NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE

in connection with

LECTURE
on the Capture of
JOHN WILKES BOOTH

Written and Delivered
by

Lt. L. B. Baker, lst D. of C, Cavalry

 
 

LECTURE
on the Capture of
JOHN WILKES BOOTH

Written and Delivered
by

Lt. L. B. Baker, lst D. of C. Cavalry

Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen:-

The story you are to hear this evening is not to be embellished
with flowers of rhetoric or gems of poetry. It is to be a plain story
of a plain man, who chanced to be an actor in one of the most thril-
ling tragedies that has ever been enacted upon the stage of our
national history.

It seems almost a crime to ask this happy-hearted audience to
roll back the scroll of time and stand again admist the storms and the
darkness that beat upon and shadowed our great country a little more
than a quarter of a century ago. Those of you who are older need no
rehearsal of the perils that beset our Ship of State and threatened
to engulf it in eternal ruin.

Fresh in your memory are those distant murmurings of discontent
that came stealing, rolling, thundering northward from a rebellious
South. Tonight we can almost hear again the booming of that first
gun upon the walls of Sumter, the first call for troops, the confused
mutterings of dissension all along the border. Tonight we see again
Kentucky under Governor McGoffin swinging pendulum like between
"Secession and Union;" Tennessee coquetting with treason, sister
states parting hands and ranging themselves upon opposing sides;
senators hurling their official crowns at the feet of a treacherous
president and hastening hence to come again at the head of an armed
rebellion; the deepening conflict, the crash and roar and roll of bat-
tle.

One hundred and ninety thousand slave owners, nearly an equal
number of slave brokers, a mock government and mock president, felon
rights founded on the wrongs of a race, intimidation, treason,
treachery; all were to be met and. conquered in order that we might
reach the supreme heaven-ordained result, - the making of an American
nation.

And amidst that wonderful constellation of names that shone,
starlike, upon this night of our national hope, the one glorious light
around which all others seemed to cluster and revolve was the immortal
name of Abraham Lincoln. George Washington and Abraham Lincoln today
are separated in our country's history by three-quarters of a century,
but before another century rolls around their monuments will stand
side by side in the glorious temple of our country's history, -
Washington, the father and defender of his country; Lincoln its
martyred savior and liberator of a race.
It is a striking fact that the greatest benefactors of
the human race have had their birth and childhood amidst lowly
surroundings. So Lincoln's earlier years were passed in humble
life, in quietude and retirement, but there was nourished that
grand simplicity, that gentle firmness, that unswerving integrity
and unselfish devotion to humanity and country that so signally
characterized his maturer years and at the last crowned his life
with greatness and with glory. ,

He made no mistakes in policy, always working in harmony
with the common sense and patriotism of "the great people,"
never crowding public sentiment; always leading it. Educating
and inspiring until Union and Freedom were a single word, he
swung the nation round the critical point of its whole history,
and saw it like a glorious planet sweeo grandly forward to take
its predestined place in the political heavens.

Europe had said "America is an experiment, a child in
nonage;" the slave was proclaimed a free man; the old world re-
sounded with the conflict of opinion, the new with the tramp of
"Liberty's legions." The hands upon the face of "Time's old
dial" pointed to the high hour of noon, and the hour of America's
manhood was struck. The days of struggle were over; the jubilee
had come. The nation was filled with rejoicing; the liberator
of 4,000,000 slaves had been re-elected President; the centers
of commerce and trade were centers of gladness for the financial

clouds were drifting by; the sunlight of prosperity had appeared.

From ten thousand churches arose prayers of thanksgiving.
The national capitol was a scene of gaiety. Stars and stripes
waved high on tower and dome; the air vibrated with the songs of
liberty. Concert halls and theaters were crowded and to one of
these, as a brief respite from labor and care, the "nation's chief"
resorted. Received with reverence and honor, he was ushered into
the private box prepared for him. A great orchestra is before the
footlights; music floats on the perfumed air, rises and falls
like the waves of the sea, winds in and out among the chords of
the soul. Suddenly hundreds of gas jets redouble their bril-
liancy, flooding with light the vast auditorium, crowded now
with the grace, elegance, wealth and beauty of Washington.
The music ceases and the curtain rises on the first act.

But all happiness has its counterpart of misery; all joy
its possible corollary of despair. The spirit of the rebellion
was overcome, not conquered. The phantom nationality of the
South had vanished, but treason at bay, was still resolved to
turn from no foe, to reject no weapon. All was lost but it
would not yield. It could still ally itself with the torch,
the dagger, the hissing, murderous bullet, and it would, though
gibbets should creak with its reputation, and hemp be heavy with
its honor. And so within view of the shimmering lights of that
theater, so near that the rippling waves of its music floated
to the ear, a band of desperadoes was assembled. Glasses rung

 
 

upon the counter. Soon half-intoxicated men retired for
consultation to a more secluded den behind this "glittering
hell;" then stole out into the darkness upon their various
mission of murder. One, the master spirit of the gang,
hastens to the flower-decked hall where it is known the
president is listening, resting. He threads his way along
the crowded aisle almost to the footlights; then pauses to
cast upward a glance of affected carelessness at the face of
the man whose life he seeks, sitting now calm, dignified, un-
fearing, as becomes the rules of a great nation,

Who would have guessed that this individual had murder
in his heart? For a moment he leans against the wall at the
end of the dress circle, hat in hand, taking in at one view
the vast audience, the stage with paraphernalia, the lights,
the musicians at his feet, the whole splendid scene of pleasure
and beauty. For a moment only he stands thus. Then pushing
open the door at his side, he passes through and closes it be-
hind him, feels for a bar of wood left there for his use, places
one end of it in the niche in the wall made by an accomplice to
receive it, the other end against the door panel, bracing it
firmly against help for his intended victim.

