All language subtitles for Killing Lincoln (2013) 720p WEB-DL 625 MB-nItRo[Orion_Me]

Hello, John.

I am harmless
except to myself.

I hear you.

You will please recollect

you are addressing my daughter,
and in my presence.

Yes, I'm offering her
my heart and hand

just as she wants them...
with nothing in 'em.

I am aware,
Mr. Trenchard,

you are not used to the manners
of good society,

and that, alone,
will excuse the impertinence

of which you have been guilty.

Don't know the manners
of good society, eh?

I guess I know enough to turn
you inside out, old woman,

you sockdologizing old man-trap.

On the evening
of April 13th, 1865,

John Wilkes Booth
initiates his plan

not only to kill
Abraham Lincoln,

but to decapitate
the government
of the United States.

A civil war that
has lasted four years

is drawing to an end.

While Washington City
celebrates the surrender

of Robert E. Lee's
Confederate army,

Booth and his co-conspirators

plot a carefully coordinated
triple murder.

And...

- Mr. Powell.
- I ain't Powell.

It's Payne.

Reverend Payne,
James Wood, or Mosby.

Mind your aliases, Mr. Powell.

Pick one,
lest the others trip you up.

The Secretary of State
ain't going nowhere soon.

Confined to his bed
and slow to recover.

Got hisself a nurse.

A little slip of a man
named Robinson who tends
to him now mostly.

And there's a nigger butler.

The doctor, name of Verdi,

makes his calls
mornings and evenings.

Mr. Herold,
when working at the pharmacy,

do you have occasion to deliver
medicines to patients

at the request
of their physicians?

And with
personal instructions

as to the administration
of the medicine?

Um, yes. For certain,
it's a common thing.

Common enough, yes.

Prepare a package
for Mr. Powell,

the Reverend Payne,
James Wood or Mosby here,

to deliver, tomorrow night,

to Secretary of State
William Seward.

Number 17 Madison Place,
Lafayette Square.

Yes, sir. I'll do it.

Mr. Atzerodt,
you will check into the
Kirkwood tomorrow morning.

Vice President Johnson's suite
is on the first floor.

No.

- No?
- No.

I do not wish... I cannot.

It is too late, George.

We have... all of us,
conspired together.

To capture, yeah.

To kidnap one man,
not to murder.

This is an act of war,
and you are stuck to it.

It is a tar pit from
which you cannot pull away.

And when tomorrow night is
through and our deed is done,

we will... all of us,
be known as its authors.

I have seen to it.

And we will be hailed as heroes.

We will meet back here
tomorrow night at nine o'clock.

Powell and Herold will pay a
visit to the Secretary of State,

Mr. Atzerodt will go
to see the vice president,

and I will go
to Grover's Theatre

for a performance of Aladdin!
Or His Wonderful Lamp.

And there...
I will kill a tyrant.

This is the true story of
the killing of Abraham Lincoln,

the first assassination
of an American president,

and what might be
the most resonant crime

in the history of the nation.

John Wilkes Booth's
plan to kill Lincoln

isn't the first
black-flag operation

to target the 16th president
of the United States.

From 1861 through March of 1865,
at least five kidnapping

or assassination
schemes are hatched,

although none are attempted.

None... save, perhaps, one.

Abraham Lincoln is riding
alone, as is his custom,

from the War Department
to the Soldiers' Home

where the family stays
during the hot summer months.

Whoa! Whoa!

Help me, son!

Whoa, whoa! Whoa!

Steady. Steady now, steady.

I, uh, I heard a rifle shot.

Yes, down by
the bottom of the hill,

that is what
frightened him so.

And, uh, he bucked

and separated me
from my eight-dollar plug hat.

Private Nichols,
I'm much obliged to you.

Your hat, sir.

I found it
at the bottom of the hill.

It is properly ventilated
for these hot summer months.

Likely, some fellow
returning from a day's
hunt discharged his gun

in a precautionary
measure of safety

before bringing it
into his home.

I assure you, I am in greater
danger from a rumor of snipers

than I am from your silence
in this affair.

I would ask that you tell
no one of this adventure.

Sir, I...

I will be doubly...
obliged to you.

Yes, sir.

That is Abraham Lincoln,

a self-educated statesman
who has abolished slavery

and will go on to end the war
and save the Union.

Yet, during his four years
and 41 days in office,

the intensity of the hatred
leveled toward him,

even by members
of his own party,

is extreme,
even by today's standards.

But while the killing of Abraham
Lincoln serves to sanctify him,

to transform
a controversial president

into a dearly beloved martyr,

it also serves to pervert
the truth about his killer.

John Wilkes Booth, a passionate
and well-admired man,

on the path to become one of
the greatest actors of his time,

is reduced by history
to a two-dimensional scoundrel

and dismissed as a madman.

Harder. Faster! Come on!

Ah!

Whoa...

- Good God!
- It's all right, old man.

Come on hard, for God's sake,
and save the fight.

Now... let one spirit
of the first-born Cain

reign in all bosoms,

that the rude scene may end,

and darkness be
the burier of the dead.

Curtain!
Pull the curtain.

- Mr. Booth?
- Why, Mr. McCollum!

- Mr. Booth, I am so very sorry.
- Come, come, old fellow.

You look as if you
had lost the blood.
Not another word.

Now, if you'd have gotten my
eye, that would have been bad.

But you didn't,
and it was...

Well...
it was splendid!

Allow me to buy us
all a drink!

That is
John Wilkes Booth,

the third son
of an acting dynasty.

He has set out
not only to play the roles

that made his father
and brothers famous,

but to bring to the stage
a new style of acting,

an in-the-moment naturalism
and realism all his own.

Born and raised in Maryland,
a border state,

a slave state that did
not secede from the Union,

John Wilkes Booth is
also a Southern zealot,

whose hatred of Abraham Lincoln
is nothing less than fanatical.

In October of 1864,

Booth makes contact with
the Confederate Secret Service.

And shortly after
Lincoln's re-election,

he determines
to kidnap the president.

He stops in Philadelphia
to visit his sister, Asia,

and there, he writes a letter.

To Whom it May Concern:

Right or wrong,
God judge me, not man.

My love is for the South alone.

Nor do I deem it a dishonor
in attempting to make for her

a prisoner of this man
to whom she owes

so much misery.

Edwin, our brother,
voted for him?

- Yeah.
- For a false president.

A tool of the North
who means to crush out slavery

by robbery,
raping and slaughter!

Oh, God grant
that I may see the end.

This country was formed
for the white man

and not for the black.

