ASSASSINATION OF THE PRESIDENT AND ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION OF SECRETARY
SEWARD.
On the morning of the 14th of April, 1865, the President's messenger
went to Ford's Theatre in Washington City and engaged a private box
for the President and General Grant, with their wives, to witness the
play of "Our American Cousin," which was to be rendered there that
night. The heavy burden of responsibility, the weight of cares and
anxieties which had for four long years rested on the head of President
Lincoln in his official position of President of the United States
and Commander-in-Chief of its army and navy, employed during all that
time in suppressing a gigantic rebellion of the slave-holding States
of the South against the constitutional and lawful authority of the
government, and which had followed him into his second term of office,
upon which he had just entered, had been partially lifted by the signal
success of the Union arms at Appomattox, and the surrender of Lee's
army. General Grant, who had just accepted the unconditional surrender
of that army, and finished the work of dismissing to their homes the
officers and men who had composed it (and who for four long years had
fought with such magnificent bravery, and manifested such earnestness
and determinedness of purpose in a cause which, though bad, was no
doubt esteemed by them to be just), under no other condition than that
they should return to their homes and the pursuits of peaceful life,
and desist from all further acts of hostility against the government
they had sought, but failed, to overthrow, had gone to Washington to
talk over the situation with the President and Secretary of War, and
to decide on future operations for the speedy establishment of peace.
With the surrender of Lee's army, and the successful march of Sherman
from Atlanta to the sea, and his almost unresisted progress up the
coast toward the Nation's Capital, it was obvious that the rebellion
had collapsed, and that the return of peace was just at hand. All
loyal hearts throughout the land throbbed with joy, and praise and
thanksgiving ascended to Him who had stamped the righteousness of the
union cause with the signet of His approbation, in thus giving us the
victory after a long and bloody contest. The years of sacrifice, toil,
suffering and danger were almost forgotten in the gladness of that
hour; and the war-scarred veterans in the field, and their friends at
home, were rejoicing at the prospect of a speedy re-union, under skies
of peace. It was an hour big with the memories of the past and hopes
of the future. When we think of what President Lincoln had endured
through all these years of the war; of his unfaltering purpose to
discharge all the duties of his official oath, by protecting, defending
and preserving the constitution of his country; of the formidable
difficulties that had to be met and overcome--difficulties thrown
across his pathway often by friends, always by foes; when we remember
his largeness of soul, his unbounded love of, and sympathy with,
mankind; his all controlling love of his country and her institutions
of freedom; his patient toleration of opposing views of martial and of
political policy; his self-poise, and almost infallible appreciation
of the situation and its demands, in whatever circumstances he might
be placed; his kindness of nature and goodness of heart, we can well
conceive what must have been his fullness of joy on this the last day
of his sojourn on earth. God, in his providence, led him to the opening
of a vista through which his patriotic and philanthropic soul could
swell with delightful anticipations of the greatness, the glory, and
the happiness that should accrue to mankind through his faithfulness to
the obligations of his official oath, by which he had vindicated his
authority, and brought to a right solution the great moral question
underlying the contest, and thus had made our beloved land a land
of freedom in fact, as well as in name. He saw a new and glorious
era about to dawn on his country. Like Moses, however, he was only
permitted, in vision, to look over into the promised land--the great
future of his beloved country.
It is consoling to thus know that to the great Lincoln his last day on
earth was the happiest, and at the same time, the meekest day of his
life. His biographers, Nicolay and Hay, who were able to write from
personal association with, and observation of, this great man, inform
us that on this day his soul was filled with the kindliest feelings
toward his enemies, and in his last conference with his cabinet his
policy of dealing with them was shadowed forth as free from feelings
of revenge or desire for the punishment of any. He desired that no man
should lose his life for the part he had taken in the rebellion. He
held "malice toward none," and was filled with "charity for all." His
passage from time to eternity, though brought about by the bullet of an
assassin, was a passage through a triumphal arch, whose further portal
was the gate of heaven.
The presence of General Grant was known to the city, and it was noised
abroad that both he and President Lincoln would honor the theatre with
their presence on that evening. The public knowledge of this fact was
calculated to bring out a brilliant and large assemblage of people.
