Democratic Sentinel, Volume 13, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 March 1889 — LINCOLN S ASSASSIN. [ARTICLE]

LINCOLN S ASSASSIN.

FACTS NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED CONCERNING J. WILKES BOOTH. A Graphic Description of the Pursuit and Capture—Dangerous Journey with the Corpse Disposition of the Rein aitis. [LANSING (MICH.) CORRESPONDENCE.] Before a clerk’s desk in the office of the Auditor General of Michigan sits the impi who commanded the handful of cavalry that captured J. Wilkes Booth, saw the assassin shot down in the old Virginia barn, heard the last words he ever uttered, and lowered the body into its grave. Bather below medium height, but still straight as an arrow, he is now gray-haired and graybearded. In the museum of the State Agricultural College, three miles from here, is the figure of the war-horse he rode during the pursuit. The sturdy old horse was the playmate of Lansing children for vears. and when he died recently full of years the college faculty requested permission to have the skin mounted and placed in the museum. The Lieutenant tells the story of Booth’s capture modestlv, and as he was with the murderer from his death to his burial his narrative contains a great deal of valuable matter that has never before been published.

At the time of the assassination Lieut. Baker was in the employ of the War Department’s detective bureau, at the head of whicn was his cousin, Gen. L. C. Baker. Ten days later, when word was wired from lower Maryland that the first definite trace of the murderer had been found—a negro stating that two men answering the description of Booth and the man Harold had crossed the Potomac the Saturday night before—the chief detective placed under hie command a squad of cavalry and tersely directed him to run Booth to earth. There were twentyfive cavalrymen in the party, and to these, at the Lieutenant’s request, was added as assistant and counselor his friend, Col. Conger, a brother of the ex-United States Senator from Michigan. A gunboat conveyed the party down the river to Belle Plain that night, and the squad scoured the surrounding country until daybreak, Baker and Conger, dressed as civilians, riding some distance in advance and representing to a sleepy but sympathetic population that they had been pursued by “Yanks” and had become separated from two comrades whom they were now trying to find. No clew was obtained and at daylight the party struck directly across the country, arriving at Port Conway late in the afternoon. Here the jaded men dropped out of the saddle, but their rest was of a decidedly fleeting nature. The restless little Lieutenant soon found a fisherman named Rawlins who had seen Booth and Harold in company with Capt. Jett and Lieut. Bainbridge, two rebel officers just mustered out of Mosby’s cavalry, cross the Rappahannock the night before.' Did he know where they went? He imagined they would push straight on to Bowling Green, twenty-two miles southwest. Rawlins agreed to guide the party to Bowling Green, but at his own suggestion was placed under arrest to convey the impression that his service was compulsory. As they crossed the rivet two mounted men watched them interestedly from the brow of the hill above. The cavalrymen galloped up the slope in pursuit, but the two made a dash into the pine woods, and it was deemed advisable to waste no time in pursuit, but to head straight for Bowling Green. “And those two men,” said Lieut. Baker, with a queer grimace at the recollection, “were Harold and Bainbridge, ns we afterwards learned, and Booth was only half a mile away at the farmhouse of the Garrett brothers.

