MORNING

President Lincoln had a full day ahead of him, as well as a full evening. He was out of bed by about seven o'clock, and was at breakfast by eight. Mary joined him for breakfast, along with their son Robert. Captain Robert Lincoln had come to Washington along with General Grant and was full of stories about what he had seen and done as a member of the general-in-chief's staff. One of his stories was about the surrender at Appomattox—he had been standing on the porch of Wilmer McLean's house when General Lee surrendered. He also brought a portrait of General Lee to show his father, setting it on the breakfast table. After looking at the picture for a while, the president pronounced that it was a good face—he made no insulting or disparaging remarks about General Lee.

Father and son also discussed Robert's postwar plans. President Lincoln said that he would like to see Robert go back to Harvard to finish law school. After graduating from Harvard, Lincoln joked, there might be enough evidence to tell if young Robert would make a good lawyer or not.

After breakfast, the president went to his office to deal with the business of the day. He met with lame-duck senator John P. Hale of New Hampshire, who had been appointed minister to Spain; spoke with an attorney from Detroit named William Alanson Howard; and received a visit from California congressman Cornelius Cole. President Lincoln also had an extended discussion with Speaker of the House Schuyler Colfax, although no one took any notes of this conversation. Speaker Colfax was interested in becoming a member of Lincoln's cabinet.

Among the messages President Lincoln sent were notes to Secretary of State William Seward and General Grant on the same subject: that day's cabinet meeting. He contacted Secretary Seward, “please assemble the Cabinet at 11 A.M. today,” and requested that General Grant come at eleven o'clock instead of nine o'clock, as he had previously instructed.1 The general was slightly upset by the president's note. He had been planning to leave for Burlington, New Jersey, with his wife to visit their children and was afraid that the two-hour postponement might prevent him from leaving Washington on time.

The cabinet meeting started on time. Frederick Seward, who was also assistant secretary of state, took his father's place at the meeting. William Seward was still too incapacitated by his injuries to attend. Everyone was anxious to meet General Grant. When the president shook the general's hand, the cabinet members broke into spontaneous applause. Grant was the hero of the hour, even to Secretary of War Stanton and Secretary of the Navy Welles, who could very well have been jaded by such an occasion.

President Lincoln sat at the head of the conference table, sitting sideways to make room for his long legs, and began the proceedings by asking the group if they had any news from General William Tecumseh Sherman in North Carolina. General Grant replied that he had not heard any recent news from General Sherman, which meant that General Joseph E. Johnston and his army were still at large. But he added that he was expecting word from North Carolina at any moment.

The president said he was sure they would be receiving news of General Johnston's surrender very soon—he was certain of this, he said, because the night before he had had “the usual dream” that had always preceded good news. He had had the same dream several times before, he explained; it had come before nearly every successful battle and every great event that had taken place during the war: “Generally, the news had been favorable which succeeded the dream, and the dream itself was always the same.”2

Secretary Welles asked about the nature of the president's dream. The president explained that it involved Welles's element, namely water. He went on to give details about his dream—that he seemed to be on board “some singular, indescribable vessel” that was moving very quickly toward an unknown destination on an indefinite shore.³ The same dream had occurred to him before, he said, and it had always come before some “great and important event”—Antietam, Gettysburg, Stone River, and Vicksburg. General Grant interrupted to say that Stone River was no victory, and that “a few such fights would have ruined us.” The president did not seem to be discouraged by General Grant's remarks, and repeated that everyone could expect some very good news soon. “I think it must be from Sherman,” he said. “My thoughts are in that direction, as are most of yours.” He was certainly right about that particular point—General Sherman and Joe Johnston were very much on everyone's mind.

The next topic of discussion was the restoration of Virginia and North Carolina to the Union. Secretary of War Stanton introduced a plan for reestablishing civilian rule to the Southern states. His idea would combine both Virginia and North Carolina into a single military department, which would be administered by the War Department. Secretary Welles objected that Virginia already had a legitimate state government under Governor Francis Pierpont, and reminded the president and the other members of the cabinet that “we had recognized and sustained him.”⁴ In North Carolina, on the other hand, “a legal government was now to be organized and the State reestablished in her proper relations with the Union.” In other words, the two states should be dealt with individually, not lumped together.

President Lincoln remarked that the readmission of the Southern states “was a great question now before us,”5 and added that he was glad Congress was not in session to interfere with the exertion and labor of reassembling the country after four years of war—“and there were none of the disturbing elements of that body to hinder and embarrass us,” is the way Lincoln phrased it.⁶

Frederick Seward also had a few suggestions for the cabinet, speaking for his father. He explained that although it was extremely painful for the secretary of state to speak, he had managed to give young Frederick a number of ideas and recommendations before he left the house that morning. One item that Frederick's father wanted his son to mention was his idea that the War Department should occupy all forts throughout the Southern states, or destroy them if they were of no use to the army. Other items involving the readmission of seceded states to the Union included: turning all customs houses in Southern ports over to the US Treasury Department, which would also collect all revenues; taking possession of all Southern navy yards, including any Confederate naval vessels and warships; reestablishing post offices and postal districts throughout the South; and the reappointing of judges throughout the Southern states by the US attorney general.

All of these were good, sound ideas. The president realized that such measures would be necessary for the seceded states to be readmitted to the Union—the remnants of the Confederate army and navy needed to be dismantled, the courts and postal districts had to be restored, and a thousand other items would have to be addressed. But all of these things would have to be discussed and debated by the cabinet members, and President Lincoln knew all of the members well enough to realize that they would have their own thoughts and ideas for the items Secretary Seward had suggested. These ideas would be taken up at another meeting, where they would be given more study and consideration.

The topic of Confederate leaders, and what to do about them, was also brought up. President Lincoln's reaction to this question was the same as it had been previously. “I hope that there will be no persecution, no bloody work after the war is over,” he said.7 “No one need expect me to take any part in hanging or killing these men, even the worst of them.” As he had also said before, he would not be disappointed if all the Confederate heads of government left the country. In fact, he would be more than happy if they departed and never came back. “Frighten them out of the country, open the gates, let down the bars, scare them off,” shaking his hands “as if scaring sheep.” He then came to his main point, telling the cabinet members, “enough lives have been sacrificed.” There would never be any “harmony or union” unless old grievances and resentments could be forgotten.

