PART III
LINCOLN MAKES A MEMORANDUM
(_November 23rd, 1864._)
“The will of God prevails. In great contests each party claims to act in accordance with the will of God. Both may be, and one must be wrong. God cannot be for and against the same thing at the same time. In the present Civil War it is quite possible that God’s purpose is something different from the purpose of either party; and yet the human instrumentalities, working just as they do, are of the best adoption to effect his purpose. I am almost ready to say that this is probably true; that God wills this contest, and wills that it shall not end yet. By his mere great power on the minds of the now contestants he could have either saved or destroyed the Union without a human contest. Yet the contest began. And having begun he could give the final victory to either side any day. Yet the contest proceeds.”
WINTER GARDEN THEATRE
(_New York, November 23rd, 1864._) JOHN WILKES BOOTH _is speaking behind the scenes to his brother_.
If you--if you had told me this before, If I had known of it--if I had known, I had not played to-night, no, by the gods, I had not played Marc Antony, nor heard You speak the words of Brutus. You--my brother, You nursed in liberty--you nourished upon Great thoughts and dreams, have soiled me, soiled the name Of Booth, our father’s name. Yes, you have soiled All spirits free, all lofty souls, the soul Of Brutus and of Shakespeare. Why, till now Conceal from me your vote for Lincoln--why? Why? In your heart of hearts you are ashamed, And loose the secret now for penitence! For you have helped the hand that wrecks and slays Who will be king and on these ruined States Erect a throne. He who commenced this war, And broke the law to do it. He who struck The liberty of speech and of the press; He who tore up the ancient writ of freemen, And filled the jails against the law. Lincoln! Into whose ears the shrieks of horror rise From Gettysburg, Manassas--yet who says The will of God be done, for him you vote! And walk these boards to-night and live the soul Of Brutus, speak his words--Oh! “Had you rather Cæsar were living and die all slaves than That Cæsar were dead to live all freemen.” God! You had this secret in your breast the while: This vote for Lincoln, and these words of Brutus Blown from the Shakespeare trumpet to our ears, Hearts, consciences, meant what to you--meant what? Words for an actor, words for a lisping girl Repeating them by rote! But why not truth For men to live by, to be taken into The beings of men for living? Oh, my God-- I hate you and I leave you. I shall never Look on your face again!
THE SPARROW HAWK IN THE RAIN
(ALEXANDER STEPHENS _hears news_.)
(_Liberty Hall, April 9th, 1865._)
That’s done! And well, I’d rather not have gone To take such news. But now I’m glad you picked me-- I saw and heard him. I was ushered in, And after hems and haws, I said at last, “Lee has surrendered.”
What a face he had When I said that: “Lee has surrendered.” Once, When I was just a boy, I shot a sparhawk, Just tore his breast away, and did not kill him. He hopped up to a twig and perched, I peered Through bushes for my victim--there he was His breast shot all away, so I could see His heart a-beating--but the sparhawk’s eyes Were bright as dew, with pain! I thought of this When I saw Alec Stephens, said to him, “Lee has surrendered.”
There the midget sat His face as wrinkled as thin cream, as yellow As squirrel skin--But ah, that piercing eye! As restless as my sparhawk’s, not with moving But just with light, such pained uneasiness. So there he sat, a thin, pale, little man, Wrapped in a monstrous cloak, as wide and dark As his own melancholy--I shed tears For such soul sickness, sorrow and such eyes, That breast all shot away, that heart exposed For eyes to see it beat, those burning eyes!
I stood there with my hat within my hand, Said: “Mr. Stephens, I have come to tell you, Lee has surrendered.” He just looked at me Then in a thin, cracked voice he said at once, “It had to come.” That’s all, “It had to come.” “Pray have a seat,” he added. For you see He’s known me for some years, I am his friend. “It had to come.” He only said that once. Then, after silence, he chirped up again: “I knew when I came back from Hampton Roads It soon would be. Home-coming is the thing When all is over in the world you’ve loved, And worked with. And this Liberty Hall is good. My sleeplessness is not so tiring here, My pain more tolerable, and as for thought, That goes on anywhere, and thought is life, And while I think, I live.”
He paused a minute, I took a seat, enthralled with what he said, A sparhawk in the rain, breast torn away, His beating heart in view, his burning eyes! “But everyone will see, the North will see, Our cause was theirs, the South’s cause was the cause Of everyone both north and south. They’ll see Their liberties not long survive our own. There is no difference, and cannot be Between empire, consolidation, none Between imperialism, centralism, none!”
