The Night Lincoln Died

Atzerodt's nerves were shot. It seemed as if Johnson had been up there for weeks and weeks. Where was he already? Surely some government official would come to get the vice president soon now?

He could not wait. Fearfully, he got up and left the bar.

When Stanton was informed by messenger of the night's events, he at first had dismissed it as humbug. He had been with the secretary of State, for one, only hours before. What could have happened in that time?

But, to his fear, he soon heard that the news was quite true. Seward had been attacked and, worse, the president had been shot in the head. Quickly he made his way toward Ford's Theater.

The president had been moved across the street to a rooming house. Too large to fit in the small bed there, they had had to lay him diagonally across, his blood leaking out onto the pillow. Mary Todd was there, grabbing at him hysterically; at times she had to be removed from the room.

Stanton did not want to believe his eyes. He had no doubt now that he loved the man who lay dying before him. As doctors rushed in and out, doing their best in a desperate situation, Stanton remained through the night, refusing to leave the president's side.