Secretary of War Stanton had already discovered that the president meant what he said about opening the gates and letting them all go. Shortly after Appomattox, Stanton received a report that Jacob Thompson, a former US Congressman who had been the head of a secret Confederate delegation to Canada, was preparing to sail for England. Thompson had also organized raids across the Canadian border on towns in the United States, including a raid on St. Albans, Vermont, in October 1864, which resulted in the robbery of three banks, one St. Albans resident killed and another wounded, and the destruction of one building. “He had been organizing all sorts of trouble and getting up raids, of which the notorious attack on St. Albans, Vt., was a specimen,” according to one source in the War Department.⁸ Secretary Stanton did not share the president's sympathy for all Confederate leaders, and ordered Thompson to be captured and placed under arrest. But before his assistant secretary of war, Charles Dana, could leave the room, Stanton changed his mind. “No, wait,” he said, “better go over and see the President.”

Charles Dana went to the White House to see the president, and found him sitting in his office. “Halloo, Dana!” he said. “What is it? What's up?”9 Dana told the president about Jacob Thompson's plans to leave the country for England, and also about Secretary Stanton wanting to have him arrested. He went on to say that Stanton decided to defer to the president's judgement before arresting Thompson. And the president's judgement was that Jacob Thompson should be allowed to leave the country. “When you have got an elephant by the hind leg and he's trying to run away, it's best to let him run.” From President Lincoln's point of view, he would have one less problem to deal with Thompson on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.

The remainder of the meeting was mainly concerned with restoring civilian rule to the former Confederate states. President Lincoln was adamant that the states would have to govern themselves, although the army might be needed to protect the new Unionist administration in some states. Voting rights for freed black slaves was also brought up, but was an issue that would require extensive discussion and deliberation, and so was deferred to a future meeting.

Before leaving the White House, Frederick Seward reminded Lincoln that a new British minister, Sir Frederick Bruce, had recently arrived in Washington and was awaiting his formal presentation to the president. The assistant secretary of state asked if the next day would be convenient for the appointment; President Lincoln replied that tomorrow at two o'clock would be fine. In the Blue Room? The president agreed to young Seward's suggestion. The British minister would be meeting President Lincoln the next day, Saturday, April 15, at two p.m. in the Blue Room.

AFTERNOON

At about 2:00 p.m., the meeting finally came to an end. Everyone stood up; some shook hands. All the cabinet members agreed that they should reconvene on the following Tuesday, April 18, to resume their discussion.

General Grant approached the president to shake his hand and exchange a few pleasantries, even though small talk was not really Grant's strong point. President Lincoln asked the general if he and Mrs. Grant would like to go to the theater that night—he and Mrs. Lincoln were going to Ford's Theatre to see the comedy Our American Cousin, and would love to have the Grants as their guests. But General Grant was not enthusiastic about the invitation. He did not want to go to the theater, and did not want to make any sort of public appearance—he was embarrassed by the outbursts of excitement and enthusiasm whenever he appeared in public. Also, Julia Grant had seen and heard enough of Mary Lincoln during their time together at City Point, and he knew that he wife did not want to go with the Lincolns, either.

Luckily, General Grant had a convenient excuse for declining the president's invitation. “The general said he would be very sorry to have to decline,” Colonel Horace Porter recalled, “but that Mrs. Grant and he had made arrangements to go to Burlington, New Jersey, to see their children.”10 The Grants kept a house at 309 Wood Street, Burlington, and planned to leave Washington to visit their children in Burlington later that day. Going to Ford's Theatre would delay their departure for Burlington, the general explained, which would be a great frustration for Mrs. Grant. President Lincoln was disappointed by the general's refusal.

Julia Grant also received an invitation to go to Ford's Theatre that night. Her invitation had come by a messenger that may or may not have been sent by Mary Lincoln. As soon as she received the invitation, she immediately sent a note to her husband giving him two instructions: “that I did not want to go to the theater; that he must take me home.”11 Mrs. Grant was adamant about not going to the theater that night, and she wanted her husband to know it: “I not only wrote to him, but sent three of the staff officers who called to pay their respects to me to urge the General to go home that night.”

Julia Grant not only did not like the tone of the invitation—she thought it “seemed like a command” instead of a request—but had also been taken aback by the look of the messenger. The man who brought the message was not dressed like someone who had been sent by the first lady but seemed a little too casual and even a bit sloppy in his dress—he wore “light-colored corduroy coat and trousers and with a rather shabby hat of the same color.” The strange-looking messenger said, “Mrs. Lincoln sends me, madam, with her compliments, to say that she will call for you at exactly eight o'clock to go to the theater.”

She replied, “with some feeling” in her voice, “You may return with my compliments to Mrs. Lincoln and say I regret that as General Grant and I intend leaving the city this afternoon, we will not therefore be here to accompany the president and Mrs. Lincoln to the theatre.” The man hesitated for a moment before replying, “Madam, the papers announce that General Grant will be with the President tonight at the theater.”

Mrs. Grant was not moved by this argument. “You may deliver my message to Mrs. Lincoln as I have given it to you,” she said, probably with some impatience. “You may go.” With that, the messenger turned and left.

Julia Grant was highly suspicious of the man in the corduroy suit and the shabby hat, and had the idea that he had not been sent by Mrs. Lincoln. “I have thought since that this man was one of the band of conspirators in that night's sad tragedy,” she would write many years after the event.

General Grant was very glad to receive his wife's note. When he first declined the president's invitation, Lincoln replied that “people would be so delighted to see the general that he ought to stay and attend the play on that account.”12 The public's enthusiasm was one of the main reasons that Grant did not want to attend. Newspapers had, in fact, run announcements of General Grant's appearance at the theater. The Evening Star ran this item: “Lieut. General Grant, President and Mrs. Lincoln have secured the State Box at Ford's Theatre tonight to witness Miss Laura Keene's American Cousin.”¹³

But Julia Grant's note very nicely deflated President Lincoln's objections. According to Colonel Horace Porter, “A note was now brought to [General Grant] from Mrs. Grant expressing increased anxiety to start for Burlington on the four o'clock train, and he told the President that he must decide definitely not to remain for the play.”¹⁴ When the president saw what Mrs. Grant had written, he realized that he would not be able to persuade General Grant to change his plans or to go against Julia Grant's wishes.

