A Night of Horrors: A Historical Thriller about the 24 Hours of Lincoln's Assassination (4 page)

As Lincoln began to speak, Booth clenched his jaw. The President had a high-pitched tone to his voice and a distinct Kentucky accent. The man’s voice always annoyed Booth. To his surprise, Lincoln did not spend too much time congratulating Ulysses Grant and the North on the recent victories. Rather he began a meandering statement about the importance of reconstructing the union of north and south. He felt that was the next great work that must be done. Booth looked around the crowd and noticed they were looking at one another in disappointment that they were being treated to a policy speech on a night when celebration was due. But the crowd stayed and looked up at the President. Booth scoffed at the moony looks of adulation on their upturned faces. He looked at Herold and Powell and shook his head and made a deprecating remark about Lincoln under his breath. They were standing apart from anyone else in the crowd so Booth felt confident in making his remark. Then, he looked back up as he caught some of Lincoln’s comments. He was talking about how the southern states might be readmitted to the union and then suddenly turned to the subject of Negro voting rights.

“I believe that those brave Negro men who have fought for our cause or who are very intelligent ought to be able to vote,” Lincoln said very clearly in his nasal tone. Wilkes Booth’s eyes suddenly flashed in the night light in fury. He spun his head over to his friends and then back up to Lincoln who continued talking.

“Did you hear that?” Booth demanded of both of his friends. “Did you hear that? He’s talking about nigger suffrage!” He spoke low but his voice was pitched into fury and he spit the words from his mouth.

“Do you have your gun?” He asked Lewis Powell.

“Yes, sir, I do.” Powell responded obediently. He pulled his overcoat away from his side so that Booth could see the Navy revolver in his belt at his side.

“Then shoot him! Shoot him right here on the spot!” Wilkes’ voice was getting louder and he was gesticulating and pointing up to the window where the President stood. Powell and Herold exchanged glances and told Booth to calm himself. Some of the people in the crowd turned and looked back at the three men standing apart from the group and making noise. The President was fully illuminated by the candles and gas jets lighting the room behind him. He was a perfect target for shooting, if someone was so inclined. Powell hesitated and looked from Booth to Herold.

“Did you hear me, man? Shoot him, damn it!” Booth urged again.

“I will not, sir. I will not shoot him.” Powell declared. As Powell responded, he filled his chest with air and stood up to his full six feet in height. Booth looked up at this Confederate soldier and was again impressed with the size and power of the man. He realized that he wasn’t going to sway him to act.

“I’ll be damned. What a wasted opportunity,” Booth said back at them. “Nevertheless, that’ll be the last damned speech he’ll ever make,” he stated and strode away from the crowd. The two other men followed after him. The President continued to discuss his thoughts on policies for readmitting Southern states to the union and dropping the sheets of paper to the floor as he finished reading from them. The crowds remained below the window and gazed up at the President standing just 15 feet above them.

Booth arrived at his barbers on E street and walked in the door.

“Welcome, Mr. Booth. The usual?” The barber asked as he took the actor’s jacket and hung it on a hook. Then he unfolded a white sheet and draped it around his neck to protect his shirt and pants. Booth came into this barbershop four or five times a week to get a shave and occasionally had his mustache and hair trimmed as well. This morning was going to be a simple shave. Wilkes Booth closed his eyes as the barber set the chair back. The barber gently laid the hot damp towel over his face, and it dimmed the bright light of the spring day. He always enjoyed these moments when the world was shut out, and the damp heat on his face calmed him. He opened his eyes beneath the towel and saw a dim whiteness. He imagined how he could somehow make good on his promise that Abraham Lincoln would never make a speech again. It was on that very night that he had begun to alter his thoughts from kidnap to assassination. Over the past few days a vague plan was emerging. He had realized that many of the plans they already had in place for the kidnapping could be altered and applied to an assassination plot. It actually would be easier because they wouldn’t have to take him prisoner. They would simply shoot him and then travel south along the same route they’d mapped out for abducting him. It really could work well, as long as they had the courage and the will to do it, of which Booth had both in abundance. Then the towel came off and he smiled at the soothing sensation of the barber using the brush to apply the shaving soap to his face and neck. ‘Yes, it will actually be simpler to just kill him,’ he thought.

