Assassination of Lincoln: a History of the Great Conspiracy / Trial of the Conspirators by a Military Commission, and a Review of the Trial of John H. Surratt

by T. M. Harris

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.