The Grants refusal to attend the theater left the Lincolns with the problem of who else they might be able to invite. The Stantons were asked to come, but Secretary Stanton declined on the grounds that the president ought to stay at home and did not want to encourage the Lincolns to go out that night—he was afraid that some fanatical Confederate might take a shot at Lincoln on his way to the theater. Also, Mrs. Stanton did not like Mary Lincoln any more than Julia Grant did. Governor Richard J. Oglesby of Illinois was also invited; he replied that he had a meeting that evening and could not get away. The governor of the Idaho Territory, William H. Wallace, also declined, as did Major Thomas T. Eckert, chief of the War Department's telegraph bureau—Secretary Stanton objected that Major Eckert was required for duty at the telegraph office. The Marquis de Chambrun was also invited but, according to his son Adelbert, excused himself on religious grounds—a devout Catholic, he did not want to attend a theatrical performance on Good Friday. Major Henry R. Rathbone, an acquaintance of the Lincolns, and his fiancée Clara Harris, the daughter of New York senator Ira Harris, were invited later in the afternoon, and accepted. The Lincolns would pick them up at Miss Harris's home on H Street. They had finally found another couple to make up their theater party.

When General Grant went back to the Willard after the cabinet meeting, his wife told him all about an incident that had happened at lunch. Mrs. Grant seemed very upset by what had happened. She and a friend, along with two of their children, had been sitting in a restaurant when four men came in and sat opposite them. Mrs. Grant thought one of the men was “the messenger of the morning.”15 Another was “a dark, pale man” who played with his soup spoon, “sometimes filling it and holding it half-lifted to his mouth, but never tasting it.” The pale man seemed very intent on listening to everything that Mrs. Grant and her party were saying. Mrs. Grant was becoming frightened, and said to her friend, “I believe they are part of Mosby's guerillas and they have been listening to every word we have said.”

General Grant did not seen to be fazed at all by his wife's story, or by the fact that these men stared at her and listened to her conversation. “Oh, I suppose he did so merely from curiosity,” he said.¹⁶ By this time, the general had become so used to being stared at and annoyed in public that he tended to shrug off such incidents. If Mrs. Grant had told her story to Secretary of War Stanton, who was always worrying about assassination plots and kidnapping attempts, his reaction would not have been nearly as nonchalant.

Later in the afternoon, at about 3:30, a similar incident occurred. The Grants, along with the wife of General Daniel S. Rucker, were riding in a carriage when “the same dark, pale man” rode past and stared at them. The rider galloped about twenty yards ahead of the carriage, then wheeled around and turned back. As he passed the carriage for the second time, “he thrust his face near the General's and glared in a disagreeable manner.”17 Grant was startled by this, and quickly drew back from the man. “This is the same man who sat down at the lunch-table near me,” Mrs. Grant said. “I don't like his looks.”¹⁸

The general did not like them either, but he said something casual about the incident to put his wife's mind at ease. In his memoirs, he does not even mention the incident. But in 1878, General Grant told reporter John Russell Young that he “learned afterward that the horseman was [John Wilkes] Booth.”¹⁹ The general did not say how he managed to acquire this information, or exactly how long afterward he had acquired it.

From his headquarters in Raleigh, North Carolina, General William Tecumseh Sherman read the Raleigh newspapers to keep informed of General Joseph E. Johnston's movements. He was preparing to cut off General Johnston's “only available line of retreat by Salisbury and Charlotte,” and expected that General Philip Sheridan would come down from Virginia to join him “with his superb cavalry corps.”²⁰ General Sherman was getting ready for the possibility of another battle, and reasoned that he would be needing more cavalry when the time came. But because “the war was substantially over,” to use his turn of phrase, General Sherman ordered his men not to wage war against the civilian population. “No further destruction of railroads, mills, cotton, and produce will be made without the specific orders of an army commander,” General Sherman ordered, “and the inhabitants will be dealt with kindly, looking to an early reconciliation.” This was from the general who had led his men on a march of destruction from Atlanta to the sea and ruined everything they passed. Sherman had paid attention to what President Lincoln had to say about reunification and reconciliation aboard the River Queen at City Point.

Shortly after issuing this order, General Sherman received a message from General Johnston. The message, dated April 13, dealt with the subject of surrender. “The results of the recent campaign in Virginia have changed the relative military condition of the belligerents,” General Johnston's communiqué began.21 “I am, therefore, induced to address you in this form the inquiry whether, to stop the further effusion of blood and devastation of property, you are willing to make a temporary suspension of active operations, and to communicate to Lieutenant-General Grant, commanding the armies of the United States, the request that he will take like action in regard to other armies, the object being to permit the civil authorities to enter into the needful arrangements to terminate the existing war.”

General Sherman replied that he was “fully empowered” to arrange any suspension of hostilities between the two armies, and that he would “be willing to confer with you to that end.”²² He also stated that he would “undertake to abide by the same terms and conditions as were made by Generals Grant and Lee at Appomattox Court-House,” and ended on a note that would have earned the full approval of President Lincoln: “I will add that I really desire to save the people of North Carolina the damage they would sustain by the march of this army through the central or western parts of the State.”

Word of General Johnston's surrender communiqué, and of General Sherman's response to it, did not reach Washington that day. General Sherman sent his reply in the form of a letter, and had it delivered by messenger. When President Lincoln dropped in at the War Department's telegraph office, he asked Secretary Stanton if there had been any news from North Carolina. Stanton indicated that there had been no communication from General Sherman.

