“I will state that about half past two o’clock, when I was going to the door, I saw Mr. Booth. He was in the parlor, and Mrs. Surratt was speaking to him.”
“Were they alone?”
“Yes, sir, they were alone in the parlor.”
The lady spectators tittered.
“How long was it after that before you drove to the country with Mrs. Surratt?”
“He did not remain in the parlor more than three or four minutes.”
“And was it immediately after that you and Mrs. Surratt set out for the country?”
“Yes, sir.”
During this conversation, my counsel and his associates had been scribbling on paper, their faces impassive. Senator Johnson rose for the cross-examination. “Were you upon intimate terms with Mr. Surratt?”
“Very intimate, indeed.”
“Did he ever intimate to you or anybody else, to your knowledge, that there was a purpose to assassinate the president?”
“No, sir.”
“Were you in the habit of seeing John H. Surratt almost every day when he was at home, at his mother’s?”
“Yes, sir, he would be seated at the same table.”
“Was he frequently in your room, and you in his?”
“He partook of the same room, shared my bed with me, slept with me.”
And got drunk with you, shared oysters with you, laughed with you, Mr. Weichmann…
“And during the whole of that period you never heard him intimate that it was his purpose, or that there was a purpose, to assassinate the president?”
“No, sir. At one time he mentioned to me that he was going on the stage with Booth, that he was going to be an actor, and that they were going to play in Richmond.”
For some time, Senator Johnson shot questions at Mr. Weichmann, who answered them all in an unruffled voice. I wondered how many interrogations he had undergone since being sent to Old Capitol Prison.
“You have known Mrs. Surratt ever since November, and before that?”
“I have known her since 1863.”
“You have been living at her house since November?”
“Since November.”
“During the whole of that time, as far as you could judge, was her character apparently good and amiable?”
“Her character was exemplary and ladylike in every particular.”
“Have you been to church with her?”
“I generally accompanied her to church every Sunday.”
“As far as you could judge, her conduct, in a religious and in a moral sense, was altogether exemplary?”
“Yes, sir. She went to her religious duties at least every two weeks.”
“Did she go early in the morning?”
“Sometimes early in the morning, and sometimes at late Mass.”
“Was that the case during the whole period up to the assassination?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then, if I understand you, from November up to the fourteenth of April, whenever she was here, she was regular in her attendance at her own church, and apparently, as far as you could judge, doing all her duties to God and to man?”
“Yes, sir.”
Senator Johnson nodded and took his seat with an air of satisfaction. Gamely, my other two lawyers cross-examined my boarder, as did all of the other defendants’ lawyers. By the time Mr. Weichmann finally left the stand, his voice was hoarse.
The commissioners called a recess, and my counsel gathered around me. “Well,” Senator Johnson said. “That was certainly an observant young man.”
“Sir, do you think he did us damage?”
Senator Johnson gathered some papers together. “The jurisdictional question will be our best defense, as I said earlier. Now, I must be going, but of course Mr. Clampitt and Mr. Aiken will remain here for the afternoon session.”
He bustled off. My codefendants’ lawyers, busy conferring with their own clients, looked at him, puzzled, as he left.
• • •
After the recess, I heard a second familiar name called to the stand. “John Lloyd.” His imprisonment, and I guess enforced sobriety, had on the whole had a beneficial effect on him, for he looked healthier and thinner as he made his way to the stand.
Did he know he held my fate in his hands?
Mr. Aiken seemed to know so. He rose. “Sirs, I would request that in the absence of my senior counsel, and its importance to my client Mrs. Surratt’s case, that Mr. Lloyd’s testimony be postponed until Monday next, when Senator Johnson will be present.”
Judge Holt rose. “I object, sir. Mrs. Surratt has two perfectly competent lawyers present. She does not need three.”
“Overruled.”
As Mr. Aiken sat down, defeated, Judge Holt asked Mr. Lloyd whether he knew my son, Mr. Herold, and Mr. Atzerodt, and was met with a series of affirmatives. “Will you state whether or not, some five or six weeks before the assassination of the president, any or all of these men about whom I have inquired came to your house?”
“They were there.”
“All three together?”
“Yes: John H. Surratt, Herold, and Atzerodt were there together.”
“What did they bring to your house? And what did they do there?”
“When they drove up there in the morning, John H. Surratt and Atzerodt came first. They went from my house and went toward T. B., a town about five miles below there. They had not been gone more than half an hour when they returned with Herold. Then the three were together—Herold, Surratt, and Atzerodt.”
“What did they bring to your house?”
“I saw nothing until they all three came into the bar room. All three of them drank, I think, and then John Surratt called me into the front parlor, and on the sofa were two guns with ammunition. I think he told me they were carbines.”
“A sort of a shorter rifle,” one of the gentleman spectators explained in an undertone to his lady, who was looking baffled.
“Anything besides the carbines and ammunition?”