Now on tiptoe along the little hall behind the president's
box, he reaches the door that opens directly into it. A beam
of light shines through it, through a gimlet hole smoothed and
whittled larger with his own pocket knife, as a provided means
of ascertaining the exact position of the man he is to kill.
Crouching like a tiger preparing for his spring, he places his
eye over the aperture and can scarcely repress a tigerlike
growl of satisfaction at the evident sense of security, the
utter helplessness of his prey. Now, one hand to a hip pocket
for the carefully loaded weapon, the other to his belt to draw a
gleaming dagger. Is the door bolted inside? What if it is?
The screws that hold the fastenings were loosened with the other
preparations for this accursed business. He could throw a bullet
through the little opening and do his work in a moment, but that
would necessitate a retreat through the audience, ensuring his
capture, and no deliberate murderer ever forgets to provide for
his own escape. No, he will enter the box stealthily, and stand-
ing behind the president, discharge his weapon at the shortest
possible range and leap to the stage in front. The people will
suppose the report of a pistol simply a prelude to the rise of
the curtain on the second act of the play, and before they compre-
hend the situation, he will have time to cross the stage, gain
the outside actors! door, which is being guarded by his accomplice
and toole A fleet horse is pawing the earth in the alley back
of the theater, the bridle is held by a man ready to assist him
in his flight, and on his own heels are firmly clasped the ready
spurs to goad the animal to his utmost speed.

Suddenly a loud report! A startled cry from the wife of the
presidentt The assassin is leaping over the railing to the stage

 
 

 

nine feet below. But the front of the box is draped with
the stars and stripes, the spurs are tangled in the national
colors, that seem instinct with life and which, clinging to
him, cast him headlong on the stage and into the orchestra
below. There is a fractured limb that will lead to his cap-
ture. The old flag has done its work!

But the man is an athlete and it is life or death. He
springs to the stage with the agility of a panther, darts
across it, flourishing the dagger still in his hand, but
pauses at the further end with the actor's instinct for
“effective tragedy," to utter the motto of the state of
Virginia ~ "Death to all tyrants." Then he is gone, out
into the darkness, to the alley, is quickly mounted, sinks
the spurs deep into the sides of the astonished animal, which
leaps forward at the unusual bidding, and the wild race for
life begins.

He is out of the city before any measures can be taken
for his capture, but he is not alone. A young man, David E.
Harold, almost a boy, his tool for months, was of a respectable
family but, like many other boys, ruined by his own will and
refusal to heed advice from parents or friends. This youth is
the murderer's tool and companion, and side by side they dash
along the country road, ten, twenty, thirty miles. It is not
yet daylight and hours of darkness are precious, But the
fractured limb requires attention, and at last they have
reached the residence of a surgeon, a friend and accomplice.
Dr. Mudd is aroused from sleep to set the broken bone. It is
splinted with pieces of a cigar box, tightly bandaged, an old
army shoe is substituted for the boot that is now too small for
the swollen foot, and which when cut therefrom has been thrown
over the garden fence to be found days afterward and finally
used in court as damning evidence against the garden owner, for
the full name of the murderer is inside of it. Again the two are
mounted, again they are speeding southward in search of friends
and safety; on and on, to see the sun rise and set, to lie for
days in the jungles of the marsh, to be driven out by hunger
and thirst, to cross the Potomac after seven days and nights
of hiding, but under cover of impenetrable darkness, to beg of
a poor woman for breakfast, and to be sent by her to the still
poorer "white trash" they so much despised; to approach the
Rebel Colonel Stewart, expecting entertainment and friendship,
but to be "turned like dogs from his door" to seek the wretched
hut of one of the poorest, blackest of the despised race. To be
met at last by friends upon the Rappahannock and placed in sup-
posed safety, but even then not daring to reveal their identity
to those upon whose hospitality they have imposed.

 

 
 

 

Suspected even there, they are denied the sheltering
roof of the Garrett brothers, and are glad to rest in a barn,
an old tobacco house, even though locked in and closely watched
lest they should steal the horses as a means of conveyance fur-
ther into rebeldom. And there we will leave them while we go
back to Washington, and to those employed in their capture.

And now, my good friends, if I tell you this part of my
story as it actually occurred and enter into particulars as you
have been led to suppose I would do, I must speak more directly
of myself than would ordinarily be considered in good taste.

I had been a Lieutenant in the First District of Columbia
cavalry, but the war was over and I had been mustered out of the
service. E. J. Conger had also been an officer in the same
regiment, - a lieutenant colonel, ~ but having been wounded early
in the war, had been compelled to forego very active service and,
at the time of which we speak, he too had been mustered out, and
both he and I, not as soldiers now, but as private citizens,
were in the employment of the Government under General L. C. Baker.
This Baker was a cousin of mine, he at this time being at the head
of what was known in Washington as the "Detective Bureau of the War
Department" and reporting directly to Secretary Stanton. On the
day previous to the assassination General Baker was ordered to
New York City to look after a scheme he had there set on foot
for capturing "bounty jumpers." On this expedition I accompanied
him as an assistant. We had reached the city and were quartered
at the Astor House. At half past eleven o'clock on the same
evening came a telegram from Secretary Stanton, saying the
president had been murdered and he wished us to return to
Washington at once.

At six o'clock next morning I draped the whole front of
our office on Vesey Street. in mourning, and I had the honor of
being the first to hang’ crape in New York, as an expression of
grief because of the Nation's great bereavement. Then speeding
back to washington, we began the search for the men who had not
only murdered Lincoln, but half murdered Secretary Seward and
plotted for the murder of the whole cabinet, including General
Grant and Vice President Johnson.

I was set procuring the photographs, not only of Booth and
Harold, but of the entire Confederate cabinet as well, for it was
suspected of having instigated the whole murderous business. With
a half dozen active men to help me, I was sent into lower Maryland
to scatter all over that region these pictures and also descriptions
of booth and Harold together, with flaming handbills advertising
large rewards offered for their capture, and if possible gain some
clue as to the direction the fugitives had taken. We returned to

 

 
 

 

Washington, having accomplished nothing apparently, and all

this time the men we wanted were hiding in the swamps of that
very locality. General Baker felt certain that this must be

the case. The large reward offered ($100,000) filled the whole
country between Washington and Port Tobacco with detectives.
They would not work with us or give us any information they may
have obtained. They preferred rather to throw us off from the
trail, hoping to follow it successfully themselves. And so over
ten days had gone by and the murderers were still at large.

