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[Jill Mitchell]

For those requesting that typed transcription be posted:

From the Ravenna (Ohio) Republican, 1906:

The Lincoln Tragedy.

Story of the Assassination, the Pursuit and Capture of Booth and the Fate of the Other Conspirators as Told for The Republican by a Former Ohio Man Who Was Superintendent of Washington’s Police Department in 1865—Heard the Shots That Killed Two Presidents

“I heard the shots that killed two presidents,” said Major A. C. Richards, whom I met in Eustis, Fla, “and if you will come to my home I will be glad to talk with you about the assassination of Lincoln and the subsequent pursuit and capture of Booth.” Mr. Richards formerly resided at Chester, Georgia county, Ohio, next door neighbor to Portage, and later lived in Kirkland, Lake county, famous for its old Mormon Temple, and it did not require a second invitation to induce me to spend an afternoon with him. About three miles out from Eustis on the rise of ground between Lake Eldorado and the low country known as the Eustis meadows is Major Richards’ commodious home, “Loch Mead.” Surrounded by groves of grape fruit and orange trees and with palms, bamboo, hibiscus, pomegranates and other decorative shrubbery about the house it is a typical Florida home and the April breeze was as balmy as those of Ohio’s finest days in June. I left Ohio in ’51 for Washington, said Mr. Richards, and at the time of Lincoln’s first inauguration was one of those who volunteered to serve as deputy marshal. The city at that time housed many a sympathizer with the South and there was great anxiety for fear Lincoln would be assassinated during the ceremonies of the day. A. L. Scott was in command; there were very few troops available and the large number of mounted deputy marshals was intended purely as a precautionary measure. In the assignment of positions it so happened that I was stationed at President Lincoln’s right, by the rear wheel of the carriage in which he and Buchanan rode from the old Willard hotel to the capitol. This circumstance has its place in my story as you will see for it seems that Lincoln made inquiries as to the men who were assigned to guard his carriage. At the outbreak of the war the government, to guard against any possibility of disloyalty in the administration of Washington’s municipal affairs, took over the city’s government to itself and proceeded to rule with an iron hand. In December, 1864, the police commission, appointees of the President, had some difficulty in choosing a new head for the city police department and finally submitted the names it had under consideration to Lincoln. Seeing the name “Richards” the president asked if that was one of his guard on inauguration day and being told that it was he said his appointment would be satisfactory to him. Thus came about my appointment as superintendent of the Washington police department, which office I held during those terrible days of April, 1865, and was closely in touch with the Lincoln tragedy.
The war being over no one thought of such a thing as an attempt to kill Lincoln. The government in both the war and navy department relaxed the stringent precautions which had previously been observed within and about the city. Our city police force had its hands full to preserve good order as the 200,000 soldiers from the armies of Grant and Sherman in camp nearby crowded the city daily and were naturally productive of occasional disturbances. Our officers were on duty at the White House, but Lincoln went about without a personal guard and wanted none. On the night of Friday, April 14, it was announced that General Grant would attend Ford’s theater where Laura Keene, a great actress of that day, was appearing in “Our American Cousin.” Late that day he had been called away from the city and thus may have escaped injury, for it is quite possible that he, too, may have been included in the conspirators’ list of prominent men who were to be removed at one great coup. Thinking that the announcement as to Grant’s attendance might bring many soldiers to the theater, I planned to visit the theater that night upon my inspection rounds and together with one of my deputies arrived at the building at just about 10 p.m. Contrary to a frequently published statement the theater was not crowded to almost suffocation. There was a good audience, but no overcrowding. Going up into the dress circle I took a seat at the right which gave me a good view of the auditorium. I did not know that the president was in his box which was at the right of the stage in the second tier, being practically on the same level as the dress circle. From the box extended a staff supporting a large American flag. When I entered the theater the curtain was raised, but no actors were in sight upon the stage, there being every appearance of delay incident to