“There was a rope, and also a monkey wrench. Surratt asked me to take care of them, to conceal the carbines. I told him there was no place there to conceal them, and I did not wish to keep such things in the house.”
“You say that he asked you to conceal those articles for him?”
“Yes, sir, he asked me to conceal them. I told him there was no place to conceal them. He then showed me where I could put them underneath the joists of the house—the joists of the second floor of the main building. This little unfinished room will admit of anything between the joists.”
I almost nodded in agreement before I caught myself. Johnny had hidden things for himself and his courier friends there many a time; I had watched him do it.
“Were they put in that place?”
“They were put in there according to his directions.”
“For what purpose, and for how long, did he ask you to keep those articles?”
“I am very positive that he said he would call for them in a few days. He said he just wanted them to stay for a few days, and he would call for them.”
“Will you state whether or not, on the Monday or Tuesday preceding the assassination of the president, Mrs. Surratt came to your home?”
“I was coming to Washington, and I met Mrs. Surratt at Uniontown on the Tuesday previous.”
“Did she say anything to you in regard to those carbines?”
I closed my eyes.
“When she first broached the subject to me, I did not know what she had reference to, then she came out plainer, and I am quite positive she asked me about the ‘shooting irons.’ I am quite positive about that, but not altogether positive. Think she named ‘shooting irons,’ or something to call my attention to those things, for I had almost forgotten about their being there. I
told her that they were hid far back, that I was afraid the house would be searched, and they were shoved far back. She told me to get them out ready; they would be wanted soon.”
Mr. Herold, who seemed to find our trial rather entertaining on the whole, looked in my direction to see how I was reacting to all of this. I sat up straighter.
“Will you state now, whether or not, on the evening of the night on which the president was assassinated, Mrs. Surratt came to your house with Mr. Weichmann?”
“I went to Marlboro on that day to attend a trial there in court, and in the evening it was probably late when I got home. I found Mrs. Surratt there when I got home. I should judge it was about five o’clock.”
“What did she say to you?”
“She met me out by the woodpile as I drove in, having fish and oysters in the buggy, and she told me to have those shooting irons ready that night. There would be some parties calling for them.”
“Did she ask you to get anything else ready for those parties besides the shooting irons?”
“She gave me something wrapped up in a piece of paper. I did not know what it was till I took it upstairs, and I found it to be a field glass.”
“Did she ask you to have any whiskey prepared for those parties?”
“She did.”
“What did she say about that?”
“She said to get two bottles of whiskey also.”
“And said they were to be called for that night?”
“Yes. They were to be called for that night.”
“State now whether they were called for that night by Booth and Herold.”
Mr. Lloyd swept the air with his hand. “Booth told me, ‘Lloyd, for God’s sake, make haste and get those things!’”
“Did he not seem, from the manner of his language, to suppose that you already understood what he called for?”
“From the way he spoke, he must have been apprised that I already knew what I was to give him.”
“What did you say?”
“I did not make any reply but went upstairs and got them.”
“Did they take one or both of the carbines?”
“Only one.”
“Did they explain why the other was not taken?”
“Booth said that he could not take his, because his leg was broken.”
“Did he take a drink also?”
“He drank while he was sitting out on his horse.”
“Did Herold carry the bottle out to him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did they say anything in regard to the assassination as they rode away?”
“Just as they were about leaving, Booth said, ‘I will tell you some news if you want to hear it’ or something to that effect. I said, ‘I am not particular. Use your own choice about telling news.’ ‘Well,’ said he, ‘I am pretty certain that we have assassinated the president and Secretary Seward.’”
Even in my present state, I could imagine Mr. Booth, injured and fleeing for his life, sitting on his horse and telling my tenant in his pleasant voice that he had committed the crime of the century.
• • •
As the days passed, more and more ladies made their way to the court, encouraged, I suppose, by the reports of their friends who had attended early on. There were so many of them, they overflowed into the spaces occupied by the press and by the defense counsel. Sometimes they forgot where they were and began to chatter among themselves as if they were leaving church after a particularly interesting sermon. The commissioners, who would surely have dealt with them swiftly if they were men, appeared to be completely intimidated by these pretty women in their finery, and when they were forced to shush them, did so in the mildest way possible.
The ladies’ greatest occupations were gazing at Mr. Payne and at me. Mr. Payne seemed to overawe them, so they kept their thoughts about him to themselves, but they had no such compunctions when it came to me. Each day before court started, they got within mere feet of me and debated whether I was ugly or pretty, whether my proportions were stout or mannish, whether I had an evil face or a benevolent one. If it were not for Mr. Payne, a look from whom quailed them, they would probably have tried to lift my veil.
It hurt me to the very bone. When had I ever done a sister woman an unkindness? Could not they think how it pained me to sit every day and hear my Johnny spoken of as a criminal? Did they know how I longed to see my poor Anna, of whom I had not had a word since being brought here?