We said to General Baker, "The assassin has not gone south.
He has taken another direction." But the General held firmly to
his original theory. "There is no place of safety for them on
earth," said he, "except among their friends of the still rebel-
lious South, Booth knows it and will try to reach them for his
life depends upon it." The old detective was right in his theory,
even in general detail as I realized most completely when it was
all over and I had been sent (as I was) over their entire route
to gather information for use upon the trial of Booth's accomplices.

But now one of our detectives was ordered to take with him
a telegraph operator with instruments and go into lower Maryland,
attach the instrument to the wires at any convenient point, and
act as a reliable medium of communication with the capitol. These
men discovered a voluble negro who told them that two men answering
to the description of Booth and Harold had crossed the Potomac the
Saturday night before in a fishing boat. This colored man was
taken to Washington without delay and questioned. He was shown
a number of likenesses together and at once pointed out the
pictures of Booth and Harold and said "These are the men." It
was believed the trail was found, and now for action!

An order was immediately sent General Hancock by the
secretary of war, directing him to furnish twenty-five mounted
men to serve as an escort and guard to whomsoever General Baker
might see fit to send upon the expedition. I was sent to the
Quartermaster's department to arrange for transportation down the
Potomac. On my return to the office I was informed by General Baker
that I was to have charge of the party, and now the General explained
to me fully his theory as to the whereabouts of the men we wanted,
and instructed me up to a certain point, beyond which he said I
must use my own judgment.

As I hurried out of the office to make some hasty preparations
for the trip, I met Colonel Conger. "What is up," said he. "After
Booth again," said I, "we have a clue." "Get me on the party,
can't you?" “Are you strong enough to stand the ride," I asked.

"T think so and I want to go." I returned to the office to request
that Col. Conger go with me and the chief said "All right."

 

 
 

 

A half hour later Lieutenant Dougherty of the 16th
New York Cavalry had reported to General Baker for orders
and was directed by him to go with us wherever we should order
and protect us to the extent of his power should protection be
needed. Conger and I, now mounted our trusty horses, ordered
the guard to follow, and we were soon at the Sixth Street dock
and all aboard the Government Tug "John S. Ide." The whistle
blew and we were steaming down the Potomac. It must have been
about three o'clock in the afternoon when we started. At ten
in the evening we were at Belle Plain landing. There is a
sharp bend in the river here, and our chief had advised us to
leave the tug at this landing, take to our horses and scour the
country. Lieut. Dougherty and his men remained in the rear, but
were ordered to keep us in sight. Conger and I commenced the work
of the night by calling at the residences of the more prominent
rebels, Assuming names of some well-known rebel blockage runners
and mail carriers, and with little regard for the truth, we said
we were being pursued by the Yanks, and in crossing the river had
become separated from twoof our comrades, one of them being lame;
had they seen them, etc. All night at this kind of work, and no
clue.

At daylight we threw off our disguise, halted for an hour
for rest and refreshment; then again in our saddles. We had de-
cided to change our course and strike across the country in the
direction of Port Conway, a little town on the Rappahannock, south-
westerly from Belle Plain. Between two and three o'clock p.m. we
were near there and stopped at a planter's house half a mile out,
arranged for dinner and feed for our horses. ;

Conger was nearly exhausted and lay down for a rest, as did
also all the command with the exception of one man whom I took
with me to the ferry, as I wished to "steal the march" before it
became known that a searching party was in the neighborhood. I
found a fisherman sitting at the door of his hut, whose name was
Rollins. I asked him if a lame man had crossed the river there
within a few days. "Yes," he replied, "and there was another man
with him." I showed him my photographs. He at once pointed to
the pictures of Booth and Harold and said "These are the men, but
this one," referring to Booth's, "had no mustache."

I cannot describe to you the thrill of intense satisfaction
that came over me when I heard this statement. I was positive I
had struck the trail; that I was the fortunate one among all the
eager thousands engaged in the search. But not a moment was to
be lost! My corporal was sent back to the farm house with orders
for Conger and Dougherty to come with the command to the ferry
without delay. Then alone with the fisherman, I plied him with
questions. "When did you see these men?" "Yesterday." "Where
did they go?" "I do not know certainly," he said. "They had
hired me to take them across the river, but two men came up who

 

 
seemed to know them and they four went across the river to-
gether.” "Who were these men who came up?" "One of them said

he was Capt. Jett and the other Lieut. Bainbridge. They had just
been mustered out of 'Mosby's Confederate Cavalry'."" "Do you know
where they went?" Well," drawled the fisherman, "this Capt. Jett
has a ladylove over at Bowling Green and I reckon they might have
gone there. Bowling Green is about fifteen miles south and west
from here. It is a watering place, a big hotel there and not
much of anything else. It would be a good place for the lame

man to stay." "Well, Rollins," I said, "you must go with us to
Bowling Green and show us the way." He said he did not wish to
go, as but few people around there favored the Union cause, and

it would not be very pleasant for him if they thought he was wil-
ling to help the Yanks. "But," said he, "you might put me under
arrest and then I should go because I had to."

Of course Rollins was put under arrest. Conger now came
down to the ferry with the command. After a short consultation
it was decided to follow this lead at once. We could not now be
far from the object of our search; and if they escaped us, it should
be no fault of ours.

Booth was now fairly in rebeldom and among his friends. He
hada managed to evade all pursuers, crossed the Potomac and not less
than 40 miles of country between it and the Rappahannock, and had
been taken across the river at this point only yesterday.

The ferry boat was hailed and all were now impatient to be
going. The boat was old and shaky, and it took three trios to get
us across. The people there were very curious to know who we were
and what we wanted. We told them we belonged to the 16th New York
Cavalry and wanted to join our regiment at Fredericksburg.

