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chapter twenty IN DUNGEONS DREADFUL While much of the stark horror and shock had lessened somewhat in the forty-eight hours following the assassination, the suspense in Washington was perhaps even greater than on the night of the murder. Rumors were rife. Most citizens felt that the full extent of the conspiracy was being withheld from a panicky public. Some believed that not only Lincoln, but most of his cabinet and many top political and military leaders had been killed as well. Such rumors, one observer admitted, “nobody deemed . . . impossible, or even unlikely.”1 Worse, many felt it was only the beginning.2 Several strange men, strangely dressed, were reportedly seen lurking near the home of Chief Justice Chase.3 Ulysses Grant, normally indifferent to personal safety during four years of bloody war, now ordered sentinels to watch his door at night.4 “I shall only go to the Hotel twice a day for my meals and will stay indoors of evenings,” the general promised his wife, Julia.5 Formerly accessible to even the humblest of visitors, President Andrew Johnson was also surrounded by a wall of soldiers. Outside his hotel, scores of sentinels stood guard on the streets and adjoining lot. Inside the building , security was stiff, with several waves of officers probing visitors about their backgrounds.6 Now that he was the highest authority in the land, Andrew Johnson’s worth and reputation rose dramatically. Many tried mightily to distance the president from his disaster of March 4. Some, the New York Times included, now insisted that Johnson was not drunk during the inaugural ; on the contrary, he had suffered from poisoning by a would-be assassin .7 This theory was eagerly accepted by many.8 Much like the president’s hotel, the home of William Seward was also heavily guarded. And like Johnson, the secretary of state received an un167 168 the darkest dawn expected boon from the attack. Because of the metal jaw brace he had worn since the carriage accident, the stab wounds, though grievous, had failed to sever the artery. Indeed, the slashing blade had inadvertently relieved the terrible inflammation and actually reduced the pain.9 No such luck blessed Seward’s son. With his skull fractured in two places, Frederick remained unconscious, in critical condition. The father, unable to speak, communicated his concerns by writing on a slate.10 “Why doesn’t the President come to see me?” Seward silently asked well-wishers. “Where is Frederick—what is the matter with him?”11 The answers were always evasive. Finally, Edwin Stanton was selected to relay the terrible news. Sitting beside his friend, the secretary of war divulged all. “Mr. Seward was so surprised and shocked,” wrote a witness, “that he raised one hand involuntarily, and groaned.”12 Bearing bad news was only one of Edwin Stanton’s many tasks. Indeed , for all practical purposes, Stanton was not only secretary of war but also acting head of state. As the hours at the Petersen House illustrated , while the rest of the U.S. government was largely paralyzed, Stanton alone kept his wits and continued with almost superhuman focus and energy. Despite the very real threat to him, despite a bewildering storm of false reports—the French had captured New Orleans, the British were invading from Canada, Philadelphia was on fire—despite the panic of nearly everyone else around him, Stanton stood like a rock. Not only did the secretary personally oversee hundreds of pages of testimony given mere hours after the assassination, but he also orchestrated the manhunt and issued huge rewards for Booth and several collaborators.13 Additionally, had it not been for Stanton’s iron hand in the hours and days following the assassination, much of Washington might have been burned by the furious mobs as they exacted revenge on Southern sympathizers.14 Terrible and bloody as the riots were, the outcome would have been infinitely worse had not Stanton deployed troops with orders of “shoot to kill.” “A mob raised then, even to destroy the houses of the fifty worst rebels in Washington, would not have been treated to blank cartridges or conciliatory speeches,” remarked a Boston reporter, “and everybody in Washington was well aware of the fact.”15 After the initial crisis was passed, the secretary of war remained steadfast at his post, as if the fate of the nation rested upon his shoulders and his alone. “Many nights I worked with him until the morning dawn began to steal...

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