Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1882-01-12
5f(istellauenns &eading,
BOOTHS CAPTURE.
More of the unpublished History Of Lin.
c0ln'S Murder.

More OF the unpublished History or Lin
coln's Murder.
''T. A. 3D. IN PHILADELPHIA PRESS.
II bress dc Lord I'se gwne to die,
Keep me from fallin down:
Use gwine to judgment by an by,
Keep me from fallin' down."
So sang an old negro as he trudged along or
the lonely road leading from Bowling Green
the county town of Carolina county, Virginia
to Port Royal, on the Rappahannock River
Bowling Green is desOlate old place, about
two miles from Milford Station, on the railroad
leading from Washington to Richmond, and
were it not that the county courthouse is To-
Gated there it would hardly have place upon
the maps. Port Royal is an ancient town
which seems 10 have gone to sleep in the midst
of plenty upon the banks of the beautiful
stream which drains E'ehtral Virginia east OF
the Blue Ridge, and nourishes the fertile low
lands of the Rappahannock Valley. Port Royal
is eighteen miles from the county town, and
about twenty-three miles from Fredericksburg
that historic spot where one of the greatest
battles of the Rebellion was fought early in
December, 1862. About sixty frame houses,
all brown with age and rusty with decay, make
up the town. The country Immediately around
it is rich and beautiful and though the peo-
pie did not suffer greatly by the war, it wears
that air of sleepy desolation which ever follows
in the wake of armed conflict. Port Conway
is on the opposite side of the river, and a prim-
tive ferryboat, run by man power, keeps up
the communication between these two mort
blnd towns. Steamboats,, twice or thrice a
week, on their way from Baltimore to Freder-
icksburg, touch at Port Royal, and a rickety
stage runs over from Milford in the morning,
and returns when it can Thus this section of
| Virginia hears from the outside world, but the
outside world hears from it by no ms as Of
ten. 1 am thus particular about Bowling
Green and Port Royal because both play an
important part in the great tragedy of which
I am going to write. 1t was not far from
Port Royal that the last scene was enacted.
"Uncle, where is the Garrett farm ~ /
asked.
"Over on yam hill" replied he, pointing to a
house some quarter of mile ahead and stand
! ing back from the road in a clump of trees
some three hundred yards from the highway.
SIS you gwine up dar to see Massa Jack
Garrett case if you is, l was gwine to tell you
dat he isn't dar. lie Ibis down de ribber,
bout seven miles, ebber since de ole man Car
rett died. Dat was nigh unto fo' year ago."
THE GARRETT FARM.
Three minutes after the old darkey had thus
spoken my driver pulled his horse sharply to
the right, and passed between the posts upon
which once hung a gate and up the old farm
road toward the house. A patch of sprouting
wheat skirted the road on either side, and a
few struggling corn shocks bespoke the gather
ed grain and told that the green garb which
thinly spread over the fields around the house
was the second demand the owners had made
upon the soil within twelve months. Two hun
dred yards from the main road, and short
turn to the left, brought me directly in front
of the Garrett homestead, and drive of a hun
dred yards more, between two rows of leafless
apple trees, to the gate of this historic place.
After taking glance at the old place and
it's surroundings, l stepped across the broad
porch and knocked at the door. Itwas opened
by q pleasant looking, rosy-cheeked country
girl, dressed in neat calico frOck.
"Is this the Garrett farm, where John Wilkes
Booth was killed ?"
eyes, sir; won't you walk ?" She led
the way into a room OH the left of of the door
where roaring fire baZed in the spacious
fireplace. A sewing machine and few half
made garments marked the radical change be-
tween now and slavery days, when the fingers
of Southern ladies did not show the marks OF
work. She asked me to seat before the invi-
ting fire and took one herself near by Her
manner was easy and graceful, but she looked
at me for moment in Il half quiZzical way, as
if wondering what brought me here, and why
had been so particular to inquire if this was
the place where John Wilkes Booth had been
killed. She made no inquiry, however, as to
the object of my visit. After few moments
Of general talk, chiefly about the sudden adj
vent of winter weather, 1 relieved her curiosity
by saying that l had come to visit the place
where Booth was killed. and to write some
thing of the story of his sojourn in the old
house, and Of his death here.
LILLE GARRETT's STORY.
II shall be glad to tell you anything know"
she said pleasantly, "but 1 was little girl
then, scarcely nine years old, yet most of the
striking things about his stay can remember
us though it were yesterday. | never shall
forget the day he came to our house. 1t was
about two or three O'Clock in the afternoon,
and the man who brought him said he was Il
wounded Confederate soldier, and asked father
to take care of him until he got so he could
travel. lie was very lame, and went about
upon a rude pair of wooden crutches. He
talked very little, and l remember distinctly
that he impressed me as being constantly sad.
lie spent a great part of his time out in the
front yard under the trees-you know he was
here less than two days-but we children were
about him and with him nearly all the time.
Of course we were full of romp and frolic, and
sometimes he would attempt to be cheerful
and encourage us in our play. My little baby
sister: then about four years old, he took a
great fancy to, and used to pet hera great deal ;
but to the rest of us he paid little attention,
and when we would make noise he would
seem disturbed and say, please keep quiet.
[ remember one very interesting incident that
occurred when he was herc.''
"What was that 20
'IIe was lying prone Oh the grass in the front
yard, and we were all playing about him l
grabbed him by the arm in the game, and acci-
dentally pushed his shirt sleeve up to the
elbow, and there, upon the forearm, l saw
tattooed the letters, 81. w. B."
"'Oh, what are those letters on there for p
said /, quickly
"'Why, my child, those are the initials of
my name, James w. Boyd
II remembered then that the man who had
brought him, had introduced him as Mr.. Boyd,
and | went on with the play, and probably
would have forgotten the circumstance but for
the startling events which rapidly followed it. -
''Did Booth talk much 20
''1le had very little to say. lie talked more
to my little sister than to any one else. lie
called her his little blue-eyed pet, and at the
last meal he took with us she sat by his side, in
her high chair. We were all gathered around
the table when she began making a noise.
Mother spoke up quite sharply to her, and she
burst into tears Booth ut once began sOoth-
ing her, and said "'What is that ! my little
blue eyes crying.n
els that sister living here with you %
ooh, yes,n and turning to another sister,
sitting near, she said, 'won'tyou call sister -
'"This is my sister Cora, of whom have
been speaking. She was Mr.. Booths favorite. -
IL don't remember anything about Booth,''
said the cheerful girl, sbut they have told me