Early on Friday afternoon, a flag-raising ceremony was held at Fort Sumter, in Charleston harbor. Exactly four years earlier, on April 14, 1961, Major Robert Anderson had surrendered the fort to Confederate General P. G. T. Beauregard. On this Good Friday, Robert Anderson, now a general, raised the same flag over the recaptured fort in an elaborate ceremony. An estimated three thousand people were in attendance, including senators, congressmen, judges, and other dignitaries. The well-known orator Reverend Henry Ward Beecher delivered the somber keynote address, which ended, “in the name of God, we lift our banner and dedicate it to Peace, Union, and Liberty, now and forever more. Amen.”23

The entire ceremony revolved around the raising of the flag, which was performed by General Anderson. The general made a short speech, which began, “After four long, long years of war, I restore to its proper place this flag which floated here during peace, before the first act of this cruel Rebellion.”²⁴ Immediately afterward, three sailors attached the flag to the halyards, and General Anderson raised it to the top of the flagstaff—“with a firm and steady pull ran aloft the old flag,” according to one onlooker.²⁵ “No sooner had it caught the breeze than there was one tumultuous shout…. Our flag was there, its crimson folds tattered, but not dishonored, regenerated and baptized anew in the fires of Liberty.” When the flag reached the top of the staff, it was saluted by one hundred guns from Fort Sumter itself, along with the batteries of Fort Moultre and other forts that were “conspicuous in the inauguration of the rebellion.” The audience cheered, applauded, cried, and sang “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

The speeches and activities at Fort Sumter, including the flag raising, were meant to bring closure to the war, along with a tidy and conclusive end to it—four years to the day after the war began, it came to an end in the same place. “If Lincoln had lived,” a historian commented many years later, “every textbook in American history would have shown the flag raising at Fort Sumter as the conclusion of the war. That's what it was meant to be.”²⁶ The ceremony had been arranged to mark a final end to the war, an end to the fighting and the beginning of reconstruction and reunification. But events would not turn out to be as neat and conclusive as many people had hoped.

Vice-President Andrew Johnson had an appointment to meet with the president at the White House on Friday afternoon, but no exact time had been set. President Lincoln had asked Johnson to come sometime during the early afternoon, after the cabinet meeting had ended. But when the vice-president showed up for his appointment, a guard informed him that the cabinet meeting was still in session. Vice-President Johnson replied that he would stay within the White House grounds and keep himself available until the president was ready to see him.

Andrew Johnson had actually been waiting to see President Lincoln since Inauguration Day. He tried to arrange appointments several times but had never actually been able to talk to the president. But now the president had asked to see him. He waited for the cabinet meeting to end, and for Lincoln to call him into his office.

Abraham Lincoln neither liked nor disliked Andrew Johnson, although his embarrassing performance at the inauguration, called a “detestable discourse” by the Marquis de Chambrun,27 did not help to enhance Lincoln's opinion of him. In common with most presidents before and since, President Lincoln tended to pay very little attention to his second-in-command and did not give him any jobs or assignments that might have made him a more useful member of the government. He also never asked Johnson to attend a cabinet meeting. In June 1864, when members of the Republican National Convention asked President Lincoln for advice on selecting a running mate—whether or not Johnson should replace Hannibal Hamlin, his current vice-president, on the ticket—Lincoln's reply was entirely noncommittal. “Wish not to interfere about V.P.,” he said. “Can not interfere about platform. Convention must judge for itself.”²⁸ Although Andrew Johnson might make a good candidate, Lincoln would not endorse him but also would not reject him.

After the Republican delegates went through their preliminaries, and had a roll-call vote to select their vice-presidential candidate, Andrew Johnson won by a large majority. The delegates were informed of the results of the roll-call vote by an official announcement. “Gentlemen of the convention—Andrew Johnson, having received a majority of all the votes, is declared duly nominated candidate of the National Union Party for the Vice-Presidency.”29 (The Republican Party was calling itself the National Union Party to accommodate War Democrats who supported Lincoln's war policy.) The Republican/National Union Party now had a coalition ticket: a Republican presidential candidate running in an alliance with a Democratic vice-presidential candidate. If all went according to plan, enough Republicans and War Democrats would vote for Lincoln/Johnson to outvote the Democratic candidate, George B. McClellan. “The selection for the Vice-Presidency strikes dismay into the ranks of the Copperheads,” according to one account that disapproved of the Copperheads, or Peace Democrats, “who feel that it has strengthened the Union cause tremendously.”³⁰

President Lincoln hoped that a War Democrat would reinforce the Republican ticket and would improve his chances of being reelected. He had the feeling that the coming election was going to be close and that he was going to need all the help he could get. But he never sent Andrew Johnson a telegram to congratulate him on his nomination. As far as he was concerned, Johnson was on the ticket for the sole purpose of getting votes.

Their meeting on April 14 began after the cabinet meeting ended and after the president had lunch with Mary Lincoln. President Lincoln welcomed “Andy,” shook his hand enthusiastically, and ushered him into the office. The two of them conferred for about twenty minutes. Not much is known about what took place during their conversation, but the main topic was probably reconstruction and the reunification of the country—the two most pressing concerns on the president's mind, now that General Lee had surrendered and General Johnston was about to. It is likely that the president advised Johnson of the proceedings of that morning's cabinet meeting.31

The conversation between President Lincoln and Vice-President Johnson was too short to be anything but superficial, but at least it gave the new vice-president some insight into what Lincoln had in mind for the future. When the president finished saying what he had to say, the two men shook hands again and the president ushered Johnson out of his office. Vice-President Johnson left the White House, and President Lincoln went back to work.

The president attended to several official chores. He accepted the resignation of a supreme court justice from the territory of Idaho and recommended his successor, he endorsed the release of a prisoner from Point Lookout prison in Maryland, and he endorsed several appointees in the state of Maryland, including postmaster, surveyor, and district attorney. The piece of business that probably meant most to him involved the issuing of passes to Richmond, which he ruled would no longer be necessary. “No pass is necessary now to authorize any one to go & return from Petersburg & Richmond. People go & return just as they did before the war.”³² It was a sign that life was finally beginning to return to normal.

The president also had an unscheduled conversation with Nancy Bushrod sometime during the afternoon. Nancy Bushrod and her husband, Tom, had been slaves on what is usually described as “the old Harwood plantation near Richmond.”³³ When they heard about the Emancipation Proclamation, they left the plantation and came to Washington with their three children. Tom joined the army a short time afterward and always sent his pay back home to his wife. The money arrived regularly every month, until recently, when it had suddenly stopped. Nancy had twin boys and a baby girl to look after, and she now had no money to support them. Her children were crying from hunger, and she made up her mind to see President Lincoln about her predicament. On the afternoon of April 14, she came to the White House to ask the president if he could help her to get her husband's army pay.

