Previously: Just before shooting Lincoln, Booth thinks of the events leading to this moment.Stanton henchman Baker is busy disposing of bodies.
Now he belongs to the ages.”
Yes, that was what Secretary of War Edwin Stanton would say to the waiting crowd of reporters when he announced the death of President Abraham Lincoln. It had dignity and gravitas; it would do nicely. Stanton repeated it in his mind as he tried to drift off to sleep for a few moments at his home on K Street, just blocks from the Executive Mansion. His wife, Ellen, was already asleep, breathing in a soft, easy rhythm.
For the first time in more than two years, Stanton was able to relax. But sleep was harder. He sighed, thinking back to his decision to place Lincoln under guard in the Executive Mansion basement in September 1862. After a summer of disastrous defeats for the Union army, Stanton concluded that the fate of the country had to be wrested from the bumbling fool who sat in the president’s office. Under Stanton’s firm leadership—through the guise of the Lincoln double he had installed upstairs—the war would be over by Christmas.
However, Christmas came and went, and yet the war still waged on. Soon Stanton found himself going to the basement to ask Lincoln’s advice on which general to appoint to lead the Army of the Potomac and what strategies to pursue. It was humiliating. Stanton found himself under stress. The war shook his once mighty self-confidence. He had created a terrible quagmire because of his arrogance, and he did not know how to get out of it. The end of the war finally, inexorably came, and Stanton faced the impossible question of what to do with Lincoln now.
Things had a way of working themselves out, he told himself as he nestled down into his pillow. All Stanton had to do was exert pressure on the soldier who had murdered the butler and the young man capitulated, agreeing to find assassins to kill Lincoln, Vice-President Andrew Johnson and Secretary of State William Seward. Stanton’s bagman Baker killed the impersonators and the soldier. The mob would take care of the assassins. It was a plan; it was clean; and it was coming to fruition.
Once Baker dispatched the duplicate Lincolns and the Vice-President, U.S. Rep. Schuyler Colfax, speaker of the House, would be sworn in as president. Colfax was a simpleton, Stanton reasoned, and Stanton could easily manipulate him as he had the Lincoln impostor. His entire misbegotten attempt to control the outcome of the Civil War would remain a secret throughout the ages. Of this he could be sure. Stanton sighed.
Stanton had never felt in control of his life. Asthma gripped his body as a child and would not let go. His parents, devout Methodists, prayed over him, and he miraculously survived. Stanton was painfully aware that some dark, outside force made all the decisions. Death hovered over him. Because so many people in his life died, Stanton had a roiling anger in the pit of his stomach. The list was relentlessly personal—his father, his first sweetheart, his first wife, his two children and any dreams of being respected as a leader of his country.
Perhaps now he could be in charge of his destiny, he thought, as his eyelids began to feel heavy. A sudden rap at the downstairs door jarred him back to consciousness. From downstairs, Stanton heard faint mumblings at the door. His butler talked to someone who was urgent in his message. Stanton heard the butler climb the stairs with dreadful news of assassination.
“What’s going on, dear?” his wife, Ellen, asked, not bothering to roll over.
“I don’t know,” he lied. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
“Very well,” she said, and she drifted back off to sleep.
Stanton got out of bed, put on his slippers and reached for his robe. After he put it on, he brushed his hair back with his hands, reached for his pebble glasses, and placed them on his pocked nose. His first instinct was to go for the door, but he decided it would be more prudent to wait for the butler to come for him. Stanton sat in a nearby padded chair and listened for a light rap at his bedroom door. A smile came to his cupid’s bow lips.
“Yes, what is it?”
“A young man downstairs, sir. Most distressing news. Needs your immediate attention, sir.”
Taking his time, Stanton rose and went to the door. “Distressing news? What is it?”
“I think he should tell you,” the butler said. “Dreadful, dreadful news.”
“Oh, dear.” Stanton went to the front door where a young man in civilian clothing, stood, shivering from the night rain. Stanton recognized him as a family acquaintance, Joe Sterling. “Mr. Sterling, what news do you bring?”
“The President was shot while at the theater. I’m afraid he’s dead, sir,” Sterling said.
“Do you know who shot him?”
“Yes,” the young man replied. “They said it was a man named Booth. He sprang to the stage from the President’s box with a large knife and escaped in the melee.” After a pause Sterling added, “As we were coming to your house, a man informed us that Secretary Seward also has been assassinated, but that may be street rumor and untrue.”
“Oh, that can’t be so. That can’t be so,” Stanton replied, shaking his head mock sadness and sympathy.
Another man appeared on the doorstep. Maj. Norton Chipman from the Bureau of Military Justice asked, “Are you all right, sir? Secretary Seward has been attacked.”
“I heard he was dead.”
“No, brutally stabbed, but he still lives,” Chipman replied.
“Oh.” Stanton paused. “That is good news.” He cleared his throat. “Have you heard about the President?”
“No, sir,” Chipman answered.
Stanton turned to Sterling. “Who told you this news about the president?”
“A policeman, I—I don’t know his name.” The young man stammered.
“Hmm.” Stanton thought about where he should make his first appearance. “This rumor about the President is probably just an exaggeration of an altercation at the theater. I think I shall go to Mr. Seward’s house first with Maj. Chipman.”
“But Mr. Stanton, what about the President?” Sterling insisted.
“That is all,” Stanton dismissed Sterling and turned to the major. “Hold the carriage for me. I’ll be dressed in a moment.”
In the ride over to Seward’s home, Stanton reflected about how much he hated the man, remembering the first cabinet meeting in which the Lincoln double conducted the meeting. Stanton wanted Gen. Ambrose Burnsides to become the next general over the Army of the Potomac. Without previous intimation, Secretary of the Treasury Salmon P. Chase put forth the name of Gen. Joseph Hooker. Attorney Gen. Caleb Smith suggested Gen. John C. Fremont. Seward, with silky insinuation, persuaded the befuddled Lincoln impersonator to stay with Gen. George McClellan instead.
Stanton never knew if Seward knew the man in the White House was an impostor or not. Stanton could be decipher him with ease. That was why he hated Seward. The carriage pulled up in front of Seward’s home bordering Lafayette Park across from the White House. Soldiers surrounded the building.