A Night of Horrors: A Historical Thriller about the 24 Hours of Lincoln's Assassination (8 page)

“That damned tyrant is parading them through the street like some conquering dictator. Damn his black heart,” Booth cursed Lincoln aloud, but to himself. After the Confederate officers had passed by, Booth started his horse again up Pennsylvania Avenue. As he neared the Willard Hotel, and the triangular enclosure around Fourteenth Street, he heard someone calling his name. He looked up and saw John Matthews, a fellow actor, who would be performing in the play at Ford’s that night, standing in the grass enclosure. Booth rode over and said hello.

“John, have you seen the prisoners?” Matthews asked, knowing that his friend was sympathetic to the Southern cause.

“Yes, Johnny, I have.” Booth paused and looked down. Suddenly, he looked back at his friend and placed his hand on his forehead. “Great God! I have no longer a country!”

“Yes, John, I know that it concerns you. Cheer up, old man.”

Booth pressed his lips together considering something. “Johnny, I wish to ask you a favor; will you do it for me?” Booth asked.

“Of course,” Matthews replied without asking the nature of the favor.

“I have a letter which I wish you to deliver to the publishers of
The National Intelligencer
tomorrow morning, unless I see you in the meantime. I may leave town tonight, and it will not be much trouble for you to deliver that letter.” Booth took the letter from his breast pocket and handed it to his friend.

“Certainly, I will take it for you, John,” the other actor replied.

“Are you performing tonight?” Booth asked his friend, knowing full well that Matthews had a significant part in
Our American Cousin
that night.

“Yes, it should be a full house as Lincoln and Grant are coming. Ford has announced it in the papers.” Booth made some passing comments on the fine spring weather when Matthews pointed over his shoulder.

“Hey, there goes Grant. I thought he was coming to the theater tonight.” Booth looked over his shoulder and saw an open carriage filled with baggage going by. Booth had not turned in time to see the face of the man and woman sitting in the back, but the man was in a bright and clean Union uniform.

“Damn!” Booth exclaimed and spurred his horse into a gallop, abruptly leaving Matthews and riding after the carriage. Matthews looked down at the letter in his hand and watched his friend gallop away. He wondered at the oddness of the request to deliver a letter to the paper as he shoved it into his coat pocket and why Booth would gallop after Grant in such a way. He shook his head and kicked his horse into a trot as he was due at Ford’s for rehearsals.

Booth galloped along Pennsylvania Avenue and went past the carriage. As he rushed past the carriage he leaned towards the riders, but continued ahead. Grant looked up at the dark-haired man quickly passing by. Riders tended not to gallop down Pennsylvania Avenue, as it was crowded with pedestrians, carriages, and wagons. Suddenly, the Grants saw the rider, who had gone about twenty yards ahead of their carriage, wheel around and come back towards them. Booth was now leaning and staring into their carriage, convinced that it was indeed Grant and his wife leaving town. Grant, sensing that something was not right, instinctively reached his hand across the front of his wife’s shoulders in a protective gesture. Booth glared directly at the two passengers as he rode by. Julia Grant took a quick breath and looked over at her husband.

“What is it, Julia?” The general asked, growing more concerned.

“Why that man. That awful pale man,” she responded, her mind racing.

“Did you recognize him?” He asked as he looked over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t turning around again.

“That was the awful man who kept looking at Mrs. Rawlins and me at lunch today. Remember how I told you about that odd occurrence? It was him. I recall the pale face and that black curly hair. What ever could it mean?” Grant pulled her close and they both commented that they were glad to be getting away from the Capital and spending time with their children.

Wilkes Booth rode back down Pennsylvania Avenue. “Damn him, what an opportunity that I would have had to kill them both,” he whispered to himself. He rode on, making a fist in the hair of the horse’s mane. ‘I can still kill Lincoln, but striking at both would have been a much grander gesture. The tyrant and his puppet general killed together…. But what about another puppet?’ Booth thought to himself, a dark epiphany springing to his brain. ‘Johnson is Vice President in title only. He sits in his room at the Kirkwood and does nothing. He was a Southern Democrat who betrayed his brothers and his country.’ He looked up realizing he would need Atzerodt and Powell to help him. ‘And Seward, the most vile abolitionist of them all, is laid up in his house on Lafayette Square. He’s like a duck sitting on the ground,’ Booth continued developing his machinations. ‘We will strike at all three of them at the same time tonight. The entire government will be in chaos,’ he exulted to himself.