a change of scenes. Suddenly, a dull shot was heard sounding almost as though it came from behind the scenes and might in some way have been connected with the play itself. Then came the happenings of seconds, following faster than I can relate them. A man appeared at the front of the president’s box. Vaulting over its low rail he grasped the flag pole, lowering himself until within four or five feet of the stage when he released his hold and dropped. In falling, a large riding spur attached to his boot caught in the flag, turning his right foot under him, and, as was afterward learned, causing the fracture of the leg. From a somewhat kneeling position he rose and turned to face the audience, holding a dagger in his right hand, his arm raised full length above his head. He then started and made a dramatic exit across and to the rear of the stage, twice crying out, “Sic Semper Tyrannis,” “Sic Semper Tyrannis!” and before a soul in that audience knew what had happened the assassin of one of the noblest men who ever lived had made his escape. An instant later and Mrs. Lincoln, waving her hands in evident distress, appeared at the front of the box and was heard to cry something about “Gorillas.” Another second and word was passed that the president was shot. Before the audience was fairly roused to the situation I had descended the stairs, rushed to the stage and mounted it. I was preceded by a prominent Washington attorney and together we hastily searched the wings and stage and found no one about, the actors having been in their dressing rooms, but coming upon a small open door at the rear of the stage opening upon an alley we saw at once that it had been used for the escape. In the alley we found an Italian, whom we knew in the city as Peanut Johnnie. I asked him if he saw a man run out of that door and he replied, “Yes, and that is the sound of his horse’s feet you can hear now!” He had been paid by a stranger to hold the horse there until it was called for and had been waiting about two hours. He also told me that the man had had some difficulty in mounting the horse, coming of course from that fractured leg. Passing back through the theater I hurried to police headquarters, two blocks away, and telegraphic orders were rushed out summoning the entire force to duty. Some years later in endeavoring to fix the precise hour at which these events took place I found that my records showed those orders were filed at 10:20 p.m. and, therefore, the shooting must have taken place a few moments after 10.
By the time I again returned to Ford’s theater President Lincoln had been carried to the private residence across Tenth street (which the government afterward purchased and has preserved) where he was being attended by the surgeons. The large crowd in the street was full of suppressed excitement, but was perfectly orderly. Word came to me as soon as I reached the theater that Laura Keene, the actress, wanted to see me and I at once went back to the stage where Miss Keene met me. Appreciating the horror of the tragedy which had just been enacted and realizing how serious her accusation would be, she said to me, “I do not know who shot the president, but the man who leaped from that box was Wilkes Booth.” Notwithstanding the intense strain of the situation, Miss Keene was firm and positive as to the identity of the man and I stopped for no other clue. The machinery of our department was quickly at work tracing the movements of J. Wilkes Booth, who was known by sight to many of my force. It was found that Booth and some companions, among whom was John Surratt, had been in the restaurant in the theater building earlier in the evening and had taken several drinks. Among the frequent associates of Booth and Surratt we ascertained were Powell, a soldier from Florida, Harrold, a drug clerk, and a German named Atzerot and they had frequently met at the home of John Surratt’s mother, who kept a boarding house. Between midnight and one o’clock police were stationed at both front and rear entrances of Mrs. Surratt’s residence. I rang the bell at the front door and had waited but a short time—much too short for a lady to rise and dress—when the call was answered by Mrs. Surratt herself. Her appearance was not at all that of a woman roused from her sleep at nearly one o’clock in the morning. There was nothing of a disheveled look and she was apparently fully dressed. I am satisfied that she had not retired at all that night and was fully prepared for emergencies. I told her that the president had been shot and that I had brought the squad of police with me for the purpose of searching the house for Booth. She offered no objection to the search and expressed neither surprise nor regret when I told of the assassination. Our search gave no trace of Booth or John Surratt, but two officers were stationed to keep the house under surveillance.
