation or amusement. Lincoln enjoyed the theater, everything from opera to Shakespeare to minstrel shows, and went as often as he could—for relaxation as much as for entertainment. But because of his current frame of mind, he was not always able to enjoy the performance.

  During the performance of The Magic Flute, the president “sat in the rear of the box leaning his head against the partition, paying no attention to the play and looking…worn and weary.” Colonel Wilson asked Lincoln if he was enjoying the performance, and was told that he had not come to the theater to see the opera—he had come for some rest: “I am being hounded to death by office seekers, who pursue me early and late, and it is simply to get two or three hours relief that I am here.” Attending the opera was just an excuse for getting away from the White House and all of its worries.4

  John Wilkes Booth had also been to the theater on March 15. He was in Washington to work out a plan for the abduction of President Abraham Lincoln; his visit to the theater was part of that plan. He had gone to Ford's Theatre to watch a performance of The Tragedy of Jane Shore, by Nicholas Rowe, along with two friends, John Surratt and Lewis Powell.

  Booth was not all that interested in the play, which has been described as an imitation of one of Shakespeare's history plays. He bought his guests tickets for the box above the stage, where president and Mrs. Lincoln sat when they attended plays at Ford's Theatre. His main object in going to Ford's Theatre was for John Surratt and Lewis Powell to see the inside of the box, to familiarize themselves with it, while Booth himself watched the play from backstage, along with members of the cast.

  After the performance, Booth and Lewis Powell went to Gautier's Restaurant to wait for four other men: Samuel Arnold, George Atzerodt, David Herold, and Michael O'Laughlen. Booth had reserved one of the restaurant's private rooms. All the men smoked, drank, and played cards until about 1:30 on the morning of March 16, when the waiters and other members of Gautier's staff finally locked the building and went home.

  None of Booth's guests had any idea why they had been invited to Gautier's. None of the men knew each other very well; David Herold did not know Samuel Arnold or Michael O'Laughlen at all. After the restaurant staff left for the night, Booth finally announced the reason for the meeting—he had called everyone together because he had concocted an idea to kidnap President Lincoln, and he needed their help to carry out his plan.

  His scheme involved handcuffing Lincoln and lowering him to the stage during one of the president's visits to Ford's Theatre. The president and his wife frequently went to Ford's, and always sat in the box above the stage. Since Powell was familiar with the layout of the presidential, this should help facilitate the abduction.

  According to his arrangement, Booth and one other man would handcuff Lincoln and lower him down to the stage, where he would be seized by the others and carried out of the theater. A carriage would be waiting just outside of the stage entrance. All of the men, including Booth, would then gallop across Washington and escape out of the city, where they would make contact with Confederate agents. The president would then be held hostage in exchange for Confederate prisoners of war.

  John Wilkes Booth thought his plan was perfect—not only foolproof but brilliant. By holding President Lincoln for ransom, the South would not only have the ultimate bargaining chip for carrying out a prisoner of war exchange, but Booth would also be dealing a severe blow to the morale of the North. He was certain that everyone present would agree that his kidnapping scheme was nothing less than outstanding.

  The reaction to Booth's scheme came as a rude shock. Everyone in the room reached a unanimous agreement, but it was not the agreement that Booth was expecting—his cronies thought that the plan was ludicrous, foolhardy, and, above all else, suicidal. They pointed out that the president was not just going to sit still and let himself be tied up and manhandled out of the theater. Also, Lincoln was sure to be surrounded by guards, who would also have something to say about kidnapping the president. And Samuel Arnold pointed that the idea of using Lincoln as a hostage for exchanging Confederate prisoners was totally unfeasible—General Ulysses S. Grant had already reinstated a prisoner of war exchange two months earlier, in January 1865. Booth's plan was completely impractical, everyone said, and had absolutely no chance of succeeding.

  Booth tried to argue with Sam Arnold and the others, and did his best to convince everyone that his plan would succeed if they would only give it a chance. But no one would listen. Booth's would-be conspirators wanted no part of his proposal; they refused to risk their lives by taking part in such an insane scheme.