Asia... lock this
in your safe for me.

I may come back for it.

But if anything
should happen to me,

open it alone,

and send the letters
as directed.

For brother Junius
and sister Rosalie

and one other...

To Whom it May Concern.

A Confederate doing duty
upon his own responsibility.

J. Wilkes... Booth.

♪ Is this your liberty

♪ Oh sacrificial lamb?

♪ Bow down and bless
the kingdom coming ♪

- ♪ In the reign of Abraham
- Please!

When will your child be born?

In five months, maybe less.

God bless you, sister mine.

Take care of yourself.

Try to be happy.

I shall never be happy
until I see your face again.

Hmm...

I will fix that
for you, son.

We'll put a fine
point on it.

On February 5th, 1865,
Abraham Lincoln visits

Alexander Gardner's
photographic studio.

Are we ready, Mr. Gardner?

Aye, that I am, Mr. President.
Now, if you wouldn't mind

moving to the other side of the
table, that angle favors you.

After four years,

and more casualties
than in any conflict

in the nation's history,
the Civil War is almost over.

But the image made on this day

will be the last
official portrait ever taken

of the 16th president
of the United States.

Abraham Lincoln has
six weeks to live.

Taddie.

With malice toward none,

with charity for all,

with firmness in the right, as
God gives us to see the right,

let us strive on

to finish the work we are in,

to bind up the nation's wounds,

to do all which may achieve

and cherish a just
and a lasting peace

among ourselves

and with all nations.

Booth is there,
a face in the crowd,

on the steps
of the east portico.

He has resolved
to kidnap Lincoln,

to hold the president
hostage in exchange

for Confederate
prisoners of war.

But his only known attempt
is an anti-climatic failure.

On March 17th, 1865,

Booth and two boyhood friends,

Michael O'Laughlen
and Sam Arnold,

along with Confederate agent,
Lewis Powell,

and smuggler,
George Atzerodt,

lay in wait along
the president's route

to visit the
Campbell Military Hospital.

Pharmacist assistant,
David Herold,

waits in southern Maryland
at a tavern owned

by the mother of Confederate
courier John Surratt.

And provisions
have been sent ahead

to the home of Dr. Samuel Mudd,

which lies along
the escape route to Richmond.

But Lincoln cancels
the hospital visit.

It is not known when Booth's
plot to abduct Lincoln

became a plan to kill him,

but the very next night,
Booth plays the villain Pescara

in a benefit performance of
The Apostate at Ford's Theater.

And the last words spoken
on stage by Booth, as an actor,

delivered within meters
of the presidential box,

tempt us to imagine that Booth
might have had an epiphany.

That sound has
raised me to the sun.

Well, infernal villain.
Well may'est thou stand amazed.

Thy hour is come.

Thou art enclosed
in thy own den of blood.

This, this is left me still.

And within my grasp I clutch it
like a fierce and desperate joy.

Look here.

Look here!

Despite of fate
I still shall triumph over thee.

Come, John,
they're mad for you.

In spite of the audience's
overwhelming response,
on this night,

Booth uncharacteristically
refuses to respond

during the curtain call.

Booth then travels to New York,

where he learns
of a Confederate plot
to kill Lincoln

by planting explosives
in the White House.

Who is dead
in the White House?

The president.

He was killed
by an assassin.

Lincoln awakens from
a dream of his own death.

According to one account,

it is in the early
morning hours of April 2nd,

and Lincoln is aboard
the steamshipRiver Queen.

He has left Washington
to visit the warfront

where General Ulysses S. Grant
is poised to capture

the Confederate capital
of Richmond, Virginia.

Abraham Lincoln has
13 days to live.

On April 3rd, 1865,
Confederate forces set fire

to their own capital
of Richmond, Virginia,

before evacuating ahead
of advancing Union troops.

Confederate President Jefferson
Davis escapes by train,

abandons his White House
of the Confederacy.

And Abraham Lincoln
lands in Richmond to view

the devastated ruins
of this American city.

Form up!

Do any of you know the way
to General Weitzel's
headquarters?

Yes, sir, Master Lincoln.
I know the way.

Fix bayonet!

Come on, come on.

Look.

Window.

Thank God I have
lived to see this day.

On we go.

Papa day.

May the good Lord
bless and keep you safe,

Master Lincoln.

You are a free citizen
of this republic.

Kneel to God, only,
and thank him...

...for the liberty
that is yours.

It's one of the most
unforgettable scenes

in American history:

an American president
walking the streets

of a fallen rebel capital,
in the midst of a civil war.

Scarcely 36 hours after
Jefferson Davis has fled
his capital,

Abraham Lincoln arrives
at the surrendered home

of the Confederate president.

I am informed that General
Weitzel is on his way, sir.

And this is Mrs. O'Melia,
the housekeeper.

Ma'am.

Might you direct me
to President Davis' desk?

So this... must've been
President Davis' chair.

Jefferson Davis will
soon be captured in Georgia.

He will die 24 years later
at the age of 81.

This is whence...
Mr. Jefferson Davis...

...has conducted his war, Tad.

But Abraham Lincoln
has less than 11 days to live.

Might I have
a glass of water?

Ironically, on this day,

Tad's 12th birthday,
April 4th, 1865,

the immediate danger to the
president is not in Richmond.

It's on its way to Washington.

Sergeant Thomas Harney,

an explosives expert with
the Confederate Torpedo Bureau,

has already been dispatched
on a secret mission

to blow up the White House
and Lincoln in it.

And there was sound evidence
that John Wilkes Booth

learns of the plot
while in New York

at the same time
that Abraham Lincoln

is walking the streets
of Richmond.

Sgt. Harney is with Colonel
Mosby in Virginia as we speak.

So he can infiltrate Washington
at the earliest convenience.

And Jefferson Davis has
sanctioned this harebrained,
incendiary scheme?

I see.

And it is true
that President Davis

escaped intact from Richmond?

Yes. Thank heaven,
he is safely bound for Danville.

You seem troubled.

Troubled? I?

For four years I have lived
not daring to express

my thoughts or sentiments,
even in my own home.

Constantly hearing every
principle dear to my heart
denounced as treasonable.

And I have cursed
my willful idleness,

begun to deem myself a coward...

...and to despise
my own existence.

Richmond has fallen in a war
against the Constitution,

against states' rights,

against Southern rights
and institutions.

And a malignant tyrant,

a half-breed, low-mannered
country buffoon

is threatening
to proclaim himself king!

I should have killed him
on Inauguration Day.

I could have.

I was that close.