The next clue came down from the soldiers stationed near the navy yard bridge, reporting that two men on horseback had approached the guard and having satisfied them they were permitted to ride on toward the Maryland shore. Their description of one of the men corresponded to that of Booth and I made a requisition upon the war department for twelve horses from the cavalry service with which to send a squad after these suspects, but departmental red tape delayed the arrival of these mounts until late the next forenoon. Rumors of the assassinations of Seward, Stanton, Johnson, Grant and others came pouring in and all required investigations. No trace of the suspects was found in Maryland. The strict guard at the Surratt residence made its impression upon the boarders and on Sunday one Wickman, who boarded at Mrs. Surratt’s, called at my headquarters. He was employed in one of the bureaus of the war department and at the same time studying for the priesthood of the Roman Catholic Church. He wanted to avoid suspicion that might be occasioned because of his connection with the Surratt household and as evidence of his good faith told me that he had heard of the reported escape of Booth to Maryland and wanted to tell me that on Friday morning, the day of the assassination, Mrs. Surratt had asked him to get a horse and buggy from a livery and drive with her to her former home, Surrattsville, Md., a few mile from the city, where her deceased husband had been the landlord of the village hotel. He said he complied with her request and they had driven to Surrattsville and back; that Mrs. Surratt had taken several packages with her which she gave to Landlord Lloyd at the hotel, telling him they would be called for that night. If I remember rightly there was a carbine or perhaps two among these packages. Wilkes Booth and Harrold, the drug clerk, we learned by following Wickman’s clue, had called at the hotel in the night and Lloyd gave them the packages as directed. Next they were traced to the home of Dr. Mudd, who had known both [sic—read “Booth”] and who, after cutting off the boot, examined and treated his injured leg. Mudd kept them secreted in his house two or three days and then took them out into a pine thicket where he fed them several days more until one night they found a chance to cross the river to the Virginia shore. They avoided detection themselves, but the troops patrolling the Virginia side of the river, questioning two colored men as to any strangers that they might have seen, learned of two white men who had been noticed that day going to a house in that neighborhood. At night this house was surrounded by a detail from some of the Michigan cavalry, with Boston Corbett as sergeant of the guard. Upon being aroused the man of the house denied that he had been visited by any strangers, but his young son, evidently badly frightened by the midnight call of the troopers, called out and asked his father if he had forgotten those men who had come that afternoon. Having had his memory thus jogged, the father said he believed these were two men sleeping in his barn. Surrounding the barn the occupants were asked to come out and surrender. One of them, who proved to be Booth, declared that they would not come out and he was prepared to kill the first man who attempted to come in. The Michigan colonel then announced his intention of burning the barn and shortly Booth said that the other man wanted to surrender and Harrold, the Washington drug clerk, walked out. Preparation for the burning were under way when Sergt. Corbett saw Booth and shot him, claiming that Booth was taking aim with his carbine (brought from the Surrattsville hotel) at the man who was to fire the barn and that he shot to save the soldier. Be that as it may, Lincoln’s murderer was captured and he died the following morning; by a strange coincidence his own death was very similar in location to that of the president. His body was brought to Washington. I saw it there and it was the same J. Wilkes Booth whom I had seen alive in that city. There can be no question as to his death and the oft published stories of his having escaped alive were either mistakes or fabrications. The body was buried within the walls of the old penitentiary and when in later years that building was torn down the government turned the body over to relatives who reinterred it in Baltimore.
That Booth had sympathizers or even accomplices inside the theater that night cannot be doubted. The stage carpenter and perhaps others of the attachés were in league with him. The lock upon the president’s box had been tampered with so that it could not be fastened from the inside and Booth had only to push it open to gain access. With the president and Mrs. Lincoln were Miss Harris, a daughter of Senator Harris, and her fiancé. The position in which the flag staff had been placed also suggested prearrangement. Booth’s derringer, with which he did the shooting, was found in the box, but here, said Major Richards—handing me a horn-handled dirk with a blade about eight inches long—is, I believe, the knife that he carried and which he swung above his head as he escaped across the stage. This was found early the next morning in a leather scabbard where Booth had turned from the alley into Fifth street and there is every reason to think that he dropped it there, as no other knife was found.