It was nearly sundown before we were really on our way to
Bowling Green. Winding up the road from the river we saw two
mounted men on the brow of the hill. They seemed to be watching
use Who could they be? Why were they so much interested in our
movements? Booth's friends without doubt! We mst have them if
possible. We signalled to the men to slow up and Conger and I gave
them chase, and it was a lively one, but as we were about overhauling
them, they dashed into the pine woods and we did not think it best
to follow them farther, but to get to Bowling Green as soon as pos-
sible or they might be there first. These men we afterward found
were Bainbridge and Harold, and Booth was at that moment only half
a mile from us at the farm house of the Garrett brothers. We pas-
sed the place a few moments later and he saw us, as we learned
afterward; but we believed him to be at Bowling Green, fifteen miles
away, and so we pushed on, leaving behind us the man we so much de-
Sired to captures

 
 

Near the Bowling Green hotel we stopped and dismounted.
It was near midnight, dark and cloudy, but no rain. In the
yielding sand we approached the place undiscovered, until the
building was surrounded and thoroughly guarded, front and rear.
I was at the front door. Conger somewhere in the rear had
aroused a dog, which by his growls awakened a darkey, who came
to a back door and opened it, letting Conger in, and at the same
time a frightened woman came downstairs and to the front door,
where I was pounding for admission, and opened it. Conger, com-
ing through the house, met me in the hall. We told the woman it
would be necessary for us to see the two men who were her guests.
"There is but one man here," said she. "He is upstairs with my
son." "Show us the room." She did so. We found the son, and the
man with him was Capt. Jett. "What do you want," he demanded.
"We want you, We know you. You took Booth across the river and
know where he is. You must tell us everything you know." "You
are mistaken in your man," said he. "You lie," said Conger,
with a revolver close to his head. "We know what we are talking
about. We are going to have Booth, You can tell us where he is
and you must do it or prepare to die." The man quailed. The men
were crowding into the room. He saw they were Union soldiers.
He said "Upon honor as a gentleman I will tell you all I know if
you will shield me from complicity in the whole matter." "Yes,
if we get Booth." "Well," said Jett, “Booth is at the Garrett
brothers! three miles this side of Port Conway. If you came that
way you may have frightened him off, for you must have passed the
place." He was ordered to get up and dress and go back with us
and was told that his life would be the forfeit if he misled us
in the search,

In thirty minutes we were doubling back over the road.
No moon, no stars; half choked by the dust it was too dark to see.
The sand was deep over much of the road and made it hard for our
jaded horses, but they were urged forward. Jett had a splendid
animal, stronger and faster than ours, and fresh fromthe stall.
We feared he might make a break from the party and try to escape,
and perhaps dash on in advance of our weary horses and give the
alarm to Booth and Harold, so he was ordered to ride in the center
and the men were directed to shoot him without halting if he made
one move to escape. At half past three a. m. we were back to the
Garrett place. The house stood back from the road about twenty
rods, with the usual gate and lane. Here we halted long enough to
put Jett and Rollins under guard and to stimulate our men with the
promise that if they could hold out a short time longer, we would
have our man. I opened the gate, was quickly mounted and we made
a dash for the house, which was immediately surrounded. I leaped
from my horse to the piazza and was at the door in a moment rape
ping vigorously.

A window near the door and opening into the porch was
thrown up and an old man's voice asked what was wanted. I stepped
to the window, siezed the man's arm and said, "Open the door and
 

-10-

get a light and be quick about it." He opened the door, I

went in and shut it. A moment more and the old gentleman ap-
peared with a lighted tallow candle in his hand. I took the
candle from him before he could think of objecting and said,
"Where are the men who have been staying here for the last

day or twot" "Gone to the woods," said he. "Don't you tell

me that, they are here," my pistol in his face. A door at

the side of the hall now opened and a woman said, "Here, father,
are your clothes; dress yourself." Conger now came in, followed
by young Garrett.

"Don't injure father," said the young man. "TI will tell you all
about it. The men did go to the woods last evening when some
cavalry went by, but they came back and wanted us to take them
over to Louisa court house. We could not take them before morn-
ing if at all. Besides, we had become suspicious of them and
would not let them stay in the house. Then they wanted to stay
in the barn until morning and we consented, but were afraid they
would steal our horses to get away with in the night, and my
brother is now in the corn crib watching them. We have locked
them in the barn." Evidently the Garretts did not know who the
men were, who had been imposing upon their hospitality.

Conger lost no time in stationing the men around the barn, and
I said to young Garrett, "Show me the barn." He led the way.

I followed, candle in one hand, revolver in the other. About
half way he stopped and said, "My brother in the corn crib has
the key, I will go and get it." "No, you do not leave me for a
moment; I will go with you." But now the brother came up and
gave me the key.

On reaching the barn, I said to young Garrett, "We find
these men in your custody, and you must go into the barn and ine
duce them to come out and give themselves up. We want them and
will have them, dead or alive, but we do not wish to injure them
if we can avoid it." The young man did not like this proposition
and said so. "They are desperate fellows," said he, “and are armed
to the teeth." But I kept him well under my revolver, which fact
he seemed fully to appreciate, and lost no time in obeying my or-
ders.

Conger, who had just been mustered out of the service and
was therefore but a citizen in authority over soldiers, seemed to
have overlooked the fact, in his excitement and earnestness, and
ordered the men in regard to their positions around the barn, which
assumption of authority Lieut. Dougherty resented and made us feel
it by keeping himself in the background afterward. But there was
no time now to consider wounded official dignity.

 
 

 

- 11 «=

We could hear voices in low conversation in the barn,
and a rustling among the corn leaves. This barn was simply
an old tobacco house, and had quite a quantity of corn fodder
or corn blades, as they called them, stored at one side.

I now unlocked the door and told young Garrett to go in
and get the men to surrender if he could, but at all events,
bring our their arms. He thought it best to go in, though not
without a protest. I closed the door after him. There was a
low conversation and we heard Booth say, "Damn you! You have
betrayed me; get out of here or I will shoot you."

