Ward Lamon walked briskly down Pennsylvania Avenue to the Executive Mansion, determined to tell President Johnson the entire story of Abraham Lincoln being kidnapped and held captive in the White House basement. Throughout the conspirators’ trial, he wrestled with the decision to burst into the courtroom and tell the entire ugly story; but he restrained himself, knowing the prosecutors would not believe him. His last chance was to convince Johnson to accept the possibility of the conspiracy and therefore postpone the hangings.
As he mounted the steps, Lamon collided with a young woman rushing out the door. Holding her shoulders with his large rough hands, he recognized her to be Anna Surratt, the daughter of the boardinghouse owner who had been convicted of abetting in the plot to kill Lincoln and was sentenced to hang.
“Excuse me, Miss Surratt,” he mumbled. Looking closely at her face, Lamon observed tears streaking her soft cheeks. “So you’ve been to see President Johnson and he turned you down.”
“How do you know my name?” Her eyes widened in recognition. “Oh, you’re the gentleman who visited my mother in prison. I told her to trust you, but she doesn’t trust any Yankees anymore. Let’s see, you said your name was Lamon, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Ward Hill Lamon. I was on my way to convince Mr. Johnson to delay the executions.”
Anna looked away and sighed. “There’s no use in that. I told him about the man under the bridge, even told him his name, Lafayette Baker, but he said that wasn’t enough to save my mother.”
Lamon cocked his head. “Are you sure about that name, Lafayette Baker?”
“Yes, sir. Lafayette Baker. I would have told you in the prison that day you visited but Mother forbid me from saying anymore. Do you know him?”
“I know that he is Edwin Stanton’s henchman. When he came to your mother’s boardinghouse that night, did he say anything about Mr. Stanton?”
“No.” She paused. “He said he was from the War Department, but he didn’t mention Mr. Stanton by name.” Anna shook her head. “I don’t know how all this could make a difference.” She pointed to a horse and carriage in the driveway. “Mr. Johnson said he had that carriage ready to rush orders to stop the hangings if new evidence came to him this morning, but that my information was not enough.”
“I think I have news that will change his mind.” Lamon smiled, took Anna’s hand and guided her back into the Executive Mansion.
Once inside, Johnson’s secretary Reuben Massey blocked the staircase up to Johnson’s private office.
“I thought the President told you to go away.” He narrowed his eyes as he looked down on Anna.
Lamon pushed himself in front of the girl, placing him so close to Massey that the secretary nervously took a step back. “She’s with me. I have important information the President must hear.” He paused to stare into Massey’s eyes. “You do know who I am, don’t you?”
“Of course I know who you are, Mr. Lamon.” He took another step back and brushed the front of his dark blue coat. “You may have held sway with Mr. Lincoln, but this is Mr. Johnson’s house now.”
Clinching his teeth, Lamon extended his right arm to push Massey aside. Still holding Anna’s hand, he trotted up the stairs with Massey trailing behind, making unintelligible protests. Without knocking, he burst into the office. Johnson looked up from his desk.
“Lamon! What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m going to save you from making the worst mistake in your whole damn life!”
Massey shuffled to the President’s desk as quickly as he could. “Sir, do you wish I call for the guards?”
“I have a name for you,” Lamon announced. “Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton.”
Johnson stopped, and his mouth fell open. After a moment, he looked at Massey. “Leave us alone. This is a private matter. If anyone asks, tell them I am alone and do not wish to be disturbed. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir.” Massey bowed slightly and turned to glare at Lamon before going to the door and closing it gently.
Johnson walked around his desk. “And what does Secretary Stanton have to do with all this?”
Lamon breathed deeply before launching into the full story of the kidnapping of the Lincolns, their stay in the basement, the guard from Stanton’s hometown and the insertion of two imposters upstairs, ending with the assassination and the rush to judgment in the conviction of the conspirators.
“Did your mother know about this?” Johnson asked Anna.
“No. This is the first I’ve heard of Mr. Stanton’s involvement. If I didn’t know, Mother didn’t know.”
The President looked back at Lamon. “Are you sure about this?”
“Positive, but I can’t prove it in a court of law,” Lamon replied, “but even if I could prove it, I wouldn’t press it in court because the nation in its current fragile condition would collapse under the shock of the horrible truth.”
A sneer crossed Johnson’s lips. “How many times have I been urged to cover up a scandal because the people—bless their hearts—could not be trusted with reality. I am a man of the people that you don’t respect, dammit, and I’ve always believed they can handle anything if presented to them in a forthright manner.” He exhaled loudly. “But this—this is a different matter. I’ll be damned if I don’t agree with you.”
“Does that mean you’ll save my mother’s life?” Hope tinged Anna’s small voice.
The President returned to his desk, grabbed a sheet of paper and began to write. “My gut tells me this miserable mess sounds like something Stanton would do.” He lightly blew on the reprieve to hasten the drying of the ink. “I hate Stanton.” He looked up. “I should have known that man wasn’t the real Lincoln. They—Stanton, that is—kept me away from him as much as possible. Hell, I was in a drunken stupor most of the time anyway.” Johnson folded the document and put it in an envelope. “I can redeem myself now.” He extended it to Lamon. “There’s a carriage and driver waiting outside the door, just for a circumstance like this. Get to the Old Capitol Prison as quickly as possible!”
Lamon grabbed the reprieve and rushed out the door with Anna in tow. They scurried down the steps and out onto the porch. Waving the document at the driver, he yelled out, “To the prison!” as they jumped into the carriage.