And now if the South
is to be aided at all,

it must be done quickly,
and it may already be too late.

Troubled, gentlemen...

When Caesar conquered
the enemies of Rome

and the power that was his
menaced the liberties
of the people,

Brutus arose...
and slew him.

Troubled? Not at all.

I stand with Brutus.

Lincoln might have
remained in Virginia

on the battlefront
with General Grant.

He might even have
been present to witness

Robert E. Lee's
surrender on April 9th.

But, as fate would have it,

Secretary of State William
Seward and his son, Frederick,

are victims of a carriage
accident in Washington.

- William.
- Mr. President.

- Mr. Lincoln, sir.
- Frederick.

Is your father able
to tolerate a friend?

This way.

Seward's jaw
is broken in two places,

and his right arm is fractured.

So, on April 9th,
unaware of Lee's surrender,

Lincoln returns to Washington

to visit his injured
Secretary of State.

I think we near
the end at last.

Richmond is back
in the arms of the Union.

I walked her streets.

I sat in Jeff Davis'
own chair.

- Miss Fanny.
- Thank you for coming,
Mr. President.

How could I stay away
when my Secretary of State

is rendered
in such a way

as he cannot but
listen?

I have worked my own hand
as hard as at sawing wood,

so many others'
hands have I shaken.

I've been to Libby Prison.

General Weitzel
asked me point-blank

how to treat the defeated
Confederate soldiers.

I told him
to let them up easy.

My old friend.

It is close to 10:00 p.m.

when Secretary of War Stanton
delivers to Lincoln the telegram

reporting that Robert E. Lee
has surrendered.

The next day, Washington City
is in full celebration.

A crowd gathers
in front of the White House

to serenade Lincoln
and to call for him to speak.

He politely promises
a speech the next night,

and requests that the band
play the Confederate anthem.

He asks them to play "Dixie."

A fine shot
with a parlor pistol.

Thank you, Mr. Powell.

Payne. It's Payne.

Not Powell. I ain't
going by Powell no more.

Booth is armed and headed
towards the White House.

He is just two blocks away
when he is stopped

by the managing director
of Ford's Theater,

who invites him for a drink.

Booth replies, "Anything
to drive away the blues."

On Tuesday, April 11th,
faithful to his promise,

Lincoln speaks from the north
portico of the White House.

Journalist Noah Brooks holds
a candle to illuminate Lincoln

and to provide light
by which to read.

Mary Todd Lincoln is present,

along with her friend
Clara Harris,

and seamstress and confidante,

the former slave,
Elizabeth Keckley.

Lincoln surprises the crowd
by outlining a generous

and compassionate policy
toward the South,

and then introduces
the idea of black suffrage.

Booth is there.

It is also
unsatisfactory to some

that the elective franchise
is not given to the colored man.

I would myself prefer...

That means
nigger citizenship.

...on the very
intelligent and on those
who serve our cause

as soldiers, some 12,000 voters.

Shoot him.

Draw your revolver
and shoot him now.

- There's people.
- There are always people.

I wonder, Mr. Powell,
or Mr. Payne,

in spite of your reputation,
if you have what it takes.

I already suspect that
Mr. Herold here does not.

There's
no call for that.

Oh, I got what it takes.

Now, by God,
I will put him through.

That is the last speech
he will ever make.

Abraham Lincoln has
less than four days to live.

Washington City celebrates
Robert E. Lee's surrender

with a grand illumination.

Candles burn in every window,
public and private.

Fireworks and cannon volleys
proclaim victory.

On April 13th,
Booth visits Grover's Theatre

and learns that
a production of Aladdin!
Or His Wonderful Lamp

is planned for the next night,
April 14th, Good Friday,

and that the president
has been invited to attend.

Booth arranges for a ticket

to the box adjoining
the president's,

and informs his co-conspirators
that the plan has changed

from kidnapping... to murder.

That, on April 14th,

Lewis Powell will kill
Secretary of State Seward.

David Herold
will accompany Powell

and lead him across the Navy
Yard Bridge and into Maryland.

George Atzerodt will kill
Vice President Johnson

in his room
at the Kirkwood House Hotel.

And Booth will kill Lincoln

during the performance
of Aladdin at Grover's Theatre.

With little more
than 24 hours to live,

Abraham Lincoln
rises at 7:00 a.m.

and writes four brief messages,
including one instructing

acting Secretary of State
Frederick Seward

to call a Cabinet meeting
for 11 a.m.

Then, joins his
family at breakfast

to find his eldest son,
Robert,

just returned from witnessing
the surrender at Appomattox.

General Lee,
stately, elegant.

His uniform, spotless,
with a jeweled sword
and shining spurs.

And General Grant, so shabby
in a muddy blue uniform,

borrowed from a private.

It was great. Oh! And...

Here... is... Lee.

Papa day,
let me see!

- Can I see it? Can I have it?
- Wait a moment, Tad.

Now, that is
the face of a noble man.

And brave.

Listen to me, Robert.

You must lay aside
your uniform...

...return to college...

...read law for three years,
and at the end of that time,

I hope that we will be able
to tell whether you will
make a lawyer or not.

Yes, sir.
And I will, sir.

Lincoln sees Secretary
of War Edwin Stanton
at the War Department.

Mr. Stanton.

Mrs. Lincoln has invited
General and Mrs. Grant

to join us at the
theater this evening.

And... General Grant

already hints that
they will decline in favor

of taking a train to New Jersey
to visit with their children.

I trust that you
have had no occasion

to encourage this desertion
in the face of entertainment?

Had I the occasion,
I would have seized it.

I am sorry, sir,
but it is a fact

that rumors of assassination
schemes are everywhere now.

It remains a constant
subject of concern between
myself and Mr. Seward,

even in the face
of his recovery.

The doors to the
White House stand open,

to one and all,
day and night, Stanton.

My life is within reach
of anyone, sane or mad.

By the hand of a murderer,
I can die but once.

But to go continually
in fear...

...why, that is to die
over and over...

...and over again.

Will you be attending
the theater tonight?

Aladdin is
playing at Grover's.

No, sir.
I'm afraid not, sir.

Pity. There will be
some fine acting there tonight.

The officers could
keep their sidearms.

And what terms did you make
for the common soldiers?

I told them to go back
to their homes and families.

With a promise
to not again...

...take up arms against
the United States of America.

Quite simple,
and quite right.

Which brings to mind
how very providential it is

that this rebellion was crushed
just as Congress has adjourned.

There are men in Congress
who harbor feelings of hate

and vindictiveness
toward the South.

But there will be
no persecution...

