A Night of Horrors: A Historical Thriller about the 24 Hours of Lincoln's Assassination (25 page)

Suddenly Stanton’s body convulsed and his breath flew from his lungs. His knees buckled and he sat down heavily into the chair that Mary Lincoln had just vacated. Edwin Stanton stared into the face of his friend, the Old Chief. More than anything he wanted him to sit up to tell one of his silly stories. Tears spilled from his eyes, streamed down his face and into his beard. His chin quivered, his lips pinched together and then he let loose a series of sobs that wracked his body. He reached his hand forward and took Lincoln’s hand. Stanton sat erect, his eyes fixed on the President, with no attempt to cover his face or hide the wracking sobs. His right hand quietly pounded down on his thigh in torment as he vented his grief and confusion. As Stanton sobbed, the room became utterly still and all present watched in amazement as the most feared man in the country wept at the side of the President.

Stanton took a couple of deep breaths and sat up. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his face and blew his nose. The quiet conversations slowly began among the dozen or so people crowded around the bed. As he stood up, he noticed that Surgeon General Barnes was present.

“Dr. Barnes, I’ve just come from Secretary Seward’s home. What a sight that was. Do you think William and Frederick will live?” He asked, stepping to the man’s side. His voice, though he spoke quietly, filled the room and everyone turned to listen.

“I’m fairly confident in the father’s condition. The loss of blood was extreme, but I think he will recover. The son is the real concern. Frederick’s brain is exposed from the beating and the poor boy is comatose.”

“Yes, yes, it is difficult to believe that such carnage could be perpetrated by a single man,” Stanton observed.

“I believe the devil himself visited that house tonight,” Dr. Barnes responded.

“I believe the devil has visited our city this night,” Stanton said and turned his eyes on the bruised and swollen face of Abraham Lincoln.

The Petersen House was quickly becoming the seat of government for the United States of America, serving as the Executive Mansion, Government Departments, and Capitol Building all in one. Congressmen, Cabinet members, and generals were arriving every five minutes. As Mary Lincoln was returning to the small parlor in the front of the house, she whimpered that she wished her son was here.

“I will go for your son, Mrs. Lincoln,” said a young man from the threshold of the house. He was framed in the doorway in a smart suit of clothes. His name was C. C. Bangs and he was a member of the Christian Commission who had spent the day and evening delivering hospital supplies. He was wrapping up his duties from a very long day and was looking forward to rest and relaxation when drivers pulled up and announced that Abraham Lincoln had been shot at Ford’s Theatre. Stunned at the news, Bangs grabbed his suit coat and headed to Ford’s to see if he could be of help. He had pushed his way to the steps of the Petersen House, slowly worked up the steps and opened the door when he saw Mrs. Lincoln and heard her speak.

“And who are you exactly?” Demanded a Colonel standing with Mrs. Lincoln.

“I am from the Christian Commission,” Bangs replied and held out his lapel to show his Christian Commission silver pin. The Army officer smiled in return, grateful for the many kindnesses that the Commission had shown to officers and enlisted men alike during the long war.

“Well, Christian Commission, do you know the way to the Executive Mansion?” The Colonel demanded.

“Yes, sir. My job has made me familiar with all of Washington.”

“Well, then, don’t just stand there. Go and get Mrs. Lincoln’s son.”

“Yes, sir!” Bangs turned and hurried down the steps, running straight for the Willard Hotel, where he hired a hack to drive him to the Executive Mansion. It was a short ride from the Willard to the Executive Mansion, but Bangs told the hack to turn the carriage around and wait for a return trip. He ran to the door where he was met by a guard.

“I must see Captain Robert Lincoln immediately,” Bangs said breathlessly.

“On what business?” the soldier requested.

“His father, the President, has been shot. I am with the Christian Commission and have come at the request of his mother to bring him to his father.” The soldier stared back at this young man and could see from the look on his face and the tone of his voice that this wild news was true.