I saw he was disposed to talk, let fall My hat upon the floor. There in that cloak All huddled like a child he sat and talked In that thin voice. Bent over, hands on knees, I listened like a man bewitched.
He said: “As I am sick, cannot endure the strain Of practice at the bar, am face to face With silence after thunder, after war, This terrifying calm, and after days Top full of problems, duties in my place In the South, vice-president, adviser, Upon insoluble things, now after these I cannot sit here idle, so I plan To write a book. For, if I tell the truth, My book will live, will be a shaft of granite Which guns can never batter. First, perhaps, I’ll have to go to prison, let it be. The North is now a maniac--here I am, Easy to capture, but I’ll think in prison, Perhaps they’ll let me write, but anyway I’ll try to write a book and answer questions.
“A soldier at Manassas shot to death Asked, as he died, ‘What is it all about?’ Thousands of boys, I fancy, asked the same Dying at Petersburg and Antietam, Cold Harbor, Gettysburg. I’ll answer them. I’ll dedicate the book to all true friends Of Liberty wherever they may be, Especially to those with eyes to look Upon a federation of free states as means Surest and purest to preserve mankind Against the monarch principle.”
Just then A darkey came to bring him broth, he drank And I arose to go. He waved his hand And asked me: “Would you like to hear about The book I plan to write?”
I longed to stay And hear him talk, but feared to tire him out. I hinted this, he smiled a little smile And said: “If I’m alone, I think, and thought Without you talk it out is like a hopper That is not emptied and may overflow, Or choke the grinding stones. Be seated, sir, If you would please to listen.”
So I stayed. When he had drunk the broth, he settled back To talk to me and tell me of his book, A sparhawk, as I said, with burning eyes! “First I will show the nature of the league, The compact, constitution, the republic Called federative even by Washington. I only sketch the plan to you. Take this: States make the Declaration, therefore states Existed at the time to make it. States Signed up the Articles of Confederation In seventeen seventy-eight, and to what end? Why for ‘perpetual union.’ Was it so? No, nine years after, states, the very same Withdrew, seceded from ‘perpetual union’ Under the Articles and acceded to, Ratified, what you will, the Constitution, And formed not a ‘perpetual union’ but `More perfect union.’
“If there is a man Or ever was more gifted with the power Of cunning words that reach the heart than Lincoln, I do not know him. Don’t you see it wins, Captures the swelling feelings to declare The Union older than the states?--it’s false, But Lincoln says it. Here’s another strain That moves the mob: ‘The Constitution has No word providing for its own destruction, The ending of the government thereunder.’ This Lincoln is a sophist, and in truth With all this moral cry against the curse Of slavery and these arguments of Lincoln We were put down, just as a hue and cry Will stifle Reason; but you can be sure Reason will have her way and punishment Will fall for her betrayal.
“Let us see: ‘Was there provisions in the Articles Of that perpetual union for the end Of that perpetual union? Not at all! How did these states then end it? By seceding To form a better one! Is there provision For getting out, withdrawing from the Union Formed by the Constitution? No! Why not? Could not states do what they had done before, Leave ‘a more perfect union,’ as they left ‘Perpetual union?’ What’s a state in fact? A state’s a sovereign, look in Vattell, look In any great authority. So a sovereign May take back what it delegated, mark you, Not what it deeded, parted with, but only Delegated. In regard to that All powers not delegated were reserved. Well, to resume, no word is in the charter To end the charter. And a contract has No word to end it by, how do you end it? You end it by rescinding, when one party Has broken it. Is this a contract, compact? Even the mighty Webster said it was. And further, if the Northern States, he said, Refuse to carry in effect the part Respecting restoration of fugitive slaves, The South would be no longer bound to keep-- What did he say? the _compact_, that’s the word! Next then, what caused the war? I’ll show and prove It was not slavery of the blacks, but slavery The North would force on us. For seventy years Fierce, bitter conflict waged between the forces Of those who would maintain the Federal form, And those who would absorb in the Federal head All power of government; between the forces Of sovereignty in the people and control, And sovereignty in a central hand. Why, look, No sooner was the perfect union formed Than monarchists began to play their arts Through tariffs, banks, assumption bills, the Act That made the Federal Courts. And none of these Had warrant in the charter; yet you see They overleaped its bounds. And so it was To make all clear, explicit, when we framed For these Confederate States our charter, we Forbade expressly tariffs, meant to foster Industrial adventures.