...when this war is over,
no bloody work.

We must bend every effort
to reanimate the South,

to put her state
governments in order,

and to re-establish the Union
before Congress reconvenes.

Still no word
from General Sherman?

We are hourly
expecting it.

It will be good news.

General Sherman will have
secured Johnston's surrender.

I... I know this

because I have had
the dream... last night.

I've had it before,
it's always the same

and invariably followed
by favorable news.

As Secretary of the Navy,

it has to do with your element,
Mr. Welles. Water.

I am in... some kind
of vessel in the dream.

And always moving with rapidity
toward an indefinite shore.

Lincoln explains
that he has had this dream

before the battles
of Fort Sumter, Bull Run,

Antietam, Stones River,
Gettysburg, Vicksburg
and Wilmington.

Grant replies that Stones River
was not a victory.

And then, in an aside, that his
wife insists upon them leaving

on the afternoon train,

they will not be
attending the theater.

Shortly before noon,

John Wilkes Booth stops
at Ford's Theater,

as is his daily custom,
to pick up his mail.

Well, here's the man
who don't like General Lee,
here for his mail.

I told you, Harry, I don't
like the way he surrendered.

Given his sword
by the Senate in Richmond

and swearing an oath
never to give it up,

he should have died
on the battlefield

before rendering his Southern
manhood to the butcher Grant.

That's what I said, Harry,
and it's what I meant.

Now, let's just hope he's not
paraded through the streets

as the Romans did
their captives, huh?

Thank you, Raybold.

Well, I'll be sure
to ask the president
his plan in that regard.

The president?
You mean the buffoon

who walked into Jeff Davis'
house in Richmond,

threw his legs over the chair,

and spit tobacco juice
all over the place?

He don't chew tobacco, John.

Or I would've put a spittoon
in the presidential box tonight.

A messenger from Mr. Lincoln
called this morning for tickets,

for them and General
and Mrs. Grant.

Maybe we'll have Robert E. Lee
and old Jefferson Davis himself

in another box,
both of them in chains.

I thought he was
attending Grover's tonight.

Booth goes
to Pumphrey's stable
to reserve a horse.

Then to write a letter,
a confession, an explanation.

A manifesto signed by him
on behalf of himself,

Lewis Powell, David Herold
and George Atzerodt.

Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln
take a carriage ride alone.

According to Mary Todd Lincoln,
she has never seen her husband

so supremely cheerful.

They talk about the past,

about the death of their son,
Willie, three years before,

about the future,
traveling abroad,

and Lincoln's plan
to return to his law practice.

Lincoln tells Mary
that on this particular day,

he feels that the war
has come to a close.

They end up
at the Washington Navy Yard

where Lincoln summons
a young naval officer,

William H. Flood.

Mrs. Lincoln.

Mother, the last time
we saw young Flood, here,

we were in Springfield.

I was a lawyer and he was
but knee-high to a grasshopper.

His mother was kin
with Governor Carlin.

- I remember Priscilla Flood.
- And his father served with me

in the Illinois state
legislature.

A Democrat, but a friend
and a good man,

despite his
fervent support

of my opponent
for the presidency.

Sins of the father, sir.

Never a sin to stand up
for what you believe.

Now, Flood, tell me...
which is the vessel
with a history?

Well, Mr. Lincoln...

...they've all been mussing
around under fire quite a lot.

But... I guess you mean
the Montaover there.

She got the hardest hitting,

been in the
tightest spots.

The very one, Flood,
show her to me. Mother.

At 4:30, a group of
Confederate prisoners of war

is being escorted from the Navy
Yard and up Pennsylvania Avenue

when Booth encounters
his friend, the actor,
John Matthews.

Great God!
I have no longer a country!

What's the matter, John?

Matthews, I have a favor to
ask you. Will you grant it?

I may have to leave town
tonight. I have a letter here

which I desire to be published
in the National Intelligencer.

Please attend to it for me

unless I see you before
ten o'clock tomorrow.

- Why, there goes General Grant.
- Where? Come on.

The General and
Mrs. Grant will later recall

the horseman who peered
into their carriage twice

on its way
to the train station.

The actor, John Matthews,

will be on stage that evening
at Ford's Theater.

The next day,
he will burn the letter,

the signed confession given
to him by John Wilkes Booth.

Abraham Lincoln has less
than 15 hours to live.

You see, I gave her
a draught that cured
the effect of the draught.

And that draught
was a draught that
didn't pay the doctor's bill.

Good gracious.
What a number of draughts.

You have almost
a game of draughts.

- What's the matter?
- That was a joke, that was.

- Where's the joke?
- She don't see it.

Why, anybody can see... that.

At roughly 8:30 p.m.,
the Lincolns arrive
at Ford's Theater,

driven by coachman
Francis Burke and
footman Charles Forbes.

Mr. Forbes. Mr. Parker.

I hope that you both
might enjoy the play.

Since November of 1864,

four officers
of the Metropolitan Police

have been detailed
to protect the president.

On this night,
John Parker is on duty.

As last-minute replacements
for General and Mrs. Grant,

Mrs. Lincoln invites her
dear friend, Clara Harris,

in the company of her fiance,
Major Henry Reed Rathbone.

Our American Cousin
is a farce in three acts

about Asa Trenchard,

an American country bumpkin
who comes to England

to claim an
aristocratic inheritance.

And tonight is advertised

as Miss Laura Keene's 1000th
and final performance

of the role
of Florence Trenchard,

opposite the actor Harry Hawk
as Asa Trenchard.

The famously self-educated
Lincoln is an enthusiastic
lover of theater.

But during the war,
he is drawn to comedy,

telling Noah Brooks that,
"A farce or comedy
is best played.

A tragedy is best read at home."

A last-minute meeting

with Lewis Powell, David Herold
and George Atzerodt

has just concluded.

The coordinated attack that
Booth outlined on April 13th

is to go into effect
immediately.

At 10:15, Lewis Powell is to
kill Secretary of State Seward

in his home
on Lafayette Square.

David Herold will guide
Powell out of the city

via the Navy Yard Bridge.

George Atzerodt is to kill
Vice President Johnson

at the Kirkwood House Hotel.

The only change in the plan

is that Booth will not be
attending Aladdin at Grover's.

Hello, John.

He will kill Lincoln
at Ford's Theater.

I am harmless
except to myself.

Speak on, sir.
I hear you.

It is still early
in act two.

Booth has calculated that
the appointed time of 10:15

will fall at the beginning
of act three

of Our American Cousin,

and there will be an
intermission between the acts.