His shave finished, Booth rose from the barber’s chair and slipped his coat back on. “Place it on my tab,” he called over his shoulder as he walked from the shop, buttoning his wool jacket. The spring morning was bright and still a bit cool, but warming up. It promised of the summer’s heat to come. Booth decided that he would stop by the National Theater and see if Lincoln would be attending the play. He understood from Dwight Hess, the owner, that he’d extended invitations to Lincoln the night before. Booth’s thoughts of murder were forming slowly, but Hess’ theater might be a good venue for the act. As he jogged up the steps, he met Mrs. Hess
and her sister-in-law, Helen Palmer Moss, at the front door.

“Well good mornin’, Mrs. Hess,” Booth said as he took his hat off with his left hand and took each lady by the hand with his right. “It is delightful to see you this mornin’. Can I assume from this happy meeting that your husband is inside?” Booth asked.

Both of the women smiled and Mrs. Hess
told Booth where he could find her husband. He walked in and found the theater owner where she said he’d be, in his office.

“Good mornin’, Hess, what’re you up to?” Booth called by way of greeting.

“Ah, Booth, good morning to you as well. What brings you to the National Theatre on this fine spring morning?” Hess looked up from the papers he was reading on his desk.

“How’s the house looking tonight for
Aladdin
?” The actor inquired. “Do you expect a large turnout again?”

“Not so large as I thought. President Lincoln and his wife turned down my invitation. But, we still have a good crowd nonetheless. Aren’t quite sold out, but one still hopes.” He smiled at the actor standing in the doorway.

“Well, I hope so as well. Good day to you. I am on my way to Ford’s to pick up my mail and saw your lovely wife and thought I’d stop in.” Booth walked out of National Theatre and continued down E Street until he reached Tenth Street and turned left and approached Ford’s Theatre. As he drew near, Henry Ford, one of the brothers who owned the theater, stood on the steps talking with a friend, enjoying the spring weather.

“Well, here comes the handsomest and best dressed man in Washington City,” he said to his friend, but loud enough for Booth to hear.

“Good mornin’, Ford. How’re you? Do I have any mail?” Booth asked as he walked half way up the steps and stopped. Ford opened a door and called for Booth’s mail to be brought out and turned back around.

“So, Booth, have you heard that Lincoln and Grant shall be coming to the theater tonight?” The theater owner had a great grin on his face at the thought of the extra tickets that would be sold to theater goers coming in hopes of seeing the great conquering general and the liberating President together in public.

“You don’t say,” Booth replied appearing the picture of equanimity. “Will they be in his usual box seat?”

“Yes, the only other box seats that we’ve let out are for Lee and Davis who will be in manacles in the box next to the President and the great General as their guests!” Ford laughed and looked to his friend who joined in as well.

“Damn you, Ford. You’re always jabbing at my Southern sympathies.”

“Here’s your mail, Mr. Booth,” a young man said as he handed Booth a few letters.

“Now, Wilkes, don’t sulk. You know that I am a Union man and must poke fun at you for your Southern leaning. The war is over, there’s no harm now,” Ford said to Booth. But the latter had already broken the seal on his first letter, which appeared to be several pages long, and was sitting down and reading. Ford exchanged glances with his friend and raised his eyebrows and shook his head at the actor. The two friends exchanged small talk about the Illumination and the other news of the day. Occasionally, Booth would laugh at something in the letter.

As Booth read through the letter from his sister Asia in Philadelphia, his mind was turning furiously through the news that he had just heard. Lincoln and Grant
together
at Ford’s tonight! This is the opportunity that he had been waiting for—praying for. Was God smiling down on him, offering him a golden chance to strike down this tyrant who was attempting to make himself the monarch of this country? This reelection of his was simply the first step towards placing himself into a new position as king of America. He could not only kill Lincoln, he could also kill Grant, the general who had defeated Robert E. Lee. This day was going from good to better. He must contact his helper David Herold and send him to his crew, pulling the other men together so they could put their plans into motion. Destiny had presented Booth with the chance to assassinate Abraham Lincoln and Ulysses Grant in one fell swoop and by God he was going to take it!