The loyal citizens would be there to give to the President and the
successful and popular commander of his armies in the field a heartfelt
and royal ovation in this the hour of their triumph. All felt happy
and secure. That they were coming together to witness, on that night,
the awful tragedy of the assassination of the nation's head, President
Lincoln, was not dreamed of by any except those who had made every
preparation in advance for accomplishing the murderous plot, and who
were stealthily slipping about through the assembling crowds, like
fiends, to assure themselves that every arrangement for the successful
accomplishment of their hellish purpose was complete. During the day
General Grant received a telegram that called him to Philadelphia on
business, and owing to this apparently providential circumstance he
was prevented from accompanying the President to the theatre on that
eventful night, and also, in all probability, from being, with the
President, a victim of the plot, in which there is good reason to
conclude, from all the evidence, his life was included, and that for
him an assassin had been provided.
In lieu of General and Mrs. Grant, President Lincoln had taken Major
Rathbone and Miss Harris, the step-son and daughter of Senator Harris,
of New York, into the Presidential party. On reaching the theatre at a
somewhat late hour, and after the play had commenced, as soon as the
presence of the President became known, the actors stopped playing, the
band struck up "Hail to the Chief," and the audience rose and received
him with vociferous cheering.
The party proceeded along the rear of the dress circle, and entered the
box that had been prepared for them, the President taking the rocking
chair that had been placed there for him on the left of the box, and
nearest to the audience, about four feet from the door of entrance to
the box. Major Rathbone and the ladies found seats on the President's
right. During this time the conspirators were on the alert, scanning
the situation, passing about so as to keep up a communication with each
other, in preparation for their work. Booth had arranged with Payne to
assassinate Secretary Seward at the same time that he would assassinate
the President; and no doubt had planned for Payne, after accomplishing
his task, to join him and Herold in their flight, crossing the Eastern
Branch at the Navy Yard bridge, and then to pass down through Maryland
and cross the Potomac, at a selected point, into Virginia, where
they might consider themselves as being safe amongst their friends.
Secretary Seward was known to have received severe injuries from the
upsetting of his carriage, and to be lying in a critical condition
under the care of Dr. Verdi. Booth had planned to take advantage of
this circumstance for gaining admittance for Payne into the sick
chamber, where, by springing with the ferocity of a tiger upon the sick
man, he might make quick work in dispatching him with his dagger. To
this end he had prepared a package rolled up in paper, and had schooled
Payne in the artifice, teaching him to represent himself as having been
sent by Dr. Verdi with this package of medicine, which it was necessary
he should deliver in person, as he had important verbal directions as
to the manner of its use, which required him to see the Secretary.
About ten o'clock Booth rode up the alley back of the theatre where
he had been accustomed to keep his horse, and having reached the rear
entrance, called for Ned three times, each time a little louder than
before. At the third call Ned Spangler answered to his summons by
appearing at the door. Booth's first salutation was in the form of a
question: "Ned, you will help me all you can, won't you?" To which
Spangler replied, "Oh, yes!" Booth then requested him to send "Peanuts"
(a boy employed about the theatre), to hold his horse. Spangler gave
the boy orders to do this, and upon the boy making the objection that
he might be out of place at the time he had a duty to perform, Spangler
bade him go, saying that he would stand responsible for him. The boy
then took the reins, and held the horse for about half an hour, until
Booth returned to reward him with a curse and a kick, as he jerked the
rein from him preparatory to remounting for his flight. After entering
the theatre, Booth passed rapidly across the stage, glancing at the
box occupied by his intended victim, and looking up his accomplices,
he passed out of the front door on to the walk where he was met by two
of his fellow conspirators. One of these was a low, villainous-looking
fellow, whilst the other was a very neatly-dressed man. Booth
held a private conference with these by the door where he and the
vulgar-looking fellow had stationed themselves. The neatly-dressed man
crossed the walk to the rear of the President's carriage and peeped
into it. One of the witnesses, who was sitting on the platform in front
of the theatre, had his attention arrested by the manner and conduct of
these men, and so watched them very closely.
It was at the close of the second act that Booth and his two fellow
conspirators appeared at the door. Booth said, "I think he will come
down now"; and they aligned themselves to await his coming. Their
communications with each other were in whispered tones. Finding that
the President would remain until the close of the play, they then began
to prepare to assassinate him in the theatre. The neatly-dressed man
called the time three times in succession at short intervals, each
time a little louder than before. Booth now entered the saloon, took a
drink of whiskey, and then went at once into the theatre. He passed
quickly along next to the wall behind the chairs, and having reached a
point near the door that led to the passage behind the box, he stopped,
took a small pack of visiting cards from his pocket, selected one and
replaced the others; stood a second with it in his hand, and then
showed it to the President's messenger, who was sitting just below
him, and then, without waiting, passed through the door from the lobby
into the passage, closing and barring it after him. Taking a hasty,
but careful, look through the hole which he had had made in the door
for the purpose of assuring himself of the President's position, and
cocking his pistol and with his finger on the trigger, he pulled open
the door, and stealthily entered the box, where he stood right behind
and within three feet of the President. The play had advanced to the
second scene of the third act, and whilst the audience was intensely
interested Booth fired the fatal shot--the ball penetrating the skull
on the back of the left side of the head, inflicting a wound in the
brain (the ball passing entirely through and lodging behind the right
eye), of which he died at about half-past seven o'clock on the morning
of the fifteenth. He was unconscious from the moment he was struck
until his spirit passed from earth. An unspeakable calm settled on that
remarkable face, leaving the impress of a happy soul on the casket it
had left behind.