Of the other murders planned by the conspirators for that night the attack upon Secretary of State Wm. H. Seward came nearest succeeding. Powell, the Florida soldier assigned to that work, was the son of a clergyman and enlisted at Messina only a few miles from Eustis. He called at the Seward home, claiming he had a package from the secretary’s physician which he was to deliver in person to Mr. Seward. When the servant attempted to close the door and make him wait outside, Powell forced his way in and attempted to rush up the stairway. He was intercepted by Seward’s sons, Wm. H., Jr., and Clarence. The latter is now a New York attorney and bears the scars of serious wounds which Powell inflicted in his fight to gain entrance that night. Reaching the secretary’s room Powell attacked the male nurse who was in attendance and then made a lunge at the secretary. Seward, though a very sick man, by a quick movement of his body avoided a fatal wound, although he was seriously cut. Powell escaped and no trace of him could be found. After a few days a man, apparently a laborer and carrying pick and shovel, came to the Surratt house just at night. The police guard had been relieved by soldiers and when the man said he had been sent for to repair a drain the sergeant of the guard was called. He noticed that the man wore on his head the old lining from a coat sleeve instead of a cap. He thought it strange for him to report for work at nightfall and decided to detain him as a suspicious person. He was taken before the provost marshal and proved to be Powell, who doubtless was unable to get out of the city and planned a ruse which he thought would enable him to consult with Mrs. Surratt.
There may be some question as to whether or not a woman should be made to pay the death penalty, but from my own investigations and from the evidence produced at the trial of the conspirators there was, to my mind, said Major Richards, never the slightest doubt as to the guilt of Mrs. Surratt. From my first interview with her, as I have related, there was every indication of her guilty knowledge. Wickman’s testimony as to the ride with her to and from Surrattsville included an incident that took place as they were driving in on the heights overlooking the city, which that night was brightly illuminated because of the fall of Richmond. Remarking as to the brilliant appearance of the city Mrs. Surratt said, “What a beautiful night! How happy these people are tonight, but who much it will all be changed to mourning!” This trip to Surrattsville alone gave the lie to the claim made by her that she had no knowledge of their plotting beyond an unsuccessful attempt to kidnap Lincoln, especially in view of the fact that when first apprised of the assassination she manifested not the least surprise or sorrow.
John Surratt escaped detection for about a year. He was traced to Montreal and two of my detectives, together with Wickman and Halloran, another of Mrs. Surratt’s boarders, were sent to that city to identify him. It was evident afterward that he had spies watching the trains crossing the border from the United States who notified him of the officers coming, for upon reaching his hotel it was learned that he had left only a short time before their arrival. We had reason to believe that he sought shelter in a religious institution until he found an opportunity of getting down to Quebec, from whence he sailed for Italy. There he actually served for a time in the Pope’s army, but owing to the vigilant search being carried on by American counsels, he decided to go to Egypt. The consul at Cairo, however, secured his arrest and he was brought back to Washington. At his trial he attempted to prove an alibi by means of the register from a hotel in a small town in Pennsylvania. At the very bottom of the page below the space usually used by the guests was written the name “John Surratt” which appeared very much as though it were an afterthought and must be crowded into the legitimate arrivals of April 18. Sympathy over the hanging of his mother was another factor—and he escaped conviction and is, I think, still living in Baltimore.
Atzerot was captured up the river and was tried, convicted and executed with Harrold, Powell and Mrs. Surratt. It is believed that to him was given the work of killing Stanton, the war secretary. That that part of their plans failed was due to a serenade tendered Secretary Stanton by some of the colored troops who escorted their band to his residence. During the evening he was entertaining their officers and a stranger who appeared among them while in his house was believed to have been Atzerot, who either lost his courage or failed to find a suitable opportunity. Inquiries were made for Vice President Johnson at his home by strangers, but he was fortunately at the home of friends and the plotters failed to find him.
It so happened that when Garfield, the second martyred president, was shot I was on my way to my law office and within two blocks of the railway station. Hearing the report and then seeing the rush toward the depot I turned that way and arrived before Guiteau was gotten away
The foregoing story as related by Mr. Richards, who is one of the most highly esteemed residents of this section, will, I trust, be found of special interest, coming as it does from one who was in the storm center of those bitter and trying days of 1865.
C. W. S. Wilgus.