Paperwork

Lincoln was exuberant. The sound night’s rest, seeing his eldest son safe from the front, and a regular family breakfast had done much to brighten his heart. He bounded up the steps as he headed for his office to meet with Schuyler Colfax, the Speaker of the House. Lincoln strode into his office. Colfax rose from his chair and walked to Lincoln with his hand extended. The Speaker was 42 years old and a fellow Republican. Colfax was a compact man with dark wavy hair that tended to the oily. Colfax had a beard and no mustache, a look that the President had made popular. The Speaker, though, had grown his beard out along his cheek as well. While he kept his bushy beard cut close to his cheek, he grew it out some from his chin. The unfortunate result was that the beard gave the visual effect of a grossly large chin that appeared malformed upon first impression. Lincoln, who admired and liked Colfax, shook his hand warmly. Cornelius Cole, a friend of Colfax, joined along with him.

“Well hello, Cole, I did not expect to see you here. What a nice surprise,” the President said as he pumped the other man’s hand. Cornelius Cole was a scion of California. The man had started out in life as prospector and moved on to become a practicing lawyer and editor in Sacramento. Today, Lincoln grasped his hand warmly as one of his staunchest supporters throughout the long hard war. Colfax and Cole smiled at each other, both aware that the Lincoln they saw before them was a new man.

“Mr. President, you appear to be in happy spirits today,” the Speaker quipped as he took his seat in one of the sitting chairs.

“Well, Mr. Speaker, the rebellion has collapsed at last. I know that Johnston is still in the field with all of his troops, but Sherman has him bottled up and I believe we’ll be hearin’ of further surrenders before too long. Davis is on the run, tryin’ to keep the rebellion alive, but as the hounds say to the cornered fox, I think it’s all but over. My dearest hope is that there’ll be no more effusion of blood.” In the confines of his private office, Lincoln often lapsed into his conversational voice which tended toward more colloquialisms. As he finished speaking, he looked out of the window behind Colfax’s head. The blue sky shone through and the trees tossed lightly in the spring breezes outside. A smile lingered across his lips and the three men paused in the moment.

“Mr. President, I am concerned about General Weitzel’s orders. Can nothing be done to specify for which national leader the Southerners should pray?” Cornelius Cole asked. “After all, it is one thing to advise them against recognizing any national authority other than the Federal government, but to not offer direction on specific topics and to not direct them to pray for you, Mr. President, is an egregious lack of judgment on the man’s part. That is the tradition. That is what is expected of these people now that, as you say, the rebellion is over.” A political fight had been brewing since General Weitzel, the new Provost Marshal of Richmond since its occupation by the Union Army, had issued an order to the clergy of that city instructing them to pray for the national authority. He had not included a directive to pray for the President of the United States in that order, something for which fire-breathing Republicans had now taken him to task.

“Mr. Cole, I reckon I’ve taken care of this and you have no need to worry. I wrote to the general on this matter already. I told him that I have no doubt he acted in what appeared to be the spirit and temper manifested by me while there in Richmond. I think you’ll find this matter is nothing but a tempest in a teacup.” Lincoln smiled at the men again and gazed at the spring day through the window.

“Well, Mr. President, I believe that I have intruded on Mr. Colfax’s time with you long enough. Also, my family is about to leave for California and I am to go with them. So I will take my leave. Congratulations, sir, on all that you have accomplished for this nation. I look forward to working with you in reconstructing the union.” Cole took the President’s hand and then walked from the office.

“Now, Colfax, I thought you, too, were heading to California and the western states. What brings you to the Executive Mansion before your trip?”

“Well, sir, I had an overwhelming desire to see you again prior to leaving. I wanted to see if I could be of help and also make sure that you were not planning to call a special session of Congress, as it would make it nearly impossible for me to return from the West in time.”

“Mr. Speaker, you can rest assured that I will not be calling a special session of Congress.” Lincoln laughed as he said it because both men knew that the last thing Lincoln wanted right now was ‘help’ from Congress on how to reconstruct the nation and admit the rebellious states back into the Union. The President and the Speaker of the House spent some time discussing the various ways in which each state might be readmitted to the Union.

