Rensselaer Republican, Volume 22, Number 21, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 January 1890 — THE STORY RETOLD. [ARTICLE]

THE STORY RETOLD.

Account of the Assassination of Lincoln as Told in “the Century," tfraphie Description of the Scene in Ford’s Theatre at the Awful Moment—The Leap | of the Assassin, His Flight and the Par* £ suit. .V 1-.- —— . No one, not even the commedian on the stage, could ever remember the' last words of the piece that were uttered that night—the last Abraham Lincoln heard upon earth. The-whole performance remains in the memory of those who heard it a vague phantasmagoria, the actors the thinnest of specters. The awful tragedy in the box makes everything else seem pale and unreal. Here were five human beings in a narrow space—the greatest man of his time, in the glory of the most stupendous success in our history, the idolized chief of a nation already mighty, with illimitable vistas of grandeur to come; his beloved wife, proud and happy; a pair of betrothed lovers, with all the promise of felicity that youth, social position, and wealth could give them; and this young actor, handsome as Entrymion upon Latinos, the pet of his little,world. The glitter of fame, happiness, and ease was upon ! the entire group, but in an instant everything was to be changed with the blinding swiftness of enchantmeut. Quick death was to come on the central figure of that company—the central figure, we believe, of the great and good men of the century. Over all the rest the blaekest fates hovered menacingly—fates from i which a mother might pray that kindly i death would save her children in their j infancy. One was to wander with the ! stain of murder on his soul, with the i curse of the world upon his nq,me, with I a price set upon his head, in frightful physical pain, till he died a dog’s death in a burning barn; the stricken wife w s to pass the rest of her days in melancholy and madness; of. those two young lovers, one was to slay the other and then end his life a raving man- ; iaC. i ■ v - S 3

“The murderer seemed to himself to be taking part in a play. The fumes of brandy and of partisan hate had for weeks kept his brain in a morbid state. He felt as if he were playing Brutus off the boards; he posed, expecting applause. Holding a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other, he opened the box door, put the pistol to the President’s head and fired; dropping the weapon, he took the knife in his right hand, and when Major Rathbone sprang to sieze him he struck savagly at him. Major Rathbone received the blow on his left arm. suffering a wide and deep wound. Booth, rushing forward, then vaulted lightly over to the stage. It was a high leap, but nothing to such a trained athlete. He was in the habit of \ntroducing what actors call sensational leaps in his plays. In ‘Macbeth,’ where he met the weird sisters, he leaped from a rock twelve feet high. He would have got safely away but for his spur catching in the folds of the Union flag with which the front of the box was draped. He fell on the stage, the torn flag trailing on his spur, but instantly rose as if he had received no hurt, though in fact the fall had broken his leg, turned to the audience, brandishing—his—dripping knifeand shouting- the State motto of Virginia, ‘Sic Semper Tyrannis, 1 and fled rapidly across tne stage and out of sight. M jor Rathbone had shouted, ‘stop him!’ The cry went out, ‘he has shot the President’ From the audience, at first stupid with surprise and afterwards wild with oxcitement and horror, two or three men jumped upon the stage in pursuit of the flying assassin; but he ran through the familiar passages, leaped upon his horse, which was in waiting in the alley behind, rewarded with a kick and a curse the call-boy who had held him, and rode rapidly away in the light of the just risen moon. “The president scarcely moved ; his head drooped forward slightly, his eyes closed. Colonel Rathbone, at first not regarding his own grevious hurt, rushed to the door of the box to summon aid. He found it barred and on the outside some one was beating and clamoring for entrauce. He opened the door; a young officer named Crawford entered ; one or two army surgeons -soon followed, who hastily examined the wound. It was at once seen to be mortal. It was afterwards ascertained that a large derriDger bullet bad entered the back of the head on the left side, and, passing through the brain, bid lodged just behind the left eye. By direction of Rathbone and Crawford, the President was carried to a home across the street and laid upon a bed in a small room at the rear of the hall, on the ground floor. Mrs. Lincoln followed, half distracted, tenderly cared for by Miss Harris. Rathbone. exhausted by loss of blood, fainted, and was carried home. Messengers were sent for the members of the Cabinet, for the Surgeon-General for Dr. Stone, the President’s family physician ; a crowd of people rushed instinctively to the White House and. bursting through the

doors, shouted the dreadful news to Robert Lincoln and Major Hay, who sat gossiping in an upper room. They ran down st tin. Finding a carriage at the door, they entered it to go to Tenth street As they were driving away, a friend came up and told them that Mr. Sewart and most of the Cabinet had been murdered. The news was all so improbable that they oould not help hoping it was all oatrue. Bat when they got to Tenth street and found every thoroughfare blocked by the swiftly gathering thousands, agitated by tumultuous excitement, they were prepared for the worst In a few minutes all who had been sent for, and many others, were gathered hs the little chamber where the Chief of the State lay in agony. His son was met at ths door by Dr. Stone, who with grave tenderness informed him that there was no hop*. After a natural outburst of grief young Lincoln devoted himself the rest of the night to soothing and oomfortine his mother. "The President h d been shot a few mipute-t past ten. The wound would have brought instant death to most m*G. but bis vital tenacity, was extraordinary. He was. of course, anoon-

scious from the first moment; but he breathed with slow and regular respiration throughout the night As the dawn came, and the lamplight grew pale in the fresher beams, his pulse began to fail; but his face even then was scarcely more haggard than those of the sorrowing group of statesmen and generals around him. His automatic mo rning, which had continued through the night ceased; a lock of .unspeakable peace came upon his worn features. At twenty-two minutes after seven he died. Stanton broke the silence by saying, ‘now he belonsrs to the ages.’ Dr. Gurley kneeled by the bedside and prayed fervently. The widow came in from the adjoining room supported by her son ahd cast herself with loud outcry on the dead body.”—From the “History of Lincoln” by Nicolay and Hay, in the Century.