The Mammoth Book of Celebrity Murders (6 page)

Booth held the final meeting of his remaining accomplices at around 8 p.m. when Paine, Atzerodt and Herold were informed of a more ambitious plot. Booth had learned earlier that although Grant
had been invited to the theatre he had since left town. Paine therefore would not be able to deal with him as previously thought. Booth now suggested that instead of Grant he intended that Paine
should ride to the home of William Seward, the Secretary of State, and murder him. Herold would act as Paine’s guide, leading him to Seward’s address and then guiding him away
afterwards. Atzerodt meanwhile would seek out the Vice President, Andrew Johnson, who was staying at a local hotel and shoot him. Booth looked at his cohorts and told them the time of the attacks
should be 10.15 p.m. Afterwards they would meet at the Navy Yard Bridge before fleeing to Surrattville; where they would be able to pick up the package that Mrs Surratt had delivered – a
package containing more weapons. From there they hoped to cross the Potomac River and find a safe haven in the South.

All but Atzerodt seemed happy – he was not so keen on the ever-changing plans and complained that he had only agreed to the plot when it involved the kidnapping of the President. Atzerodt
would later testify that Booth had said they would all be hung anyhow so backing out was not an option. By the time the men left the meeting President Lincoln was already seated in his box at
Ford’s Theatre watching
Our American Cousin
.

Sometime between 9.30 p.m. and 10 p.m. Booth rode into the alleyway behind the theatre and called for Ned Spangler, who appeared on the third call. Booth asked him to hold the horse but Spangler
said he would be missed if he weren’t inside and that he would ask Joseph Burroughs, the junior handyman, to come and hold it instead. Ironically Spangler and Burroughs had argued earlier in
the day while preparing the presidential box. Spangler had cursed Lincoln and Burroughs had taken exception, asking him why he was blaspheming against Lincoln. Now Burroughs was about to hold the
getaway pony for the President’s assassin.

Once inside the theatre Booth took a route beneath the stage and crossed to the other side into the lobby. It was now a little after 10 p.m. and Booth had already passed a number of people who
knew him by sight. He walked briskly up the stairs to the dress circle and paused, looking around; more people in the audience recognized him as he turned and headed to the white door which gave
entry to the corridor outside the presidential box. Army Captain Theodore McGowan, who was close by, testified later that Booth took a pack of visiting cards from his pocket. Booth then showed one
of them to the President’s footman and messenger, Charles Forbes, who was sitting near the white door, before going through the door, closing it behind him. He was now within touching
distance of the President – the bodyguards who should have been guarding the door were clearly not in attendance. Years later one would admit that they had moved in order to get a better view
of the stage, leaving Lincoln completely vulnerable.

Safely ensconced in the corridor Booth now took the wood block he had hidden earlier and positioned it to prevent the door from being opened. The play was now in full flow and laughter filled
the theatre. With the sound more than covering his own movements Booth slipped stealthily into the presidential box and moved towards Lincoln’s rocking chair. The presidential party were so
engrossed in the play that Booth’s arrival went unnoticed by them, although a restaurant owner sat opposite noticed the stranger’s arrival. James P. Ferguson had come to the theatre
that night in the hope of seeing his idol, General Grant, so when he saw the shadowy shape of someone moving in behind the President, he hoped and expected it to be Grant.

Lincoln was sat forward in his chair, his arms resting on the railings and looking down at someone in the orchestra pit. Ferguson saw what happened next. The President suddenly turned as if to
look at the stranger and in that very instance he saw the blue flash of Booth’s Derringer. The audience were still laughing when the shot splintered into Lincoln’s skull. Almost
immediately he slumped into his chair, while Mrs Lincoln leaned toward her husband to hold him up. Major Henry Rathbone, who was sharing the presidential box, looked through the smoke and could see
Booth standing there. Rathbone lunged towards Booth knocking the pistol out of his hand but Booth had drawn a dagger and was slashing mercilessly at him. In the heat of the struggle Booth managed
to break free, leapt onto the railings and then off towards the stage. Unfortunately for Booth one of his spurs got caught in one of the flags shrouding the presidential box, his normally perfect
balance was disrupted and he landed heavily on just one foot, breaking two small bones in his left leg.