“No, my friend, Our slavery was not the cause of war. They would have Empire and the slavery That comes from it: unlicensed power to deal With fortunes, lives, economies and rights. We fought them in the Congress seventy years; We fought them at the hustings, with the ballot; And when they shouldered guns, we shouldered guns, And fought them to the last--now we have lost, And so I write my book.
“What is the difference Between a mob, an army shouting God, Fired by a moral erethism fixed On slaughter for the triumph of its dream, A riddance of its hate--what is the difference Between an army like this and a man Who dreams God moves, inspires him to an act Of foul assassination? None at all! Why, there’s your Northern army shouting God, Your pure New England with its tariff spoils, Its banks and growing wealth, uplifting hands, Invoking God against us till they flame A crazy party and a maddened army, To war upon us. But if slavery Be sinful, where’s the word of Christ to say That slavery is sinful? Not a word From him who scourged the Scribes and Pharisees For robbing widows’ houses, but no word Against the sin of slavery. Yet behold He found no faith in all of Israel To equal that--of whom?--a man who owned Slaves, as we did. I mean the Centurion. And is this all? St. Paul who speaks for God With equal inspiration with New England, As I should judge, enjoins the slaves to count Their masters worthy of all honor, that God and his doctrine be not blasphemed.
“But If it be wrong to hold as property A service, even a man to keep the service-- Let us be clear and fair--then is it wrong To hold indentures of apprenticeship? And if, as Lincoln says, it is a right Given of God for every man to have, Eat if he will the bread he earns, then God Is blasphemed in the North where labor’s paid Not what it earns, but what it must accept, Chained by necessity, and so enslaved. And all these tariff laws are slavery By which my bread is taken, all the banks That profit by their issues, special rights, Enslave us, in the future will enslave Both North and South, when darkeys shall be free To choose their masters, but must choose, no less Take what the master hand consents to pay, And eat what bread is given. Yes, you know Our slavery was a gentle thing, belied As bloody, sullen, selfish--yet you know It was a gentle thing, a way to keep A race inferior in a place of work, Duly controlled. For once that race is freed It will go forth to mingle, mix and wed With whites and claim equality, the ballot, Places of trust and profit, judgment seats. Lincoln denies he favors this, no less We’ll come to that. And all the while the mills And factories in the North will bring to us The helpless poor of Europe, and enslave them By pauper wages, and enslave us all With tariff-favored products. Slavery! God’s curse is on us for our Slavery! What do you think?
“They say we broke the law, Were rebels, insurrectionists; I’ll treat Those subjects in my book. But let us see, They did not keep the law; they had their banks, They had their tariffs, they infracted laws Respecting slaves who ran away, they joined Posses and leagues to break those laws, and we In virtue of these breaches, were released From this, the compact, just as Webster says. Did Lincoln keep the law and keep his oath The Constitution to support, obey? He did not keep it, and he broke his oath. Did he have lawful power to call the troops? Did he have lawful warrant to blockade Our southern ports? No one pretends he did. His Congress by a special act made valid These tyrant usurpations. Had he power To strike the habeas corpus, gag the press?-- No power at all--he only seized the power To reach what he conceived was all supreme, The saving of the Union--more of this. Well, then, what are these words: You break the law On those who break it and confess they do? You have two ideas: Union and Secession, Or two republics made from one, that’s all. And those who think secession criminal Turn criminals themselves to stay the crime, And shout the Union. To this end I come, This figment called the Union, which obsessed The brain of Lincoln.
“For the point is this, You may take Truth or Liberty or Union For a battle cry, kill and be killed therefor, But if our reasons rule, if we are men, We take them at our peril. We must stake Our souls upon the choice, be clear of mind That what we cry as Truth is Truth indeed, That Liberty is Liberty, that the Union Is not a noun, a word, a subtlety, But is a status, substance, living temple Reared from the bottom up on stones of fate, Predestined. Yet the truth is only this: The Union is a noun and nothing more, And stands for what? A federative thing Formed of the wills of states, not otherwise. Existing; and to kill to save the Union Is but the exercise of a hue and cry, An arbitrary passion, sophist’s dream. And Robespierre, who killed for liberty, And Cæsar, who destroyed the Roman liberties To have his way, are of the quality Of Lincoln, whom I know. Take Robespierre, Was he not by a sense of justice moved, Pure, and as frigid as a bust of stone? And Cæsar had devoted friends, and Cæsar, The accomplished orator, general and scholar, Charming and gentle in his private walks, Destroyed the hopes of Rome.