“And how do things go with Virginia?” The Speaker asked. “The standing of that state, in particular, is critical to the success of the whole venture. Where Virginia goes, the rest will follow. Ever since Washington, Jefferson, Madison, and Monroe, the state has been unequalled in turning out leaders. What of all of this business with Campbell?” The Speaker inquired about an exchange that had taken place immediately after Richmond had fallen to Union forces. In an effort to speed the fall of the rebellion, Lincoln had encouraged John Campbell, a judge and the Assistant Secretary of War for the Confederacy, who had requested from Lincoln amnesty and a military convention, as the person who could bring Virginia back into the Union.

“Now, Colfax, I gave Campbell a memo listing three things indispensable for peace. They were the restoration of the national authority throughout all the States; no receding by the Executive of the United States on the slavery question; and no cessation of hostilities short of an end of the war and the disbanding of all forces hostile to the Government. These are the things that have been my firm requirements; all men who know me are aware of these requirements.

“I told our friend, General Weitzel, that ‘the gentlemen who have acted as the Legislature of Virginia in support of the rebellion’ could assemble in Richmond. That he should allow them to do so. But I warned him that should they attempt some action hostile to the United States, then he should warn them and give them time to leave. And if anyone should not leave, then he should arrest them.”

“Was this wise, Mr. President? To give them leave to meet and to recognize them in such a way?” The Speaker asked, his eyes wide behind his bushy beard.

“Now you sound like Mr. Stanton, Colfax,” the President laughed. “I in no way recognized them as an official legislature. I noted they were
acting
as the legislature in
support
of the rebellion. Apparently, my stipulations were lost on Campbell who proceeded to set about with this assembly to attempt to sue for peace. Besides, he dilly-dallied so much that by this time, Lee had surrendered and the need for these men to hasten the readmittance of Virginia was moot. I ordered the group disbanded at once. Now, sittin’ here today, Colfax, I will admit to you that my letter to Judge Campbell might not have been wise, but I had hoped that it would result in the withdrawal of Virginia’s troops from service and save lives.” To reinforce his point, Lincoln read to Schuyler Colfax the text of the terms for surrender he had offered to the Confederates at a meeting at Hampton Roads, Virginia, back on February 3
^rd
.

“The scandalous way in which Campbell acted is all the more reason that these men must not be trusted, Mr. President,” the Speaker leaned forward in his chair, his voice rising in earnest. “Their nature is not the same as your good nature. You must not offer them forgiveness. You must treat them with a firm hand.”

“Now you really do sound like Stanton,” Lincoln exploded in laughter and slapped his right thigh, enjoying his joke. “Now, Colfax, I do agree that the restoration of peace will be difficult with the leaders of the rebellion still in the country. I am hopin’ that Grant and his men can scare them off by intimatin’ that they’ll be punished if they remain.” Lincoln took a breath and rested his eyes on his friend. “Then, we can be magnanimous to the rest and have peace and quiet in the whole land. I must tell you that my greatest desire and deepest hope is to secure liberty and justice to all, Colfax, and to give full protection for the humblest and to reestablish on a sure foundation the unity of the Republic. These men who have sacrificed life and limb deserve no less, and I will give my fullest measure to see that it happens.” Lincoln’s language fell into the cadences and elegance of his written language as he spoke of his plans to re-unite his beloved Nation.

The two continued in discussion about the challenges that lay ahead for the nation. Then the Speaker of the House rose and shook Lincoln’s hand warmly. Lincoln grasped his friend’s shoulder with his left hand while he pumped his hand with the right and smiled down on him. “Now you must call again tonight before you leave town and we can talk some more,” Lincoln called out to him as he left.

As Colfax walked from his office, Senator John Creswell walked in. Creswell was a balding man with dark hair and a bushy mustache and beard. There were streaks of gray in his beard as a testament to the strain and intensity of his task of keeping Maryland in the Union and raising troops to help fight the war. Maryland was a largely Southern state that had been kept in the Union through the suspension of habeas corpus and the stationing of Union troops in Baltimore.