Thus died the man who said, "Senator Douglass says he don't care
whether slavery is voted up, or voted down; but God cares, and humanity
cares, and I care."
As soon as Booth had fired his pistol, and was satisfied that his end
was accomplished, he cried out, "Revenge for the South!" and throwing
his pistol down, he took his dagger in his right hand, and placed his
left hand on the balustrade preparatory to his leap of twelve feet to
the stage. Just at this moment Major Rathbone sprang forward and tried
to catch him. In this he failed, but received a severe cut in his arm
from a back-handed thrust of Booth's dagger. Time was everything now to
the assassin. He must make good his escape whilst the audience stood
dazed, and before it had time to comprehend clearly what had happened.
With his left hand on the railing, he boldly leaped from the box to the
stage. The front of the box had been draped for the occasion with the
American flag, which was stretched across its front, and reached down
nearly or quite to the floor. In the descent, Booth's spur caught in
the flag, tearing out a piece which he dragged nearly half way across
the stage. The flag, however, was avenged for this double insult which
he had put upon it; for by this entanglement his descent was deflected,
causing him to strike the stage obliquely, and partially to fall, thus
fracturing the fibula of his left leg, on account of which injury his
flight was impeded, and his permanent escape made impossible. As he
recovered himself from his partial fall and started to run across the
stage with his dagger brandished aloft, he cried out in a theatrical
tone, "_Sic semper tyrannis!_" and quickly passed out at a little back
door opening into the alley where he had left his horse, and, though
closely pursued, succeeded in mounting, and rode rapidly away.
Of course he could not afford to run any risks in regard to his escape,
and for all this he had made his arrangements in advance. Spangler had
faithfully redeemed his promise to render him all the aid he could by
keeping the passage to the door clear at the critical moment, and also
by doing all he could to retard pursuit. When a fellow-employee cried
out, "That was Booth!" Ned ordered him to shut up, saying "You don't
know who it was." Booth was closely pursued by a man by the name of
Stewart, who followed him into the alley, making every effort he could
to stop him; but Booth kept his horse in motion, so that Stewart failed
to get hold of the rein, and the assassin was soon off at a rapid pace.
Stewart testified that Spangler, or a man resembling him, stood
near the door, and could have prevented Booth's exit had he been so
disposed. It is evident his purpose was to aid, rather than hinder, his
escape. All the occupants of the stage, actors and assistants, male and
female, were in a state of confusion and intense excitement except this
man, who evidently had not been taken by surprise, but was prepared in
mind for what had happened, and had played his part in the tragedy.
At the same hour that Booth fired the fatal shot, Payne appeared at the
door of Secretary Seward's house, in the guise of a messenger from Dr.
Verdi, holding in his hand the package that Booth had prepared for him,
and demanded to see the Secretary, saying that he had a verbal message
which was of particular importance in regard to the use, or application
of, the medicine, and that he must see the Secretary himself. Dr.
Verdi had left his patient but a short time previous, and had consoled
the family that had for days been suffering the greatest anxiety on
account of the Secretary's condition by taking a favorable view of the
symptoms. The family, worn with watching and anxiety, were disposing of
themselves for the night. Major A. H. Seward had retired to his room.
Sergeant George F. Robinson, acting as attendant nurse, was watching
by the bedside, in company with Miss Seward, the Secretary's daughter.
Frederick Seward occupied the room at the head of the stairs. All the
rooms occupied by the Secretary and his family were on the second
floor, and were reached by a flight of stairs in the hallway.