“Now, mark me friend, I do not think that Lincoln meant to crush The institutions of his country--no, His fault was this--the Union, yes the noun, Rose to religious mysticism, and enthralled With sentiment his soul. And his ideas Of its formation, structure in his logic Rested upon a subtle solecism. And for this noun, in spite of virtues great Of head and heart, he used his other self, His Cæsar self, his self of Robespierre, In the great office which he exercised, To bring us Oak Hill, Corinth, Fredericksburg. Think you, if when he kept the store at Salem A humble, studious man, he had been told He would make wails of horror, wake the cries Of pestilence and famine in the camps, Bring devastation, rapine, fire and death-- Had he been told this, he had said--‘My soul! Never,’ and with Hazael said, ‘Behold, Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?’ Power changes men! And when the people give Power or surrender it, they scarcely know The thing they give, surrender.
“But I ask What is there in the Union, what indeed In any government’s supremacy Or maintenance that justifies these acts-- These horrors, slaughters--near a million men Slaughtered for what? The Union. Treasure spent Beyond all counting for the Union. When No life had been destroyed, no dollar spent If they had let us go, left us alone To go our way. You see they did to us What England did; succeeded, where she failed. And thus you see that human life is cheap, And suffering a sequence when a dream, An Idea takes a man, a mob, an army. Which makes our life a jest, our boasted Reason An instrument too weak for savagery. Then for the rest--you see--I think you see.--” Sleep now was taking him. My little sparhawk Was worn out, and his eyes began to droop, His voice to fail him. In a moment then He sank down in his cloak and fell asleep-- And I arose and left.
ADELAIDE AND JOHN WILKES BOOTH
(_At the National Hall, Washington, April 9, 1865._)
ADELAIDE
Yes, even this you can surmount by art, Lee has surrendered, but--
BOOTH
No! all is lost. God judge me, right or wrong, but never man. I love peace more than life, have loved the Union. Have waited for the clouds to break, have prayed For justice, peace; but now all hope is dead. My prayers are futile, as my hopes have been. God’s will be done. I go to see and share The end, though bitter.
ADELAIDE
John! you must be calm.
BOOTH
I am most calm, but fixed.
ADELAIDE
You are not calm; Strange light is in your eyes, your face is pale. You cannot stretch your hands out but they tremble. You have avoided me, you walk alone, Sup, sit alone, lest concentrated thought, This thought of yours be turned aside. My friend, Take Beauty in your heart to heal its hurts. Art is for you. You are a son of Art-- Why waste your spirit on such things as these? Rulers and nations pass, and wars are lost, Their issues are forgotten, pushed aside-- Art is eternal and the sons of Art Live in its calm, above the dust and sweat Of politics and statecraft. O my friend, Why should this Brutus, the tyrranicide, The patriot, move you so; and why not Brutus As a soul made clear by Shakespeare for your Art To glory in and re-create for men To see what Brutus was?
BOOTH
Why, what is this But playing with life, that’s all it is to play, Hard play at that, to sleep, to walk, to rest For strength to trip the stage and imitate The soul of Brutus! If it be so much, Art as you say, to live him on the stage, What would it be to live him to the life, And do his act in deed?
ADELAIDE
What do you say? John, you are mad! So that is in your heart! Look! pause! and muster all your strength of mind, Forecast, survey--fly from yourself--away-- Even for a week withdraw your mind from this-- That you may see, return with freshened mind To look upon the horror that you plot. John, by the love you woke in me for beauty Of face and genius, listen, on my knees I ask you, pause and think!
