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chapter twenty-five THE FOX AND THE HOUNDS Eight days have intervened since the shocking news of his assassination fell on their startled senses, but their sorrow and anguish abate not. Men walk about the streets with downcast brows and sad features, and . . . they refuse to be comforted.1 So wrote the editor of the Chicago Tribune. What was true for Chicago was generally true for the rest of the North. In many ways, even eight days was not sufficient space for the shock to fully set in. During the dizzy swirl of events, there simply had not been the necessary time needed to properly understand and appreciate one earthshaking event, much less a dozen. Another emotion that had “abated not” in eight days was fear. Indeed, the terror was almost as pervasive as the night of the assassination. So unbelievably bold was the stroke, and so enormous were its consequences, that many horrified Americans felt that Lincoln’s death was only the precursor to even greater events. When a rumor raced through New York one week after the assassination that General Grant had just been murdered, people were shocked, but no one doubted it.2 Much like his slain predecessor, Andrew Johnson—”His Accidency”—continued to receive menacing letters. Unlike Lincoln, however, the new president placed credence in each blood-curdling threat.3 Even Secretary Seward, more dead than alive, was not forgotten. “I wish I had cut your dam head off while I was at it instead of only half doing it,” wrote one well-wisher. “If I only had you and Johnson and Stanton out of the way I would feel as if I had done my duty to my Country.”4 Given the terror and uncertainty abroad, it is not surprising that many in the North continued to strike out blindly at those in their midst who 201 202 the darkest dawn were perceived as threats. At Harrisburg, a man arrested earlier for comments made after Lincoln’s death was now dragged from jail by a mob and forced to ride on a board around town while a band played the “Rogue’s March.”5 When Joseph Shaw returned to Westminster, Maryland , after his newspaper had been destroyed following Black Friday, a mob was waiting. Rushing to his hotel room late at night, the shouting attackers kicked in the editor’s door. Pulling a pistol, Shaw fired, wounding one of the men. An instant later, the editor was riddled by a hail of bullets and expired on the spot.6 Accused of delivering a “secession” speech in New York earlier, another man was chased through Philadelphia by a howling mob. When he was finally overhauled and attacked, the victim broke free momentarily and drew a pistol. Before he could fire, a policeman appeared and arrested the bloody man for carrying a concealed weapon. A short time later, when the victim’s brother appeared to post bail, the man was dragged from his carriage, and he too was beaten savagely.7 “[H]is face [was] swollen out of all human shape,” wrote a friend, “his shirt & waistcoat [were] drenched in blood. . . . The policemen allowed them to do it for a time & then, merely to save his life, interfered.”8 At Baltimore and elsewhere, unwitting storeowners who catered to the insatiable demand found their shop windows smashed and their inventory destroyed because they sold photos of the assassin. In the conquered Confederacy, not only were unrepentant Southerners imprisoned or murdered, but public humiliations had become the norm. Some white federal officers took sadistic delight in ordering their black troops to cut the coat buttons from the defeated soldiers because of the “C S,” or Confederate States, imprint on them.9 At Murfreesboro, Tennessee, a former rebel was “persuaded” to raise a United States flag above the courthouse dome. That Yankee soldiers might laugh and joke at the spectacle, the man was ordered to remain dangling from his perch for half an hour.10 Preachers throughout the South who neglected to pay homage to Abraham Lincoln in their sermons could expect imprisonment , exile, or worse.11 In the emotional backwash of April 14, many rightly felt that the reunited nation had become little better than a brutal, bloody dictatorship in which the Constitution was but a scrap of worthless paper. And at the helm, feverishly working the levers of that repressive regime, was Edwin Stanton. With the burden of catching the assassin and unraveling the conspiracy placed almost entirely on...

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