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.
[CHAPTER IV.]
THE NEWS COMMUNICATED TO THE WORLD, AND ITS EFFECT.
On the morning of the 15th of April, 1865, the telegraph wires carried to every part of the United States that was in communication with Washington, and to the rest of the civilized world, the astounding intelligence that Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, had been assassinated on the previous night by John Wilkes Booth, at Ford's Theatre in Washington City; that at the same hour a most savage attempt had been made to assassinate the Secretary of State, Hon. William H. Seward, and that he was lying in a most critical and dangerous condition from the wounds which he had received, and would probably die. Never, perhaps, in the history of the race were so many hearts bleeding, and so many eyes suffused with tears at one time, as on that sorrowful day. The nation was filled with grief, mingled with indignation and horror at the deed. The land was literally draped in mourning. Every city, and every town and village, displayed the sable habiliments of grief. The response came back to our people, in kind, from every civilized people on earth.
The writer was at the time a member of Grant's victorious army, and had large opportunities for witnessing the effects produced by the sad intelligence on the soldiery of our country. From the highest officers down to the rank and file of the army, sorrow and grief were depicted on every countenance. From Appomattox to Richmond the victorious army that had been filled with joyful and hopeful anticipations over its successes, and the prospect of the speedy dawn of peace, and of returning to their homes and friends and to the pursuits of peaceful life, after four years of arduous military service, was at once plunged into the deepest sadness and gloom. Strong men wept. It was as though every soldier had lost his dearest friend. There was always a day of sadness in the army after every great battle, even in the triumphs of victory, at the thought of the many brave comrades who had given up their lives for their country, and would never again be seen in the ranks,—who were even then being gathered up from the field and carefully laid away in silence to await the resurrection morn; and of the others, who with loss of limbs and fearful wounds, were receiving the care of the surgeons and nurses in the hospitals improvised for the occasion; but never before had such a pall of grief been thrown over the entire army.
The depth of sorrow into which the nation was plunged by the news of his assassination revealed, as nothing else could have done, the place Abraham Lincoln held in the confidence and affections of the loyal people of the land. The first shock of the sad intelligence was almost paralytic. The people—even the army—for the moment stood dazed and bewildered. What was the meaning of all this? Was the war to be prolonged? Were we now to be called upon to turn our victorious arms upon the enemy in the rear, of whose existence we had all the time been conscious? Such were the questions that first suggested themselves. If so, the army was then in a state of mind to have made a short work of it. The victory over our armed foe in front, who had so bravely met us, and often with success, on many a hotly-contested field, would never have been yielded to the disloyal cowards who, through all of these years of the war, from their safe retreats and hiding-places, threw every obstacle they could in the way of our now martyred President, and who had planned and accomplished his taking off.