JOHN WILKES BOOTH, PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S ASSASSIN.
An interview with an old stager was published a few months ago in the
New York _Dramatic News_, which furnishes some new ideas about John
Wilkes Booth, brother of the illustrious Edwin, and the terrible crime
with which he shook a nation to its centre. John Wilkes Booth, it will
be remembered, was the man who shot and killed President Lincoln, while
the latter was witnessing a performance of "Our American Cousin," at
Ford's Theatre, Washington, D. C., on the night of April 14, 1865.
Laura Keene was on the stage at the time. Wilkes Booth entered the
President's box and shot him in the back of the head. He then made his
escape by leaping from the box to the stage, and running thence through
the stage entrance to the street, where he leaped on a horse in waiting
for him. As he sprang from the box, his foot caught in the American
flag which was draped around the railing, and he fell, spraining his
ankle. Landing on the stage, he jumped up, and waving a dagger over his
head, he shouted, "_Sic semper tyrannis_." He was subsequently shot by
Sergeant Corbett, while attempting to escape from a barn in which he
had sought refuge.
[Illustration: JOHN WILKES BOOTH.]
Said a veteran actor, referring back a score of years, to Wilkes
Booth's opening at Wallack's old theatre, on Broadway, near Broome
Street: "The piece to open in was 'Richard III.' Monday morning came
for rehearsal with the star, and the company had all assembled
awaiting him. Many were the stories told of his wonderful gifts and
eccentricities. One old member of the company, who had played with him
through Georgia, prophesied he would make a terrific hit. Said he: 'I
am an old man at the business and have seen and played with some of the
greatest tragedians the world has ever seen. I've played second to
Macready. I've divided the applause with Charles Kean. I've acted often
with Forrest, but in all my long years of professional experience this
young man Wilkes Booth (I might call him a boy), this boy is the first
actor that ever (to use a professional term) knocked me off my pins,
upset and completely left me without a word to say! Yes, sir, an old
actor like me that you would suppose an earthquake could not move, was
tongue-tied--unable to speak his lines.' 'Perhaps you never knew them,'
said our saucy soubrette. The old man smiled, and then glaring at her
said: 'Not know Shakespeare?' He turned from her with a contemptuous
smile. 'Why, then,' said Jim Collier, 'were you so much at sea if you
were so well up in the lines?' 'Wait till you see him yourself, then
ask. I tell you, gentlemen, there is more magnetism in Wilkes Booth's
eye than in any human being's I ever saw.' I listened to the old actor
with pleasure, and set him down as an enthusiast--a not uncommon thing
among some veterans of the stage, although, as a rule they are apt to
carp at the present and deplore the downfall of the past. 'What do
you think?' said Ed. Tilton to me. 'You know the young man's brother,
Edwin, and played with the father of the boys. So have I; but don't
you think our friend exaggerates a bit?' 'No, I do not,' said I, 'for
I know the genius that runs in the blood of the Booth family, and
have seen it crop up at times in just such a manner as he describes.
The last engagement that the great Junius Brutus Booth played in San
Francisco only a few weeks before his death, I was cast for _Parson
Welldo_ in a "New Way to Pay Old Debts." And when _Sir Giles_, hemmed
in on all sides, is unable to break the combination against him, sees
the parson approaching, the lion immediately becomes a lamb. His look
of heavenly sweetness when I told him of the marriage of his daughter
was a study; but when he learned she was wedded to his bitterest enemy,
only a Dore's pencil could depict the diabolical malignity of the man.
The marks of his fingers I carried upon my throat for days after, and
when he shrieked in my ear with his hot breath, and the foam dropping
from his lip--"tell me, devil, are they married?" I had but to reply
"they are," but was unable to do so. So you see I am prepared for
anything this wonderful young man may turn out to be.'
"At that moment a commotion was heard at the back of the stage,
and Baker's voice was heard to say: 'Oh! not waiting long; you are
on time!' And striding down the centre of the stage came the young
man himself who was destined to play such an unfortunate part in
the history of our country afterwards. The stage being dark at his
entrance, the foot and border lights were suddenly turned up and
revealed a face and form not easily described or forgotten. You have
seen a high-mettled racer with his sleek skin and eye of unusual
brilliancy chafing under a restless impatience to be doing something.
It is the only living thing I could liken him to. After the usual
introductions were over, with a sharp, jerky manner he commenced the
rehearsal. I watched him closely and perceived the encomiums passed
upon him by the old actor were not in the least exaggerated. Reading
entirely new to us, he gave; business never thought of by the oldest
stager, he introduced; and, when the rehearsal was over, one and all
admitted a great actor was amongst us. Knowing his own powers, he was
very particular in telling those around him not to be affrighted at
night, as he might (he said, with a smile) throw a little more fire
into the part than at rehearsal. _Lady Anne_ (Miss Gray) was gently
admonished; _Richmond_, who was Jim Collier, was bluntly told to look
out in the combat scene. Jim, who was (and probably is now) something
of an athlete, smiled a sickly smile at the idea of anybody getting the
best of him in a combat scene, and in a sotto voice said to Jim Ward,
'Keep your eye on me to-night.'