BOOTH
But I have thought. I know I shall be hated by the North, And doubted in the South, it may be, yet God’s will be done. For in a day to come My name will shine as shines the name of Brutus, Whose spirit is in me and speaks to me. Could you have seen, as I have seen, the woes And horrors of this war in every state, Then you would pray, as I have prayed, to God To give the Northern mind pity and justice, And dry this sea of blood. Alas! my country! What is this trifling Art beside my country, This rhetoric spoken, memorized? My friend, I would have given a thousand lives to see My country whole, unbroken. Even now I’d give my life to see her what she was, Before this man, this tyrant, bloody Cæsar, This Cæsar worse than Cæsar, who--behold, In the name of God--why, think in the name of God Made her a pitiless sovereignty, a force As cold as steel, and dragged her glorious flag Through cruelty, oppression, till its stripes Are bloody gashes on the face of heaven. How I have loved that flag! How I have longed To see it flap free from the scarlet mist That spoils its glory. As for me, this country Which I loved as a lover loves his bride, Seems now a dream! The South has all my love, What has it done? Withdrawn, and that alone, From the Union which was formed by states withdrawing From the old confederacy, and leaving states Out in the cold that did not wish to join. What has the South done that it might not do Under the Declaration? Then to think That all these tens of thousands of our kin, Our blood, our brothers, should be massacred For loving God and Liberty, serving God. And now this day! The South is crushed at last, The negroes freed by what?--by force, by force Which John Brown used, and for the which he paid With his damned neck! O Reason! Adelaide, Of all men I am sanest, they are mad Who cannot see these truths: that slavery Is sanctioned by the Creator, read St. Paul; That men may revolutionize, as matter of right, Secede from what they have acceded to, And not be murdered for it. Do you think I have not measured motives, thoughts? My friend, I could be happy, if I could forget The duty laid upon me, have the means For happiness, so many friends and you, Great competence and fame, and greater fame In store for deeper art. So much for this! As for the South, as citizens, persons, love The South is not my friend. Then there’s my mother, Whom I adore: See what I sacrifice: Fame, money, friends, my mother--and for what? Were it the South, I should not think to act-- But it is God, is Justice, and I love God, Justice, more than wealth or fame, yes more Than home or mother. All is lost at last. The South has been erased and is no more. The Republic of the North and South is dead, Gutted by a guerilla. Yes, my country Has vanished from the earth and is no more, I have no wish to live, my country being Dead and a stench.
ADELAIDE
I put my arms around you-- Be patient--listen--do not thrust me off-- John--
BOOTH
You must not hold me, Adelaide--farewell.
ADELAIDE
John! John!
BOOTH
God calls me--I obey!
(_He goes out._)
BRUTUS LIVES AGAIN IN BOOTH
(_Ford’s Theatre, Good Friday, April 14th, 1865._)
FIRST STAGE HAND
What time is it?
SECOND STAGE HAND
Time for the curtain nearly.
FIRST STAGE HAND
There’s Miss Keene in the wings.
_The orchestra starts up; the audience sings_:
Honor to our soldiers, Our Nation’s greatest pride, Who ’neath our Starry Banner’s folds, Have fought, have bled and died. They’re Nature’s noblest handiwork, No king as proud as they. God bless the heroes of the land, And cheer them on their way.
_Scene II. The White House._
_Colfax_ _Oglesby_ _Lincoln_
LINCOLN
This for you, Colfax.
(_Hands him a pass_)
Come in at nine to-morrow. I’m off soon for the theatre with my wife-- A little party. Grant was going too; Has changed his mind, goes north with Mrs. Grant. There’ll be an audience to see the hero Of Appomatox.
OGLESBY
Well, rather you, I think Who picked Grant for the work, and brought the war To end, as it has ended.
LINCOLN
Oh, not me. I am familiar as an old shoe here. I’d say the war is ending. There may be Some battle yet.
COLFAX
Mere sputterings of the flame.
LINCOLN
Well, something’s on. I had my dream last night Which I have had before, so often, always Before some great event: I’m in a boat, And swiftly move toward a shadowy shore. I had this dream preceding Bull Run, Vicksburg, Gettysburg, Antietam. It may be A battle’s on this minute. I think so. It must relate to Sherman. For I know No other great event to follow my dream.
OGLESBY
Our dreams are made of days lived long ago: Your boat’s perhaps your flat boat at New Salem.
COLFAX
I’m happy to live now, the war is won. God bless you, Mr. President, keep you too.
LINCOLN
You will excuse me, gentlemen. I go, For Mrs. Lincoln waits.
(_He goes out._)
OGLESBY
The other day Lincoln was with Charles Sumner down the James, Was reading Shakespeare, read aloud three times Those lines which read: “Duncan is in his grave, After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing Can touch him further.”
COLFAX
Did you note to-night He looked those words: “Nothing can touch him further”? These months before how ghastly gray his face! What droop of melancholy in his eyes! What weariness without words, what ultimate woe! And now to-night he stood transfigured here Clothed in a great serenity and a joy As if his life had wrought what he would have it.
OGLESBY
Yes, he is changed. Shall we go on?
(_They go out._)
_Scene III. The entrance of Ford’s Theatre._
BOOTH
(_Passing the doorkeeper without a ticket._)
Is this all right?
