Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1876-02-25
THE ASSASSINATION OF LINCOLN.

| The following vivid description of the
scenes at Ford's Theatre, at the time OF
President Lincoln's assassination, from a
Forthcoming book by Walt Whitman, has
never before been published:
The day, April 14th, 1865, seems to have
been pleasant one throughout the whole
land-the moral atmosphere pleasant. toe
the long storm so dark, so fratricidal
full of blood and doubt and gloom, over
and ended at last by the sunrise of such an
absolute national victory, and utter break
ing down of secessionism almost donbt-
ed our own senses. Lee had caIitulated
beneath the apple tree of Appc'mattox.
The other armies, the fanges Of the revolt,
swiftly followed.
| And could it really be, then? Out of all
the affairs of this world of woe and pas
sion, of failure and disorder and disrnay,
was there really come the confirmed, I'M
erring sign of plan, like shafts of pure
| light, of rigntful rule-of God?
] But 1 must not dwell on accessories.
The deed hastens. The popular afternoon
paper, the little Evening Star" had spa1-
tered all over it's third page, divided among
the advertisements in a sensational man
ner in hundred different places: "The
President and his lady will be at the thea
ire this evening"" (Lincoln was fond of
the theatre. have myself seen him there
several times. [ remember thinking how
funny it was that he, in some respects, the
leading actor in the greatest and stormiest
drama known to real history's stage,
through centuries, should sit there and be
SO completely interested and absorbed in
those human jackstraws, moving about
with their silly little gestures, foreign
spirit, and flatulent text.)
So the day, as 1 say, was propitious.
Early heritage, early flowers were out. q
remember where was stopping at the
time, the season being advanced, there
were many lilacs in full bloom. By one of
those caprices that enter and give tinge to
events without being at all part of them,
find myself always reminded of. the great
tragedy of that day by the sight and odor
of these blossoms. It never fails.)
On this occasion the theatre was crowd
ed, many ladies in rich and gay costumes,
officers in their uniforms, many well-known
citizens, young folks, the usual clusters Of
gaslights, the usual magnetism OF so many
people, cheerful with perfumes, music of
violins and flutes-(and over all and satu-
rating all, that vast, vague wonder, Victory,
the Nations Victory, the triumph of the
Union, filling the air, the thought, the
sense, with exhileration more than all
perfumes.
The President came betimes, and, with
his wife, witnessed the play from the large
stage boxes of the second tier, two thrown
into one, and profusely draped with the
national flag. The acts and scenes of the
piece-one of those singularly witless COM
positions which have at least the merit of
giving entire relief to an audience, engaged
in mental action or business excitements
and cares during the day, as it makes not
the slightest call ON either the moral, emo
tional, aesthetic or spiritual nature-a piece
("Our American Cousin'') in which, among
other characters, so called, a Yankee, GER
tainly such a one as was never seen, or the
least like it ever seen in North America, is
introduced in England, with varied fol-
de-rol of talk, plot, scenery, and such phan-
tasmagoria as goes to make up a modern
popular drama-had progressed perhaps a
couple OF its acts, when in the midst of this
comedy, or tragedy, or nonsuch, or what
ever it is to be called, apd to offset it or
finish it out, as if in natures and the great
muses. mockery of these poor mines, comes
interpolated that scene, not really or ex-
actly to be described at all flor on the
many hundreds who were there it seems to
this hour to have left but little passing
blur, a dream, a blotch-and yet partially
to be described as 1 now proce ed to give it.
There is scene in the play representing
a modern parlor, in which two unprece-
dented English ladies are informed by the
unprecedented and impossible Yankee that
he is not ~ man of fortune, and therefore
undesirable for marriage catching purposes;
after which, the comments being finished,
the dramatic trio make exit, leaving the
OUdSO SIOdA lOA q AsOluCuUs 4uClC WdO q
pause, a hush as it were. At this period
came the murder of Abraham Lincoln.
Great as that was, with all it's manifold
train circling around it, and stretching
into the future for manya century, in poll
tics, history, art, &c., of the New World,
in point of fact the main thing, the actual
murder, TRANSFERRED with the quiet and
simplicity Of any commonest occurrence
the bursting of a pod or bud in the growth
of vegetation, for instance.
Through the general hum following the
stage pause, with the change of positions,
&C., came the muff1ed sound of a pistol
shot, which not one hundredth part of the
audience heard at the time-and yet a mo-
ment's hush-somehow, surely vague,
startled thrill-and then, through the or
space-way of the Presidents box, sudden
| figure, man raises himself with hands
| and feet, stands a moment on the railing,
leaps below to the stage, Ia distance Of per-
haps fourteen or fifteen feet), falls out Of
position, catching his boot-heel in the CO.
pious drapery (the American fag), falls on
one knee, quickly RECEIVERS himself, rises as
if nothing had happened (he really sprains
his ankle, but unfelt them and so the
figure, Booth, the murderer, dressed in
plain black broadcloth, bareheaded, with
full head of glossy, raven hair, and his
eyes. like some mad animal's flashing with
light and resolution, yet with Il certain
strange calmness, holds aloft in one hand a
large knife-walks along not much back
from the footlights-turns fully toward
the audience, his face of statuesque beau
ty, lit by those basilisk eyes, flashing with