I now called to the men in the barn and said, "We send
this young man, in whose custody we find you. Give him your
arms and surrender or we shall burn the barn and have a bonfire
and a shooting match." Soon Garrett came to the door and said,
"Captain, let me out. I will do anything I can for you, but I
can't risk my life in here. Let me out." I opened the door; he
came out with a bound,

All this time I had been holding in my hand the candle
brought from the house. Garrett said, "Put that out or he will
shoot you by its light." I set the candle down at a little dis-
tance from the door, but so that it would still light all the
space in front of the barn. All the men had their stations back
in the shadows, for men who will fight like demons in an open
field do not like to stand as targets. But duty keptme by the
door in the circle of light, as now if I should "go down" the
rest would not be left in darkness that would favor the assassin
in a dash for life and liberty,

Now again I called to those inside to surrender. Ina
clear, full, ringing voice Booth replied, "There is a man here
who wishes very much to surrender." And soon we heard him say
to Harold, "Leave me, will you? Got I do not want you to stay."
Harold was now rapping at the door, saying "Let me out. I know
nothing of this man in here." I said, "Bring out the arms and you
can come." "J have no arms," he answered. "You have," said I,
"you brought a carbine and a pistol across the river. Hand them
out." Booth then said, "He has no arms. They are mine and I
shall keep them." Harold was evidently afraid of being shot by
Booth. He fairly prayed to be let out. I opened the door a
little and told him to put out his hands. I grasped them, pulled
him out, and turned him over to the soldiers. The poor fellow was
badly frightened, and he kept protesting his innocence and ignor-
ance of who Booth was until Conger told him to stop his noise or
he would tie and gag him.

I now said to Booth, "You had better come out, too, and
surrender." He answered, "Tell me who you are and what you want
of mee It may be I am being taken by my friends." I said, "It
makes no difference who we are. We know you and want you. We

 

 
 

 

have fifty well armed men around this barn. You cannot es-

cape, and we do not wish to kill you." There was a little

pause, and then Booth said, "Captain, this is a hard case, I
swear. I am lame. Give me a chance. Draw up your men twenty
yards from the door and I will fight your whole command." "We
are not here to fight," I said, "but to take youe You are now
free to come out and surrender." "Give me a little time to
consider." "Very well, you can have two minutes," Presently

he said, "Captain, I believe you to be a brave and honorable man.
I have had half a dozen chances to shoot yous I have a bead
drawn on you now, but I do not wish to do it. Withdraw your men
from the door and I will come out. Give me this chance for my
life, Captain, for I will not be taken alive." "Your time is up,"
said I; "we shall wait no longer; we shall fire the barn." "Well,
then, my brave boys, you may prepare a stretcher for me." And
after a slight pause, he added, "One more stain on the glorious
old banner!"

Col. Conger then came up and said, “Are you ready?" "Yes,"
said I. He stepped around the corner of the barn, struck a match
and drew some of the dry corn blades through a crevice. In an
instant it was light inside. I was at the door and the moment
the light appeared I partly opened it and peered in and could see
Booth distinctly. He seemed to be leaning against the mow, but
in the act of spring forward with crutches under his arms and
carbine in hand, toward the fire, as though he would shoot the
man who lighted it, but the sudden light must have blinded him so
that he couldn't see into the darkness outside. He hesitated,
then started forward as if to extinguish the fire. An old table
was near bye He caught hold of it as though he would cast it,
top down, on the fire to extinguish it, but the fire was too quick
for him and he saw that this would not do.

He now turned, dropped one crutch, and with the aid of the
other came toward the door, About the center of the barn he stop-
ped, drew hinself up to his full height and seemed to take in the
entire situation. I wish I could make you see J, Wilkes Booth as
I saw him now. He forgot that he was lame; he stood erect and
defiant, though one crutch was by his side. His hat was gone,
his dark hair was pushed back from a high, white forehead; his
lips were firmly compressed and if he was pale, the ruddy fire-
light concealed the fact. There was a carbine in one hand, a
revolver in the other, a belt held another revolver and a bowie
knife, I can give you no idea of the expression of the features.
It was the ferocity of the tiger. It was the defiance of the
lion, hunted to his lair. The full, dark, expressive eyes that
had been the admiration of lovers of the theater, were glittering
now and rolling wildly with hatred, mingled with terror. Booth,
as an actor, had been said to have the "form of an Apollo." Now

 

 
 

wi 13a

it was the picture of an Apollo in a frame of fire. The
little flame Conger had kindled had swept upward to the roof,
widening as it rose, driving a cloud of smoke and burning corn
leaves before it, now rolled like a billow across the roof to
the opposite side and to the floor below. Booth was standing
under and within an arch of fire, curling, leaping, roaring,
hissing as in mockery of his misery. Ah! This was not the
brilliant lighting of the theater; the roaring of the flames
was not like the swelling music of the orchestra,

But for once in his life Booth was a great actor, The
curtain had risen for the last time; the play of his life had
founded up into one great moral lesson, — that selfishness and
crime can and only in disaster, despair and death.

He had been denied even his passionate prayer for one
last chance for his life by being permitted to fight us all.
Only one thing more could be done, - make a dash for the door,
shoot whoever barred his exit, run the gauntlet of he knew not
how many bullets, and in the darkness beyond hide himself from
our pursuit. Suddenly he dropped his remaining crutch, threw
down his carbine, raised his revolver and made a spring for the
door. In an instant there was a crack of a pistol. Booth fell
forward upon his face.

I was upon him in a moment and caught his arms to prevent
his use of weapons, if he should be only stunned. Another moment
and Conger was there. I then turned up the face of the quiver-
ing form before us and said to Conger, "It'is Booth, sure."

"He must have shot himself," said Conger. "No," said I, "I had
my eye upon him every moment, but the man who did do the shooting
goes back to Washington under arrest for disobedience of orders."

Seageant Boston Corbitt afterward admitted that he fired
the fatal shot. This Boston Corbitt was a very eccentric character.
He was not considered to be quite up to the normal standard in in-.
tellectual capacity, but was unique in his religious development.