At the White House, two sets of guards tried to keep Nancy from seeing the president, telling her that he was busy and that it was against orders to let her pass. But all the shouting between Nancy and the soldiers had its desired effect—“All of a sudden de do’ open, an’ Mistah Linkun stood lookin’ at me.” The president said to the soldiers, “There is time for all who need me. Let the good woman come in.”

The president listened to what Nancy Bushrod had to say for about fifteen minutes. After sitting on the other side of the desk and hearing her story through, he said, “You are entitled to your soldier-husband's pay. Come this time tomorrow, and the papers will be signed and ready for you.” Nancy thanked the president profusely; Lincoln simply bowed, and went back to a desk piled high with work. Nancy Bushrod lived to be more than eighty years of age, and never tired of telling the story of the day she met Abraham Lincoln.

The president and Mary Lincoln took a carriage ride out to the Navy Yard at about 5:00 p.m. The president wanted to be alone with his wife for a while and did not want anyone else to come along. He also just wanted to get out of the city, if even for only a couple of hours. At the Navy Yard, President Lincoln went aboard the monitor USS Montauk, which was still showing battle scars from her part in the attack on Charleston in 1863. The Montauk's crew was glad to see him; the president took time to speak with several of them.

Lincoln was in a good mood and had been since morning. During the cabinet meeting, several members commented on how cheerful he seemed to be—almost unnaturally happy, considering his usually melancholy disposition. His happy mood continued into the afternoon, which came as a surprise to Mary. “Dear husband,” she told him, “you almost startle me with your great cheerfulness.”34

“And well I may feel so, Mary,” he replied, and went on to explain, “I consider this day the war has come to a close.”35 After a moment, he said, “We must both be more cheerful in the future—between the war and the loss of our darling Willie, we have both been very miserable.” He was certainly more than correct about that: the strain of the war, added to their personal problems, had combined to make them both very miserable indeed.

President Lincoln also talked about the future, especially about life after he left the White House in four years. He wanted to travel, to go to Europe, where he would be welcomed as a senior American statesman. He and Mary might even to go Jerusalem, which he had always wanted to see. They would also take a trip across the United States—visit some of the western states and ride out to California. After taking a long and much-needed rest, the Lincolns would go back to Springfield, where Lincoln would return to his law practice. The years ahead looked to be peaceful and prosperous, giving them both something to look forward to. “He longed, a little wistfully, for that time to come with its promise of peace,” Mary mentioned to William Crook.³⁶

The president and Mary returned to the White House for dinner and discovered that they had two visitors, both old friends of President Lincoln: General Isham Haynie and Governor Richard J. Oglesby, both from Illinois. Mary Lincoln allowed the three men to withdraw to Lincoln's office, where he proceeded to read passages from one of his favorite books, the comical Nasby Letters, written by David R. Locke under the pseudonym Petroleum Vesuvius Nasby. Reverend Nasby was an ardent Confederate supporter, who found life in the Confederate army dreary and decided to desert. Everyone enjoyed the Nasby jokes, especially the president himself, who kept on reading until it was time for dinner. Lincoln invited his friends to join him, but they both said they had previous engagements and would see him again soon.

Dinner was served earlier than usual that day, to allow the Lincolns to get to Ford's Theatre on time. Mary complained of a headache and said that she would rather not go out, but the president insisted, telling her that it would be good to get out and have a laugh. Also, he added, another night at home would not be either quiet or enjoyable—he would have callers all evening. Mary changed her mind and agreed to see the comedy with her husband.

After dinner, President Lincoln walked over to the War Department with William Crook to meet with Secretary of War Stanton. Crook mentions only that they went to the War Department “late on the afternoon of the 14th.”37 By that time the president's mood had changed dramatically, from happiness to depression. “I found that the President was more depressed than I had ever seen him and his step unusually slow,” Crook observed. “I had heard of the transitions from almost wild spirits to abject melancholy which marked him…I wondered at him that day and felt uneasy.”

On their short walk to the War Department, Lincoln said something that both upset and frightened Crook. “I believe there are men who want to take my life,” he said, half to himself. “And I have no doubt they will do it.”

William Crook was as alarmed by the president's straightforward tone of voice as by the statement itself. “Why do you think so, Mr. Lincoln?” was all he could say in response. “Other men have been assassinated,” Lincoln said, unemotionally. The only response Crook could make was, “I hope you are mistaken, Mr. President.”

The two of them walked a few paces in silence before President Lincoln spoke again. “I have perfect confidence in those who around me—in every one of you men,” he said. “I know no one could do it and escape alive. But if it is to be done, it is impossible to prevent it.”

They had arrived at the War Department by that time. President Lincoln went inside for his conference with Secretary Stanton, which was shorter than Crook expected. When he had come out of Stanton's office, Crook noticed that all the depression in the president's face had disappeared. He informed Crook in a normal tone of voice that he and Mrs. Lincoln were going to the theater that evening to see Our American Cousin. “It has been advertised that we will be there,” he said, “and I cannot disappoint the people. Otherwise I would not go. I do not want to go.”

Crook was surprised to hear this. He knew how much Lincoln loved the theater, and it seemed very unusual to hear him say that he did not want to go. When the two of them returned to the White House the president paused for a moment before going in. Crook said goodnight. “Good-bye, Crook,” the president answered. This struck Crook as very strange—President Lincoln had always said “Good night, Crook” before. He walked home feeling “queer and sad.”

President Lincoln found Speaker of the House Schuyler Colfax waiting for him when he entered the White House. Colfax wanted to know if the president had any intention of calling Congress back into session during the summer months, and seemed greatly relieved when Lincoln said that he had no such intention. This meant that Speaker Colfax would be free to take his planned trip to the west coast. Lincoln envied him the trip—he wished that he could go himself. Before he left, Speaker Colfax mentioned how nervous and anxious he had been when the president had gone to Richmond. Lincoln joked that he would also have been alarmed if anyone but himself had been president and had gone to Richmond. But since he had made the trip, he was not afraid about himself at all.