Midnight and the party had reached Bowling Green. The hotel to which Bawlins believed Capt. Jett would take his friends was quietly surrounded, and Capt. Jett himself was roused from his slumbers to find a revolver thrust in his face. He promised to tell all he knew of the matter if shielded from the charge of complicity, and informed the Lieutenant that Booth had stopped at the Garrett place. He was shortly ordered to get out his horse and accompany the party, and the men were directed in his hearing to shoot him down without halting if he attempted a dash for liberty. Back toward the Rappahannock panted the tired horses, with their riders worn out, half asleep, and nearly choked by the thick, sluggish clouds of dust which the intense darkness made it impossible to avoid. At 3.30 they were at the Garrett place, Jett and Bawlins placed under a guard, and the house surrounded. When old man Garrett opened the door a few inches in response to a knock Baker stepped inside and demanded: “Where are the men who have been staying with you during the last day or two ?” The revolver was a handy weapon for Lieut. Baker that night. This time it was leveled at Garrett, and the old man stammered; “They have gone to the woods.” “Don’t you tell me that. They are here I” and the revolver moved a few inches closer. Young Garrett appeared just then and begged the detective not to shoot his father. He explained that the men went to the woods after the cavalry went by, but soon came back. The suspicions of the family, however, hud been aroused by their actions, awl they refused to have them in the house again, but finally get-a them permission to remain over night in the old tobacco warehouse, used as a barn. They ' had been locked in to prevent their stealing anything, young Garrett explained, and his brother was staying in the corn-house to watch them. The command was posted silently about the old barn. There was no drowsiness now, no weariness. The air was strangely still for even a Southern night. The candle which Lieut. Baker carried in his hand as he walked toward the barn did not flicker in the least. To young Garrett, who was by his side, he said; “We find these men in your custody. You must go into the bam and induce them to give themselves up. We don’t .wish to shoot if it can be avoided, but we want them, dead or alive, and must have them." Garrett demurred, but the revolver again proved a potent argument. The officer unlocked the door, and the young man stepped inside. Baker heard a rustling among the corn-leaves and a moment’s low conversation. Then the voice of Booth rose shandy : “D n you, sir, you have betrayed me! Get out of here or 1 will shoot you!" “We have sent in this young man in whose custody we find you,” said Baker through the door, his words sounding with startling distinctness in the ears of the watching cavalrymen. “Give him your arms and surrender, or we shall bum the barn, have a bonfire, and a shooting match. ’’ The command was useless, and a moifient later a badly frightened young man was pounding on the door and begging to be let out. Lieutenant Baker was still holding the candle in his hand when Garrett, with a face pale with terror, stepped outside. “Put that out,” he said, hurriedly, “or he will shoot you by the sight of it. ” , The officer set down his candle a trifle back, but so that its flame still cast a fantastic light on the barn front, and again called upon the fugitives to surrender. “There is one man here,” Booth replied clearly, “who wishes much to surrender.” And Baker heard the assassin say to Harold: “Leave me, will you? Go! I don’t wish you to stay.” Harold rapped on the door as soon as this permission was given, and said: “Let me out; I know nothing of this man in here.” “Bring out your arms and you cau come,” replied Baker. “I have no arms.*’ “You have,” insisted the officer. “Ypu brought a carbine and a pistol across the river. Bring them out.” “Captain,” interrupted Booth, calmly, “Hie arms are mine and I shall keep them.” Harold was a coward at heart, and he fairly prayed to be let out. When the door was opened he put out his hands at command, was pulled out by Lieut. Baker, and turned over to a guard. Then the officer turned his attention to Booth again. “You, too, had better come out and surrender,” he said. A gleam of hope came to the murderer. “Tell me who you are and what you want of me,” he called eagerly. “It may be lam being taken by my friends/ “It makes no difference who we are! We have fifty well-armed men around this bam and you cannot escape." There was a momentary pause, and then Booth said despondently. “Captain, this a hard case, I swear! lam lame. Give me a chance. Draw up your men twenty yards from the door and I will come out and fight your whole command." “We are not here to fight,” replied Baker, > “but to take you. You are now free td surrender.” “Give me a little time to consider,” urged Booth. “Very well; you can have two minutes.” Booth was quiet until the time had nearly elapsed. Then he said entreatingly: “Captain, I believe you to be a brave and honorable man. ” have had haff a dozen chances to shoot you, fcjd I have a bead drawn on you now, but I do

not wish tojdo 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." was the grim reply. “We shall wait no longer. We shall fire the barn." The theatrical instinct was still strong in the murderer. In a stagy tone he exclaimed: “Well, my brave boys, vou can prepare a stretcher for me, then.” And after a slight pause the listening officer heard him mutter: “One more stain on the glcaious old banner." Col. Conger ignited a qgstch on his side of the bam and lighted the corn-leaves that protruded through a craok. As they flamed up Lieut. Baker swung open a door and looked in. Booth seemed to be leaning against the mow, but was crouched as though in tne act of springing forward. His crutches were under his arms and his carbine in his hands. His appearance indicated that he intended to jump toward the fire and shoot the man who had lighted it. But the sudden glare blinded him. He hesitated. Then starting forward he caught at an old table as if alxrnt to tip it over upon the flames. He quickly saw the futility of this, and dropping one crutch he limped with the other toward the door. At about the center of the burn be stopped and drew himself up to his full height. The leg fractured in his jump to the stage after the assassination of the President was forgotten, and Booth stood l>efore his solitary watcher erect and defiant. His hat was off, and his dark hair pushed back from his high, white forehead. He held his carbine in one hand and a revolver in the other. In his belt was another pistol anil a bowie knife. His lips were conii>ressed, his features fierce, and his full, dark eyes were rolling and {flittering with excitement. The flames swept up to the roof, rolled across and to the floor belew. He was a picture of Apollo in a frame of fire. He stood under on arch of flame, leaping, rolling and hissing, as in mockery of his misery. His only hope now was to make a dash for the doors and run the gauntlet of the cordon of soldiers. Suddenly ho dropped his remaining crutch, threw down the carbine, and sprang forward. Then sounded the pistol of Boston Corbett, the man President Lincoln had pardoned when once sentenced to lie shot for remissness in guard duty, and Booth fell forward on his face. Lieut. Baker sprang upon him and caught the nerveless arms. It was unnecessary. The shot had paralyzed him below the wound, and all save the fertile brain and fluttering heart and lungs were already dead. The assassin was carried from the barn and laid under an apple tree out of reach of the flames. Present!v he opened his eyes and appeared to realize his condition. In a painful whisper he said: “Tell mother. Toll mother.”

