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TION. MpJ THE GREAT CBJME Hanging of Mrs. Sun , Payne Harold and Ateerott. Full and Complete Detai of the Affair. Efforts to Defer the Execution Mrs. Surratt. m A Writ of ffaheas Corpus Issued for but it is Disregarded by Pmj. dent Johnson's Orders. How the Prisoners Pi An, nd n '„ <*ican mihZ ^ "»ed by Their Last Night. a nafion tsft of ^:c;r Mrs. Surratt and Payne Pr Their Stolid Indifferent to the End. $8* THE AXSA-. .fiATiC or |! PRES'iLINCOV FULLt.^TICl Iran W %.A Vj $3.00 THE CASE FOR MRS. SURRATT Seven men and a woman were tried for the murder of Abraham Lincoln. Three men and the woman were hanged. THIS IS THE story of the woman — Mary Eugenia Surratt of Surrattsville, Maryland, an obscure boarding house- keeper who became the central figure in the most dramatic trial in the history of the nation — a trial that rocked the world and wrecked an administration. The world will never know whether or not she was completely innocent. Testimony brought out at the trial would never have convicted her in a civil court, and this same testimony would tend to prove that she was rail- roaded by a military commission under Secretary of War Stanton. There can be little doubt that her trial represents the low point in American jurispru- dence. American democracy was on trial with her and both lost— democracy temporarily. The case of Mrs. Surratt has been of interest to all students of history for (Continued on back flap) ( %{ {a,k fcrJfri. Jumitt LINCOLN ROOM UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY MEMORIAL the Class of 1901 founded by HARLAN HOYT HORNER and HENRIETTA CALHOUN HORNER THE CASE FOR MRS. SURRATT Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://archive.org/details/caseformrssurratOOcamp Mrs. Mary E. Surratt THE CASE FOR MRS. SURRATT By HELEN JONES CAMPBELL G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS • NEW YORK COPYRIGHT, I943, BY HELEN JONES CAMPBELL All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, must not be reproduced in any form without permission. This complete copyright edition is produced in full compliance with the Government's regulations for conserving paper and other essential materials. MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 47 The author is very grateful to the follow- ing people who have given information and material regarding Mary Eugenia Surratt and her trial: Colonel J. E. Raymond, Ft. Benning, Ga.; the late Lieutenant-Colonel C. Seymour Bullock, C.E.F.; The Right Reverend Monsig- nor E. P. McAdams, Washington, D. C; Allan V D. Jones, Newport News, Va.; Mrs. Waddy P. Wood, Warrenton, Va.; Dr. E. G. Swem, College of William and Mary; Professor G. G. Clark, College of William and Mary; Mrs. Edward A. Semple, Hampton, Va.; David Rankin Barbee, Washington, D. C; and the present-day members of the Jenkins and Sur- ratt families. She also' wishes to thank Milton Pratt for his assistance in preparing the manu- script for publication. CONTENTS i. The Arrest 3 11. Old Capitol 16 in. Mary Eugenia 35 iv. The Boardinghouse 55 v. The Net 91 vi. The Commission 113 vii. The Prosecution 137 vin. The Defense 187 ix. The Ends of Justice 231 x. But for the Grace of God 249 THE CASE FOR MRS. SURRATT I. The Arrest MR. LINCOLN WAS SHOT at a quarter past ten on Good Fri- day, April 14, 1865. Five hours later, in the dead of night, a squad of metropolitan police visited the Surratt boardinghouse on H Street and pounded wildly on the outer door, clamoring for admit- tance. Mary Eugenia, asleep in the downstairs bedroom when they arrived, started up in bed as the noise of their hammering fists re- verberated through the old brick house. Her body still ached from the long carriage ride back from the plantation at Surrattsville, her eyes smarting from exposure to the uncertain weather, her mind confused by the excitement of the past day. Then, as the sleep slowly left her brain, and she localized the origin of the noise that had awakened her, she thought of Little Johnny. He's come back! was her first reaction, but she dismissed the idea as soon as it occurred to her. Johnny had a latchkey; he'd have let himself in noiselessly, as he did whenever he returned from one of his unex- plained trips. He'd have tiptoed upstairs quietly, without disturbing the household. The pounding continued, and still she hesitated to get out of bed to admit the visitors. From her open window she could hear brief snatches of song and the raucous laughter of the victory-mad Yankees who were celebrating Lee's surrender all through