When Schuyler Colfax left, Congressman George Ashmun of Massachusetts was waiting to see the president on behalf of a friend who had a claim against the government. Lincoln was in no mood to hear about anybody's claims against the government and let the congressman know his feelings in an angry tone of voice. But when he saw that his angry response had offended Ashmun, he changed his manner and said that he would make an appointment to see the congressman first thing in the morning. He took a card from his pocket and wrote, “April 14, 1865—Allow Mr. Ashmun & friend to come in at 9 A.M. to-morrow” and signed it.38

President Lincoln walked out onto the White House porch, where he joined Schuyler Colfax, Noah Brooks, and his wife. Brooks thought the president “was full of fun and anecdotes, feeling especially jubilant at the prospect before us.”³⁹ He spoke about the country's future, mentioning that General Grant thought it possible to reduce the cost of maintaining the army by at least a half million dollars per day, which would reduce the national debt and help the economy to recover at a fairly rapid pace. While President Lincoln was talking, his carriage pulled up. At about the same time, former congressman Isaac N. Arnold arrived to have a word with the president. Arnold was an old friend and political ally, but Lincoln did not have time to talk at that precise moment. He excused himself, explained that he was on his way to the theater, and asked Arnold to come back in the morning.

EVENING

Before driving to Ford's Theatre, the Lincolns stopped at H Street to pick up Major Henry Rathbone and his fiancée, Clara Harris. On their way to the theater, Clara and Mrs. Lincoln had a pleasant conversation. The carriage had been escorted by two cavalrymen during the short trip. When the president and his party arrived at Ford's Theatre, the cavalrymen rode back to their barracks. Another escort would arrive in time to take the Lincolns and their guests back home after the play ended.

The performance had already started when the presidential party entered the theater at about 8:30. The conductor of the orchestra immediately stopped the show and struck up, “Hail to the Chief.” The audience spontaneously rose to their feet and cheered, as the president walked slowly toward the state box, trailing behind Mary Lincoln and their two guests. He could not be seen very well by the audience; the corridor leading to the box was narrow and not very well lighted. When he reached the box, President Lincoln looked down and acknowledged the cheers and applause of the crowd by smiling and bowing to them.

The front of the box had been decorated with red, white, and blue bunting, along with the regimental flag of the Treasury Guard and a portrait of George Washington. After the Lincolns and their guests sat down, the audience could not see anyone in the state box—they were seated too far back to be seen from below. The president made it even more difficult by leaning back in an upholstered rocking chair, which the management of the theater had provided for his comfort. Most of the people in attendance had come to see the president, not the show; scalpers were charging $2.50 for tickets that normally sold for $0.75 to $1.00, and the house was nearly sold out. Many had hoped to see General Grant, as well. But everyone was very glad to see President Lincoln and more than happy to pay the inflated ticket prices just to get a glimpse of him.

Our American Cousin is a three-act British farce by Tom Taylor. The plot revolves around Asa Trenchard's visit to his relatives in England, where has gone to claim his inheritance. Asa Trenchard, the American cousin, is an awkward country bumpkin; his English relatives are aristocratic snobs and are generally not very bright. The play had first been performed in the United States in 1858 and was very well received—it had played for five consecutive months in New York.40 Laura Keene, the well-known British actress, played the part of Florence Trenchard, the daughter of the patrician family. For this particular performance, new lines were added to bring the script up to date. One of the new exchanges occurred when a character complained about sitting too close to a drafty window: “If you please, ask the dairy maid to let me have a seat in the dairy. I am afraid of the draft here.” Lord Dundreary responds, “Don't be alarmed. The draft has already been stopped by order of the President.”41

Everyone seemed to be enjoying the play, including the Lincolns and their guests. Mary Lincoln frequently applauded the action down on stage, and the president laughed out loud whenever a line struck him as particularly funny. He would occasionally lean forward, which made him visible to the audience. Whenever this would happen, everyone would stop looking at the stage and turn toward the president's box. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that Abraham Lincoln was the star at Ford's Theatre that night.

Mary Lincoln was glad that her husband was having a good time, particularly after such a long and active day, and “seemed to take great pleasure in his enjoyment.”⁴² But the president's official duties did not end just because he happened to be at the theater. During an intermission, a message from the War Department was delivered to the president at his box. President Lincoln read the telegram and decided that his response could wait until morning. The sudden appearance of the messenger startled Clara Harris; she had not expected anyone to call on the president while he was at the theater.

The president saw Henry Rathbone take Clara's hand during the performance. Inspired by his guest's example, he decided to follow suit and took Mary's hand. She leaned close to her husband and whispered, “What will Miss Harris think of my hanging on to you so?” The president smiled and said, “She won't think anything about it.”⁴³

The performance carried on toward the play's inevitable happy ending. During the third act, when the comedy was nearly over, a loud noise came from the president's box. Afterward, people in the audience recalled that it was more of a “crack” than a “bang.” Nobody thought that it was a gunshot. Immediately after the strange noise, which happened at about 10:13, a man with a knife in his hand jumped out of the box and landed on the stage. It was not a clean jump—the spur on his right boot caught on the Treasury Guard flag, which caused the man to land heavily on his left foot. He fell forward on his hands, got up, shouted something at the audience—some thought it was “Sic semper tyrannis,” others thought it was “The South is avenged”—and limped off into the wings.44

The audience had no idea what had happened. Some of the spectators thought that something special had been added to the performance, an unusual bit of stage business to mark the president's appearance. Quite a few people recognized John Wilkes Booth as the man who jumped out of the Lincolns’ box. Booth was very well known to the theater-going public, and had appeared at Ford's Theatre on any number of occasions. But when he landed on the stage, the performance came to a dead stop—none of the actors seemed to know what was happening either.