He was born in London, England, in 1832, and came to this
country when he was seven years of age. He was a hat finisher
by trade and wandered about the country from city to city, not
having a permanent home. While in Boston he joined the Methodist
Episcopal church and when he was baptized, took the name of "Boston"
in honor of the place of his conversion. He was well known in New
York City and while there was a constant attendant of the famous
Fulton Street meetings, and was the terror of those having charge
of the meetines because of what was considered his fanaticism.
When anything please him, he would shout in a sharp, shrill
voice, "Amen! Glory to God!" All remonstrance was in vain and
Corbitt would shout to the last,

 
 

- 14.

He enlisted in the 12th Regiment of the New York State
Militia, but was perpetually in hot water because he persisted
in following the dictates of his conscience rather than military
orders. He was often seen in the guardhouse with his knapsack
filled with brick, working out the penalty of his disobedience
and with his Testament in hand preaching temperance, lifting up
his voice against swearing, and calling upon his wild comrades
to seek the Lord.

One day at dress parade in Franklin Square, Col. Butterfield
cursed and damned the regiment for something that displeased him.
Corbitt stepped from the ranks and, with a salute, said "Colonel,
do you know you are breaking God's law?" Of course he was put
under arrest and duly punished, but "for righteousness' sake,"
as he viewed it. On another occasion he made up his mind that
the time for which he enlisted expired at 12 o'clock at night
on a certain date. He gave due notice that he should leave at
that time. But he was put on picket and as the hour of midnight
was sounded, he laid his gun down upon his beat and marched off
to his tent to make preparations for an early start in the morning.
He was arrested, put in irons and charges preferred. He was tried
by court martial for deserting his post in the face of the enemy
and sentenced to be shot until he was dead. But the sentence was
not executed, as timely application was made by his Colonel to the
great-hearted Abraham Lincoln, who after a patient hearing of the
case and inquiring into Corbitt's general character, put his
"A. Lincoln" to a pardon, thereby sparing the life of the man who
was to slay his own assassin. But poor Corbitt was drummed out of
his regiment, and the next we know of him he is in Company L of
the 16th New York Cavalry, and one of the detail composing our
escorts

After Corbitt shot Booth from the rear of the barn and
just as day was breaking, he was crossing the lawn just in front
of the Garrett place. He was pointed out to Conger as the man who
did the shooting. Conger hailed him with some profanity and de-
manded why he shot against orders. Corbitt took the position of
a soldier and saluting the Colonel, pointed heavenward and said,
"Colonel, God Almighty directed me." "Well," said Conger, turn-
ing on his heel, "I guess He did or you couldn't have hit him
through that crack in the barn."

From this brief sketch of his character, you will see that
in times of excitement and great emergencies he was not to be
trusted.

And still later he said that from his position in the rear
of the barn he could see very distinctly every movement of Booth
after the fire sprang up; and when he dropped his carbine, raised
his revolver and sprang for the door, he felt certain that the
first man met would be shot; that Lieut. Baker was in full sight
and would certainly have been killed but for his pistol shot from
the rear.

 
Some of the men rushed into the barn. Young Garrett
came with them, shouting, "Save my property. Help put out the
fire." Some feeble effort was made to do so but we caught up
the body and carried it from the barn, which now was a mass of
flames, and laid it by an apple tree, and no effort was spared
to bring Booth back to life. Water was dashed into his face and
we tried to make him drink, but he seemed unable to swallow.
Presently he opened his eyes and seemed to understand it all.
H;s lips moved, and in a whisper he said, "Tell mother, tell
mother." Then he was unconscious. Again the heat from the fire
made it necessary to move and we carried him to the piazza and
laid him on a straw mattress provided by the ladies of the house.
A cloth wet in water and brandy was applied to his lips. He re-
vived under it a little; opened his eyes and said with bitter-
ness, "Oh, kill me. Kill me quick." "No, Booth," I said,
‘we do not want you to die; you were shot against orders." Then
he was unconscious for several minutes and we scarcely thought
he would speak again,

But again his breast heaved. He looked up and put out his
tongue. I thought he wanted to know if there was blood in his
mouth. JI told him there was none. But almost immediately he
said, "Tell mother I died for my country. I did what I thought
was best." And then I knew that he wanted it understood that
the last words his tongue could speak were coined into a "dying
message" to the mother he was to meet no moree

Ah! Friends, shall I lose your respect for me as a soldier
when I acknowledge that tears rushed to my eyes when I heard these
words of the dying Booth? I thought of a mother's sacred love, of
a mother's despairing sorrow, and I knew that Booth was thinking
of it, too, with Eternity's wide gate before him; "invisible
hands rolling back the massive portals;" a just God to be met and
answered. The gentle, loving face of the mother of his innocent
childhood had come to him as in a blessed vision, and even in the
moment of struggle with Terror's King, he knew what that mother
would suffer and sought to leave behind him a messare that might
serve in some slight degree to mitigate her anguish.

(I see a beautiful child as pure as a snowflake that drops
from the winter sky. I see a youth sound in body and mind, bright,
fair, happy, the pride of his mother, the boast of his family. I
see a young man in all the glory of his developing manhood, tal-
ented, cultured, brilliant, refined in manners and fair to look
upon, a rising star in the theatrical heavens, I look againe
He has gone down. The turbid waters of dissipation and crime
have closed over him. He is stranded on the dark shores of
“Noblivion's sea," a wreck; covered all over with blood of a great
crime, Dead and buried beneath an avalanche of the disgust and
pity of a nation, a world.)

 
I think it was in pity for that mother's love and
bitter sorrow that I lifted his hand with a touch as gentle
as could have been her own, but it fell again as if dead by
his side. He said, "Useless, useless!" gasped a few times,
and Booth was dead.

When his collar was removed to find the wound, it was
found that the bullet had struck him in almost the exact lo-
cality that his own bullet had struck the president. The
great nerve of the spinal column had been nearly severed.
Paralysis of the entire body below the sound must have been
the instant result, and probably accounted for his last words,
"Useless, useless."

