“On stage, [the character of] Augusta Mountchessington realized she’d been wasting her time with her American cousin. She left the room in disgust, and her mother turned to Asa. ‘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.’ She stormed off stage right, away from the president’s box. Now alone on the stage, Trenchard said, half to himself, ‘Don’t know the manners of good society, eh? Wal, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal – you sockdologizing old man-trap!’ The actor Harry Hawk had turned to follow the lady off stage when he was startled by a loud pop. Spinning around, he saw a commotion up in the president’s box. A man in black made a quick jerking movement, then stepped out of the shadows, his face glowing eerily from the stage lights below. The man stood there, wrapped in a veil of smoke, and hissed out the words ‘Sic semper tyrannis!’ Then he suddenly vaulted over the balustrade and dropped to the stage more than twelve feet below. Landing slightly off balance, he rose to his full height, then raised a gleaming dagger triumphantly over his head…”
- Michael W. Kauffman, American Brutus: John Wilkes Booth and the Lincoln Conspiracies
There have been four successful assassinations of American presidents in the history of the United States. Three of those executive murders were the work of lone gunmen, acting from a variety of reasons and delusions.
The fourth, however, was the result of a relatively vast conspiracy, potentially with connections to a foreign power, that was meant to be part of a coup d’état, decapitating the American government at a stroke.
That, of course, was the shooting of Abraham Lincoln on April 14, 1865, resulting in his death the following day.
Even as John Wilkes Booth was fleeing the stage of his infamous crime – which took place at Ford’s Theater, during a presentation of Our American Cousin – another accomplice was attacking Secretary of State William Seward at his home, where he was already recovering from grievous injuries suffered in a carriage accident. Meanwhile, another conspirator was supposed to take out Andrew Johnson, Lincoln’s vice president. Numerous other plotters were involved in planning the attack – originally meant to be an abduction – while others stashed weapons, provided horses, and directed the assailants as they tried to escape Washington, D.C. Some of the men involved might have had associations with the Confederate States of America, though there is no direct evidence that it was ever ordered by Jefferson Davis or anyone in his chain of command.
Unraveling any crime is difficult, especially once the case has gone cold, and even more so when that case took place in the middle of the nineteenth century. In American Brutus, Michael Kauffman admirably succeeds in following all the bread crumbs, untangling many knots, and coming to reasoned conclusions about one of the two most fateful gunshots in the vast span of human history (the other being fired by Gavrilo Princip in Sarajevo, in June 1914).
American Brutus is an exceptionally good book, thorough and engagingly written. It combines a brief yet effective biography of Booth, the famed actor turned murderer, with a recounting of Booth’s crime, the lingering death of Lincoln in the Petersen House, the widespread manhunt for Booth and his compatriots, and the military tribunal that sentenced and executed four conspirators, including a woman.
While the narrative is occasionally breakneck – especially Booth’s wild attempt to escape, and his ultimate death at the hands of an American cavalryman who’d once cut off his own testicles with a pair of scissors – Kauffman also plays the role of historical detective. He sifts through the evidence, he weighs the credibility, and he gives a very sound version of events, including his assessment of the culpability of the various members of the conspiracy, many of whom were never indicted.
American Brutus is marked by incredibly in-depth research, which is thoroughly demonstrated in the annotated endnotes. When you peruse the notes, you get a strong indication of just how deep Kauffman went to get his story. He not only hunted through all the archives, but he followed Booth’s trail of escape, and he talked to the ancestors of some of the individuals caught up in events, such as the descendants of Dr. Samuel Mudd (who went to prison after setting Booth’s broken leg). By taking this extra step, Kauffman is able to capture bits of insight through family lore that he could not find by simply sifting through the documents in a library collection. The extent to which Kauffman threw himself into this project is made clear when he offhandedly mentions that he served as a pallbearer when conspirator Lewis Powell’s remains were reinterred, after his skull was discovered at the Smithsonian Institution, and tested by the FBI. This is clearly a work of passion, and it shows.
