Matt Canning must have told authorities about the tumor that Dr. John Frederick May had removed from Booth’s neck. So they summoned Dr. May to the Montauk and questioned him about the operation. Though two years had passed, May still remembered the size and location of the incision he had made. Booth had torn it open before it had a chance to heal, and the scar looked more like a burn than the work of a surgeon, which made it distinctive. When Dr. May described the scar from memory, the other doctors checked the corpse and found the description to be accurate.
The remains had one other distinguishing feature: the initials “J.W.B.” on the back of the left hand. Willie Jett noticed them at Port Conway, as did Jack Garrett at the end of the trail. Taken with the surgical scar, they put the identification beyond dispute.4
Because this inquest took place on a heavily guarded ship, modern researchers have assumed that the proceeding was cloaked in secrecy. But in fact, a crowd had gathered along the riverbank near the Montauk, and hundreds of people were able to see the corpse from a distance. From detailed accounts in the papers, it appears that reporters got a much closer look. And they were not the only ones. Naval officers and guards from the Navy Yard Bridge brought their friends aboard the ship, and some took away souvenirs. One woman obtained a lock of Booth’s hair, and when that came to Secretary of War Stanton’s attention, he demanded to know why security was so lax. The Montauk’s commander, Edward E. Stone, explained that nobody had offered guidance in the matter. The corpse had been brought aboard without explanation or orders, he said, and no one from the War Department had bothered to brief anyone. Stone called the episode “a most informal and unmilitary proceeding,” but he assured Stanton that at least the prisoner belowdecks was closely guarded.5
Among the people who came on deck that morning was Joseph Holt, Judge Advocate General of the Army, a man who would figure prominently in the events of the coming months. Holt, fifty-eight, was a tall, portly man with thick gray hair and the calm self-assurance of one whose orders are never questioned. He had served under President Buchanan, first as postmaster general, then as secretary of war. Though a strong supporter of states’ rights, he had remained with the Union, and Lincoln had rewarded him with an appointment as head of the new Bureau of Military Justice. In that capacity, he reviewed the records of almost sixty-eight thousand courts-martial and military commissions.
Holt had come aboard to take down sworn statements from those who had witnessed Booth’s death. The first was Byron Baker, who gave a minutely detailed account of the pursuit and events at the Garrett farm. Everton Conger added a few observations, and when they had finished, David Herold was brought up to help fill in the blanks. Herold’s chief inquisitor was not Holt, but a slightly built man with a square jaw and hollow, deep-set eyes. He was John A. Bingham, congressman from Ohio and a longtime acquaintance of Edwin Stanton. Bingham had been defeated for reelection to Congress in 1862, and was commissioned a major in the Bureau of Military Justice. He had recently been voted back into office, but would continue as a prosecutor until the next session convened in December. This would be his last case.
The questioning of Herold yielded little. He denied knowing anything about a conspiracy, and said that his flight with Booth began innocently, after he encountered the assassin outside the city on the night of April 14. Booth talked him into taking a ride, he said, and it was only later that he learned of the president’s assassination. Herold had wanted to get away from Booth, but assumed he would be prosecuted as a conspirator, since Booth claimed to have implicated him in the plot. That is why he stayed with him to the end.
When the inquest had finished, a steam tug appeared alongside the Montauk, and a large covered object was transferred to it from the ironclad. The tug headed down the Potomac, and shortly afterward, a large rowboat cast off from the other side of the ship. A naval officer, two detectives, and four oarsmen were aboard. In sight of the shoreline crowd, this boat took a zigzag course out to deeper waters, where one of the men dumped a large weighted object into the river.