“Hello, Creswell,” the President boomed. “The war is over!” They met in the middle of the office and Lincoln grasped the Senator by the hand as enthusiastic as a schoolboy greeting an old chum. “The war is over!” he repeated.

“Yes, Mr. Lincoln, the war is over indeed,” the Senator responded to the second exclamation as if it were a liturgy and smiled at the President’s infectious enthusiasm.

“But it has been an awful war, Creswell,” Lincoln said, suddenly growing serious and downcast. “It has been an awful war. So much has been lost in order to save the country. But it’s over now.” He looked back up at his visitor and mustered another smile. “But what are you here for? You fellers don’t come to see me unless you want somethin’. It must be somethin’ big, or you wouldn’t be here so early.” He laughed as he took a seat and gestured for the Senator to join him in sitting.

“Well, sir, a college classmate of mine, a great friend, just received a letter.” He held it up to show the President. “In it, my friend learned that his cousin was a Confederate prisoner at Point Lookout. I’ve endorsed this, requesting that one Benjamin Twilley be discharged on the usual terms of taking the oath of allegiance and laying down arms against the Union.”

“Why that’s not so hard, Creswell,” said Lincoln reaching for the letter. He took it and put it on his knee and wrote on the back. Giving it back, he said, “This makes me think of an old Illinois story, and I’m goin’ to tell it to you.” His eyes lit up with the smile on his face. Creswell looked at the letter. The President had written:
Let it be done. A. Lincoln.
He slipped it back in the inside breast pocket of his jacket.

“Years ago,” he started, already smiling, “a lot a young folks, boys and girls, got up a Mayin’ party. They took their dinners and went down to a place where they had to cross the Sangamon River on an old scow. When it was time to go back they were hilarious at findin’ that the scow had got untied and floated down stream. After a while the thing looked more serious for there was no boat and they couldn’t throw out a pontoon. Pretty soon a young man, a little brighter than the rest, proposed that each feller take off his shoes and stockings and pick up the girl he liked best and carry her over. It was a great scheme, and it worked all right until all had got over but a little, short, young man and a very tall, dignified old maid. Then there was trouble for one young man in dead earnest.

“Now, do you see, Creswell, that you fellers will get one man after another out of the business until Jefferson Davis and I will be the only ones left on the island. I’m afraid he’ll refuse to let me carry him over, and I’m afraid there are some people who’ll make trouble about doing it if he consents.” The Senator and the President laughed at his illustration.

“Now, Creswell, you laugh, but this really is no laughin’ matter. It’s more than likely to happen. There are worse men than Jefferson Davis, and I wish I could see some way by which he and the people would let us get him over. However, we will keep goin’ on and getting’ them out of it, one at a time.” He smiled and nodded his head as the Senator stood up to take his leave.

“Mr. Lincoln, I now must go to Stanton to get this counter-signed, and I believe that I will find a much more difficult path to getting my friend’s cousin released.”

“God go with you if you are goin’ to see Stanton on the matter,” Lincoln called after him with a smirk on his lips. Lincoln looked at his pocket watch and saw that he had time to go to the War Department before the Cabinet Meeting. Lincoln grabbed a gray woolen shawl and tossed it over his shoulder. He smiled as he walked from his office, remembering the same story he thought of every time he pulled the shawl over his shoulder: his beloved Mary cajoling him to wear the shawl on his walks to the War Department because of the importance of his health. ‘If the nation is going to be saved by you, then you should remain healthy and alive in order to do it!’ As Lincoln walked down the steps and into the corridor on the first floor, he encountered two ladies that he did not know.

“Good morning, ladies,” he called to them. “I am Abraham Lincoln,” he introduced himself and shook their hands one at a time, as if he required an introduction.

“President Lincoln, I am Mrs. C. Dwight Hess and this is my sister-in-law, Helen Palmer Moss. We have come to the Executive Mansion to visit the Conservatory.” The ladies had just enjoyed a spring walk to the White House from the theater where they had exchanged pleasantries with John Wilkes Booth on the steps.