About twenty minutes before the final scene Conger had
started for Washington, taking with him Booth's arms, diary
and whatever else was found upon his persone The neighborhood
physician had said the end was very near. I would wait with the
guard and bring the body. The Garretts were preparing breakfast
for the hungry men. The body was quickly wrapped in a blanket
that had been folded and used as a saddle cloth and strongly
sewed together. Then it was placed in an old market wagon,
with an aged colored man to drive. I took my lunch in my hand
and only a corporal with me. I told the darkey to drive on and
we started for Belle Plain landing, leaving the men to breakfast
and then follow and overtake us.

We crossed the river at the ferry and drove on at as good
speed as the old horse before the wagon could make, for Belle
Plain was nearly thirty miles away. The river was soon two or
three miles behind us.

I frequently looked back expecting to see the guard come
up, but no cavalry appeared. The road did not seem well traveled.
I began to be anxious and questioned the negro, He said, "Massa,
gis is all right. I hab been ober dis road many and many a time
before de war and I am sure it is the shortest road to de Belle
Plain." But I sent my corporal back toward the ferry to inform
Lieut. Dougherty what road I had taken, and instructed him to
come on at once. I also told the corporal to return to me after
delivering his message. He did not come. No cavalry came in
sight. I met few teams. The road grew more and more forbidding.
I began to meet straggling squads of men in Confederate uniform.
But what had become of Lieut. Dougherty? He had Harold in charge.
Had the party been surprised and overpowered? Would not I be
followed? Was the darkey in league with the enemy? I knew I
was going toward Belle Plain, but was satisfied I was not on the
proper road. The day was grown hot and sultry. I was constantly
meeting men in gray, who often looked at the wagon curiously. Some
would ask, "What have you there? A dead Yank?" "Yes," I would
reply cheerily, and they believed me and passed on, laughing and
joking.

 
 

 

= 12.

I had been in the saddle for two days and nights.
I was hungry and exhausted, but too anxious to be sleepy.
I threatened the negro with instant death if he betrayed me.
The road wound up and down, in and out among the hills and
was badly guilied. I was constantly on the alert. I half
expected an attack from every ravine. Should I ever get this
body to Washington?

The old horse was tired and began to flag. It was hard
work to get him up the hills. I hed nothing to feed him, the
darkey or myself. I dared not stop anywhere for rest or food.
Now the king bolt of the old wagon gave out and the front end
of the box dropped down. The body slid forward. It emitted
a sickening odor. Blood had flowed from the sound and trickled
down over axle and reach. The old darkey had to go under the
wagon to help repair the break. Blood dropped on his hand and
he cried out in terror. "Stop your noise," I said. "That will
not harm yous it will wash off." "oh," groaned he, "it will
neber wash off. It is de blood of a murderer." And he looked
all the horror he expressed.

But now we were off again, winding up more hills, threading
more ravines, meeting more Confederates. I was painfully con-
scious that I was in an enemy's country with a most important
charge on my hands, and that somehow a mistake had been made,
separating me from my guard furnished for just such an emergency.

Looking over all the days of my life, I find no other day
so full of anxiety, so exhaustive of physical strength and mental
endurancee JI was glad indeed when it grew cooler and the shades
of night were falling to conceal my charge.

But my troubles were not to end with the daylight. We
reached the Potomac at last, but we found no dock, no boat.
Sometime during the war the Government had changed the landing
from this point to Aquia Creek, three quarters of a mile farther
downe I could see the "John S. Ide" lying at that dock, but I
had no boat by which I could reach the tug. I might shout and
make them hear, but to do so might bring me enemies sooner than
friends. A great bluff reared its mountainous head between me
and the boat. There was no road over it near the river. I
must ride around it and get to the boat and row up the river
for the body, for the old horse before the wagon could go no
farther.

With the help of the negro I carried the body down to the
river and hid it under a clump of willows; then told the negro
to stay there and guard it. He promised to be faithful and
discreet, and I started back nearly two miles over the road I
had just traveled. JI struck a road that would lead me around

 

 
 

- 18 -

the spur of the mountain; then, not sparing my poor, jaded
horse, I was soon at the boat. All the men were there. I
asked the orderly why he did not return to me. He said
Lieut. Dougherty would not allow him to do so and had said
that if I would go off on the wrong road I must take the con-
sequences.

A small boat from the tug was lowered for me, and with
two of the crew to row, we pulled for the upper landing. I
found my negro just where I had left him, faithful to his
trust. I paid him for his services and discharged him with
thanks. The body was put into the boat and a few moments
later was hoisted up the side and swung upon the deck of the
"John S. Ide." I saw it properly under guard, and then the
next two or three hours are a blank to me. I sunk exhausted
on the deck and lay there in the shadow of the smokestack,
unobserved, until we had steamed up the river half way to
Washington, when we were met by another boat, having on board
Gen. L. C. Baker, Gen. Eckard, assistant secretary of war,
Surgeon General Barnes, and others. As my cousin came upon
the deck he almost stumbled over me, still lying in a sound
and blessed sleep. He cot me up and into a better place to
rest. The morning found us at the dock of the Navy Yard at
Washingtone

The body was at once removed from the tug to a gunboat
which lay near by, while I went with Gen. Baker to the office
of the secretary of war. Gen. Stanton then wished me to give
him a complete and detailed account of the entire matter and
I did so. He had Booth's carbine, which had been brought by
Col. Conger, and Stanton said to me, "Are you accustomed to
handling a carbine, and if so, what is the matter with this?
It cannot be discharged." I examined the weapon and found
that the cartridge had gotten out of position, turned partly
around, so that when the lever was worked, the cartridge was
not thrown into position to be exploded. It was marked in
several places, showing that a number of unsuccessful efforts
had been made to use the piece; and perhaps it was because it
could not be discharged that Booth threw it down in the barn
as he did.

