The Hour of Peril: The Secret Plot to Murder Lincoln Before the Civil War (36 page)

In the first of two speeches at the New Jersey State House, Lincoln departed from his prepared remarks to offer a fond recollection of childhood. He spoke of the pleasure he had found in his early reading of Weem’s
Life of Washington,
with its epic description of the general crossing the Delaware River in advance of the Battle of Trenton. After recalling the manner in which the “struggle here at Trenton” had fixed itself in his imagination, Lincoln deftly linked Washington’s triumph to the crisis ahead. “I am exceedingly anxious that this Union, this Constitution, and the liberties of the people shall be perpetuated,” he declared, “in accordance with the original idea for which that struggle was made.”

Lincoln made the point even more forcefully in his second speech, this time before the state senate. “The man does not live who is more devoted to peace than I am,” he declared, drawing a round of cheers from the legislators. “None would do more to preserve it. But it may be necessary to put the foot down firmly.” At this, John Hay reported, Lincoln “lifted his foot lightly, and pressed it with a quick, but not violent, gesture upon the floor.” Wild applause and cheers greeted this display, and several moments passed before he could resume. “And if I do my duty, and do right, you will sustain me, will you not?” As a second wave of cheers passed through the chamber, Lincoln reminded his audience of the enormity of the task ahead. Recalling his comments in New York the previous day, he asked for assistance in “piloting the ship of State through this voyage, surrounded by perils as it is.” If the ship should suffer attack now, he warned, “there will be no pilot ever needed for another voyage.”

*   *   *

ALLAN PINKERTON HAD ALREADY
put in a long day in Philadelphia by this time, rushing from place to place—head bent forward, one arm tucked behind his back—as he tried to put the finishing touches on a “plan of operation” he had devised in Baltimore. Much had changed since Pinkerton’s previous visit to the Quaker City, some three weeks earlier, when he had first learned of Samuel Felton’s concerns for the safety of his railroad. In light of what he had now uncovered in Baltimore, Pinkerton believed that Lincoln could no longer be tethered to William Wood’s moment-by-moment timetable, as this ready catalog of his movements played directly into the hands of the conspirators. It had become an “absolute necessity” to abandon the well-publicized itinerary and proceed directly to Washington that very night, under the detective’s personal protection. If Pinkerton could spirit Lincoln through the city ahead of schedule, the assassins would be caught off guard. By the time they took their places for the scheduled arrival in Baltimore, Lincoln would already be safe in Washington.

Pinkerton knew that what he was proposing would be risky and perhaps even foolhardy. Even if Lincoln departed ahead of schedule, the route to the capital would pass through Baltimore in any case. If any hint of a change of plan leaked out, Lincoln’s position would become far more precarious. Instead of traveling openly with his full complement of friends and protectors, he would be relatively alone and exposed, with only one or two men at his side. That being the case, Pinkerton knew that secrecy was even more critical than ever. He suspected that Lincoln was being watched at every moment by “rebel spirits,” who sent regular reports of the president-elect’s movements to “sympathetic parties” in the South. Any suggestion of a break from the published timetable would sound alarms that would be heard in Baltimore.

The dark weight of Pinkerton’s mission contrasted sharply with the cheery scenes all around him. “The streets were alive with the eager populace, all anxious to do honor to the new President,” he reported. Philadelphia had been a late addition to Lincoln’s itinerary, and the city’s politicians and “committee men” had scrambled to get ready in time. “Great preparations had been made,” Pinkerton wrote, “and the military, of which Philadelphia was justly proud, were to escort the President-elect from the depot to the Continental Hotel, where quarters had been engaged for him, and where he would receive the congratulations of the people.” The Continental, a six-story showplace completed one year earlier, had been fully booked in anticipation of Lincoln’s arrival, so Pinkerton took a room at the nearby St. Louis, a quieter and more understated hotel and one that better suited his purpose. He also reserved a room for Kate Warne, who would be joining him in Philadelphia. If Pinkerton’s plan came together as he hoped it would, Mrs. Warne would be playing her most challenging role yet.

Shortly after 9:00
A.M.
, Pinkerton met up with Samuel Felton in front of a hotel on Broad Street, and walked along with him toward the depot of the PW&B Railroad. The two men had much to discuss. Pinkerton was deeply conscious of the fact that everything he had learned over the course of the previous weeks had come at Felton’s instigation, and that the railroad president had financed the operation at great expense to his company. Pinkerton had always operated on the principle that any information he gathered in the field belonged to the man who had hired him. Though the discovery of the assassination plot had sent Pinkerton’s efforts along a different track, the detective felt a clear responsibility to his employer even at this crucial moment. “I deemed it my duty,” Pinkerton said, “to communicate the [facts] to Mr. Felton. I said to him that I knew this information was theirs but I knew of no reason why it should not be imparted to Mr. Lincoln or his friends with a view to avoiding the peril.”