The incident was staged by Lafayette Baker. The detectives on the rowboat were his men, and instead of dumping Booth’s body, as onlookers assumed, they took it around Greenleaf’s Point to the western side of the Washington Arsenal. There, with an oarsman standing guard, they left it on the arsenal wharf, just a few yards from the old Washington penitentiary. Maj. Edward N. Stebbins, chief storekeeper, would take charge of the remains and have them buried in a gun box beneath the prison floor.6
THE INVESTIGATION DID NOT END with Booth’s death, but from this point on, information came in fits and starts. In north-central Pennsylvania, the arrest of one Eugene T. Haines brought a momentary surge of excitement when the suspect was found to be carrying some of John Surratt’s papers. He claimed to have found them. In Baltimore, authorities thought they were on to something when they learned that Joseph Thomas, who had once lived with Powell at the Branson house, had slit his own throat. News of his death did not reach Stanton until much later, and he angrily ordered General Wallace to have the corpse disinterred and embalmed for identification. Though Wallace’s people had already looked into the incident, Stanton was quick to remind them that he was still in charge. He would not tolerate being kept in the dark.
Stanton felt that investigators were beginning to slack off. The spirit of cooperation had broken down, and most people now devoted their time exclusively to shoring up claims for the reward money. That in turn focused attention on the few suspects named in Stanton’s offer, and as a result, others who once felt vulnerable to prosecution were growing confident and even defiant. Cooperation quickly went out of fashion, and informants like John Fletcher and James P. Ferguson began to fear for their lives.
Col. Henry H. Wells had never seen much cooperation in the first place. From his headquarters in Bryantown, Wells continued to forward prisoners to Washington, but he warned that it would not be easy to get information from them. Even when handcuffed and threatened with hanging, most continued to deny knowing anything at all about Booth. Though local citizens had banded together to offer Wells their support, they had produced nothing so far but frustration. “It is difficult to figure out fact from fiction,” Wells complained, “as these people around here contradict each other so much.”
Wells believed that the only way to learn about Booth’s flight would be to have Herold retrace his steps. Stanton thought better of it, and he sent Byron Baker down to the Garrett farm with instructions to follow the fugitives’ route from there back to the Potomac. The same method was employed by another party over Atzerodt’s escape route, and by Lieutenant Dana over Booth’s route in Maryland. These people were less aggressive and more successful than Wells, whose thumbscrew methods yielded nothing but bad blood. 7
Aggressive methods were more productive in Washington, where Stanton and others used threats and imprisonment to pressure witnesses. The tactic worked especially well on the staff of Ford’s Theatre. Though their connection to Booth made them all suspects, Ned Spangler was more vulnerable than the rest. Investigators found it suspicious that Spangler would fix up a stable, feed a horse, and sell a buggy on Booth’s orders—all free of charge. His employer, John T. Ford, was also under suspicion, and as a result, he was going broke. He had not earned a penny since April 14, and was not likely to do so anytime soon. The public was venting its anger on the theater, and at least one person tried to burn it down. Stanton was determined to prevent Ford from reopening it, and brushing aside proposals to keep it intact, he confiscated the building for office use. Within months it would be gutted and completely remodeled.8
Most suspects were kept in the historic Old Capitol Prison. This former hall of government had once echoed with the voices of Clay, Calhoun, Jackson, and Webster. But to its present occupants, it was “one mass of dirt” where “spider webs hung in festoons from the ceiling, and vermin of all kinds ran over the floor.” Conditions were no better where John T. Ford was confined, at the neighboring Carro
ll Annex. His garret room there was stark, and furnished with only a bag of straw, some blankets, and a slop bucket. “When I wrote,” he recalled, “I did so on the floor & when I wished to sit down the straw was the only accommodation. . . . When I went to the barred dormer window the Sentry below threatened to shoot me. . . . I endured my confinement . . . with all the philosophy I could bring to bear.”
Ford passed the hours by writing notes of his experience. His scribbles painted a dismal and sometimes horrifying picture of life in confinement. “Harry [Ford] released and rearrested and released again before Canning who was very despondent. . . . Festering wounds from Hand Cuffs Prisoners Shot by Sentry woman Shot. . . . Col. Luce Michigan acquitted 30 days ago not released The Prisoner handcuffed picking up his tobacco with his mouth.” 9
Government detectives were now tying up loose ends, gathering up all those who had helped Booth escape, and building criminal cases against those in custody. Among them were James A. Brawner and Richard M. Smoot, who confessed to selling a boat to Surratt; Charles Yates and George Bateman, who were suspected of keeping the boat hidden; and Walter Barnes and Henry M. Bailey, who had reportedly quit their jobs in mid-January, just as their friend Atzerodt was brought into the plot.