Booth retrieves his horse
from Pumphrey's stable.

Mr. Spangler,
hold this mare for me
ten or 15 minutes.

Mind you,
she's a bad little bitch.

I can't, Mr. Booth,
it's almost intermission.

I gotta shift scenery.

May I cross backstage?

You're gonna have
to cross under.

And I can't
keep the horse.

Just go with him, Debonay,

and tell Peanuts to come here
and hold his damn horse.

Mr. Asa Trenchard,
our American cousin.

This young gentleman
has carried off the prize

by three successive shots
in the bull's-eye.

I congratulate you, sir,
and am happy to see you.

Why have you left
the archery, Florence?

Because,
after Mr. Asa's display,
I felt in no humor for shooting.

Booth heads next door

to Peter Taltavul's
Star Saloon.

Whether or not Francis Burke,

the man who drove
the Lincoln carriage,

and John Parker,

the man detailed
to protect the president,

are drinking at the Star Saloon
when Booth enters

will never be known
with any certainty.

Mr. Taltavul.

But the urge, somehow,

to be a part of,
or a witness to,

the killing of Abraham Lincoln
will prompt many to make claims

that are impossible
to substantiate.

The remark allegedly overheard
during intermission

by orchestra conductor William
Withers is a prime example.

You're a fine tragedian, John.

But... you'll never be
as great as your father.

When I leave
the stage for good,

I'll be the most talked
about man in America.

In the aftermath
of the assassination,

of the many witnesses
who claimed to know Booth,

or to see him on the evening
of April 14th, 1865,

Booth's friend and fellow actor,
John Matthews, later said:

"Those who were the wisest
knew the least."

And the stage is set
for the most dramatic

and resonant crime
in American history.

Mr. Trenchard?

Nary red,
it all comes to their

barking up the wrong tree
about the old man's property.

Yes, sir?

I have here
medicine for Mr. Seward,

from his surgeon,
Dr. Verdi.

I don't know that we are
expecting any such thing,

but I'll see to it
that he gets it.

No. I gotta take it
to him myself, personal.

- He thought better on it.
- Please, sir.

Uh, the house
is mostly asleep now,

and you don't want
to be waking them.

Oh, no, which
he meant to leave to me,

and left it to his
granddaughter,
Miss Mary Meredith.

Who is this, Bell?

Mr. Frederick, this man
says he's from Dr. Verdi.

I have medicine here
for Mr. Seward

with instructions
on how he must take it.

I'm sorry, but you
cannot see him now.

My sister and his nurse
are endeavoring

to compose
my father to sleep now.

- But I must.
Dr. Verdi's orders.
- Wait. Wait.

As I thought
and as I said...

...it's not worthwhile
to talk about this any further.

Miss Mary Meredith!

What will Miss Harris think
of my hanging on to you so?

...and mothers would
go away from a fellow

when they found that out,
but you don't valley fortune.

She won't think
anything about it.

You had better go.
You crave affection,
you do.

Go back and tell the doctor
that Mr. Seward's son

refused to let you see him

if you think I cannot be
trusted with the medicine.

Very well then.

You son of a bitch!

Mr. Trenchard,

you will please recollect you
are addressing my daughter...

I'm offering her
my heart and hand

just as she wants them...
with nothing in 'em.

...nasty beast.

I am aware,
Mr. Trenchard, you are not used
to the manners of good society,

and that, alone,
will excuse the impertinence

of which you have been guilty.

Don't know the manners
of good society, eh?

I guess I know enough to turn
you inside out, old woman,

you sockdologizing old man-trap.

Sic semper tyrannis!

Sic semper tyrannis!

- Stop that man!
- Stop him!

Let me pass! Let me pass!

Murder! Help! Murder!

Give me that horse, boy!

Murder!
Stop that man! Murderer!

John Wilkes Booth
has less than 12 days to live.

- What's happening?!
- The president! He's shot!

- Open it!
- Back away!

- I've been stabbed! Please!
Help us!
Someone, please!

- You're in no immediate danger.
- Please, help us!

- Please, help us!
- Mrs. Lincoln?

Mrs. Lincoln, I'm Dr. Leale,
a United States Army surgeon.

Doctor,
Doctor, is he dead?

Help him!
Help him, please!

Bring water and brandy!

On the floor. I want him
recumbent. One, two, three.

Watch his head.

He might've been stabbed.
We need to cut the shirt

and coat away
from the neck to the elbow.

Dr. Charles Taft.

Help him!

Someone!

Help him!

God!

Checking for hemorrhage...
from the subclavian artery.

Wait. I found it.

A hole, and...
there's a clot.

It's a bullet wound,
occipital bone, here.

Removal of the clot, it's
putting pressure on the brain.

Ladies, gentlemen!
The president is being
attended by a physician!

Please make your way,
in orderly fashion,
to the street!

Opening up his larynx
for free passage of air.

I need you and you
to lift his arms

and manipulate
them back and forth,

up and down,
to expand his thorax.

He's feeble. Respiration,
not that satisfactory.

Here! Here's brandy!

May I... hold his head?

Tell me!

Tell me, is he alive?!

At 10:35, 20 minutes
after shooting the president,

Booth arrives
at the Navy Yard Bridge,

his escape route into Maryland.

Sergeant Silas T. Cobb
of the 13th Regiment,

Massachusetts Heavy Artillery,
is on sentry duty.

- Halt. Who goes?
- Friend.

- Name?
- My name... is Booth.

- Where from?
- I'm from the city.

- Where are you headed?
- Down home, Charles County.

- What town?
- I don't live in a town.

I live near Beantown.

I don't know where
that place is, friend.

But do you know
it's against the law

to cross here
after nine o'clock?

What is your object
to be in town so late

when you got so far to travel?

It is a dark road.
I thought if I waited till now,

I should have the light of
this moon to help me see my way.

Well, I will
let you pass...

...but I don't know
as I ought to.

Hell... there'll be
no trouble about that.

Make way. Make way.

To the White House. We must
take him to the White House.

No, he will die on the way.

The saloon, here, next door.

No! It should not be said that
the President of the United
States died in a saloon.

Not even my own.

Doctor, give me your commands,

and I will see to it that
they will be carried out.

As I said, across the street
to the nearest house.

Make a path! Let us pass!

Stop, stop.

The house opposite is closed.

Here! Here.
Bring him here.

Go. Go, go.

Step away, please.
Back away, please.

Lincoln is taken
to a boarding house

directly across the street
from the theater.

And due to his
193 centimeter height,

laid diagonally on the bed of
absent boarder William Clark.