Booth had met Andrew Johnson, the new Vice President of the United States, several months ago. He had become friends with the Vice President’s secretary, Bill Browning. The Kirkwood was just ahead on Pennsylvania Avenue. Booth guided his horse to the front of the Kirkwood House and handed his reins to a bootblack sitting by his box in front of the hotel. He walked into the hotel and headed for the front desk.

“Is Mr. Johnson in?” Booth asked.

“No, Mr. Booth,” he replied, recognizing the actor.

“What about Browning, his secretary?” He wasn’t in either. They had both left that morning for appointments but were expected that evening.

“Is Johnson going to the theater tonight?” Booth asked, a natural question coming from an actor.

“I do not know sir, but I doubt it. The Vice President doesn’t get out much. He tends to stay in his room.” Booth took out one of his calling cards and wrote on the back:

Don’t wish to disturb you; are you at home?
J. Wilkes Booth

He handed it to the clerk and asked him to leave it for Mr. Johnson. Then he asked for a pen and paper and wrote a note to David Herold, instructing him to have George Atzerodt check into the Kirkwood House immediately. He had the sealed note delivered at once.

Booth walked back out and got onto his horse. He would need to plan very quickly, but also very carefully. He now had three murders to commit rather than one.

An Afternoon Carriage Ride

Lincoln sat up from his desk in his office in the Executive Mansion. He had finished some more paperwork after the Cabinet meeting. He looked at his pocket watch. It was already three o’clock and he needed to break from work and join Mary for their afternoon carriage ride. He stepped into a small closet attached to his office so he could freshen up prior to the ride. As he unbuttoned his sleeves to wash his hands, face, and forearms in the basin, Charles Dana called to him from his office. Dana was the Assistant Secretary of War and a good friend to both Lincoln and Stanton during the trying times of the past few years. Lincoln stuck his head out of the closet and smiled to see it was the Assistant Secretary and not another member of the House trying to curry a favor from him.

“Halloo, Dana! What is it? What’s up?” He called in his high-pitched voice.

“I have just received this telegraph,” the Assistant Secretary said holding out a piece of paper. Lincoln looked at his hands, dripping wet, to say he couldn’t hold the paper, so Dana read the telegraph to the President. It was a wire from the Provost Marshal in Portland, Maine, informing the War Department that Jacob Thompson, former Secretary of the Interior of the United States, and now the Inspector General for the Confederate Army was traveling through Portland that night in order to take a steamer for England. Lincoln stooped to the basin and rinsed his hands and then stood with a towel and wiped his hands dry.

“What does Stanton say?” He asked. Lincoln knew that Stanton would be particularly anxious to do something with Thompson because they had both served together, albeit briefly for Stanton, in James Buchanan’s cabinet. Officials of the Confederacy who had previously served the United States in elective or appointed office were of particular interest to the War Department for special punishment.

“Stanton says to arrest him, but he asked me to refer the question to you.” Lincoln smiled.

“Well, then, no. I rather think not. When you’ve got an elephant by the hind leg, and he’s tryin’ to run, it’s best to let him run.” Lincoln smiled as he buttoned his shirt cuffs again and reached for his suit coat. Dana nodded and left the office and headed back to the War Department. “That’ll send him off,” Lincoln smirked, thinking about the reaction his decision would provoke from Edwin Stanton.

Two different congressmen stopped Lincoln as he walked down the stairs to join Mary and asked for his endorsement. He took one and signed it on his knee, and handed it back to the Congressman asking him to take it to Stanton for him to consider it. As he walked onto the landing from the stairway, Lincoln noticed a one-armed soldier standing off to the side talking with one of the clerks in the Executive Mansion. Down the hall he saw Mary look his way and step towards the door, patiently and quietly encouraging him to come along. He looked back to the soldier who was in uniform, the empty left sleeve of his military blouse folded and pinned together.

“I would almost give my other arm for the opportunity to shake the hand of Abraham Lincoln!” The soldier said, animated to be in the Executive Mansion and to hear the President was actually in the building. Upon hearing those words, Lincoln held up a finger to his wife and stepped over to the soldier.