Despite being neck-deep in the subject matter, Kauffman is not a partisan. He does a really good job of coming to nuanced conclusions regarding the aftermath of the assassination. The military tribunal that convicted Lewis Powell, David Herold, Mary Surratt, and George Atzerodt has been criticized since the moment of its inception. That criticism has only increased over the years, and grew especially heightened around the time this book was first published in 2004, at a time when America was utilizing numerous questionable methods to deal with suspected terrorists.
According to Kauffman, the tribunal was clearly unfair as compared to a modern criminal trial. Yet, as he astutely points out, much of that unfairness was a function of the rules of criminal evidence in 1865, which were heavily tilted in favor of the prosecution. There were no Miranda warnings, meaning that none of the defendants were advised to keep their mouths shut. Furthermore, the Gideon v. Wainwright rule regarding the requirement that all defendants have counsel was still 98 years in the future. These harsh realities would have been in play regardless of whether the defendants were tried before a military commission or in federal court.
Moreover, as Kauffman explains, procedural niceties aside, there is very little support for the suggestion that the defendants were actually innocent. Even Mary Surratt, whose case became a minor modern cause célèbre (Robert Redford made a movie about her), appears to have played an active role in the conspiracy, though it is possible she thought Booth was still going to kidnap the president – as originally intended – rather than put a .44 caliber ball into the back of his head at close range. Similarly, Dr. Mudd, who strenuously denied being part of the conspiracy, actually met with Booth before the assassination, and was conspicuously slow in advising federal troopers that the assassin had been in his house for medical treatment.
My only problem with American Brutus is in the way it is structured.
The tale begins at Ford’s Theater, with Our American Cousin already playing out on stage. From there, Kauffman devotes the first four chapters to the assassination and the immediate aftermath. In Chapter Five, however, before ever getting to Booth’s ride for freedom, Kauffman circles back to give us his life story. From there, we move forward chronologically, through events that happened both before and after Ford’s Theater. To break it down further, Chapters 1 through 4 are focused solely on April 14-15, 1865; starting in Chapter 5, we jump back in time to cover the period between 1838 and 1865; by Chapter 11 we are closing in on where the book started; Chapter 12 gives another perspective of what happened at Ford's Theater; and the following chapters rejoin the initial timeline on April 16, 1865.
This layout definitely works to hook you early on (Lincoln is shot by page 7), I found it needlessly confusing, as crucial parts of the story (such as when Booth broke his leg) are not resolved until long after the question is raised. It also resulted in some overlap, such as two different assassination scenes in two different parts of the book.
This is only a minor quibble, though I felt it kept American Brutus from achieving the full force of its effect.
While Kauffman deals with just about every question pertaining to John Wilkes Booth’s sad and sadistic expression of rage, he steers well clear of the one that haunts me most: What might have happened had Abraham Lincoln decided to just spend a quiet evening at home?
On the one hand, it is obvious that Lincoln would have handled Reconstruction better than Andrew Johnson. Indeed, it is nearly impossible for anyone to have done worse. Though Lincoln’s reputation likely would have taken even more hits, as he tried to reconcile the irreconcilable with regards to the reverberations of slavery, his deep wisdom, vast empathy, and evolving vision of equality would have been much welcomed.
On the other hand, Lincoln’s shooting on Good Friday – the day when Christians commemorate the Crucifixion of Jesus – turned him into a secular martyr. Suddenly, one of the most hated presidents in history became one of the most beloved. Secretary of War Stanton claimed to have said, as Lincoln gasped his final breath, “Now he belongs to the ages.” Whether or not he said it at the time, or only later, is beside the point, because the statement is sublime truth. Upon Lincoln’s passing, at the apotheosis of his life, he transmogrified into a symbol of all that was good and righteous in the United States. Death, as they say, paid for all his sins, and he became a national lodestar that we look to till this very day.
In studying the often tragic and consistently shameful post-Civil War years, I have often wondered whether Lincoln the Man – pragmatic, calculating, good-intentioned – could have changed things to any great effect, or if Lincoln the Symbol – sitting eternally on his massive chair on the Mall, a reminder to strive to be touched by “the better angels of our nature” – was the best we could have hoped for.