As the two men walked through the streets, Pinkerton outlined everything he had learned in Baltimore. He told Felton that his investigation left no room for doubt: “[T]here would be an attempt made to assassinate Mr. Lincoln.” Even if some of the intelligence he had gathered was untrustworthy, he said, there had been such an accumulation of evidence that Pinkerton had no question of the overarching threat. Pinkerton enumerated all of the disparate elements—his distrust of Marshal Kane, Harry Davies’s report on Ferrandini’s secret meeting, Timothy Webster’s dispatches from Perrymansville—but he was careful not to exaggerate the scope of the plot. While some rumors placed the number of active conspirators in the thousands, Pinkerton insisted that he did not believe there was “any large organization or body of men who would be willing to go so far.” Instead, based solely on the information he could verify, he concluded that there were no more than twenty men “who would be reckless enough to attempt anything of the kind.” This was far from comforting, however, since the detective had no doubt that “a few determined men” working in concert could easily succeed. He reminded Felton that all mobs, “especially a Baltimore mob,” were dangerously volatile: “[T]he first shot fired, the first blow struck, and the whole became a living mass of mad, ungovernable people.” Moreover, Pinkerton concluded, returning to the original purpose of his investigation, if the plot were successful, Felton’s railroad would be destroyed to prevent retaliation by Northern troops.

To Pinkerton’s relief, Felton gave his full support to the detective’s plans. “Mr. Felton approved of what I had said and of the view I had taken of the case,” Pinkerton reported. The railroad president also agreed “that there would be bloodshed in Mr. Lincoln’s attempting to pass through Baltimore openly by the route proposed.” Felton hoped it would be possible for Lincoln to depart for Washington that evening, perhaps taking a sleeping car through Baltimore in the dead of night. Felton assured Pinkerton that all of the resources of the PW&B would be placed at Lincoln’s disposal.

Until that morning, Pinkerton had likely not realized the extent to which Felton’s fears for Lincoln’s safety had already been inflamed. In addition to Pinkerton’s own reports, Felton had heard dire warnings from other sources, including the mysterious “gentleman from Baltimore” who had walked for miles to pass information to one of Felton’s bridge keepers. Felton had become so concerned by these disparate threads of evidence that he had already mentioned the possibility of danger to a Philadelphia newspaper editor, Morton McMichael of the
North American.
Not surprisingly, McMichael had taken “a deep interest” in the matter. In fact, as Felton now told Pinkerton, the editor had left Philadelphia that morning to intercept the Lincoln Special, so that he might deliver a timely warning of the situation.

With effort, Pinkerton kept his temper in check. He had repeatedly told Felton that no one could be informed of the doings in Baltimore without placing his operatives at risk. Now, at this vital moment, Felton had placed the entire effort at the mercy of a newspaperman. Seeing Pinkerton’s distress, Felton assured him that he had told McMichael not to mention the subject to anyone but Norman Judd—“not even to Mr. Lincoln himself”—but Pinkerton knew that it could only be a matter of hours before whispers began to appear in the press. This, in turn, would put the Baltimore plotters on alert.

Pinkerton was now more determined than ever to take control of Lincoln’s itinerary and spirit him off to Washington that evening. Leaving Felton at his office, the detective hurried back to the St. Louis and told Kate Warne to stand by for further instructions. Next, Pinkerton went in search of George H. Burns, the “young attaché” whom Edward Sanford had sent to assist. If Pinkerton’s plan had any chance of success, he would need to meet with Norman Judd as soon as the Lincoln Special pulled into Philadelphia. Burns, who had acted as a courier between Sanford and Mrs. Warne in New York, was now given the job of carrying messages from Pinkerton to Judd. “I requested Mr. Burns to go to the Kensington Railroad Depot, and await the arrival of the Presidential Party [to] arrange for a meeting with myself and Mr. Felton at the earliest possible moment,” Pinkerton noted in his field report. Knowing that there would be a vast crush of people waiting to see Lincoln at the Continental, Pinkerton decided that his room at the St. Louis would be the “best and safest” place to meet with Judd.