the night. Her thin lips tightened in contempt and anger. She was sure that some of the celebrants, in the enthusiasm of whisky and their victory, had heard her family were Southerners and were come to taunt them with their defeat. That it could be the police would never have occurred to her. She lay in her bed, leaning on her elbow, waiting tensely for the roisterers to tire of their game and depart. And then, when she de- cided the pounding would never cease without her intervention, she reached for the black and white shawl she had folded carefully and placed on the small table beside her bed before retiring. Slowly and resignedly, she clambered out of bed and groped her way across the room, barefooted, toward the closed door. With her hand on the knob, she paused uncertainly. She could hear the light flat thud of bare feet moving down the staircase that connected the three floors of the house. She opened her door an inch or two and peered out into the dark hallway. She could make out the shadowy form of Lou Weichman walking down the stairs, very tentatively, stuffing the tail of his nightshirt into his breeches as he passed her room. He was muttering imprecations under his breath. Lou entered the vestibule, half-hidden from her sight by the por- tieres that separated the entryway from the rest of the house. A sharp click, and she knew he had thrown open the door to her noc- turnal visitors. Then she saw him stagger backward as though he had been pushed violently, protesting indignantly until he recog- nized the uniforms of the men who crowded about him. "Police?" It was an awe-stricken whisper, half question, half ex- clamation, yet loud enough to reach Mary Eugenia as she listened intently behind her half-closed door. "Jawn S'rratt t' home?" She blanched and gripped the knob more firmly for support. What could these men want of Litde Johnny? she wondered. What could they want that could not wait until day- light? Then her fear for her son was dissipated in her annoyance at Lou, who stared open-mouthed at his questioner, unable to answer. What was he waiting for? Why didn't he tell them that Johnny wasn't home and that they had awakened the whole household for nothing. "N-no, no!" Lou said finally. "He's away." "Where's he at?" "I really don't know, sir, just where he is. He isn't here." "His mother," the officer said. "She live here?" "Oh, yes. Yes, sir." "Where's she? Lemme see her." Upstairs, a door creaked. They've awakened the girls, Mary Eugenia thought, with their infernal racket, breaking into a person's home at three in the morning. From the second-floor bedroom near the hallway, she could hear John Holohan bellowing invective at the swine who dared awaken him and his family. Lou attempted to defend her sleep. "But Mrs. Surratt's in bed," he protested. "You can't see her now." The detective brushed his words aside. "No difTrunce," he said curtly. "Show me where she's at!" She heard the scuffling of heavy shoes in the vestibule, six or eight of them there must have been, and then the rattle of china in the hall cupboard, followed by a petulant curse. Someone struck a phosphorus match, and a moment later, in the flickering light of the gas jet, Mary Eugenia could see four burly men, two in plainclothes, two in uniform, pushing Lou ahead of them toward her room. Breathing heavily, she closed the bedroom door quickly and noiselessly and leaned against it for support. She drew back when she heard a gentle knock, waited until her breath should come more easily before answering. The knock was repeated, more in- sistent this time. "What is it?" she asked softly. "What is it, Lou?" The leader of the group)—Clarvoe his name was—shouted through the door: "You Mrs. S'rratt?" "Yes, sir." "I want to see your son Jawn. Where is he?" She opened the door a crack, clutching her shawl about her throat. "John isn't in the city, sir. He's away." "Where is he? When'd you see him last? When was he here?" "Why . why, it's been some time. Two weeks or more, I think. ." The day Richmond fell, whatever day that was. Her voice trailed off. "Why?" she asked suddenly. "What's the matter?" "That was the third, Mrs. Surratt," Lou broke in helpfully. "Rich- mond fell on the third. That's the last time Johnny was home." Clarvoe whirled on him. "Who're you?" he snapped. "You b'long here?" "Yes. Yes, I do," Lou answered. "I live here. I share John Sur- ratt's room." "Then lemme see your room. McDevitt!" Clarvoe turned to the man in uniform who had been standing quietly behind him.

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