A few of Surratt’s Confederate friends were also behind bars, but interrogating them was almost pointless. Preston Parr could not explain his exchange of telegrams with Surratt in March. Parr said he had no idea what Surratt meant when he asked if his friend was disengaged, and he didn’t recall what he meant by saying “she” was on the way to Washington. Sarah Slater refused to say anything at all. With her in jail were Tom and Nannie Green, owners of the Van Ness mansion near the White House. A search of their house had turned up a note from Annie Parr and a letter of introduction for John Surratt. They, too, played dumb.10
The investigation moved abroad, as foreign service officers joined in the search for suspects and answers. The U.S. consul in Montreal obtained Booth’s bank records and witnesses who claimed to know what the assassin was doing in that city. He also picked up clues on the whereabouts of Surratt, who was thought to be hiding nearby. Meanwhile, the consul in Frankfurt interviewed Baron August von Berlepsch, of Seebach, about the Atzerodt family. The baron had once hired George’s father as a locksmith, and still remembered him as “a man of perfectly irreproachable character.” He spoke highly of Frederick Richter as well.11
In spite of Booth’s attempts to implicate his brother, Edwin managed to avoid the indignity of an arrest. But his other male relatives were not so fortunate. Junius, who had left Cincinnati to go to Philadelphia, found himself under suspicion after authorities intercepted a letter he had written to John Wilkes on the twelfth. In it, June had counseled his brother to tone down his politics and implored him to get out of the “oil business.” Detectives learned from Sam Arnold that the “oil business” was a cover for the plot, and they arrested Junius soon after he arrived at Asia’s house. John Sleeper Clarke was arrested with him. The assassin had left those letters at Clarke’s house, and in the eyes of President Johnson, that made Clarke a suspect. He personally ordered the comedian’s arrest. That left only Joseph Booth unaccounted for. Joe, who had been living in San Francisco, headed east as soon as he heard about Lee’s surrender. His abrupt departure on April 13 struck the War Department as suspicious, and when his ship arrived in New York, detectives were waiting at the dock.
Ordinarily, the slimmest connection to Booth, or even the faintest word of praise for him, was enough to cause an arrest. But on one occasion, military authorities trod lightly. At a gathering in Georgetown, Delaware, U.S. senator Willard Saulsbury publicly rejoiced over the assassination, and supposedly even admitted knowing it was going to happen. The local provost marshal wanted to arrest the senator, but he could find only one witness who would admit to hearing the senator’s remarks, and that man feared for his life. Nobody else was willing to testify.
Most of the people taken into custody were linked in some way to Booth or his inner circle, and hardly any had ties to the Confederate government. This was dismaying to Judge Advocate General Holt, who was convinced beyond a doubt that Jefferson Davis’s agents were behind the plot. But his assistant, Col. Henry Burnett, had his own pet theory regarding the conspiracy. Burnett was sure that secret societies, such as the Knights of the Golden Circle, were involved. Both ideas were inspired by rumors of widespread subversion, and at Holt’s urging, stories that had once been dismissed were now reexamined in light of recent developments. The first case reopened was that of Dr. Luke P. Blackburn. For almost a year, government informants had claimed that Dr. Blackburn was part of a Confederate plot to infect Northern cities with yellow fever. He was said to have gathered clothing from victims of the disease and sent them to various garment distributors in the United States. Supposedly, he even sent infected shirts to President Lincoln. Nothing was ever proven, but the State Department wanted to look again. They knew that Blackburn was living in Toronto, and they earnestly requested that he be sent to Washington for trial. Canadian officials declined to extradite the doctor, but they did arrest him for a breach of their nation’s neutrality laws. He was tried and acquitted.12
DETECTIVE BYRON BAKER RETURNED to Washington on May 6 with some of the people he suspected of helping Booth escape. Jett, Rollins, and Bryant were among his prisoners, as were William Lucas and Elizabeth Quesenberry. Through Lucas, Baker located the note Booth had written to Dr. Stuart. Charley Lucas had taken it to Cleydael at the fugitive’s request. It was written on a page torn from Booth’s diary.