“You shall do that and it shall cost you nothing, my boy!” Lincoln said with a broad smile and held his hand out to the young soldier. The young man turned and realized he was face to face with the Commander in Chief. His eyes widened and he slowly put his hand out. Lincoln took it firmly and pumped it up and down.

“Now tell me your name, young man,” he said, still shaking his hand.

“Sir, I am Thomas Benson,” he replied still looking up at the tall President in awe.

“Where did you lose your arm?” The President asked looking at the pinned sleeve.

“In the Wilderness, sir,” he answered and smiled even though he was talking about the most painful event in his life.

“Well, my boy, you are indeed brave and the nation and I are very grateful for your gallant service. You’ve helped to secure a lasting peace and the future of this great nation.” Lincoln smiled and gave a short bow to the solider who watched him walk down the corridor to his waiting wife. Mary smiled at her husband, knowing him too well to be angry that he stopped to talk with a soldier in uniform, much less one who had lost an arm. He took her by the arm and led her through the door, held open by Charles Forbes, Lincoln’s footman.

“Halloo, Charlie,” Lincoln said to him. “I just think that we’ll have Burke drive us and you can take the afternoon off.”

“Do we not need anyone to accompany us?” Mary asked her husband. “You know how Mr. Stanton gets when you go out without a guard of some sort.”

“I have not asked the guard to come. It will just be us today, Mary.” He smiled at his wife and patted her hand.

“Very well, then, Father.” She grasped his hand momentarily and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Burke, let’s go down to the Navy Yard. But take the scenic route.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver responded, and the Lincolns were off on a quiet ride. As they drove from the grounds of the Executive Mansion, the temperature had climbed to 68 degrees and the breeze had let up some. It was very comfortable in the mild afternoon and the two looked out on the spring afternoon, riding in silence. He took in the blooming Dogwoods and smiled at the window boxes with bright red Geraniums crowding before the white trim of the houses. The sky was a deep azure on this day and the air crisp and clean. Lincoln had asked for this private carriage ride several days ago. As he realized the war was drawing to an end at last, he wanted some time to talk with Mary. Their tenure in the Executive Mansion had been long and hard for them, not only because of the war, but because their young son Willie had died. His passing had been especially difficult on Mary who had doted on the boy. She had become locked in her grief for many months and Lincoln had feared that she would slip into insanity. She had eventually recovered, but she had lost the vivacity and spunk that Lincoln loved so much.

The man also knew that Washington social circles had been unkind to his Mary. His political foes had cast her as a grasping country bumpkin and the characterization had stuck. He knew how much it bothered and upset her, but he simply did not have the time nor the emotional energy to comfort her after her repeated spurns. Unfortunately, this had all made her a bitterly jealous woman. Just recently when there was so much to celebrate and take joy in when they visited Richmond after the great surrender of the city, his wife had publicly berated Julia Grant and another officer’s wife for the audacity of riding too closely to her husband when they were reviewing the troops. Though embarrassed by his wife’s outbursts, Lincoln never admonished her in public for her actions. He kept a painful silence until she calmed herself and then resumed his conversation. He had made sure that they kept this appointed carriage ride, for there was much to discuss. He wanted the joy and anticipation of life to flower once again between them.

“Riding in the carriage makes me think of poor Secretary Seward. Is he still mending?” She asked, looking up at her husband.

“Yes, Mother, he is doing very well. I should like to stop by and see him this weekend. I am glad to see that you are no longer suspicious of the man,” he teased her.

“Oh, Mr. Seward is not to be trusted at all, but I certainly don’t wish anything bad to happen to him.” She cast a dark smile his way. He laughed at her characterization of the Secretary of State and looked back out the open window of the carriage.

“Did they have the ceremony at Fort Sumter as you planned?” She asked.

“Yes. It came off with great fanfare. General Anderson was there to raise the very flag he had lowered four years ago today. Isn’t it hard to believe that it has been four years?” He became thoughtful.

“Now, Father, don’t get morose! You’ve been in such fine spirits today.”

“Do you know why, Mary? Because the war is
over!
This
is the day the war has ended for me. It is plain that the rebels, particularly Johnston, cannot get away from Sherman. So there are two primary questions in my mind. Will we be able to end the war without the further effusion of blood? The answer lies with them and not with me. The other questions is, will they turn to guerilla warfare and drag this out interminably? Again, that is out of my control and completely in theirs. That is why I am so gay and lively. And, because I am with my beautiful wife!” He added and leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. They both laughed and she pretended to be shy and embarrassed by such a display of affection from her husband.