Then he became unconscious again. The heat of the burning barn grew intolerable under the tree, and he was removed to the piazza. A cloth wet with brandy and water was placed between his lips, and at length he revived again. His eyes looked with dumb appeal into tile faces of those about me. “O, kill me; kill me quick,” he whispered bitterly. Another lapse into unconsciousness, and it seemed impossible that he could revive again, but just before sunrise there was a last brightening of the stunned brain. As he revived, he put out his tongue, and Lieut. Baker, thinking he wanted to know if there was blood in his mouth, told him there was none. “Tell mother I die for my country,” Booth gasped to the officer. “I did what I thought was best.” Baker lifted one of the nerveless hands. It fell back by his side again. “Useless, useless," murmured Booth. These were the last words. Col. Conger had lieen sent on to Washington twenty minutes before the death of Booth, and, after a hurried breakfast, Lieut. Baker started after him with the body. It was wrapped in a blanket that hail been used as a saddle cloth, and alter the blanket had been firmly sewed together was placed in a rickety market wagon. An old negro, supposed to lie thoroughly familiar with the (country, acted as driver. Baker directed the cavalrymen to follow him as soon as they had breakfasted, and with a single corporal by his side departed for Belle Plain Landing, thirty miles away. The story of that day’s ride has never appeared in print. Mile after mile ’was passed over, but the cavalry did not rejoin them, although the negro driver assured him that they were on the shortest road to the landing. The officer finally became alarmed for the safety of his command and sent the corporal back with orders to the squad to push forward with the utmost haste. The corporal did not return, nor did the cavalrymen appear. One officer was alone witli the negro in a hostile country and with the body of the murderer of the hated Lincoln in his possession.

There has been no other day in Lieut. Baker’s life that proved so heavy a drain upon his physical and mental strength. Exhausted by thirtysix hours of hard riding in the saddle, he was required to be constantly on the alert in anticipation of an attack from every ravine. Hungry and thirsty, he dared not stoi> for food or drink. Now the kingbolt broke and the front end of the wagon-box dropped down. The corpse slipped forward and blood from the wound trickled down upon the axle and reach and smeared the hands of the old negro as he bent under the wagon to repair the damage. The old man cried out in terror. “Stop your noise,” sternly commanded the officer ; “it will wash off.” “It will nebber, nebber wash off,” wailed the negro, in horror. “It is the blood of a murderer. ” Up hills almost without end, threading numberless ravines, the two plodded along, finally reaching the Potomac in the evening, only to find themselves three-fourths of a mile above the landing. The negro had taken the old road, while Lieut. Baker’s command had returned on the newer and better road constructed .by the Government during the war. When the corporal reached his comiiany the officer in command, jealous that a mere detective had been placed in authority above him, refused to follow Baker, and said, shortly: “If he wants to go off on the wrong rood he must take the consequences.” Baker and the negro made the best of the situation by carrying Booth’s body to the river and hiding it under a clump of willows, after which the former rode two miles around a bluff and found his command and gunbout at the Government landing. He pulled back with two men to the old landing, secured the body, and' when it was swung on board the gunboat he dropped exhausted on the deck and lay there until the boat had steamed half way to Washington. The next day he gave the Secretary of War a detailed account of the tragedy. Stanton had Booth’s carbine, and it was found that the cartridge was out of position and could not be exploded. Its appearance shoved that a nuinber of efforts had been made to discharge the weapon, and it is probable that Booth snapped it repeatedly at Baker as the latter stood before the old bam with the candle in his hand. The administration was in a quandary regarding the disposal of the assassin’s body, which was still on board the gunboat. The second day after Lieut. Baker’s rerum Gen. Baker came to him, and said: “Stanton wants me to dispose of Booth’s body. He doesn’t care where ft is put, only so it will not be found until Gabriel blows his trumpet. I want you to go with me.” Tlie two started for the navy yard, stopping on the way for a moment’s conversation with the officer in charge of the old penitentiary, then used as an arsenal. At the navy yard the two cousins dropped into u rowboat, the body was taken on board, and a heavy ball and chain was conspicuously placed in the Ixiat. It was then late in the afternoon. Crowds of jieople lined the river and followed the rowboat as far down the stream as the marshes would permit. The story sprang from lip to lip that the body was to be weighted down with bull and chain and sunk in midstream. For several days thereafter searching parties dragged the stream, and the next issue of Frank Leslie’s newspaper contained a singularly accurate full-page picture, showing the Bakers in the act of shoving tho body into the river. Two miles below the city tho boat halted in a little cove near the grounds where condemned war-horses were slaughtered, and remained until darkness had settled down. Then it was pulled slowly back to the old penitentiary. A door at the water’s edge was opened and the corpse carried to a criminal cell where tho stone slab that covered the floor had been removed and a grave dug in the earth beneath. Into that black hole, with only the United States blanket as a wind ing-sheet, was lowered tho body of J. Wilkes Booth, and the stone slab replaced above it. Col. Conger afterward insisted that the command of the capturing party was turned over to him in Virginia, and claimed tho lion's share of the reward. All ttye foundation there was for this claim was that Conger informed Baker during the search that he knew the lay of the land well, and the latter replied: “Well, if you are familier with the country, go ahead." However, Cougar induced a corporal of the guard to testify that Baker had really turned over the command, and by shrewd engineering eventually secure}! 810,000 as the commander of the party, Lieut. Baker receiving only 83,000.