“Early in the evening of April 14th, 1865, I called to see Mr. J. B. Crosby, of Massachusetts, and found that he had but a short time to stay and was very desirous of seeing the President before his return. Having noticed in the papers a statement that Mr. Lincoln was expected to be present at Ford’s Theatre on that evening, to witness the play entitled ‘Our American Cousin,’ we concluded to go thither for the express purpose of seeing him. This we did, and procured seats having the President’s box in full view on our right. When the fatal shot was fired, we involuntarily turned our eyes to the box from which the sound proceeded, and at the same instant the horrible vision of J. Wilkes Booth flashed upon my eyes, brandishing a knife, and jumping from the President’s box repeating the words, ‘Sic Semper Tyrannis.’ I had scarcely seen and heard him before he had vanished from the stage. As the President fell, and the cry ran through the house that he was assassinated, it flashed across my mind that there was a conspiracy being consummated to take the lives of the leading officers of the Government, which would include that of Mr. Johnson. The cause of this suspicion and of my alarm for the safety of Mr. Johnson was, probably, the fact of my having read in some newspaper the article copied from the Selma (Ala.) Despatch, being an offer by some fiendish rebel to aid in contributing a million of dollars for procuring the assassination of Lincoln, Johnson, and Seward.
“While some seemed paralyzed by the boldness of the deed, and others intent upon knowing how seriously the President was injured, I rushed from the theatre, and ran with all possible speed to the Kirkwood House, to apprise Mr. Johnson of the impending danger, impelled by a fear that it might even then be too late. Passing Mr. Spencer, one of the clerks of the hotel, who was standing just outside the door, I said to him, ‘Place a guard at the door: President Lincoln is murdered;’ and to Mr. Jones, another clerk, who was at the office desk as I hurried by—‘Guard the stairway and Governor Johnson’s room: Mr. Lincoln is assassinated;’ and then darting up to Mr. Johnson’s room, No. 68, I knocked, but hearing no movement, I knocked again, and called out with the loudest voice that I could command, ‘Governor Johnson, if you are in this room I must see you.’ In a moment I heard him spring from his bed, and exclaim, ‘Farwell, is that you?’ ‘Yes, let me in,’ I replied. The door opened, I passed in, locked it, and told him the terrible news, which for a time overwhelmed us both, and grasping hands, we fell upon each other as if for mutual support. But it was only for a moment. While every sound suggested the stealthy tread of a conspirator, and every corner of the chamber a lurking place, yet Mr. Johnson, without expressing any apprehension for his own safety, and with that promptness and energy which has always characterized him, at once deliberated upon the proper course to meet the emergency. But the moment of danger had passed. The officers of the hotel, as requested by me, had stationed guards, who in a short time were released by Secretary Stanton. Soon many personal friends of Mr. Johnson arrived, anxiously inquiring for his safety. In the meantime, the news of the murderous assault upon Secretary Seward and his son Frederick had reached us, and justified our fears as to the general purpose of the conspirators. Mr. Johnson was desirous of knowing the real condition of the President and Mr. Seward, and requested me to go and see them personally, and not to credit any story or rumor that might be flying about the city. This was no easy task. Distrust and horror seemed to fill every mind. The very atmosphere was burdened with stories of dark conspiracies and bloody deeds. Thousands of excited citizens, soldiers, and guards, blocked up every avenue leading to Mr. Peterson’s house, No. 453 Tenth Street, to which the President had been carried, and in which he was dying. None but prominent citizens, either known to the officers of the guard, or who could be generally vouched for, were allowed to pass, and it was with the utmost difficulty that I succeeded in working my way through the crowd and past the guards to the house, and then into the room in which the President had been placed. The news was all too true. There he lay, evidently in the agonies of death, his medical attendants doing all that human zeal or skill could devise, and many of his friends had gathered about him, some in tears. Turning away from this sad sight, I worked my way to the house of Secretary Seward, and there, too, I found that the villains had done their work. I then returned and reported to Mr. Johnson the disastrous doings of the conspirators. In a short time Mr. Johnson resolved to see the President himself. His friends thought he ought not to leave the house when there was so much excitement in the city, and when the extent of the conspiracy was unknown. President Lincoln had just been shot in the presence of a crowded assembly, and his assassin had escaped. Secretary Seward had been stabbed in his chamber, and the minion had fled. But he determined to go. Major James R. O’Beirne, commanding the Provost Guard, desired to send a detachment of troops with him, but he declined the offer, and, buttoning up his coat, and pulling his hat well down, he requested me to accompany him and the Major to lead the way, and thus we went through the multitude that crowded the streets and filled the passage-way, till we joined the sad circle of friends who were grouped around the bedside of the dying President. It is unnecessary to add anything more to this account of my connection with an event which forms, with the rebellion plot, the darkest chapter in our country’s history.
“If it is true, as regarded by many, that the life of President Johnson was saved by the timely arrival of citizens at the Kirkwood, at the risk of their lives, then such risk was properly, and so far as I am concerned, joyfully incurred, and this statement may be worthy of preservation. Trusting that this may meet the wishes of the Society as expressed through you,
“I have the honor to be,
“Respectfully,
“Your obedient servant,
“L. J. Farwell.”
The Washington correspondent of the Chicago Republican thus speaks of Mrs. Johnson:
“Mrs. Johnson, a confirmed invalid, has never appeared in society in Washington. Her very existence is a myth to almost every one. She was last seen at a party given to her grandchildren. She was seated in one of the Republican Court chairs, a dainty affair of satin and ebony. She did not rise when the children or old guests were presented to her; she simply said, ‘My dears, I am an invalid,’ and her sad, pale face and sunken eyes fully proved the expression. Mrs. Johnson looks somewhat older than the President, and her age does exceed his by a few swings of the scythe of time. She is an invalid now, but an observer would say, contemplating her, ‘A noble woman—God’s best gift to man.’ Perhaps it is well to call to mind at this time that it was this woman who taught the President to read, after she became his wife, and that in all their earlier years she was his counsellor, assistant, and guide. None but a wise and good mother could have reared such daughters as Mrs. Patterson and Mrs. Stover. When Mrs. Senator Patterson found herself ‘the first lady in the land,’ she made this remark, which has been the key-note of the feminine department of the White House from that day to the present time: ‘We are plain people, from the mountains of Tennessee, called here for a short time by a national calamity. I trust too much will not be expected of us.’ When Anna Surratt threw herself prostrate upon the floor of one of the ante-rooms of the White House, begging to see Mrs. Patterson, she said: ‘Tell the girl she has my sympathy, my tears, but I have no more right to speak than the servants of the White House.’ When the ‘pardon brokers’ trailed their slimy lengths everywhere about the Mansion, they never dared to cross a certain enchanted pathway; and the face of any lobbyist set in this direction has always brought up in the end against a stone wall.”
Mrs. Johnson shared as little as possible in the honors accorded her family, as well after as during their stay in the White House, and gladly turned her face homeward, to find rest and repose so necessary to her feeble condition.