“He is upstairs talking with Major Hay. I will take you directly to him,” the soldier replied, clearly rattled at the news. As they walked up the stairs, Bangs’ heart was pounding. His confidence began to give way as he wondered just how to deliver such a horrific announcement. They walked down the central corridor to John Hay’s bedroom. Major John Hay had served as Lincoln’s trusted secretary during his first administration. Most recently he had been appointed as a diplomat to Paris. While in Washington, he continued to stay in his room in the White House. Hay and Robert Lincoln had always been friends and ventured out into Washington City together at night when Hay returned from a trip abroad. This evening, they were swapping stories of Paris and Lee’s surrender at Appomattox. The soldier knocked on the open door to interrupt the two men. They turned and looked at Bangs and the soldier standing in the doorway.

“This man needs you, Captain Lincoln,” was all the soldier could say.

“What is it, sir?” Robert asked with a pleasant smile on his face.

“Your mother has sent me.” Bangs faltered and stopped there. He could feel tears beginning to well up in his eyes.

“Sent you for what purpose?” Robert asked, fear rising up in his chest as he saw the tears gathering in Bangs’ eyes.

“The President… Your father has been shot, Captain Lincoln. Your mother greatly desires you to be at her side.” Bangs dropped his eyes to the floor as he said these final words.

“Shot? That can’t be,” Robert blurted out. “How is he?” He quickly asked, looking from Bangs to the guard and then back again. Bangs looked down and responded with an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

“My God, Robert. We must go at once. Where is he? I thought they were at the theater,” Hay said, picking up his hat. Robert stood still staring before him, but not taking in his surroundings. He was suddenly devastated to find that he would not have his father casting his long shadow and bright laughter over his days.

“Where was he shot? Where is he now?” Robert suddenly asked Bangs.

“He was shot while watching the play at Ford’s. They have brought him to a boarding house across the street,” he answered.

Robert Lincoln nodded in response. He allowed himself to be led from the room, down the grand staircase to the carriageway at the north portico of the Executive Mansion. As they were walking out of the door, Senator Charles Sumner drove up in his carriage. Sumner was the senior senator from Massachusetts and he and Lincoln had become political allies and friends during his time in the Executive Mansion. The Senator was an abolitionist from the heart and a staunch supporter of voting and education rights for the Negro.

“Well, Robert, what sad news is this that I have heard of your father? What is his condition?” Sumner asked walking up to the President’s son and putting his hand on his shoulder.

“Senator, I have just learned of the shooting myself. This young man is taking me to the President … to my father,” he stopped and cleared his throat, choking back the sobs that were welling up in his chest. Sumner squeezed his shoulder with his hand.

“It is okay, Robert,” he said softly.

“Senator, please join us,” was all that Robert could say in response. He stepped up into the hackney carriage with Hay and Sumner. Bangs sat up front with the driver and they rode at breakneck speed a block down Pennsylvania and then down E Street until they arrived at Tenth Street. The crowd outside of Petersen’s House was so large at this point that it was spilling out onto E Street. The hack stopped the carriage and Bangs hopped down and told the three men to follow him. He would clear a way.

As they began pushing through the crowd, Bangs called out, “Clear the way for the son of the President. Clear the way for the son of the President.” It was like the waters parting. Men and women stood aside to allow them to pass unmolested. Some mumbled words of comfort. Men removed their hats in honor of the fallen President. Robert walked along in the moonlight with tears running down his face. When they reached the steps leading to the house, Bangs walked ahead of them and opened the door. As Senator Sumner and John Hay walked in, Robert Lincoln stopped to speak with Bangs.

“Mr?” He asked by way of getting his name.

“C. C. Bangs is my name, sir.”

“Mr. Bangs, you have been very kind to come to get me.” As they were speaking, Dr. Stone, the family physician greeted Robert. Sumner and Hay were standing just inside the door awaiting the President’s son, holding their hats in their hands.

“Dr. Stone, how is my father?” Lincoln asked.

“Robert, your father will not live much longer, I am afraid. He was shot in the back of the head at close range. He has been unconscious since the attack. It is impossible for him to recover.” He had taken Robert’s hand in greeting and now held it in comfort. Robert dropped his head and squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the tears.