“I assume that General Grant has told you they will not be joining us this evening for the play?”

“Yes,” Lincoln added.

“I sent a note to Mr. and Mrs. Accrete, but they have refused us as well,” she countered. He arched his eyebrows. “Also, William and Mrs. Wallace cannot join us.”

“Well, so also did Stanton and his wife,” he began to smile as they made a joke of the numerous regrets they’d received for the theater that day.

“To them you should add Mr. Howard and Robert,” she laughed.

“Robert isn’t coming?” The President asked.

“No, he is exhausted, Father. And who can blame him. He hasn’t slept more than a few hours a night for the past few weeks.” Lincoln was silent and tilted his head back.

“Why, Mother, I believe that ten people have refused our company. What is to be said about that?” His eyes sparkled.

“That everyone is tired from all of the celebrations. Father, really,” she said shaking her head back at him. “I have asked Major Rathbone and Miss Harris to join us and
they
accepted.”

“Now, Mother, that is a stroke of brilliance. You have a cordial friend and I have a guard who served admirably in the war to keep Mr. Stanton happy.” Lincoln smiled.

“Mr. Stanton only looks after your safety.”

“Mine and everyone else’s,” Lincoln smirked.

The Lincolns had been riding down Pennsylvania and turned south in front of the Capitol at Seventh Street. This street would lead them directly into the Washington Navy Yard, just west of the Anacostia Bridge. Lincoln had been curious to see one of the ironclad ships, made famous by the original
USS Monitor
up close, and Gideon Welles had arranged for him and Mary to have a tour of the
USS Montauk
. When the Lincolns arrived at the Navy Ship Yard, he sent for William Flood, the acting ensign of the steamer
Primrose
. Lincoln had served in the Illinois state legislature with Flood’s father a couple of decades earlier.

“Good afternoon, Mr. President,” Flood said, saluting his Commander in Chief. Lincoln stuck his hand out to shake the man’s hand.

“Why, Billy, I haven’t seen you in years. Remember how I used to toss you about when you would come by your dad’s offices? This is the First Lady, Mrs. Lincoln.” They exchanged greetings and Lincoln and Flood talked of the ensign’s father.

“Now, Ensign Flood, which one is the ship with a history?” Lincoln asked.

“Well, Mr. President, they’ve all got histories, more or less. They’ve all been under fire of some sort or another, but I guess you mean the
Montauk
over there. She’s had the hardest hittin’, and has been in the tightest spots.” Flood pointed to the ironclad that was tied up along the dock.

“That’s the one, Flood. Take us over to her.” As they walked along, naval officers began to appear around them, some watching and some stepping up to salute the President. Lincoln grumbled under his breath about being gawked at and fussed over like a bride on her wedding day. Flood, who could hear the President’s complaints, began to feel self-conscious. He was in no way the senior officer present in the Naval Yard, yet he was escorting the President. As they approached the
Montauk,
the Commander and ship’s surgeon came out to greet him. Flood took that opportunity to take his leave of the President and First Lady, but not before both invited him to visit the Executive Mansion in the near future.

“Permission to come aboard, Commander,” Lincoln said, as he walked across the gangplank. Mary laughed behind him. The Lincolns not only walked across the low-lying deck of the ship, but also visited the gun turrets and the decks below. Lincoln asked specific questions about the “hittin’” the ship had taken while in action in Charleston harbor and against Fort Sumter as well as a close range battle against the Confederate privateer the
Rattlesnake
. The Lincolns walked all over the ship above and below and kept the officers busy and laughing.

“Well, Commander, I imagine it must be a welcome relief to not have a next assignment for this ship,” Lincoln commented.

“You have no idea, Mr. President. The war is over at last.”

“Not quite. Johnston is still to surrender, but I expect good news in that direction very soon. But I do think you are right. This cruel war is finally over.” Lincoln broke into a broad smile and the party of officers walking the ship with him broke into a spontaneous cheer. As the Lincolns were taking their leave, the ship’s surgeon, Harry Todd, bid them an enjoyable evening at the theater and added that he might see them there that evening.