The Day Lincoln Was Shot: An Hour-by-Hour Account of What Really Happened on April 14th, 1865
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The Day Lincoln Was Shot is a gripping, minute-by-minute account of April 14, 1865: the day President Abraham Lincoln was tragically assassinated.
It chronicles the movements of Lincoln and his assassin John Wilkes Booth during every movement of that fateful day. Author and journalist Jim Bishop has fashioned an unforgettable tale of tragedy, more gripping than fiction, more alive than any newspaper account.
First published in 1955, The Day Lincoln Was Shot was a huge bestseller, and in 1998 it was made into a TNT movie, with Rob Morrow as Booth.
Mudd as a friend. He put on the disguise of an old man. Mudd was forty, tall, thin, had a bald forehead, blue eyes and brick-colored hair and whiskers. He was intelligent and independent. Until the Emancipation Proclamation, he had owned eleven slaves. Once, when a slave refused an order, Mudd drew a pistol and shot the man in the leg. He owned a five-hundred-acre farm, and worked it. As was the case with his father and his brother, he liked property and he wanted more. He was a churchgoer and
the other side of the stage, peeked out at the packed house, and went out through the side alley to Tenth Street. He had time. Down on E Street, Atzerodt decided to again pick up the horse he had rented in one stable and boarded in another. He walked into Tim Naylor’s place, across from Grover’s Theatre, and asked John Fletcher for his mare. Atzerodt had been to this stable several times with David Herold, and Fletcher, who had a chronic fear of having horses stolen from him, didn’t like either
sneak!” In the last campaign, she told Lizzie Keckley that Lincoln had to be reelected because she owed bills totaling at least $27,000 and there was no other way in which they could be paid. She was generous too. When gifts of fruits and wines and liquors reached the White House, she loaded them in a carriage and drove out to the Soldiers’ Home on Seventh Street and gave them to the wounded. She was never too weary to make the trip out, and nothing could make her hurry away from the bedsides.
good detectives and go up to H Street and raid the place now. Richards asked him to bring back Booth and Surratt, if they were there. Richards might have said: “Bring back anyone on the premises,” but his hunch was still only a hunch and he did not want to be in the position of instigating terror raids at 2 A.M. In fifteen minutes, Clarvoe was standing in front of the darkened house. H Street was deserted. He had ten men with him and he posted them carefully. One went to the back of the house,
brain. At a depth of four inches, it ran into an obstruction. Barnes turned the probe slowly so that segments of whatever the obstruction was would be found on the porcelain bulb. If it was a bullet, traces of lead would be found. He withdrew it. There was no indication of lead. The other doctors studied the probe and agreed that he had probably contacted a piece of loose bone which had been blown from the back of the skull by the impetus of the bullet. The Nélaton probe was tried again, without