  John Wilkes Booth was angered and disappointed by the reaction. But he was determined to do something that would put an end to Lincoln and his presidency—Booth considered Lincoln to be one of the great tyrants in history, as well as the South's principal enemy. The idea for kidnapping Lincoln had fallen through, but there would be other plans and other opportunities. As far as Booth was concerned, anything, including assassination, would be more than justified when done to stop a tyrant.5

  President Lincoln indulged in another one of his favorite forms of relaxation: he went for a ride. He usually went with Mary Lincoln, but on this particular day he decided to go with his eleven-year-old son, Thomas “Tad” Lincoln. Tad Lincoln spent a good deal of time with his father. He frequently accompanied Lincoln on trips, often attended cabinet meetings, and stayed with the president in his office for hours on end. People frequently told stories about how close Tad and his father were, and about the boy's many and various pranks. One of these pranks took place during a visit to Grover's Theatre. During the performance, Tad managed to slip out of the president's box unnoticed. President Lincoln had no idea that his son was missing until he saw the boy down on the stage, singing “The Battle Cry of Freedom” with the chorus. Tad was wearing a Union army blouse about three sizes too large for him, and was almost unrecognizable in the oversized uniform top.

  Tad Lincoln had his mother's nervous temperament. He was also on the hyperactive side, and did not show much interest in learning—he was considered a slow learner by a succession of tutors—and also had a speech impediment. President Lincoln's bodyguard William Crook said, “Taddie could never speak very plainly.” His impairment sometimes made it seem like he had his own language, especially when he was speaking of other people. Tad called his father “papa-day,” which everyone supposed meant “papa dear.” In Tad's lingo, Crook became “Took.” But the president enjoyed Tad's company and spent as much time with the boy as he could—the boy's very presence seemed to take the president's mind off the pressures of Washington. “I believe he was the best companion Mr. Lincoln ever had,” Crook observed, “one who always understood him, and whom he always understood.”1

  Most people were touched by the relationship between the president and his son, but there were those who complained that Tad was completely undisciplined and was allowed to get away with too much mischief. But Lincoln had lost one son, William Wallace “Willie” Lincoln, most likely due to typhoid fever, when the boy was eleven years old. Because of this, Lincoln was more inclined to let Tad get away with his pranks. Lincoln might have been even more lenient if he had known that Tad would die at the age of eighteen, in 1871.

  “On the 15th of March the whole army was across Cape Fear River,” General William Tecumseh Sherman wrote, “and at once began its march for Goldsboro.”2 The army encountered “pretty stubborn resistance” from Confederate General William J. Hardee's infantry, cavalry, and artillery. Heavy rain helped to curtail the fighting, but on Thursday March 16, “the opposition continued stubborn.” Near the village of Averysboro, Genera
l Hardee's men dug themselves into a strong defensive position. General Sherman ordered one of his brigades to outflank Hardee's trenches. The maneuver succeeded—217 Confederates were captured, and another 108 were killed in the course of the flanking move.

  By the following morning, General Hardee's force had disappeared, “in full retreat toward Smithfield.” The Battle of Averysboro, as General Sherman called it, was not exactly a rout, but it did allow Sherman's army to continue its move northward, toward Petersburg and Grant's army. “From Averysboro the left wing turned east, toward Goldsboro, the Fourteenth Corps leading,” General Sherman would write.3

  Although President Lincoln's thoughts were never very far away from the coming campaign in Virginia, he was also beginning to think ahead toward what would happen to the country after the war had ended. On March 17, Lincoln looked away from Virginia long enough to see and appreciate what was taking place in the West. He issued a proclamation calling for the court martial of anyone supplying weapons to Indian tribes in the lands west of the Mississippi. “Whereas reliable information has been received that hostile Indians within the limits of the United States have been furnished with arms and munitions of war,” which is enabling them “to prosecute their savage warfare upon the exposed and sparse settlements of the frontier.”