White House gossip

by Edna M. Colman

“As so he dashed forward, intent to expire not unaccompanied, a disobedient sergeant at an eye-hole drew upon him the fatal bead. The barn was all glorious with conflagration, and in the beautiful ruin this outlawed man strode like all that we know of wicked valour, stern in the face of death. A shock, a shout, a gathering up of his splendid figure as if to overtrip the stature God gave him, and John Wilkes Booth fell headlong to the floor, lying there in a heap, a little life remaining. ‘He has shot himself!’ cried Baker, unaware of the source of the report, and rushing in, he grasped his arms to guard against any feint or strategy. A moment convinced him that further struggle with the prone flesh was useless. Booth did not move, nor breathe, nor gasp. Conger and two sergeants now entered, and taking up the body, they bore it in haste from the advancing flame, and laid it without upon the grass, all fresh, with heavenly dew.

“‘Water,’ cried Conger, ‘bring water.’

“When this was dashed into his face, he revived a moment and stirred his lips. Baker put his ear close down and heard him say:

“‘Tell Mother—I die—for my country.’

“They lifted him again, the fire encroaching in hotness upon them, and placed him on the porch before the dwelling.

“A mattress was brought down, on which they placed him and propped his head, and gave him water and brandy. The women of the household, joined meantime by another son, who had been found in one of the corn cribs, watching, as he said, to see that Booth and Herold did not steal the horses, were nervous, but prompt to do the dying man all kindnesses, although waved sternly back by the detectives. They dipped a rag in brandy and water, and this being put between Booth’s teeth, he sucked it greedily. When he was able to articulate again, he muttered to Mr. Baker the same words, with an addendum, ‘Tell Mother I died for my country. I thought I did for the best.’ Baker repeated this, saying at the same time, ‘Booth, do I repeat it correctly?’ Booth nodded his head. Twice he was heard to say, ‘Kill me, kill me.’ His lips often moved but could complete no appreciable sound. He made once a motion which the quick eye of Conger understood to mean that his throat pained him. Conger put his finger there, when the dying man attempted to cough, but only caused the blood at his perforated neck to flow more lively. He bled very little, although shot quite through, beneath and behind the ears, his collar bone being severed on both sides.

“A soldier had been meanwhile dispatched for a doctor three miles away. Just at his coming, Booth had asked to have his hands raised and shown him. They were so paralyzed that he did not know their location. When they were displayed, he muttered with a sad lethargy, ‘Useless, useless.’ These were the last words he ever uttered. As he began to die, the sun rose and threw beams into all the tree-tops. It was of a man’s height when the struggle of death twitched and fingered in the fading bravo’s face. His jaw drew spasmodically and obliquely downward; his eyeballs rolled toward his feet, and began to swell; lividness, like a horrible shadow, fastened upon him, and, with a sort of gurgle and sudden check, he stretched his feet and threw his head back and gave up the ghost.

“They sewed him up in a saddle blanket. This was his shroud; too like a soldier’s. Herold, meantime, had been tied to a tree, but was now released for the march. Colonel Conger pushed on immediately for Washington; the cortège was to follow. Booth’s only arms were his carbine, knife, and two revolvers. They found about him bills for exchange, Canada money, and a diary. A venerable old Negro living in the vicinity had the misfortune to possess a horse. This horse was a relic of former generations, and showed by his protruding ribs the general leanness of the land. To this old Negro’s horse was harnessed a very shaky and absurd wagon, which rattled like approaching dissolution. It had no tailboard, and its shafts were sharp as famine; and into this mimicry of a vehicle the murderer was to be sent to the Potomac River, while the man he had murdered was moving in state across the continent. The corpse was tied with ropes around the legs and made fast to the wagon sides. Herold’s legs were tied to stirrups, and he was placed in the centre of four murderous-looking cavalrymen.... When the wagon started, Booth’s wound, till now scarcely dribbling, began to run anew. It fell through the crack of the wagon, dripping upon the axle, and spotting the road with the terrible wafers. It stained the planks, and soaked the blankets; and the old Negro, at a stoppage, dabbled his hands in it by mistake; he drew back instantly, with a shudder and stifled expletive, ‘Gor-r-r, dat’ll never come off in de world; it’s murderer’s blood.’ He wrung his hands and looked imploringly at the officers, and shuddered again: ‘Gor-r-r, I wouldn’t have dat on me fur t’ousand, t’ousand dollars.’

“Toward noon, the cortège reached Port Royal and proceeded to Bell Plain, where the old Negro was niggardly dismissed with two paper dollars. The corpse was cast upon the deck of a steamer, and the journey to Washington began.

“All the way associated with the carcass went Herold, shuddering in so grim companionship, and in the awakened fears of his own approaching ordeal, beyond which loomed already the gossamer fabric of a scaffold. He tried to talk for his own exoneration, saying he had ridden, as was his wont, beyond the East Branch, and returning, found Booth wounded, who begged him to be his companion. Of his crime he knew nothing, so help him God, &c. But nobody listened to him. All interest of crime, courage, and retribution centred in the dead flesh at his feet. At Washington, high and low turned out to look on Booth. Only a few were permitted to see his corpse for purposes of recognition. It was fairly preserved, though on one side of the face distorted, and looking blue like death, and wildly bandit-like, as if beaten by avenging winds.