“Executive Mansion, July 5th, 1865,”
“with his own hand” he writes out the death warrant. As this includes the approval of the sentences, the appointment of the day and hour of execution, and the designation of the place of confinement of those condemned to imprisonment, the bottom of the page is reached before he completes his task. If he had turned up the page and continued his writing on the obverse side from the bottom down, as all the foregoing had been written, then the petition of mercy, unaddressed as it was, would have been, if still attached, directly beneath the eye of the President as he signed the death-warrant. But, as now appears from the record itself, the careful Judge-Advocate did not turn up the page from the bottom. On the contrary, reverting to the layman’s way of writing papers, he whisks the whole record over, and continues the writing of the death-warrant on the back of the last half-sheet of the record from the top to the bottom—by this change of method, either throwing the petition under the leaves of the record, or, if disengaged, leaving it upside down.
When he has thus finished his draft he shoves it over to the President. The President signs it with tremulous hand. The “confidential interview” is at an end; and the Judge-Advocate, taking up the papers, hurries out and over to the Department of War.
At this moment the petition disappears from view. We hear no more of it. Thrust as a convenient succedaneum into the hands of the majority of the Commission, ignored, suppressed or slurred over when before the President, it had served its pitiful purpose. Neither the Adjutant-General nor any of his clerks, appear to have noticed it, although the record must have been copied more than once in his office. It seems to have sunk suddenly into oblivion; its very existence became the subject of dispute. It was omitted from the authorized published proceedings of the Commission. It was omitted from the annual report of the Judge-Advocate. The disloyal paper must have been laid alongside the suppressed “Diary,” there to repose unseen until the Impeachment of Johnson and the Trial of Surratt summoned them together into the light of day.
On the morning of Thursday, the sixth day of July, the six days ominous silence of the War-Department is broken. An order issues from the Adjutant-General’s office which, bearing date the day before and reciting the findings and death-sentences of the Commission and the death-warrant of the President, commands Major-General Hancock to see execution done, on the seventh, between the hours of ten and two.
This order was read to Mrs. Surratt at noon. She had all along been encouraged to hope. She, herself, had never been able to realize the possibility of a capital condemnation in her own case. And, here, suddenly, was Death, with violence and shame, within twenty-four hours. She sank down under the blow. In faltering accents she protested that she had no hand in the murder of the President, and pleaded for a few days more time to prepare for death. During the remainder of the day and throughout the night, she was so prostrated by physical weakness and mental derangement as to necessitate medical aid to keep her alive and sane. The cries of her daughter could be heard in the still darkness outside the prison. At five o’clock in the morning, the mother (with the three condemned men), was removed to a solitary cell on the first floor, preparatory to the execution.
In the meantime, when it first became known that, by the sentence of the Commission and the direction of the President, Mrs. Surratt was to die by the rope on the same scaffold with Payne, Herold and Atzerodt within twenty-four hours, a chill of despairing terror froze the blood of her relatives and friends, a thrill of consternation swept over the body of the citizens, and dark misgivings disturbed even the most loyal breasts. A stream of supplicants at once set in towards the Executive Mansion—not only friends and acquaintances of the condemned woman, but strangers, high-placed men, and women too, who were haunted by doubts of her guilt and could in some degree realize her agony.
But even this expiring effort of sympathy, the powers behind the President had anticipated. Apprehensive that Andrew Johnson, at the last moment, might yield to distressing importunities for more time, they had already taken measures that their sick man’s wish to hear nothing till all was over should be scrupulously respected. Preston King and General James Lane undertook to keep the door and bar all access to the President during the dreadful interval between the promulgation of the sentence and its execution. It was rumored that they, with a congenial crew, held high revelry around their passive Chief in his private apartments. Be this as it may, no supplicant—friend, acquaintance or stranger—was allowed to gain access to the President.
The priests, who had attested upon her trial the good character, the piety and the general worth of their parishioner, instinctively turned their steps to the White House to beg for clemency, or, at least, a respite. They were repulsed from its door. In ghastly mockery, they were told to go to —— Judge Holt.