DOORKEEPER
All right for you.
BOOTH
Can you leave, Go with me for a brandy?
DOORKEEPER
No.
BOOTH
Why not? The play’s commenced, and everyone is here.
DOORKEEPER
Not everyone--the presidential party!
BOOTH
They enter without tickets.
DOORKEEPER
Yes, I know. Go in and watch Miss Keene a little, John. You might get wakened up to play again, Marc Antony to your brother’s Brutus.
BOOTH
No! Never with him again. And as for that My next part will be Brutus.
(_He goes into the theatre._)
_Scene IV. Lincoln and Mrs. Lincoln Driving to the Theatre._
LINCOLN
Mary, the war is over. We have had Hard times since we came here. But now, thank God, The war is over. We may hope for peace, And happiness for the four years that remain, While I close up my work as President. Then back to Illinois to rest and live. I have some money saved. Wrote recently To friends to find a house for me in Chicago-- We can live there, or Springfield. Law again, At least enough to keep us.
MRS. LINCOLN
That’s my dream, And from this night we start to live, rejoice.
(_They drive on._)
_Scene V. The stage of Ford’s Theatre._
(_Laura Keene as “Florence Trenchard”; John Dyatt as “Dundreary” in dialogue in Tom Taylor’s “American Cousin.”_)
FLORENCE
“Can’t you see the point of that joke?”
DUNDREARY
“No, really.”
FLORENCE
“You can’t see it?”
DUNDREARY
“No!”
(_Lincoln, Mrs. Lincoln and party enter the box._)
FLORENCE
(_Making a profound courtesy to Lincoln._)
“Everyone can see that!”
(_The audience breaks into great applause. The band plays “Hail to the Chief.” Lincoln bows to the audience._)
_Scene VI. Back of the stage._
FIRST STAGE HAND
Whose horse is at the door?
SECOND STAGE HAND
Booth’s!
A VOICE
Ten twenty-five.
FIRST STAGE HAND
Ten twenty-five.
SECOND STAGE HAND
Ten twenty-five.
_Scene VII. The Presidential Box._
LINCOLN
Oh, no! No persecution, bloody work, How to articulate the states again, Just how to handle the states that left us--well, There will be problems up from day to day, During my term, at least. But no revenge, No hate, no hanging, killing--rather shoo! Like Hannah Armstrong used to shoo her chickens. Let the obstreporous, unreconciled Go clear to--Halifax--get out! But, Major, My feeling is to treat the Southern people As fellow citizens. To be their fellows And not their masters is my way.
MAJ. RATHBONE
We need Your genius, Mr. President, for the work Of reconstruction more, if that may be, Then we had need of you to push the war.
MRS. LINCOLN
How do you like the play?
LINCOLN
Oh, very good.
_Scene VIII. Dress Circle._
FIRST AUDITOR
(_Gazing at the Presidential box._)
What’s keeping General Grant? I came to see The conqueror of Lee.
SECOND AUDITOR
He will not come. Too late now.
FIRST AUDITOR
(_Looking at his watch._)
Yes, ten twenty-five.
SECOND AUDITOR
Who’s that?
FIRST AUDITOR
Who?
SECOND AUDITOR
Why, a man as pale as snow Or ivory, with hair black as a horse’s tail Passed back of the seats there, and approached the entrance To Lincoln’s box.
FIRST AUDITOR
A secret officer, With message of a battle. Oh, perhaps Sherman has vanquished Johnston!
_Scene IX. In the passageway leading to the Presidential box._
BOOTH
Right or wrong, God judge me--never man. Liberty is dead--I would not live, Beyond my country’s life. Oh, Liberty! Brutus, sustain me!
_Scene X. The Presidential box._
MAJOR RATHBONE
(_Observing Lincoln rise._)
Can I get something for you?
LINCOLN
I want my coat. I felt a chill and shudder down my back.
(_He gets his coat and is seated._)
_Scene XI_. _Booth at the door of the Presidential box aiming a pistol_.
BOOTH
Brutus! (_He fires. The President’s head falls upon his breast. Booth rushes into the box, slashes Major Rathbone with a dagger, leaps from the box to the stage. Falls, arises._)
_Scene XII. On the stage._
BOOTH
_Sic semper Tyrannis!_ The South is avenged!
(_He rushes off. Great confusion._)
BOOTH’S PHILIPPI
(_Garrett’s Tobacco House, Bowling Green, Virginia, April 26th, 1865. Booth and Harrold._)