Shortly after 11 p.m.,
Secretary of War, Edwin Stanton,

sets up a headquarters
in the back parlor of the house,

and establishes relays between
there and the War Department
telegraph operators.

He alerts General Grant and
calls him back to Washington,

issues emergency directives

to police and
military authorities,

orders the National Detective
Police to initiate a manhunt

for the as-yet unknown assassin,

and notifies
Vice President Johnson
that the president is dying.

And, shortly before midnight,

Chief Justice
David Kellogg Cartter

begins to hear eyewitness
testimony of the crime.

But the appointed stenographer
cannot write fast enough.

Is there anyone here

who knows the practice
of shorthand writing?

Here! There's a boarder
here who does.

Tell him that his services are
required here... immediately.

Jim? It's General Augur.
They want you next door.

Tell them...
I'll be right there.

Minutes after
John Wilkes Booth crosses

the Navy Yard Bridge, Sergeant
Cobb stops David Herold,

riding a grey roan horse.

Herold asks if a rider
has passed here

and Cobb tells him yes
and lets him pass.

David Herold's job on April 14th

is to guide Lewis Powell
out of Washington

after killing
Secretary of State Seward.

But hearing the cries
of "Murder!" from
Seward's house...

Murder! He's killing my father!

...Herold flees the scene,
not waiting for Powell.

He catches up with Booth
at Soper's Hill,

and it's a little after
midnight when they arrive

at a safe house
for Confederate spies.

For God's sakes, Lloyd,
make haste and get the things.

A tavern where weapons
have been stored.

Lloyd, the things!

A tavern owned
by the mother

of Confederate
courier John Surratt.

I cannot carry a carbine.

This little bitch
fell on me.

Stumbled while jumping.
I broke my damn leg.

I need a surgeon.
We'll go to Sam Mudd's.

But no. We ought to get down
south across to the river,

- cross into Virginia.
- I cannot go on
without a doctor.

- Lloyd. Lloyd!
- Huh?

I am fairly certain we have
assassinated the president

and Secretary Seward.

Mind your damn horse,
Davey, let's go!

Meanwhile,
at the Petersen Boarding House,

Corporal James Tanner,

who has lost both legs at
the second battle of Bull Run,

and is just ten days
past his 21st birthday,

is about to take
the first eyewitness testimony

in the assassination
of Abraham Lincoln.

No!

Pulse: 48, rising.

Respiration: 21.

Ecchymosis is setting in.

Who are you?

I'm Corporal
James Tanner, sir.

- You're in need
of a phonologist.
- What?

- A shorthand, sir.
- Yes. In here.

Mr. Hill will be asking
questions of the witnesses

before Chief Justice Cartter.

The assassination
of Abraham Lincoln is witnessed

by more than 1500 people,
yet no two accounts match.

Even now, scarcely two hours
after Booth pulls the trigger,

the details fail to correspond.

Mark Twain once wrote
that the very ink with
which all history is written

is merely fluid prejudice.

And so it is that an objective
account of any historical event

simply does not exist.

- A.M.S. Crawford.
- William Henry Hawk.

James P. Ferguson.

I thought, at first,
he was intoxicated.

There was a glare in his eye.

I turned to Captain McGowan,

intending to say something

in reference
to this man's manner.

I was looking
with an opera glass

to see which citizen it was
with the president.

The next instant,
the shot was fired.

I said, at once, it
was the president's box

and jumped to the door.

I was on stage
at the time of the firing.

And he put his hands
on the cushion of the box,

and he threw his feet
right over.

He pulled part
of a state flag off.

And as I
looked towards him,

he came in the direction
in which I was standing.

Can you describe the man's form
that jumped from the box?

Yes, sir. I saw him
as he ran across the stage.

As he ran across,
he looked right up in my face.

I pulled the lady
down behind the banister.

As he went through the scene...

...threw his hand behind him...

...and the knife was
up in sight.

He made some expression
when he came on the stage.

The South shall be free!

But I did not
understand what.

- He stopped as he said...
- I have done it!

He shook the knife.

His face was towards me.

He did not say a word
that I heard,

but very strongly
resembled the Booths.

I believe,
to the best of my knowledge,

that it was John Wilkes Booth.

Still...
I'm not positive.

At 4:30 a.m., April
15th, Booth and Herold arrive

at the home of Dr. Samuel Mudd.

Either during his jump from the
presidential box to the stage,

or as a result
of his horse falling,

Booth has sustained
a clean break of his fibula,

four centimeters above
the instep of his left foot.

At the same time
that Dr. Samuel Mudd
is tending to John Wilkes Booth,

50 kilometers away,
Abraham Lincoln is dying.

I am inserting
the Nelaton probe.

Pulse: 60.

Respiration: 24.

At three inches, following
the track of the ball...

...there is a bone plug...

...driven in from the skull.

I can feel the ball,
at five inches.

And...

...two inches further,
fragments.

The orbital plate?

Undoubtedly.

Perhaps...
we should summon Mrs. Lincoln.

Barely perceptible.

It's your Mary.

Mother. Your Molly.

I'm here, Little Puss.

Your Child Wife.

Oh, my love...

...live but one moment...
to speak to me once.

To speak to our children,
you'd speak to little Tad,

wouldn't you, Father?
You love him so.

Mary Lincoln screams and faints,

and Secretary of War Stanton

orders that she is to be
removed from the room.

As she is led away,
Corporal Tanner,

transcribing his shorthand
in the back parlor,

overhears her to say:

"Oh, my God, and I have
given my husband to die."

Dr. Charles Augustus Leale,
the 23-year-old surgeon

who has been by the president's
side for nine hours,

has scarcely let go
of Lincoln's hand,

for no other reason than to let
him in his blindness know

that he was in touch with
humanity and had a friend.

At 21 minutes and 55 seconds
past 7:00 a.m.,

on Saturday, April 15th, 1865,

Abraham Lincoln
draws his last breath.

Fifteen seconds later,
his heart stops.

The Reverend Phineas Gurley
would recall that those present

remained motionless and silent
for several minutes

after Surgeon General Barnes
says, simply, "He is gone."

Now... he belongs
to the ages.

"Angels." According to
Corporal Tanner, Stanton said,

"He belongs to the angels now."

But Tanner was unable
to record the moment.

His pencil had broken.

His leg splinted,
and with the aid of a crutch,

Booth leaves
Dr. Samuel Mudd's home

late on the afternoon
of Saturday, April 15th.

Already, members of
the 13th New York Cavalry

have been ordered
to southern Maryland

in search of Lincoln's killer.