I had sinned, and perhaps I deserved this pointing and giggling, but that still made it no easier to bear.
On a hot morning in mid-May, the ladies subsided into their seats, whispering that they hoped there would be some interesting witnesses today and not a bunch of dreary bores. They got their wish, for soon Mr. Weichmann emerged from the room where the witnesses waited their turn to be called.
Mr. Weichmann started by identifying the telegram he received from Mr. Booth, telling him to ask Johnny to telegraph an address to Mr. Booth. Judge Holt asked, “Did you or did you not deliver to Mr. Surratt the message contained in the dispatch?”
“I delivered it to him the same day.”
“What did he say?”
“I asked him what particular number and street was meant, and he said, ‘Don’t be so damned inquisitive!’”
Sourly, I thought Mr. Weichmann had never in his life had so many women hanging on his every word.
Mr. Weichmann told the court about the day Johnny, Mr. Payne, and Mr. Booth returned to the house after the failed kidnapping. No one asked him what we had for dinner that night, but I had no doubt that if someone had, he would remember it to the last biscuit.
Rising to cross-examine Mr. Weichmann, Mr. Aiken asked him about my meeting with Mr. Lloyd at Uniontown, and Senator Johnson—here in court for the first time in several days—joined in, albeit to no account I could see. He made matters even worse by asking my boarder about Mrs. Slater. As Mr. Weichmann prepared to answer—never in this trial had I heard him utter the words “I don’t know”—I wondered what had become of that pert young woman. Although her name had come up from time to time before at the trial as Johnny’s companion and a guest at the boardinghouse, no one had accused her of plotting to kill the president, and no one seemed to know what she was doing now or where she was doing it. Was she back with her inconvenient husband, warming my Johnny’s bed somewhere in Canada, or locked up in some Yankee prison? For all I disliked the chit, I hoped she was free. She ought to be: not even Mr. Weichmann knew her Christian name, and she had certainly kept herself well hidden with that veil of hers.
“Mrs. Surratt told me that she was a North Carolinian, I believe, and that she spoke French, and that she was a blockade runner, or bearer of dispatches.”
“When, if ever, had I told Mr. Weichmann those things?”
Echoing my doubts, Mr. Aiken asked, “Are you certain, beyond all doubt, that Mrs. Surratt told you Mrs. Slater was a blockade runner?”
Mr. Weichmann said resoundingly, “Yes, sir,” and the ladies clucked their tongues comfortably, assured beyond all doubt that I was on the best of terms with the spy Mrs. Slater.
Mr. Aiken asked Mr. Weichmann whether, while employed at the War Department, he had agreed to share any of its information with those of us in the prisoners’ dock. I tensed with attention, for Johnny had told me he did precisely that. But Mr. Weichmann batted back his question with a firm “No, sir,” lying with a conviction I doubted I would have been able to muster.
Left with no choice but to move on, Mr. Aiken asked, “You state that all the prisoners at the bar were free and unreserved in your presence in their conversation?”
“They spoke in my presence on general topics, and so on, but, on their private business, they never spoke to me.”
“In all your conversation with them, you never learned of any intended treasonable p
urpose or act or conspiracy of theirs?”
“No, sir.”
“You never did?”
“No, sir.”
“And you were not suspicious of anything of the sort?”
Mr. Weichmann raised his right hand. “I would have been the last man in the world to suspect John Surratt, my schoolmate, of the murder of the president of the United States.”
“You state that your suspicions were aroused at one time by something you saw at Mrs. Surratt’s?”
“My suspicions were aroused by John Surratt and this man Payne and Booth coming to the house. My suspicions again were aroused by their frequent private conversations. My suspicions were aroused by seeing Payne and Surratt playing on the bed with bowie knives.”
“Then, if your suspicions were aroused on all these different occasions that you have mentioned, and you had reason to believe that something was in the wind that was improper, did you communicate any of them to the War Department?”
“My suspicions were not of a fixed or settled character,” Mr. Weichmann said a little sulkily. “I did not know what they intended to do. I made a confidant of Captain Gleason in the War Department. I told him that Booth was a secesh sympathizer: I mentioned snatches of conversation that I would hear from these parties, and I asked him, ‘Captain, what do you think of all this?’ We even talked over several things they could do. I asked him whether they could be bearers of dispatches or blockade runners. At one time I saw in the paper the capture of President Lincoln fully discussed, and I remarked to Captain Gleason, ‘Captain, do you think any party could attempt the capture of President Lincoln?’ He laughed and hooted at the idea.”
“You were a roommate of Surratt’s?”
“John Surratt has been my companion for seven years now.”
“And did you still profess to be a friend and confidant of his at the time you were giving this information that you speak of to the War Department?”
“I was a friend so far as he was concerned, but when my suspicions were aroused as to the danger to the government in particular, I preferred the government to John Surratt. I did not know what he was contemplating. He said he was going to engage in cotton speculations. He was going to engage in oil.”
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