Previously: Booth shoots Lincoln and breaks leg in escape. Stanton’s henchman Lafayette Baker takes Christy’s body to an embalmer. Booth and Herold escape across the river into Maryland where they hide in the Zekiah Swamp. Baker enlists his cousin’s help to save Booth’s life. Booth arrives at Garrett’s farm.
The hour approached 11 p.m. when Luther Baker and his troops arrived in front of the Star Hotel in Bowling Green. Earlier in the evening, they visited the Trappe Tavern where they learned from the hostesses that Ruggles and Bainbridge had visited them the previous night. They had not seen a lame man at all.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for some refreshments?” the madam extended the coy invitation as her girls tittered.
Luther declined but asked how to find the Star Hotel.
“Oh, you won’t have any fun there,” the madam said, but when he insisted she gave him directions.
Before Luther rapped on the Star Hotel door, he told the men to wait there, that he, Doherty and Conger would bring out the informant. The door shuddered as he banged his fist against it. Before long, it opened and a portly middle-aged woman wearing a housecoat answered. In her right hand, she held an oil lamp; with her left hand, she clutched the housecoat, keeping it modestly secured around her neck.
“Are you the proprietor of this establishment?” Luther asked brusquely.
“I am Mrs. Gouldman, yes.”
“Is Willie Jett here?”
“I believe he is, yes.”
“Take us to his room immediately.”
“I cannot believe Mr. Jett could be the subject of any criminal investigation. He is such a fine young man.”
“We think he has information concerning the whereabouts of the Lincoln assassins.”
“That cannot be—“
“If you do not take us to his room you will be charged with being a member of the conspiracy,” Luther interrupted.
Mrs. Gouldman fluttered her eyes. “In that case, follow me.”
She led the three men up the stairs and went to a door at the far end of the hall. She tapped lightly. “Willie, dear, there are gentlemen here to see you.”
“Is the door locked?” Luther asked.
“We only rent rooms to gentlefolk, sir. There’s no need for locked doors.”
At that, Luther pushed past her, opened the door and stormed the bed, followed by Conger and Doherty. “Where’s John Wilkes Booth? You know! Tell us!” he yelled as he jostled Jett from a deep sleep.
“I swear, gentlemen!” Mrs. Gouldman said, “this is not proper!”
Doherty took her elbow, ushered her out of the room, shut the door and stood guard as Luther jerked Jett up by the armpit.
“Where is he? Tell us, or by God, we’ll charge you with conspiracy!” Luther continued.
“All right, all right,” Jett replied, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I’ll tell you if you will lower your voice.”
“Very well.” Calm returned to Luther’s voice. “Where is he?”
“The Garrett farm, about half-way between here and Port Royal. You must have passed it. We met them on the ferry. He told us exactly what he did. And we saw you crossing on the ferry. We went back and told him before coming here. He may be gone already.”
“Can we find it in the dark?” Luther asked.
“I’ll take you there myself but you got to promise not to tell anyone I did it,” Jett said. Especially Mr. and Mrs. Gouldman. I love their daughter Izora. I want to marry her.” He paused and lowered his voice. “I want to be their son-in-law so I can eventually own this hotel. If I help you, please don’t ruin my future.”
Luther smirked. “Your future is in your own hands. You can tell the Gouldmans anything you want and we won’t contradict it. You have a horse?”
“Yes, sir. Right outside.”
“Well, get dressed and mount up. We’re on the road back to Garrett’s farm.”
In a few minutes, they were all mounted in front of the Star Hotel, waiting for Willie Jett to explain to Mrs. Gouldman about how the Yankees were commandeering him to search for a man he swore he did not know. He asked her to pray for his safe return by morning. After Jett mounted his horse, a private clopped up.
“Sir, Sgt. Boston Corbett has disappeared. Do you think there are rebel snipers around here? I didn’t hear any shots.”
“Corbett?” Luther paused. “Oh yes, Corbett. Don’t worry about it. He’s probably found a church where he can pray a few moments for the success of our mission. He’ll be back before you know it.”
“But how will he know where to find us?” the private insisted. “You told us the destination only minutes ago.”
“God will tell him,” Luther replied.
“Sir?”
“Very well, I’ll stay behind and find him. Doherty and Conger know what to do. This young man knows the way,” he said motioning toward Jett.
Luther sat astride his horse, watching his detail ride away down the dark road to the Garrett farm until the galloping hooves were only a mere vibration. Then he heard a whistle from across the road in a patch of trees. Following it, he found his cousin Lafayette Baker, the sergeant and a corpse across an extra horse.
“I thought your men would never leave,” Baker stated in a drone. “I could not quite make out where we are going.”
“Garrett’s farm,” Luther replied. “It’s halfway back to Port Royal.”
“Then we must be on our way.” Baker urged his horse forward. “This is the most crucial point of our mission. The switch from Booth to the corpse must be smooth and undetectable.”
“God will provide a way,” Corbett assured them.
Luther looked at the sergeant and decided he looked as crazy as reported to him. “This mission does not seem strange to you, Sgt. Corbett?”
“Nothing is strange if it is the will of God.”