Anna leaned into Lamon’s shoulder and cried. “Oh, thank you, thank you Mr. Lamon.”
“Don’t worry. It won’t be long now.”
As the carriage pulled up in front of the prison, Lamon frowned as he saw the large milling crowd. They lunged through the masses, Lamon waving the reprieve over his head. “Make way! Make way! The President has granted a stay of execution!”
Placing Anna behind him, Lamon elbowed and shoved his way through the human barricade. Just as he thought their cause was lost, he noticed a Union soldier step forward with his rifle. The screams were deafening but he thought he heard Anna gasped.
“You—it’s you!”
The soldier put a finger to his lips. “Shush, young lady. We have no time! We must save them!”
Furrowing his brow, Lamon wondered who this young man was. He had black unruly hair, muttonchops on his fair cheeks and an absurdly large handlebar mustache. The soldier immediately stepped in front of him and began violently swinging his rifle, causing all the mob members to melt away.
“Make way! Reprieves for the accused! By order of the President!”
The private’s commanding voice impressed Lamon with its deep, resounding authority. He also noticed the soldier walked with a limp, which did not stop him from making extraordinary progress to the prison yard gate. Stretching himself to his full height, Lamon could see over the heads of the witnesses. The prisoners were already standing on the scaffold. Guards placed hoods on their heads.
The soldier banged on the iron gate. “Let us in! On the orders of President Johnson!”
Nodding, the guard opened the entrance. However, they only took a few steps when two men, dressed dapperly as befitted members of Congress, linked their arms to bar Lamon and his companions from progressing further.
“Make way! We have the President’s mandate!” the soldier boomed.
“The President?” one of the men replied with a sneering tone. “I know Mr. Johnson personally, and he is a man of measured judgments.” He shook his head. “He would not take such a precipitant action.”
Lamon pushed the soldier aside to make eye contact with the men. He recognized them. One was Congressman Preston King of New York and the other Senator James Lane of Kansas. He knew them both to be of the radical wing of the Republican Party and men of a self-serving nature, quick to be bold when it was to their own benefit.
“What have you been paid?” he asked bluntly.
“I beg your pardon?” Lane was indignant.
“You know what I mean.” Lamon stepped closer so he was nose to nose with the senator. “Is it an appointment?” He jerked his head to stare at King. “An ambassadorship? Customs collector?”
King’s mouth flew open but only startled moans and grunts came out.
Lamon looked over King’s head, across the crowded yard to the top of the scaffold. He saw Gen. John Hartranft reading from a folder of documents. Lamon had to reach and deliver the reprieves to Hartranft. “The general is reading the order of execution! We have no time to argue!” His voice grew intense.
“Stand aside, gentlemen!” The soldier held his rifle at a diagonal position and pushed against the two men.
Lane pushed back. “Don’t you ever take such liberties with me again, young man!”
“Mama! Mama!” Anna tried to angle her way between the congressmen. “I’m here, Mama!”
Lamon watched Mrs. Surratt as she stood still as the soldiers placed the noose around her neck. She did not react to Anna’s voice. They were too far away to be heard by anyone standing on the platform. Lamon knew they had to move closer to stop the executions.
“Here, Mama! We have a reprieve!”
“Don’t tell her that!” King put his hand over Anna’s mouth. “Don’t give your mother false hope. I don’t care what you have on that piece of paper. She is going to die today!”
“You cannot make that decision yourself! Gen. Hartranft is in charge here. Let him read the document and make the final decision.” Lamon forced himself to speak in a calmer voice, realizing the forceful approach was not working.
“We are willing to take the responsibility.” Lane lifted his chin in defiance.
“Yes, we are,” King echoed in a voice tinged with uncertainty.
“Oh, really?” the soldier asked.
His tone captured Lamon’s attention, and he turned to stare at the private.
“And what are your names? Who are you to be so brave in taking a woman’s life?” the soldier asked.
“We—we don’t have to tell you anything,” King replied softly.
“They are Sen. James Lane of Kansas and Rep. Preston King of New York,” Lamon interceded. “Get accustomed to hearing your names repeated, gentlemen, as the brave men who refused to save the life of the first woman ever executed in the United States of America.”
Lamon looked up at the platform again. The tall one, Paine, stepped forward and Lamon could tell he was saying something but he could not make out what it was. They had to move closer. Lamon pushed against the congressman.
“Your time is up, gentlemen. Let us through now!” He resumed his militant approach.
“You can’t threaten us! Leave!” King pushed the soldier’s rifle down.
Immediately the private delivered a mighty uppercut to the congressman’s chin with the butt of his rifle, momentarily throwing King off balance.
“Guards!” Lane screamed in an uncharacteristically high pitch. “We’re being attacked!”
Lamon felt hands on his shoulders, pulling him back and down to the ground. Landing on top of him was Anna. He twisted his head about to see if the private, in the split second of chaos, had made it past the congressman and across the yard to Gen. Hartranft. Lamon watched as a guard grabbed the private’s rifle. The private disappeared in the crowd, but Lamon could not tell where he had gone.
“Oh my God, no!” Anna yelled.
Lamon looked up just in time to see soldiers pulling the lever, releasing the trap door door from beneath the feet of Mrs. Surratt, Herold, Paine and Atzerodt. As the bodies fell with a thump, Anna turned her head to cry into Lamon’s shoulder. He became aware of the envelope still in his grasp. A hand reached down to snatch it away.
“And I’ll take that, thank you,” Rep. King said in a clipped tone before he and Sen. Lane melted into the mob.