There was just as much confusion in the president's box. Mrs. Lincoln turned toward her husband when she heard the noise. Major Rathbone stood up and tried to stop the intruder. John Wilkes Booth dropped his derringer, drew a dagger, and stabbed the major in the arm, slashing it to the bone. Booth forced his way past Rathbone, shouted something about revenge for the South, and jumped over the edge of the box onto the stage. Major Rathbone shouted for someone to stop him. Mary Lincoln finally realized what had happened and began shrieking, “They have shot the President! They have shot the President!”⁴⁵

The audience was also now aware of what had happened. Most people were on their feet. Some tried to leave the theater. Some wandered up onto the stage. From the stage, Laura Keene shouted for everyone to keep calm. But everyone was too excited to pay any attention. Some made their way out onto the street and began spreading the word that the president had been shot.

Charles A. Leale, a young army surgeon, managed to reach the president in spite of the chaos and found Lincoln slumped over in his rocking chair. He ordered some soldiers who were standing outside the box to lay President Lincoln on the floor, and began an examination to find the wound. The doctor was looking for a knife wound—he had heard someone say something about seeing a man with a knife and knew that Major Rathbone had been attacked with a knife. But after removing the president's shirt and undershirt, he could not find any sign of a knife wound. Dr. Leale looked at the president's head, and found the bullet wound that had been made by John Wilkes Booth's derringer.

The bullet—actually a .44 caliber lead ball—had entered the president's skull behind the left ear and had gone through the brain toward the right eye. “The ball entered through the occipital bone about one inch to the left of the median line,” according to an autopsy report written by Dr. J. J. Woodward on April 15.46 Dr. Leale examined the wound to determine if the lead ball had exited the skull, and found that it had not—it was still lodged in the brain.

The doctor cleared the blood clot that was forming around the bullet wound, which relieved pressure on the brain. Next, he opened the president's mouth and opened up his airway, so that he could breathe more easily. Another army surgeon, Dr. Charles Taft, was also admitted into the box. He assisted Dr. Leale by raising and lowering the president's arms while Dr. Leale administered artificial respiration. The two doctors soon had President Lincoln breathing again, but he did not regain consciousness. Both Dr. Leale and Dr. Taft agreed that the president's wound was mortal.⁴⁷

While the doctors were doing their best to save President Lincoln, several other people had come into the president's box. Clara Harris was doing her best to comfort Mrs. Lincoln, Laura Keene had also entered the box, and a young obstetrician named Albert King had also managed to find his way to the president's side. It was evident that President Lincoln had to be moved out of this crowded setting. Dr. Leale ordered six soldiers to carry the president out of the box. They carried him down the stairs and out into the street. There was some discussion over where the president should be taken. Dr. Leale decided that moving him to the White House was out of the question. His concern was “that with the jostling in the street going back to the White House, they could have made the injuries far worse because the bullet was still in the brain, potentially bouncing around.”48 Instead, he was taken to the home of William Petersen, just across the street.

The president was carried up the steps, through the front door of the house, and into a small bedroom, where he was placed diagonally across a four-poster bed—he was too tall to fit lengthwise. Major Rathbone and Clara Harris went back to Ford's Theatre to bring Mrs. Lincoln over to Petersen's house. When she saw her husband, she screamed, asked someone to bring Tad, and shouted that she herself should have been shot instead of her husband. After a few minutes, she was gently led away to another room, where she cried uncontrollably.

News of the shooting had already begun to spread throughout Washington. The Marquis de Chambrun was getting ready to go to bed, at around 11 o'clock, when a “fellow lodger” knocked on his door and shouted, “The president had been assassinated.”⁴⁹ The two of them rushed out into the street and made their way over to Ford's Theatre through the crowd that had already gathered. Just opposite the theater, “a cordon of troops” had been stationed in front of the Petersen house. “The soldiers were crying like children, but were also dangerously exasperated,” Chambrun observed. “At the smallest move among the bystanders, they would have fired without hesitation.”

Chambrun could see that there was absolutely no chance of getting anywhere near the Petersen house, so he decided to stand out in the street and wait for news. While he was waiting, the marquis recognized Clara Harris; he had spoken with Clara that afternoon at the White House. “The unhappy girl was spattered with blood but found words to tell me that the President was dead.”50 The blood was probably Major Rathbone's, not the president's, and Lincoln was not dead, Chambrun was informed—“slight pulsation could, it seemed, be detected, showing that the heart still beat.”

General and Mrs. Grant first heard about the assassination in Philadelphia, where they had stopped on their way to Burlington, New Jersey. The general had not eaten anything since nine o'clock that morning; he and his wife were at a restaurant when the news came—a telegram from the War Department was handed to him while he waited for a dish of oysters:

War Department, Washington

April 14, 1865, midnight

Lieut. Gen. U. S. GRANT

On the night train to Burlington

“The President was assassinated at Ford's Theatre at 10 30 tonight & cannot live. The wound is a Pistol shot through the head. Secretary Seward & his son Frederick, were also assassinated at their residence & are in a dangerous condition. The Secretary of War desires that you return to Washington immediately. Please answer on receipt of this.”

Thomas T. Eckert⁵¹

As soon as he read the dispatch, General Grant turned pale and his entire demeanor changed. He wife noted the change, and asked, “Is anything the matter?”⁵²

“Yes, something very serious has happened,” the general answered, and asked his wife not to cry out or show any emotion when she heard the news. “The President has been assassinated at the theater, and I must go back at once. I will take you to Burlington (an hour away), see the children, order a special train, and return as soon as it is ready.”

The general did not say very much on the trip to Burlington. Julia Grant asked if he had any thoughts as to who might have shot the president and what might have been the motive. “Oh, I don't know,” General Grant said. “But this fills me with the gloomiest apprehension. The President was inclined to be kind and magnanimous,” he continued, “and his death at this time is an irreparable loss to the South, which now needs so much both his tenderness and magnanimity.”

“This will make Andy Johnson President, will it not?” Mrs. Grant asked.

“Yes,” General Grant answered, “and for some reason I dread the change.”

