The Night Lincoln Died

Johnson was up in his hotel room, unaware of a man named George Andrew Atzerodt, who sat at a bar on the first floor of the hotel, drinking alone. It was his job to kill the vice president.

Edwin Stanton, the secretary of War, was retiring for the night, after a long day of work. Initially, Stanton had been one of Lincoln's greatest critics, even going so far as to call him a "damned fool." ("If Stanton said I was a damned fool, then I must be one," Lincoln had remarked, "for he is nearly always right and generally says what he means.") Lincoln had appointed him despite the criticisms. And, for his part, Stanton had proved worthy of the task, efficiently organizing what was an extremely inefficient organization. In time, he had come to respect Lincoln and even, perhaps, admire him. They had been through the war together, and though he had once judged him incompetent, he now recognized his wisdom.

But he could not think of these things. He was tired, and had to get to sleep.

Frederick Seward was coming down the stairs when he met the "deliveryman," Lewis Powell, alias Lewis Paine. Paine told the secretary of State's son that he had a delivery for his father, and that he must get it to him immediately.

We did not request a delivery, the assistant secretary of State informed him.

Let me just drop it to him, Paine requested, so that I may satisfy my boss.