Previously: Booth shoots Lincoln and breaks leg in escape. Baker saves Booth’s life at Garrett’s farm. Booth sneaks away to Richmond, where he tricks a widow into caring for him. Lincoln’s friend Lamon interviews Mrs. Surratt and others in prison.
No one had talked to Dr. Charles Leale about the assassination since President Lincoln had died. He presumed someone would contact him about testifying concerning the exact route the bullet took through the president’s skull, but no one approached him. Two months later, and the newspapers announced the trial was about to begin. The speed of the process surprised Dr. Leale; however, talk around town was that the government wanted the conspirators tried and hanged quickly so the nation could go about its healing from the wounds of war. Dr. Leale patiently stood in line with the other curiosity seekers hoping to find a seat in the courtroom gallery.
The military tribunal closed the first few days to the public because of the “sensitive nature of the testimony,” a term which only piqued the doctor’s curiosity. The newspapers reported the tribunal created a makeshift courtroom in the Old Capitol Prison. The panel allowed a limited number of visitors starting Monday, May 15.
Even though Leale arrived at an early morning hour, he still found himself at the back of a long line of impatient citizens. The procession inched its way along because a guard at the prison gate interrogated each person to decide whether to grant admission. Leale overheard the man in front of him explain he was a congressman from Illinois and therefore felt entitled to witness the proceedings. The guard tipped his hat, agreed with the man’s explanation and allowed him in the door.
“And you might you be?” the guard asked, his tone going flat and emotionless.
“Dr. Charles Leale,” he replied.
“Nobody sick here.” The guard shook his head.
“I attended President Lincoln as he lay dying at the Peterson boardinghouse.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, young fella.” The guard laughed. “You really expect me to believe they would have let a youngster like you near the president that night?”
Leale took a deep breath and smiled. He was accustomed to cynicism about his boyish appearance and lack of experience as a doctor. At times, he wondered why security allowed him to treat Lincoln. In the midst of disbelief and confusion, Leale decided, perhaps the soldiers surrounding the president had no choice but believe him.
“I was the first doctor at the scene of the shooting. My wife had insisted on attending the theater that evening so—“
“I don’t have time to listen to your domestic history, laddie. There are real people behind you waiting. We have only one chair left for the public and it won’t go to the likes of you.”
Shrugging, Leale stepped aside, not feeling the situation warranted that much complaint. The trial would last several days and if he wanted to witness this chapter of history, he told himself to arrive earlier the next day.
“Name?” the guard barked at the next person in line.
“John Johnston,” an elderly man replied in a marked Midwestern accent.
Something about the crispness of the voice, yet an inherent fatigue, drew Leale’s attention. When he turned he saw a man about his own height and weight, slightly hunched over with a thick shock of white hair and the beard of a Kentucky colonel. The old gentleman rested on his came.
“And what makes you think you deserve a seat for the proceedings?” the guard demanded.
“Oh, for myself, I have no merits at all. It’s just that my mother was wanting a personal report, that’s all. I won’t take up any more of your valuable time. After all, she really was only Mr. Lincoln’s stepmother. Not like they shared a blood kinship.” The old man began to turn away.
“Did you say, the president’s stepmother?” The guard’s voice toughened and bellowed. “Do you really expect us to believe Abe Lincoln’s stepmother would still be alive?”
His unbearable exclamation drew the attention of a colonel walking by. He stopped and leaned into the guard’s face. “Of course, the President’s stepmother is still alive! Everybody knows that! How stupid are you, soldier!”
The old man waved a shaking hand at the officer. “Please don’t be harsh with the man. He’s only trying to do his job. Let me explain the situation to him, and I’m sure he’ll understand.”
The colonel hit the guard on the shoulder. “Listen to this gentleman and learn something,” he snarled. “And don’t go mouthing off to him again!” He stalked off.
“Yes, Sarah Bush Johnston Lincoln. My father, Mr. Johnston, died when I was twenty years old. Then she married Mr. Lincoln, and young Abe was only—oh dear, how old was the boy—yes ten years old. I hardly knew him myself, but my mother, bless her heart, raised him as if he were her own. So sorry for wasting your time. I’ll be moving along now.”
Reaching out to take Mr. Johnston by the arm, the guard said, “Nonsense, sir. A gentleman like yourself should be allowed the best seat in the house every day.”
Leale continued to watch the old man as he entered the prison, still not figuring out what it was about Mr. Johnston that fascinated him so much.
The next morning, Leale refused his second cup of coffee and only ate a portion of the large breakfast his wife had prepared, nibbling on a biscuit before rushing off to the Old Capitol Prison. He smiled to himself when he saw the elderly Mr. Johnston was at the end of the line.
“Good morning, sir,” Leale said with a bold enthusiasm. He noticed his greeting caused Mr. Johnston to flinch. “I’m sorry, Mr. Johnston. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Turning to look at the doctor, Mr. Johnston wrinkled his brow. “How did you know my name?”
“Oh, you probably didn’t notice me yesterday. I was in line ahead of you and was refused entry, but when I overheard who you were, well, I was pleased to have been inconvenienced for your sake.”
“I appreciate your kindness, young man.” He tipped his hat and returned his attention to the front of the line.
“I hope I am able to be seated today.” He paused. “Did I miss much?” When Mr. Johnston did not respond, Leale repeated, “I said, did I miss much? The newspaper accounts are so sketchy.”
“Oh, excuse me, young man. No, you did not miss much at all. Gen. Ulysses Grant testified, although I don’t know why. He was not at the theater.” Johnston shrugged. “A couple more official types. I don’t even recall their names nor understand why they were testifying.”
“Rumor had it that the general and his wife were to attend the performance, Leale continued. “Perhaps if they had gone to the theater, a larger contingent of guards would have been present and the president would have been spared the assassin’s bullet. Can you imagine? After four years of war and to be taken down by a mere actor. It’s shocking.”
“And why do you have such an interest in this proceeding?” Impatience tinged the old man’s voice.