The second waiter, William H. Bell, a colored lad of nineteen, was
stationed at the hall door. Being somewhat relieved of their anxiety by
the doctor's favorable view of the case, all were anticipating a night
of quiet rest. The door bell rang, and was responded to by Bell, the
colored waiter. Immediately upon his opening of the door, Payne stepped
into the hall. He was a tall, broad-shouldered, muscular man, as agile
and ferocious as a panther; a low-browed, scowling, villainous-looking
specimen of humanity, the animal preponderating largely in every
feature of his visage and expression of his countenance. There he
stood, holding in his left hand the package, and keeping his right hand
in his overcoat pocket. He demanded of the boy to be allowed to see the
Secretary, telling his story about being sent by Dr. Verdi to deliver
the medicine with his directions. The porter told him that his orders
were to admit no one, and that he could not see Mr. Seward; that he
would deliver the package himself. To this Payne would not consent, but
persisted in saying that he _must_ see Mr. Seward. After considerable
parleying, he started up stairs, and the porter, seeing that he
would go, and thinking that he might complain of his conduct to the
Secretary, asked him to pardon him, to which Payne replied, "O, I know,
that's all right." He was wearing heavy boots, and took no pains to
walk lightly as he went up the stairs, whereupon the porter requested
him not to make so much noise, to which, however, he paid no attention.
As he approached the head of the stairs, he was met by Mr. Frederick
Seward, who had been attracted by the noise, to whom he said, "I want
to see Mr. Seward." Frederick went into his father's room, and finding
him asleep, returned saying, "You cannot see him." All this time Payne
stood holding out the package in his left hand, grasping with his right
hand the pistol in his overcoat pocket. Frederick requested him to give
him the package, saying he would deliver it; but Payne persisted in
saying that that would not do; he _must_ see Mr. Seward,--he _must_ see
him.
Frederick finally said, "I am the proprietor here, and his son; if
you cannot leave your message with me, you cannot leave it at all."
Payne still continued parleying with Frederick for some time; but
finding that his talking availed nothing, he started as if to go down
stairs. This, however, was only a feint on his part in order to throw
Frederick off of his guard and to get rid of the porter who stood
behind him. He again walked so heavily that the porter requested him
not to make so much noise; but at that moment, Payne, having prepared
himself for the encounter, turned quickly, and making a spring towards
Frederick, struck him two or three times with the pistol, which he had
all the time held in his hand, fracturing his skull and knocking him
senseless to the floor. Having learned which was the room occupied
by the invalid by seeing Frederick go into it, Payne rushed past the
prostrate man, opened the door of the Secretary's room, and was met by
Sergeant Robinson. Having broken and thrown down his revolver in his
encounter with Frederick, he had drawn his dagger, and at his first
encounter with the sergeant he struck him with his knife, cutting an
ugly gash in his forehead, and partially knocking him down. He then
pressed rapidly forward, knife in hand, to where the invalid lay in his
bed. Throwing himself upon him, he commenced striking at his face and
neck with his dagger. The Secretary was reclining in a half-sitting
posture, having the coverings well drawn up about his neck and chin,
to which circumstance the failure of the would-be assassin to take
his life was no doubt due. The sergeant, as soon as he recovered his
equilibrium, sprang upon Payne, and Major Seward, having been awakened
by the screams of his sister, sprang into the room in his night-dress.
Finding the sergeant grappling him in such a way as to hinder the
effectiveness of his thrusts at the Secretary, and probably thinking
that he had accomplished his purpose, he turned his attention toward
making his escape. In disentangling himself from the grasp of the two
men who now had hold of him, he gave to Major Seward several severe
cuts about the head and face, crying all the time, "I am mad! I am
mad!" Finally, pulling himself loose, he started to make his way to the
street. Meeting a Mr. Emrick W. Hansel, another nurse, on the stairs,
he made a thrust at him with his knife, inflicting an ugly wound. He
now left the house, leaving five of its inmates stabbed, cut, and
bleeding behind him. Having reached the street, he deliberately threw
his dagger away, mounted the horse which he had hitched in front of
the door, and rode off. Thus, for the time being, this inhuman monster
passed from sight, having made good his retreat minus his dagger,
hat, and revolver. He was not a moment too soon in withdrawing from
the house. The colored porter, as soon as he saw the violence done to
Frederick Seward at the head of the stairs, ran down and out into the
street with the cry of "murder," and did not stop until he reached
General Angur's headquarters, where he reported the occurrence and ran
back immediately, accompanied by two or three soldiers. They reached
the house just in time to see Payne mount his horse and ride away.
He was followed some distance by the porter, who kept nearly up with
him for some time, as he rode slowly at first, but he then mended his
pace, and was soon out of sight. The soldiers, having no orders and not
comprehending the situation, made no effort to stop him, although the
colored boy who gave the alarm, and who preceded them, pointed him out
to them as the man who had so ruthlessly broken the quiet of that house
and produced such consternation amongst its peaceful inmates.