Amazingly the 1,000-strong audience did nothing; many presumed the madman jumping onto the stage was all part of the act. It had taken just thirty seconds from Booth entering the presidential
box to leaping onto the stage and escaping, most people still unaware of the monumental tragedy which had unfolded in their presence, all that was left was a curl of smoke drifting through the air.
A moment later and everyone knew something terrible had happened as Major Rathbone shouted instructions to stop the escaping man, his voice barely audible above the screams of Mrs Lincoln.

Two men who did react quickly were A.C. Richards, superintendent of the Metropolitan Police, who was sitting in the dress circle, and Joseph B. Stewart, a Washington lawyer. When Richards saw
the man limping away, he dashed down onto the stage and began searching the backstage area, where he was joined by Stewart.

Booth meanwhile was heading towards the back door, his dagger still drawn and flashing dangerously in the dim light. As he hobbled down the passageway leading to the rear exit door he found his
way blocked by William Withers Jr, the leader of the orchestra, who had gone backstage during a break. Booth was in no mood to make requests and slashed out at Withers twice, the first slicing
through his clothing the second delivering a nasty wound to his neck. Once outside he screamed at Burroughs to bring the horse around; when Burroughs did not respond quickly enough Booth knocked
him to the ground with the butt of his knife and kicked him. Climbing into the saddle he spurred the horse on and galloped away. Within seconds Richards and Stewart arrived at the open door in time
to hear the frantic sound of a galloping horse heading away down the alley and into the night.

By now the theatre had erupted into panic and misery, people were stood around crying as news of the attack on the President spread. A doctor in the audience who had been attached to an army
unit and was familiar with gunshot wounds made his way to the presidential box. When he arrived Rathbone was just removing the wooden door jam that Booth had used to secure the white door. As he
entered the room he saw Mrs Lincoln cradling the President, whose head was bowed, his chin resting on his chest. The distraught First Lady asked if the doctor would be able to help the President,
although at first glance he had assumed the President was dead. Laying him out on the floor he ran his hand through the President’s blood-matted hair, his finger finding the half-inch hole at
the back of his head. Having found no pulse the doctor pushed his finger into the bullet hole and removed a blood clot in the vain hope of reducing the pressure on the President’s brain.
Another doctor then arrived, 23-year-old Dr Charles Sabin, who had been helped up over the railings and into the President’s private box. The two doctors began to applying artificial
respiration, pushing the President’s diaphragm in and out; when this didn’t work Sabin tried mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Eventually Lincoln’s breathing returned feebly on its
own. Having worked hard to maintain the President’s life Sabin now faced the reality of the President’s injury – he had suffered a mortal gunshot wound to the brain and would
ultimately die of his injuries. However, no one wanted him to die in the theatre box, the White House was too far and so he was carried across the street to a boarding house where more doctors
arrived, eventually sixteen in total attending the dying President, who lingered on despite his severe injury. Throughout the night Lincoln’s life ebbed slowly away; the gunshot wound to the
head had caused major damage. Had he been shot today his wounds would have been difficult to treat and his prognosis poor. At 6.40 a.m., Dr Albert King jotted in a notebook that Lincoln’s
breaths were prolonged and groaning. At 7 a.m. King noted that the President was still breathing but with long pauses. Then, at 7.22 a.m., some nine hours after the attack, the President’s
chest rose, fell and did not rise again. Lincoln was dead, the victim of a most audacious assassination.