What will soon become
the largest manhunt

in American history
at that time,

begins with troops searching
scarcely seven kilometers

from Dr. Mudd's farmhouse.

Lost in the dark and on
the edge of the Zekiah Swamp,

Booth and Herold
have promised to pay

tobacco farmer Oswell Swann

$12 to lead them
to the home of Samuel Cox,

a leader in the Confederate
underground.

How is it that
you know Captain Cox?

Oh, we all know
Captain Cox, sir.

He a true man of the South.

He a hard man, beat a nigger
to death hisself. Mm-hm.

- You... you a free nigger?
- We alls free now, sir.

Thanks to Master Lincoln.
Lord rest his soul.

But I ain't no nigger.
I's a Wesort.

- What?
- A Wesort.

You know,
we sort of folks.

Nigger, Injun, white man,
all mixed up, you know.

- You have heard about Lincoln?
- Yes, sir.

He in the arms
of the Lord.

Um, my friend and I,
we're in need of some shelter.

Food. Not the nigger.

Name?

My friend,
he's hurt his leg.

You're John Wilkes Booth.

I think I know
what you have done.

They have arrived
at about 1:00 a.m.
on Easter Sunday.

After talking until dawn,
Cox is sympathetic, but no fool.

He will put Booth
and Herold in touch

with a Confederate smuggler,

who will get them across
the Potomac and into Virginia,

but Cox will not allow
Lincoln's assassin

to stay in his home.

So Booth and Herold are directed
to wait in a pine thicket,

just across Cox's property line.

They don't know it yet,
but they will wait there

for the next five days
and four nights.

Davey, don't you know
I can't get on?

Help him on his horse.

- Twelve dollars?
- Yes, sir.

I thought you said Captain Cox
was a man of Southern feeling.

You say anything about this
and you won't live long.

John Wilkes Booth
has ten days to live.

On April 17th,
Colonel Lafayette Baker,

the head of the National
Detective Police,

asks Alexander Gardner to make
copies of three pictures.

It is the first time in history

that photographs have been
used on a wanted poster.

Thanks in part to papers
found in Booth's room
at the National Hotel,

Lewis Powell and Mary Surratt
are jailed in Washington.

And George Atzerodt,
who simply got drunk

and wandered away
from the Kirkwood Hotel,

rather than attempt to kill
Vice President Andrew Johnson,

is discovered hiding out
in his cousin's home
in Germantown, Maryland.

Elements of the
8th Illinois Cavalry

and the U.S. 22nd
Colored Troops

join the 13th New York Cavalry
in southern Maryland.

And two members of the
National Detective Police,

Lieutenant Luther Baker
and Colonel Everton Conger,

accompany 26 members
of the 16th New York Cavalry,

under the command
of Lieutenant Edward Doherty.

Our cause,
being almost lost,

something decisive
and great must be done.

I struck boldly,
and not as the papers say.

I shouted sic semper
before I fired.

In jumping broke my leg.

This night before the deed,

I wrote a long article and
left it for one of the editors

of the National Intelligencer,

in which I fully set forth

the reasons...
for our proceedings.

He or the government...

The first of Booth's
two journal entries ends there.

He is interrupted
by Thomas Jones,

Samuel Cox's foster brother.

Cox has asked Jones
to see to it

that Booth gets across
the Potomac to Virginia.

In spite of the $100,000
bounty being offered,

Jones keeps Booth
and Herold hidden and fed

while government troops occupy
and sweep through the region.

Later, Jones will claim
that Booth's singular desire

was for newspapers.

So, it is here,
in the pine thicket,

that Booth reads the horrific
accounts, the lurid details,

and bloody result
of Lewis Powell's attack

on Secretary of State
William Seward.

Murder! He's killing my father!

Help!

I'm mad.

I'm mad!

I'm mad!

Murder!
Stop that man! Murderer!

Miraculously, Secretary of State
William Seward is still alive,

as are all the victims
of Lewis Powell's savage attack.

And George Atzerodt's
intended victim,

Vice President Andrew Johnson,

has been sworn in as the 17th
President of the United States.

But as Abraham Lincoln's
body lies in state

in the East Room
of the White House,

John Wilkes Booth lies on a
bed of dirt and pine needles,

and reads the worst
reviews of his life.

A man who was
raised on Shakespeare

is brought to his knees
by his own hubris.

In one fell swoop,
with one grand gesture,

he has changed the course
of American history

and dramatically jeopardized

the fate of the South
that he loved so dearly.

Booth's tragedy
is nearly complete.

On the night of April 20th,

Thomas Jones leads Booth
and Herold to a boat.

The current is strong.

There are naval patrols
searching the Potomac
for the fugitives.

John Wilkes Booth has
less than six days to live.

On April 18th,
Abraham Lincoln's dream

of an assassinated president
lying in state in the East Room

of the White House
is fully realized.

On April 21st, Lincoln's body
leaves Washington by train,

to travel 2,662 kilometers

to Oak Ridge Cemetery
in Springfield, Illinois.

After one failed attempt,
it's in the early morning hours

of April 23rd that John
Wilkes Booth and David Herold

finally cross the Potomac
and land in Virginia.

As he writes in his diary:

"With every man's hand
against me

for doing what Brutus
was honored for,

looked upon
as a common cutthroat,

abandoned with the curse
of Cain upon me."

On April 24th, Booth and Herold
arrive at the farm

of Richard Garrett.

Booth presents himself
as James W. Boyd,

a Confederate soldier wounded
at the Battle of Petersburg,

and the family takes them in.

But the very next day,

Booth is writing
in his diary when word comes

that Union cavalry are heading
toward the Garrett farm.

Booth tells Herold
to get his pistols.

The two men flee
to hide in the woods.

When they return, Garrett's
suspicions have been aroused.

Tonight, they will not be
welcome to sleep in the house.

Tonight, they will sleep
in the tobacco barn.

Tonight I tried to escape

these bloodhounds...

...once more.

I have too great a soul...

...to die... a criminal.

I don't want
to die, Booth.

I don't want
to kill no one.

I do not wish to shed a drop

of blood...

...but I must
fight the course.

'Tis all that's left to me.

At 2:30 a.m.
on the morning of April 26th,

the tobacco barn
at Garrett's farm

is surrounded by 26 members
of the 16th New York Cavalry,

under the command of
Lieutenant Edward Doherty,

along with Lieutenant Luther
Baker and Colonel Everton Conger

of the National
Detective Police.

Booth's location
has been betrayed

by an 18-year-old
Confederate soldier

named William Jett.