***
Denied the comfortable beds in the main house, Booth and Herold slept restlessly in Garrett’s tobacco barn. Booth’s dreams were of standing on a stage, having just completed the greatest of Shakespeare’s soliloquys, waiting for thunderous applause but hearing nothing but silence. Breaking the hush were catcalls and declarations of ridicule, shouts that he would never be the actor his father and brother were. Sounds of horses coming down the road alerted Garrett’s dogs, which began a great commotion of barking, howling and snarling as they caromed off each other in the darkness.
“Davey, go see what that is!” Booth ordered, nudging his sleeping companion.
Herold stumbled to his feet, went to the barn door, and pushed on it but it did not open.
“It’s barricaded!”
“Look through the slats! What do you see?”
“I don’t see nothing. It’s too dark. I hear horses for sure now. A whole passel of them. They’re real loud now. They’re coming through the gate!”
Booth struggled to his feet, hobbled on his crutches to the barn door and shook it. “Damn the man! Why would he lock us in like this?” He paused and turned for his guns. “He knows. When he went looking for a wagon, he was actually turning us in to the Federals! And I thought the man had honor!”
“I see some lanterns now,” Herold said. “The whole damn family is on the porch and they’re pointing toward the barn!” He turned and went to his fellow traveler. “Mr. Booth, sir, I want to go home to my mama and sisters now, sir.”
“Time has long passed for that, Davey. Here take this rifle. We’ll shoot our way out of this.”
“That ain’t going to work! We had better give up!”
“No, no. I will suffer death first.” Booth turned to the barn door as he heard the wooden bar being lifted. “Shh. Be silent.”
The door opened, and the old man lurched into the barn, as though he had been pushed. The door slammed behind him. “The place is surrounded by Yankee troops,” Garrett said in a trembling voice. “Resistance is useless. You better come out and deliver yourself up.”
“Traitor!” Booth screamed. He lifted his rifle and aimed it at Garrett. “You, sir, are no gentleman.”
“Help!” Garrett bawled. “He’s going to shoot me!” The old man ran for the door. “Let me out!”
Herold sprang from Booth’s side and banged on the door. “Let me out too! I want my mama!”
The door flung open and Herold and Garrett rushed out, allowing Booth a glance at the crowd of soldiers gathered there, holding their weapons, some holding lanterns. He was now alone.
“To whom am I speaking?” he called out. “Are you Union or Confederate?”
A loud baritone replied, “You know who we are! We are here to arrest you for assassination of President Abraham Lincoln!”
A crack in the wood planking of the back barn wall drew Booth’s attention. When he turned he saw the new opening in the wall, and lantern light was filling the barn with an eerie, shifting glow. Coming through the new hole in the wall was a short stocky man. Booth squinted. He looked mildly familiar. Yes! He knew. It was man from beneath the Aqueduct Bridge. But what was he doing here?
“Shh,” the man hissed. “Ask for time to consider your options,” he whispered.
“I—I want a few minutes to think about what to do.” Booth fought to keep his voice from wavering. He was confused. So much was happening so fast. He needed time to think, to figure it all out.
“Don’t say anything,” the man said intensely. “I am here to save your life. You were chosen to fulfill another man’s will. I cannot give details. But do as I tell you, and your life will be spared.”
A short, thin man came through the opening dragging a corpse, about his age and build, with black hair.
“The troop leader will say this corpse is you. Take off your clothes while the sergeant strips the corpse. Now! No time to waste!”
Booth, feeling bewildered, obeyed, although his instincts told him not to trust the man.
“There is a horse out there waiting for you. In the excitement, you will be able to get away. I will give you three hundred dollars in cash. That will be enough to take you to Mexico and beyond. Never come back.”
As Booth put on the Union private’s clothes the sergeant dressed the corpse in Booth’s suit.
The stocky man from the Aquedect Bridge handed him a wallet with the money.
“Your time is up!” the officer outside yelled. “Come out or we’ll set fire to the barn!”
“Say something!” the man whispered. “Buy us time!”
“I am a cripple on crutches,” Booth called out. “If you are an honorable man you will pull your men back fifty yards from the door and I’ll come out and fight you. Give me a chance to fight for my life!”
“No! Come out now and surrender and we will spare your life!” the officer shouted.
“Well, my brave boys, prepare a stretcher for me!” Booth reached down for his rifle.
“No, leave the guns. Go now!” the short stocky man hissed.
Booth hobbled to the hole and looked back to see the sergeant shoot the corpse in the back of the neck before the man and the sergeant followed Booth out the narrow opening. Booth motioned to them that he needed help mounting the horse. As they lifted him, they heard soldiers’ firing into the barn in response to Corbett’s shot. Soon flames flickered in the barn as dried straw and the curing tobacco caught fire, and smoke flowed out from gaps between the boards.
As Booth adjusted himself on the saddle, the man slapped the hindquarters of the horse. He galloped out gate and turned south, not knowing exactly where he would go. In one last look back, he saw the aqueduct man mount his horse and ride after him. He also noticed the thin sergeant run around the corner of the barn, yelling. Booth sped away, still bothered by the question of who was the man who had seduced him into killing the president and then went to extraordinary means to save his life?