Although Payne rode away so leisurely at the start, he put his horse
to the top of his speed as soon as he had fairly cleared the streets
and reached the suburbs of the city. About two hours later, a bay
horse, saddled, and blind of an eye, came running up a by-road that
led to Camp Barry, about three-fourths of a mile east of the capitol,
and was there halted and taken charge of and placed in General Angur's
stables. The horse, when found, bore marks of having been ridden at a
furious rate. The sweat was streaming from every pore and dripping to
the ground. This proved to be the bay horse that Booth had bought from
Gardner, the neighbor of Dr. Mudd, in November, 1864, and which he sold
to his co-conspirator, Arnold, in January, 1865, according to his own
statement made some time before the assassination.
This was no doubt the horse rode by Payne on that night. The most
probable theory is, that being pushed and urged at a furious rate, and
being blind of an eye, he stumbled and pitched headlong, throwing, and
probably stunning, his rider, after which he regained his footing and
made his escape before Payne had sufficiently recovered to get hold of
him. The fact of his being a little lame when caught goes to sustain
this theory. Thus was the would-be assassin prevented from joining his
comrades, Booth and Herold, in their flight, and compelled to skulk and
hide in the suburbs of the city for the next two days. He was without
arms and hatless, and was compelled to throw away his overcoat, which
was afterwards found, on account of the bloodstains on its sleeves. He
knew that the alarm would spread rapidly throughout the vicinity, and
in his present condition he dared not venture out through the country,
so he was compelled to spend the time in hiding and skulking until he
was forced from his retreat by hunger. Making a covering for his head
out of a sleeve from his under-shirt, which he drew over it like a
turban, he shouldered a pick, which he had stolen from the trenches,
and at near the hour of midnight on the 17th he entered the city. He
went directly to the house of Mrs. Surratt, as the safest place he
could find to rest, hide, and refresh himself, and obtain an outfit
in which he might make his escape. Here he felt that he could trust
the secret of his presence. Unfortunately for him, as well as for Mrs.
Surratt, the government had by this time come into possession of such
information as justified it in sending its military police to that
house, with orders to arrest its inmates.
It had been discovered that the house of Mrs. Surratt had been the
headquarters of the conspirators in Washington City. The officer in
charge of the police, Major H. W. Smith, had reached the house but a
short time before Payne arrived. Payne came with his turban on his
head, and the pick on his shoulder, and rang the door-bell. Major Smith
responded to the bell, and asked him to come in. Seeing the officer, he
said he believed he was mistaken in the house. Being asked whose house
he sought, he replied, "Mrs. Surratt's." The officer replied, "This
is the place," and drawing his revolver on him, ordered him to come
in. Payne entered, and the officer closed the door. He then inquired
who he was, and what he wanted. To these questions he replied that he
was a poor man, and a laborer, and that Mrs. Surratt had sent for him
to dig a drain for her. On being asked what brought him there at that
time of night, he replied that he "merely called to see what time Mrs.
Surratt wanted him to go to work in the morning." The officer saw that
his hands bore no marks of labor, and at once suspected he had caged
one of the conspirators. He placed him under arrest and took him along
with the others in the house, to General Angur's headquarters, where he
was held for identification. William H. Bell, the colored boy who was
second waiter at Mr. Seward's, being sent for, at once unhesitatingly
identified him as the man who had produced such consternation in the
house of Mr. Seward, on the night of the 14th, by his determined
efforts to take the Secretary's life. Lewis Payne, having been thus
captured and identified, and Mrs. Mary E. Surratt, were the first
amongst the conspirators to be held for trial.
After the attack at Secretary Seward's, Dr. Verdi and two or
three other surgeons were at once called to examine and treat the
Secretary and the other victims of Payne's dagger. The house in which
the onslaught was made had the appearance of a charnal house or
slaughter-pen. The Secretary was found to have received three or four
severe cuts about the face and neck, which were only made dangerous by
the loss of blood they had occasioned and the weak condition of the
patient.
The Secretary made a slow but good recovery. Of the other four wounded
men, the wounds of Mr. Frederick Seward proved the most serious,
as his skull had been fractured and depressed, so as to render him
unconscious, from which condition he was only recalled by a surgical
operation.
All finally recovered. Here again we are called to notice the
providences in the case, leading to the capture of Payne, and to the
bringing on his head the just reward of his deeds.