We know who you are!

Who are you? What do you want?

We want you,
and we know who you are.

Give up your arms
and come out directly.

- Well, my boy...
- We have no choice.

You goddamn coward!
You would leave me now?

Go!

Go on, I would not
have you stay with me.

This is a hard case!

It may be that I am
to be taken by my friends.

Be assured,
we are not your friend.

You have the sound of a
brave man, an honorable man.

I am a cripple.
I've got but one leg.

If you will withdraw your men
in line 100 yards from the door,

I will come out and fight you!

We did not
come here to fight.

We came to make you a prisoner.

You put any more kindling there,
I'll put a ball through you.

I could've picked off three
or four of your men by now,

if I wished to do so.

Draw off your men
50 yards.

- I will not!
- Well, my brave boys,

you can prepare
a stretcher for me.

Go. Go on.

Save yourself if you can.

Captain, there
is a man in here

who wishes
to surrender awful bad.

Let him hand out his arms!

You carry a carbine
and you must hand it out!

I declare before my maker

that this man
is innocent of any crime.

Upon the word and honor
of a gentleman, he has no arms.

The arms are mine,
and I've got them.

Show your hands!
Put out your hands!

Now what?

One more stain
on the old banner!

Make quick work of it, Captain.

Shoot me through the heart.

- He shot himself!
- No, he did not.

Quick, get him out.
Get him out of here!

Private Perry!

Pick him up.

Speak. Speak.

Tell my mother...

...that I died for my country.

For your country,
is that what you say?

Yes.

Here, get him away
from the fire. Let's go.

Let's go. Let's move!

- Go!
- Set him against
the wall, soldier.

Prop him up. Get him up.

- Where's he shot?
- In the neck.

- I told you, he shot himself.
- No, Corbett did.

Give me that.

I saw him through
the barn planks.

He was claiming he was
raising his rifle against us.

Sergeant Boston Corbett
shot him.

In Washington, Lewis
Powell and George Atzerodt

will soon be joined
by David Herold,

and all of them
will be held in custody

aboard the ironclad monitors
USSSaugus and USS Montauk.

And, tomorrow, their
photographs will be taken,

and the public will see,
for the first time,

the faces of the men
who conspired to decapitate

the government
of the United States.

Now it is the morning
of April 26th,

and John Wilkes Booth
has only hours to live.

There's nothing
in your throat. No blood.

The ball that
passes through Booth's neck
severs his spinal cord

between the fourth and fifth
cervical vertebrae,

paralyzing him
from the neck down.

Kill... me.

We don't
want to kill you.

We want you to get well.

Hands...

Lift them... let me see...

...my hands.

He's asked
to see his hands.

Useless...

...useless.

Shortly after dawn,
on Wednesday, April 26th, 1865,

John Wilkes Booth
draws his last breath.

His belongings
are wrapped in paper.

His body is sewn
into a saddle blanket
and loaded onto a wagon,

then a steamer,
then a tugboat bound
for the Washington Navy Yard.

Alexander Gardner
and Timothy O'Sullivan

board the ironclad monitors
USSSaugus and Montauk

to make collodion glass plate
photographs of the men

who conspired
first to kidnap and then
to kill Abraham Lincoln.

Michael O'Laughlen,
Booth's childhood friend,

will be convicted of
participating in the conspiracy

and sentenced
to life imprisonment.

Samuel Arnold admits
to conspiring to kidnap
the president,

but denies involvement
in the assassination.

He is sentenced
to life in prison.

All right,
take him away.

Next. Have a seat, man.

George Atzerodt,
who lost his nerve

and got drunk rather
than attempt to kill

Vice President Johnson,
is condemned to die.

Mr. Lewis Powell.

Have a seat.

After his savage
but failed attempt

on the life of
Secretary of State Seward,

Lewis Powell hides in
Washington for three days

before wandering into
Mary Surratt's boarding house

and into the arms
of the police.

Don't you move now, laddie.

Powell
is sentenced to death.

On April 27th,

David Herold is brought
aboard the USS Montauk.

The young man who followed
John Wilkes Booth
to the bitter end...

...is condemned to die.

And at the request
of Secretary of State Stanton,

Alexander Gardner takes
one more picture on April 27th.

Dr. Frederick May...

...can you positively
identify the body?

Is there a scar
upon the back of its neck?

There is.

Let me describe it
before it's seen by me.

It's on the left side

and has the appearance more
like the cicatrix of a burn

than that of a
surgical operation.

It was occasioned when I removed
a fibroid tumor from his neck.

It is exactly
as you have described it.

Yes.

That is he.
That is John Wilkes Booth.

Gentlemen, please,
stand where you are.

And perfectly still.

One... two... three.

James Wardell, one of
Lafayette Baker's detectives,

takes the single glass plate

and delivers it
to Lafayette Baker.

It is presumed that Baker gives
it to Secretary of War Stanton.

But no one knows.

Alexander Gardner's photograph

of the autopsy of John Wilkes
Booth has never been found.

The trial of the conspirators
is a military tribunal.

Three hundred and sixty-six
witnesses testify.

And all of the defendants
are found guilty.

And in attempting to create
a definitive record

of the people and events
surrounding the assassination
of Abraham Lincoln,

Alexander Gardner
and Timothy O'Sullivan

are given extraordinary
and exclusive access.

On July 7th, 1865,
the sentences are carried out

for the first assassination
of a president

in the history of the nation.

And Mary Surratt becomes the
first woman ever to be executed

by the United States
federal government

when she joins Powell,
Atzerodt, and Herold

on a scaffold at the
Old Arsenal Penitentiary.

In an interview ten years later,

the former president
of the Confederacy,

Jefferson Davis, states simply,

"Next to the destruction
of the Confederacy,

the death of Abraham Lincoln

was the darkest day
the South has ever known."

Tad Lincoln learned
of his father's assassination

while attending Aladdin
at Grover's Theatre.

He died of heart failure
six years later.

Briefly committed to an asylum

by her only
surviving son, Robert,

Mary Todd Lincoln
died in Springfield

17 years after the
assassination of her husband.

John Wilkes Booth's body
was buried in a storage room

at the Old Arsenal
Penitentiary,

then, in a warehouse,

and, finally, interred
in Green Mount Cemetery
in Baltimore, Maryland,

four years after the killing
of Abraham Lincoln.

Ten weeks after the president's
death, the Civil War was over,

and Lincoln's Gettysburg
declaration was realized:

that government of the people,
by the people, for the people

shall not perish
from the earth.

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