“It is as I believed,” he said while still looking at the floor. He then looked up and scanned the house, looking for someone. “Where is mother? Is Mrs. Dixon here?”

“I don’t believe she is here,” Dr. Stone replied.

Robert Lincoln then turned back to C. C. Bangs. “Mr. Bangs, if I could ask you for one more kindness. Mrs. Dixon is the wife of Senator Dixon. If you would be so kind as to get her and bring her here I would be most appreciative. She is a dear friend to my mother, who will be needing a kind soul to comfort her right now. You have done much already, but this additional kindness would be well done.”

“Of course, right away,” Bangs replied and started back down the steps in search of Mrs. Dixon.

“Please take me to my father,” Robert said to Dr. Stone and followed him down the hallway to the room at the end. Sumner and Hay were trailing behind Robert.

Their footsteps sounded hollow in the short hallway. Robert saw a door open at the end of a small room cramped with people. As he entered, he realized it was a small room and men and a few women were crowded around a bed. He looked down and saw his father laying unconscious on the bed with his head upon a blood-stained pillow. Robert Lincoln silently looked down at the President of the United States, shot and dying. This man was his own father—full of laughter and wisdom. This man had also been the hope of the nation, delivering her from a civil war and promising a united future. This man whom half the country reviled and another half praised and loved—though they truly did not know him—was his own father. The one who’d taught him, raised him, scolded him, and laughed with him. The son was the hope of the family, returning from war and about to finish his studies at Harvard. The father-son tableau was now turned on its head. The father was still and dying in the bed. The son was standing, taking on the weight of his family and the history of this night. Robert could not keep from looking at his father’s right eye. It was swollen and distended. The purple and blue mottling now spread out from his eye socket and colored the pale cheek. It was his father’s face, and yet it was so distorted, he did not recognize him.

The son suddenly sobbed loudly. He stood erect for a brief moment, stifling the sobs, but then it was all too much and he completely fell apart. He reached out and wrapped his arms around Charles Sumner and laid his head on his shoulder, weeping bitterly. His body heaved as the sobs shook him. Sumner closed his eyes tightly and held the President’s son like a babe. No one spoke as the son gave vent to his emotions. After he calmed himself, Robert said he was going to check on his mother, tugging on the hem of his suit coat to straighten his clothes.

Senator Sumner took the chair that was next to the bed and faced Lincoln. He took Lincoln’s hand. “Mr. President? Mr. President? Do you hear me? There is still much work that must be done. We do have to make decisions on what we will do for …”

“Senator Sumner, he cannot hear you. It is of no use. He is as good as dead,” Dr. Taft said to him.

“He is not dead!” The Senator snapped back. “He is breathing isn’t he? Look at his face. He is breathing. Mr. President, can you hear me?” Sumner kept speaking to the unconscious President as if to soothe himself more than anything.

Robert quietly approached his mother in the front parlor. He placed his hand on her back and spoke softly. “Oh, Mother, what’re we to do now? What’re we to do now?” She looked up at her son and wailed. The sound of her voice, riddled with desperation and despair, filled the house like the disconsolate sound of a wolf baying at the moon.

“Why did they not kill
me
? Why am I here and he is gone? I do not understand why I am here, Robbie. Why am I here?” Suddenly her voice was calm and she looked at Robert with some clarity in her eyes as if she expected an answer. He looked at her blinking and before he could say anything she broke into another wail. “Why not me? Why not me? I don’t want to be here without him.” He collapsed into the couch beside her and held her, rocking her back and forth. The son was holding the mother and rocking and shushing her as if she were the child.

General Christopher Columbus Augur was the commanding general of the XXII Corps and the Department of Washington. As such, he was responsible for the troops and garrisons in and around Washington City. Augur cut a fine figure as he made his way around the city. Though he was in his mid forties, he had a full head of gray hair and long flowing whiskers that touched his shoulders. He was always immaculately dressed and drew the eyes of appreciative women on the streets. He had served as the commandant of the Military Academy at West Point earlier in his career and commanded troops in battle during the war. He had been wounded in action during the vicious fighting at Cedar Mountain and assigned to protect the Capital City upon his recovery.