After dispatching Burns, Pinkerton rejoined Samuel Felton, whose concerns had now been further inflamed by a “curious telegram” from Hannibal Hamlin. The vice president–elect had wired to request a special car on the noon train from Philadelphia to Baltimore the following day, which would send him through the city a day ahead of Lincoln’s scheduled passage on Saturday. For Pinkerton, this raised yet another dilemma. Hamlin’s request suggested that security concerns had surfaced within Lincoln’s inner circle. Pinkerton could only guess at the source, but, as Kate Warne had reported, Norman Judd had wanted to warn Hamlin the previous day. Although Judd had promised at the time to honor Pinkerton’s request for discretion, Hamlin’s telegram suggested that alarms had been sounded in any case.

Pinkerton knew that any change of plan for Hamlin would complicate the arrangements he hoped to make for Lincoln, especially if news of the change found its way to the press. Hoping to contain the information, Pinkerton arranged to use Edward Sanford’s influence to prevent the item from being released over the wires of the American Telegraph Company. This would buy a bit of time, but if Hamlin was determined to press ahead with his change of plan, Pinkerton knew that “it would be advisable for us to meet Mr. Judd as early as possible and lay the whole matter before him.”

As it happened, the chance to do so was now at hand. “Just at this time I heard the sound of music,” Pinkerton reported, which meant that the city’s marching bands had swung into action. Lincoln had at last reached Philadelphia.

*   *   *

AT THE KENSINGTON DEPOT,
noted a reporter for the
Philadelphia Inquirer,
a “wild mass of human beings” jostled for a glimpse of the president-elect, “swaying to and fro in a manner which was equally destructive to the integrity of one’s temper and one’s integuments.” Even as he struggled to preserve his poise and outer coverings, the newsman had praise for the manner in which Lincoln’s honor guard of Hunter, Pope, and Hazard kept their heads in “frantic” circumstances, and he singled out the dashing young Colonel Ellsworth for his gallant efforts to protect Lincoln from “the importunities of curious crowds.” As it happened, the military men also prevented George H. Burns, Pinkerton’s young messenger, from delivering the detective’s note to Norman Judd. Thrown back by the crowd and the security detail, Burns hurried outside, looking for a chance to intercept Judd as Lincoln’s line of carriages made its four-mile procession toward the Continental Hotel.

The “pummeling, pushing and squeezing” continued along the parade route. “There were old men and young men, wives and maidens, matrons and children,” noted the
Inquirer,
“all anxious for a sight of the hero of the hour.” Mixing in with the throng were Pinkerton and Felton, drawn by the sounds of the approaching pageant. “All was excitement,” Pinkerton observed, taking careful note of the security measures. “On each side of the carriage in which Mr. Lincoln was seated, accompanied by Mr. Judd, was a file of policemen whose duty it was to prevent the mass of people from pressing too closely to the vehicle.” The unbroken line of policemen stood with linked arms along the entire length of the parade route, holding back the surging crowd while a squad of cavalry surrounded the carriage.

Impressive as these precautions were, George H. Burns remained determined to get Pinkerton’s note into the hands of Norman Judd. As Lincoln’s carriage rolled slowly through the streets, pulled by four plumed horses, Burns threaded his way through the crowd alongside, leaping up and down as he attempted to attract Judd’s attention. Pinkerton looked on as Burns made a frantic effort to reach the carriage, heedless of the fact that he appeared for all the world to be a crazed assailant launching an attack on Lincoln himself.

“As the procession reached the corner of Broad and Chestnut streets,” Pinkerton reported, Burns summoned all his strength and powered his way past the cordon of policemen. “I saw Mr. Burns break through the ranks of the officers, and coming to the side of the carriage, he handed to Mr. Judd a slip of paper on which was written: ‘St. Louis Hotel, ask for J. H. Hutchinson.’” Shrugging off the approaches of nearby officers, Burns trotted alongside the carriage as Judd read the message and gave a verbal response. Then, gathering himself to reverse course, Burns plunged back through the police ranks and lost himself in the dense crowd, eventually finding Pinkerton outside the nearby La Pierre Hotel. Breathlessly, Burns told the detective that he had managed to fix a time for the meeting at 7:30 that evening. Pinkerton’s face fell. If there was to be any hope of getting Lincoln on a train that same night, a 7:30 meeting would be too late. “I requested Mr. Burns to endeavor once more to see Mr. Judd,” Pinkerton recalled, “and say to him that some circumstances had transpired which rendered it advisable to meet earlier.” Hearing this, the young messenger turned and looked again at the line of policemen with linked arms and the squad of mounted soldiers. It must have seemed to Burns that he had been asked to take a second lap across the Hellespont.