At the same time as Lincoln was being shot, Booth’s cohorts were involved in murderous activities themselves. At 10.10 p.m., Lewis Paine arrived at Seward’s three-storey mansion on
Lafayette Square, adjacent to the White House. Paine was accompanied by David Herold who, after refusing to be actively involved in the murder, was acting solely as the guide. Paine’s plan
was to pretend to be delivering medicine to the sick Seward and to insist on seeing the man so as to provide strict dosage instructions. Knocking at the door Paine was initially met by
Seward’s black servant William Bell, to whom he gave his story. When Bell refused to allow him entry Paine became more insistent and barged past the servant into the hallway. The commotion
drew the attention of the other guests who were now wondering what all the noise was about. As Bell climbed the stairs to see if Seward could receive a visitor, Paine noisily followed on behind,
quite aware that his presence was unwanted. At the top of the stairs Bell and Paine ran into Seward’s son Frederick, whereupon Paine once again explained his errand. Frederick was concerned
at disturbing his father but decided to check on him to see if the visit was possible. Unfortunately Frederick had now unknowingly given Paine Seward’s location. When Frederick refused Paine
permission to enter his father’s bedroom Paine turned as if to walk down back down the stairs, then suddenly spun round with a pistol in his hand, pointed the gun directly at Frederick and
pulled the trigger, but to Paine’s disappointment the gun did not go off. Faced with a situation he had not foreseen Paine lunged at Frederick and whipped him about the head with the butt of
the gun, breaking it in the process. Frederick sustained two skull fractures in the attack yet managed to grapple with the much bigger Paine, right up to his father’s bedroom door. Outside
William Bell had run into the street to find some help, screaming, “Murder! Murder!”

Hearing the commotion outside, Private George F. Robinson, who had been sitting with Seward, opened the door to the bedroom and was met by Paine who had drawn his bowie knife. Robinson was
struck immediately on the forehead and was forced to the ground with blood pouring from the open wound. Also in the room was Seward’s daughter, Fanny, who was shoved out of the way as Paine
jumped on to the sick man’s bed. Striking ferociously with his knife, Paine inflicted several severe injuries, the first opening a wound so deep on Seward’s cheek that his tongue could
be seen through it. Other stabs hit the beleaguered Seward in his neck, narrowly missing major arteries.

Robinson had by now got to his feet and had struck Paine from behind, but he continued slashing away with his knife, injuring Robinson even more, twice cutting him through to the bone. Another
house guest now joined the affray, Seward’s other son, Major Augustus Seward, who had been asleep in the room next door. He and Robinson grappled with Paine and the three men gradually moved
towards the bedroom door. Once at the top of the stairs Paine broke free and dashed down into the hallway where he ran into Seward’s State Department messenger, who had his back to him, and
stabbed the man before running for his horse. By now David Herold had already departed, afraid the screams of William Bell would draw in help before Paine could complete his work.

Inside the house, Seward had suddenly regained consciousness, declared that he was not dead and that a surgeon should be called along with the police. He subsequently survived the attack and
would live to see justice dispensed.

Vice President Johnson, George Atzerodt’s intended victim, would also survive. Atzerodt, who was not a killer by nature, had become less and less happy with his role as the evening had
progressed. Typical of the man he handled his unease in the best way he knew how – he got drunk in the bar of Kirkwood House, the hotel where Vice President Johnson was staying. The timing of
Atzerodt’s attack was of great significance, as was his victim, for once Johnson became aware of Lincoln’s condition, as the next in line to the presidency he would be forced to visit
and potentially take control. Atzerodt allowed the 10.15 p.m. deadline to come and go, instead sinking further into a whiskey induced haze. With the task still preying on his mind, he decided to
leave the hotel and instead find lodgings for the night, he had decided he would not be able to progress with Booth’s plan. Out on the street he noticed a large contingent of cavalry troops
ride past, and suspected he knew their business. As if to distance himself further from the evening’s plans he threw his dagger away and staggered off to find a bed for the night.

News of the attack on the President spread fast – even in these early days of the fledgling newspaper industry reporters were prepared to sell their papers on the back of some startling
headlines. Secretary of War Stanton had assumed the responsibilities of the President and had already set in motion plans to capture the perpetrators. All southbound trains from Washington had been
halted, all boats on the Potomac were prevented from touching shore south of Alexandria and all other members of the cabinet were under the watchful eyes of armed guards.

Ford’s Theatre had been closed down and hundreds of statements taken from eyewitnesses, all of whom claimed to have recognized the man who jumped from the presidential box as John Wilkes
Booth. The weight of evidence seemed beyond doubt. Stanton now turned the full focus of his attention to catching the killer.