Dear Sir:
Forgive me, but I have some little pride. I hate to blame you for your want of hospitality; you know your own affairs. I was sick and tired, with a broken leg, in need of medical advice. I would not have turned a dog from my door in such a condition. However, you were kind enough to give me something to eat, for which I not only thank you, but on account of the reluctant manner in which it was bestowed, I feel bound to pay for it. It is not the substance, but the manner in which a kindness is extended, that makes one happy in the acceptance thereof. The sauce to meat is ceremony: meeting were bare without it. Be kind enough to accept the enclosed two dollars and a half (though hard to spare) for what we have received.
Yours respectfully,
Stranger.
April 24, 1865.
To Dr. Stewart13
HARSH AS CONDITIONS WERE at the Old Capitol, they were far worse on board the ironclads. Prisoners on the Saugus and the Montauk were entombed in small, dark recesses that would have made a prison cell luxurious by comparison. The air was noxious with the smell of pitch, paint, and much worse. Having no place to lie down, suspects were forced to remain seated and motionless twenty-four hours a day, under the constant watch of marine guards. Surprisingly, it was the stoic Lewis Powell who crumbled first. On April 22 (his twenty-first birthday), Powell tried to dash his brains out on the bulkhead of the Saugus. The incident led to even more stringent restrictions for all the shipbound prisoners. On April 24, orders were handed down for new standards of treatment:
“The Sec’y of War requests that the prisoners on board the iron clads belonging to this Dept. shall have for better security against conversation a canvas bag put over the head of each and tied around the neck with a hole for proper breathing and eating but not seeing, and that Payne be secured to prevent self destruction.”
The hoods were heavy, and padded with wads of cotton over the eyes. An eight-inch triangle cut from the back was sewn over the front hole to make a cover for the nose. A cuff along the bottom held a drawstring that could be pulled tight around the neck. As Ned Spangler remembered, the hoods brought out a sadistic streak in some of the guards. One marine pulled the hood over Spangler’s head and nearly strangled him with the drawstring. Though he loosened it somewhat, he made a point of telling his partner, “Don’t let him go to sleep, as we will carry him out to hang him directly.”
Each of the prisoners wore a peculiar kind of restrai
nt. It was a medieval-looking device made of iron, with hinged wrist bands fixed and separated by metal bars. When the bars were folded over on one another, the bands clamped tightly over both wrists, and were then bolted in place. Thus, the prisoner could not move his hands. The restraints were called Lilly irons, and not surprisingly, the prisoners found them terrifying.
Modern writers sometimes give the impression that Secretary of War Stanton created these irons specially for suspects in this case. But in fact, Edwin Stanton had nothing to do with the design. They were said to have been invented by a Dr. Lilly, who worked with the mentally ill and used them on his most dangerous or self-destructive patients. Since the Government Asylum for the Insane, now known as St. Elizabeth’s, was in plain sight of the ironclads, it is quite possible that the doctors there furnished the navy with the irons used on the suspects. They were certainly not an item one would expect to find on a ship.
The hoods and wrist irons made eating almost impossible. The hole in the hood did not line up with the mouth, and having no mobility of the hands, a prisoner couldn’t possibly fix the problem. Knowing this, some of the guards took pity on Spangler. In violation of their orders, they teamed up to give him a hand. While one kept a lookout, the other fed him. It was a kindness the prisoner didn’t dare acknowledge.14
LOU WEICHMANN RETURNED from Canada on April 28, and the following day, Stanton committed him to the Carroll Annex. It was no secret that Weichmann was turning state’s evidence, and his fellow prisoners hated him for it. There was something unseemly about a man who would testify against a woman, especially one who had shared her home with him and treated him like a son. But Weichmann was under tremendous pressure to cooperate, and the incentives often sounded like threats. To the amusement of his fellow inmates, he was terrified. One day, a prisoner said to him, “Weichmann, do you know that someone in Room thirty-seven is going to be taken out and hanged?”
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