Manhunt Read Free Page B

restaurant, stopping just below the front door. Ferguson stepped outside onto his front porch and found his friend sitting on a small, bay mare. James L. Maddox, property man at Ford’s, stood beside the horse, one hand on its mane, talking to Booth. “See what a nice horse I have got!” boasted the actor. Ferguson stepped forward for a closer look. “Now, watch,” said Booth, “he can run just like a cat!” At that, Ferguson observed, Booth “struck his spurs into the horse, and off he went down the street.”
    At about 4:00 P.M., Booth returned to the National Hotel, walked to the front desk, and spoke to clerks George W. Bunker and Henry Merrick. Three days later a
New York Tribune
reporter described the encounter:
    [He] made his appearance at the counter … and with a nervous air called for a sheet of paper and an envelope. He was about to write when the thought seemed to strike him that someone around him might overlook his letter, and, approaching the door of the office, he requested admittance. On reaching the inside of the office, he immediately commenced his letter. He had written but a few words when hesaid earnestly, “Merrick, is the year 1864 or ‘65?” “You are surely joking, John,” replied Mr. Merrick, “you certainly know what year it is.” “Sincerely, I am not,” he rejoined, and on being told, resumed writing. It was then that Mr. Merrick noticed something troubled and agitated in Booth’s appearance, which was entirely at variance with his usual quiet deportment. Sealing the letter, he placed it in his pocket and left the hotel.
    On his way out of the National, Booth asked George Bunker if he was planning on seeing
Our American Cousin
at Ford’s, and urged Bunker to attend: “There is going to be some splendid acting tonight.”
    Around 4:00 P.M., the actor John Matthews, who would be playing the part of Mr. Coyle in tonight’s performance, met Booth on horseback on Pennsylvania Avenue, at the triangular enclosure between Thirteenth and Fourteenth streets, not far from the Willard Hotel. “We met,” recalled Matthews, “shook hands, and passed the compliments of the day.” A column of Confederate prisoners of war had just marched past, stirring up a dust cloud in their wake.
    â€œJohn, have you seen the prisoners?” Matthews asked. “Have you seen Lee’s officers, just brought in?”
    â€œYes, Johnny, I have.” Booth raised one hand to his forehead in disbelief and then exclaimed, “Great God, I have no longer a country!”
    Matthews, observing Booth’s “paleness, nervousness, and agitation,” asked, “John, how nervous you are, what is the matter?”
    â€œOh no, it is nothing. Johnny, I have a little favor to ask of you, will you grant it?”
    â€œWhy certainly,” Matthews replied. “What is it?”
    â€œPerhaps I may have to leave town tonight, and 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; in that case I will see to it myself.” Matthews accepted the sealed envelope and slipped it into a coat pocket.
    As Booth and Matthews talked, Matthews spotted General Grant riding past them in an open carriage with his baggage. He appeared to be leaving town.
    â€œThere goes Grant. I thought he was to be coming to the theatre this evening with the President.”
    â€œWhere?” Booth exclaimed.
    Matthews recalled: “I pointed to the carriage; he looked toward it, grasped my hand tightly, and galloped down the avenue after the carriage.”
    When Booth caught up to the Grants and rode past their carriage, Julia Grant thought of something that had happened earlier in the day. She was at lunch at the Willard Hotel with General Rawlins—one of Grant’s top aides—Mrs. Rawlins, and the