When the Grants arrived at their house in Burlington, nobody went to bed; they had callers all through the night. “Crowds of people came thronging into our cottage to learn if the terrible news was true.” Julia Grant remembered. General Grant left for Washington during the night, “while it was yet starlight.”53

Secretary of State Seward and Vice-President Johnson had also been marked for assassination. Some believed that General Grant had been targeted, as well. Assistant secretary of war Charles Dana sent General Grant a warning about a possible assassination attempt, which arrived directly after the general received the War Department's telegram. “Permit me to suggest to you to keep a close watch on all persons who come near you in the cars or otherwise,” Dana advised, “also that an engine be sent in front of the train to guard against anything being on the tracks.”⁵⁴

According to Colonel Horace Porter, Charles Dana's warning was well-founded. Colonel Porter gave an account of an incident involving General Grant that took place on the train to Burlington. “Before the train reached Baltimore a man appeared on the front platform of the car, and tried to get in,” he wrote, “but the conductor had locked the door so that the general would not be troubled by visitors.”55 On the following morning, a note written to General Grant arrived at the Grants’ house in Burlington. Julia Grant opened and read it: “General Grant, thank God, as I do, that you still live. It was your life that fell to my lot, and I followed you on the cars. Your car door was locked, and thus you escaped me, thank God!”⁵⁶

Vice-President Andrew Johnson was also to have been killed, but his intended murderer, George Atzerodt, did not carry out his assignment. Atzerodt had taken the room directly above Vice-President Johnson's at the Kirkwood House hotel, a short walk from Ford's Theatre. According to John Wilkes Booth's instructions, Atzerodt was supposed to have knocked on Johnson's door, entered his room, and stabbed him with a Bowie knife. But he could not go through with his assignment. Instead, he left the hotel and spent most of the night drinking in a local bar.

Lewis Powell very nearly carried out his assignment, which was the murder of Secretary of State William Seward. Powell arrived at Secretary Seward's house in Lafayette Square just after ten o'clock. He knocked on the door, walked past a servant, and walked up the stairs toward the secretary's bedroom. Frederick Seward met Powell at the top of the stairs. Powell told Frederick that he had some medicine for Secretary Seward, showed Frederick a small package he was carrying, and explained that he was under orders to deliver it to the secretary in person. Frederick assured Powell that he would make certain his father would receive the medicine. Powell appeared to turn around, as if to leave, but turned and drew a revolver from his coat. The revolver misfired; Powell struck Frederick Seward over the head with it, knocking him unconscious and fracturing his skull.

Secretary Seward was in bed, recovering from his carriage accident, and was being looked after by his daughter Fanny and an army nurse named George Foster Robinson. Private Robinson heard the scuffle, and opened the bedroom door to see about the noise. Powell punched Robinson—“struck at his breast,” according to a newspaper account—ran past Fanny, and rushed toward Secretary Seward's bed with a large knife.

Seward was much too weak to evade his attacker. Powell jumped on the bed and began stabbing, cutting Seward's face, head, and neck. By this time, Robinson had recovered. He pulled Powell off the bed and onto the floor, which gave Secretary Seward the chance to roll off the bed and out of harm's way. Fanny had been screaming hysterically through all this, which awakened her brother Augustus Seward and sent him rushing off to his father's room. Young Augustus and Private Robinson wrestled with Powell, but somehow he managed to get away. He ran down the stairs and out to the street, shouting that he was mad, and rode off on his horse. When Secretary Seward rolled out of bed, he had dragged the sheets onto the floor; Robinson and Augustus found him wrapped in the sheets, “lying in a pool of blood.”57

Gideon Welles came to see Secretary Seward shortly after Powell left the house. A messenger had informed him that both the president and Secretary Seward had been assassinated. Because the Seward residence “was on the east side of the square, mine being on the north,” he decided to visit the secretary first—his house was just a short walk across Lafayette Square.⁵⁸

As soon as Secretary Welles entered the house, the servants confirmed the fact that “an assassin or assassins had entered the house and assaulted the Secretary,” and said that “Mr. Frederick was also badly injured.” Frederick Seward's wife pointed the way to William Seward's room. “The Secretary was lying on his back, the upper part of his head covered by a cloth, which extended down over his eyes,” Secretary Welles remembered. “His mouth was open and the lower jaw dropping down.” His cheek had almost been cut off his face, and just flapped loose. A metal brace, which he had been wearing ever since his earlier accident, saved his jugular vein from being severed, and also saved his life.

Welles also looked in on Frederick Seward, who was lying in an adjoining room. “His eyes were open but he did not move them, nor a limb, nor did he speak,” Welles wrote. The doctor in attendance said that he was “more dangerously injured than his father.” Young Frederick's skull had been badly fractured; there was a good chance that he would not recover.

Secretary of War Edwin Stanton entered the Seward house directly after Secretary Welles. After visiting Secretary Seward and his son, they left the house together and decided to “attend the president immediately,” riding by carriage over to the Petersen house. Quartermaster General Montgomery Meigs and District of Columbia chief justice David K. Cartter rode in the carriage along with them. Major Thomas T. Eckert of the War Department Telegraph Service rode behind the carriage, and two soldiers rode on either side.

The group and their escort made their way through the crowds that had taken over that part of Washington. “The streets were full of people,” Secretary Welles would later write. “Not only on the sidewalk but the carriage way was to some extent occupied, all or nearly all hurrying towards 10th Street.” When they reached Tenth Street and drove toward the Petersen house, “we found it pretty closely packed.”

Gideon Welles, Secretary Stanton, and the others in the carriage entered the house and walked through to the president's room. “The giant sufferer lay extended across the bed, which was not long enough for him,” Welles noted. “His large arms, which were occasionally exposed, were of a size which one would scarce have expected from his spare appearance.” Lincoln still had the arms of a rail-splitter. “His slow, full respiration lifted the clothes with each breath that he took. His features were calm and striking.”

Several people were already in the room when Secretary Welles arrived; he estimated that at least six of them were doctors. Senator Sumner was also there, along with Speaker Colfax and all of the cabinet members except for William Seward. “The room was small and overcrowded,” was Secretary Welles's understatement. He asked one of the doctors about the president's “true condition,” fearing that he already knew it. Lincoln had already deteriorated during the time that Welles had been in the Petersen house—“his right eye began to swell and that part of his face became discolored.” The doctor confirmed Welles's worst suspicions. “He replied the President was dead to all intents, although he might live three hours, perhaps longer.”