"The evening arrived, the house was fair only, and his reception was
not as warm as his merits deserved. The soliloquy over, then came
the scenes with _King Henry_, and breaking loose from all the old
orthodox, tie-wig business of the Richards since the days of Garrick
down to Joannes, he gave such a rendition of the crook-back tyrant as
was never seen before, and perhaps never will be again. Whether it was
in the gentle wooing of the _Lady Anne_, the hypocrisy of the king,
or the malignant joy at _Buckingham's_ capture down to the fight and
death of the tyrant, originality was stamped all over and through the
performance. It was a terrible picture, but it had a humorous side one
night. At the commencement of the combat, when _Richard_, covered with
blood and the dust of the battle-field, crosses swords with _Richmond_,
Collier looked defiant and almost seemed to say: 'Now, Mr. Wilkes
Booth, you have been frightening everybody to-night, try it on me?' And
at the lines where _Richard_ says, 'A dreadful lay; here's to decide
it,' the shower of blows came furious from _Richard's_ sword upon the
devoted earl's head. Now was Collier's turn, and bravely did he return
them; with renewed strength _Richard_ rained blows upon blows so fast
that the athletic Jim began to wince--as much as to say, 'How long is
this going to last?' Nothing daunted, Collier with both hands clenched
his powerful weapon, but it was only a feather upon Booth's sword. Jim
was the first to show evidence of exhaustion, and no wonder, nothing
could withstand the trip-hammer blows of that _Richard_. Watching for
his head's protection, he was too unmindful of his heels, and before he
was aware of it, the doughty Jim for once was discomfited--beaten; and
lay upon his back in the orchestra, where the maddened Booth had driven
him.
"The fight over, the curtain descended, but Booth could not rise. Many
believed him dead, but no! there was the hard breathing and the glazed,
open eye. Could it be possible this was the man who only a few moments
before nobody could withstand in his fury; now a limp mass of exhausted
nature, his nerves all unstrung, and whom a child might conquer?
"Well, the piece, as may be imagined, was a success--a positive and
an unqualified success, so much so that it was kept on the balance of
the week. "The Robbers" was called for rehearsal next, and as usual
the war (then in progress) was the sole topic of conversation. The
company was pretty evenly divided on the question, a majority of them
having played throughout the South, and had the same sympathy that the
merchant had who saw his trade diverted through other channels. Not a
word of politics was ever heard from Booth during the first week of
his engagement, although he was an attentive listener to the angry
discussions pro and con., till one morning somebody (I forget who)
read aloud from a newspaper of the arrest of Marshal George P. Kane in
Baltimore, and his incarceration in Fort McHenry by order of Stanton.
One of the company (now dead) who shall be nameless, approved heartily
of the act, and denounced the entire city of Baltimore as a hot-bed
of rebels, and should be razed to the ground. His opponent took an
entirely different view of the question, and thought the levelling to
the earth should be done to one Edwin Stanton by the aid of a pistol
shot. The unfortunate Lincoln's name was never mentioned. At the
suggestion of shooting Stanton, a voice, tremulous with emotion, at
the back of the stage was heard to exclaim. 'Yes, sir, you are right!'
It was Booth's. '_I know_ George P. Kane well; he is my friend, and
the man who could drag him from the bosom of his family for no crime
whatever, but a mere suspicion that he _may_ commit one some time,
deserves a dog's death!'
"It was not the matter of what he said, it was the manner and general
appearance of the speaker, that awed us. It would remind you of
Lucifer's defiance at the council. He stood there the embodiment of
evil. But it was for a moment only, for in the next breath with his
sharp, ringing voice, he exclaimed, 'Go on with the rehearsal!'
"That day and its events passed from memories of the majority of us,
but I never could forget the scene; the statuesque figure of the
young man uttering those few words in the centre of the old stage of
Wallack's can never be forgotten. Some months after I was awakened from
a sound sleep and told that President Lincoln had been shot. Half dazed
I inquired when, and where, and being told, asked who was the assassin?
Wilkes Booth is thought to be, but it is only a supposition that he
is the guilty one. I felt it was but too true, for I could see him in
my mind's eye as upon that day in the old theatre when he would have
undertaken any task, however bold. A few hours after proved the rumor
to be true. The last act of the tragedy all are familiar with, and one
day standing at the grave outside of Baltimore where all that is mortal
of father and son lie, I could not stifle memories of the past, and
felt like dropping a tear of pity over the sudden and early downfall
of one so promising, that had he lived might now be delighting nightly
thousands with his powerful acting."