Late in the afternoon of the second day after reaching
Washington, Gen. Baker came from the war office and said to me,
"The secretary of war wishes me to dispose of Booth's body.

He says he don't want the Rebs to get it and make an ado over
ite He does not care where it is put, only let it be where it
won't be found until Gabriel blows his last trumpet."

"T want you to go. with me," said Gen. Baker. We started
for the navy yard. On the way we would pass the old penitentiary
which, during the war had been used as an arsenal. Here we stop-
ped and I waited outside while my cousin went in and had a brief
interview with the officer in charge; then on to the navy yard.

 
 

 

-19-

Booth's body was placed in a row boat. We put in a heavy
ball and chain and did not try to conceal it from the many
watching eyes. One trusty man was in the boat to help us
LOWe

Gen. Baker stepped in; I followed. A few touches of the
oars and we had parted company with the gun boat and were half
rowing, half drifting down the river. Crowds of people were
all along the shore. It went from lip to lip that we had with
us a heavy ball and chain and that of course we were going to
sink the body. Many followed as far as they could, but East
Branch on one side and the marshy ground on the other pre-
vented their going far. Darkness came on quickly and com-
pletely, for it was a moonless and starless night. A couple
of miles down the river was a place known as Geeseborough Pointe
The stream here suddenly widens and is full of rushes and river
weeds. We quietly ran our boat into a cove in the river bank
and rested our oars.

Old, condemned Government horses were being brought here
and killed. We did not think any boat that might be following
us would come to this dismal slaughter ground. All was still
on the river. Yes, all was very "quiet on the Potomac" just
then. No sounds came to our sensitive ears but the hoarse
croak of the bullfrog and the quick, heavy breathing of our
frightened boatman. Presently we began pulling slowly back.
Soon against the clouded sky we could discern the grim old
penitentiary walls. A few more strokes of the oar and we were
before a door, seemingly let into the solid wall and almost at
the water's edge. The officer in charge was there waiting for
us. The body was lifted from the boat and carried through the
little door to a convict's cell. The stone slab which covered
the floor had been lifted and a grave dug under it, and down in-
to that black, dismal hole; into that unhonored grave we lowered
the once proud, aristocratic, but now despised and hated
J. Wilkes Booth. The stone was replaced and we turned shud-
deringly from a sepulchre on which no tear of sympathy could
ever fall.

It was believed we had sunk the body in the Potomae and
for days the river was dragged in hope of finding it, and
"Frank Leslie's' paper had a very accurate, full-page cut of
Booth's body sliding out of the boat into the water. But the
half dozen men who alone knew the real place of burial kept the
secret well. After a time it was rumored that Booth's body had
been taken up and given to his friends, though I have no positive
knowledge in regard to it. I have reason to believe that it was
removed from the prison cell after the execution of his accom-
plice, and buried in the mail yard of the old penitentiary, with

 

 
 

his companions in crime; and still later I have reason to
believe that, by consent of President Johnson, it was given

to his friends and again removed, and now rests in the family
plot of the cemetery at Baltimore. But I always think of him
with the much hated U. S. blanket for a winding sheet and under
the stone floor of that dark, lonely prison cell.

Ladies and gentlemen, my story is told. I might take your
time longer by a recital of incidents connected with the arrest
and trial and final execution of the accomplices of Booth. I
might tell you of that unfortunate woman, Mrs. Surratt, who you
all know was hanged as one of Booth's accomplices, while her son,
John H., who was also one of Booth's most trusted confederates,
sneaked out of the country to C,nada, leaving his mother to her
fate. In regard to the policy of our Government in hanging a
woman under the circumstances, I have nothing to say, but as
regards her guilt, there was not a shadow of doubt,

John H. Surratt, after making a most ridiculous effort to
disguise himself by dyeing his hair, eyebrows and mustache,
staining his face and putting on glasses, and being carefully
concealed for over four months at Three Rivers, Canada, by a
Roman Catholic priest, was finally smuggled aboard a Liverpool
vessel and landed in that city. But fear of detection on ac-
count of the magnitude of his crime, and the large reward
offered for his arrest seemed to have haunted him, and we next
find him under another name in the Italian army, and still later
among the Pyramids of Egypt. But he was finally chased down and
returned to this country in irons and immediately put on trial
for his great crime, and while there was no lack of evidence to
prove his complicity with Booth in the assassination plot, on
some technicality of the law he went "scott free" and still
lives to enjoy his infamous notoriety and to curse the U. S.
Government for hanging his mother, whose life he might have
saved by offering his own instead, and saved the historian the
disagreeable necessity of adding cowardice to crime as a legacy
to his family.

I might tell you of that brute in human form, Lewis Paine,
whose real name was Powell, the would-be assassin of the sick
and enfeebled secretary of state, Wm. H. Seward, but that is a
part of the country's history and you have read it over and over.

I am sure, however, you will pardon me if I hold you yet
a moment, to call the attention of the young men present to the
great moral lesson to be drawn from the life and death of Booth.
It never pays to do wrong. Here was a young man blessed with
almost unparalleled opportunities for a career of usefulness and
honor, but he failed miserably; failed because he lacked moral
principle. M;sled in opinion by false political teachers, his
final crowning iniquity was but the natural ending of his career.

 
 

 

"Evil cannot be long triumphant." "Ever the right
comes uppermost and ever justice is done." God rules.
Nations lie in his hand, and because it is so, secession
has been overcome; treason is conquered; the stars and bars
that Booth so much loved (if he loved anything) are today
without significance except as a symbol of sectional folly.
The very name of J. Wilkes Booth is odious the world over.
While the Union is established, loyalty is triumphant; the
banner of the republic is planted over mountain top and sweep-
ing plain, and the memory of the murdered Lincoln is sacredly
cherished in the hearts of the people he served so unselfishly
and so well. And so I say again, “Ever the right comes upper-
most; ever justice is done."

From a typewritten copy of the original,
lent for reproduction by
Miss Bertha Malone.

Burton Historical Collection
Detroit Public Library

March 28, 1956