“
President Lincoln was murdered at Ford’s Theater last night!!!
” When Sarah Putnam, fourteen years old, heard the news at her Boston breakfast table, she drew a picture of her feelings—a face with two wide, round eyes and a wider circle for a mouth—thereby preserving the essence of the visible expressions that helped make the news believable (the girl would grow up to be a portrait painter). Putnam vowed to her diary to report the facts “without any sentiment,” but when she wrote, “Now president L. is
dead
,” her double underline, along with the face she had rendered, betrayed her emotions. 25
The Washington minister James Ward expressed shock and dismay in his diary on April 15, 1865. “
We have the saddest tidings this morning that ever shocked our Country
,” he wrote. “It almost chills my heart’s blood to record it.
President Lincoln was murdered at Ford’s Theater last night!!!
”
James Thomas Ward diary, April 15, 1865, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress
.
People flipped back the pages of their diaries in efforts to create an accurate chronological account. A Union soldier who had noted drills, a dress parade, and a package from home on April 14 now squeezed in the words, “President Lincoln shot in Ford’s Theatre.” When the news reached England,
Punch
journalist Shirley Brooks turned back the sheets of his diary twelve days to write, “This evening President Lincoln was killed,” as if he had gotten the news that same night. People wrote long letters, thenasked for them to be returned; “send it back, for I have no other record,” Caroline Dall instructed the recipient of a long missive in which she set down all the details. 26
People preserved their reactions on paper in all kinds of ways. They drew heavy black lines to signal the separation of everything that came before the assassination from everything that would come after. They recorded the deed, then drew a box around the words to make them stand out on the page. People drew pictures of graves or penned the facts in beautiful calligraphy. Annie Hillborn wrote the word “Died” at the top of the page, then wrote “April 15” in the left margin and “1865” in the right margin. Beneath that came the words, “Our Loved President” and “At 22 min past 7 O’clock AM.” She added Lincoln’s birth date and age, followed by “A martyr to Justice & Liberty. Killed by the hand of an assassin.” A seamstress in New York City, without the time and supplies available to Hillborn, crammed a record of the event onto a page in her account book, fitting the words around her list of purchases. “The Pres. was assassinated in his seat at Ford’s Theatre,” she wrote, “a ball pass through his brain.” 27
Sarah Browne had referred her husband to the newspapers, unable to bring herself to write out the particulars, but unlike Sarah, many mourners drank up and dwelled on the details. Some cut out newspaper columns and pasted them into their journals, while others copied out the facts, refashioning official reports into personal records. Either way, it was a means both to preserve history and to face what still felt incomprehensible, as the act of assembling, organizing, and composing formed another step in the confounding process of “realization.”
They wrote down everything. How the president’s bodyguard went ahead to the theater but was nowhere to be found when the assassin approached. How the president’s personal valet unwittingly let the assassin by. That the assassin was the actor John Wilkes Booth. How Booth entered the anteroom and looked through a peephole in one of the doors that led directly to the box. How he had earlier carved that peephole himself, since he was permitted access to the theater as a recognized actor. How he opened the door and wedged it shut from the inside. How he shot the president once in the back of the head. How Mary Lincoln screamed. How Booth broke his ankle on his clumsy
President Lincoln was murdered at Ford’s Theater last night!!!
” When Sarah Putnam, fourteen years old, heard the news at her Boston breakfast table, she drew a picture of her feelings—a face with two wide, round eyes and a wider circle for a mouth—thereby preserving the essence of the visible expressions that helped make the news believable (the girl would grow up to be a portrait painter). Putnam vowed to her diary to report the facts “without any sentiment,” but when she wrote, “Now president L. is
dead
,” her double underline, along with the face she had rendered, betrayed her emotions. 25
The Washington minister James Ward expressed shock and dismay in his diary on April 15, 1865. “
We have the saddest tidings this morning that ever shocked our Country
,” he wrote. “It almost chills my heart’s blood to record it.
President Lincoln was murdered at Ford’s Theater last night!!!
”
James Thomas Ward diary, April 15, 1865, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress
.
People flipped back the pages of their diaries in efforts to create an accurate chronological account. A Union soldier who had noted drills, a dress parade, and a package from home on April 14 now squeezed in the words, “President Lincoln shot in Ford’s Theatre.” When the news reached England,
Punch
journalist Shirley Brooks turned back the sheets of his diary twelve days to write, “This evening President Lincoln was killed,” as if he had gotten the news that same night. People wrote long letters, thenasked for them to be returned; “send it back, for I have no other record,” Caroline Dall instructed the recipient of a long missive in which she set down all the details. 26
People preserved their reactions on paper in all kinds of ways. They drew heavy black lines to signal the separation of everything that came before the assassination from everything that would come after. They recorded the deed, then drew a box around the words to make them stand out on the page. People drew pictures of graves or penned the facts in beautiful calligraphy. Annie Hillborn wrote the word “Died” at the top of the page, then wrote “April 15” in the left margin and “1865” in the right margin. Beneath that came the words, “Our Loved President” and “At 22 min past 7 O’clock AM.” She added Lincoln’s birth date and age, followed by “A martyr to Justice & Liberty. Killed by the hand of an assassin.” A seamstress in New York City, without the time and supplies available to Hillborn, crammed a record of the event onto a page in her account book, fitting the words around her list of purchases. “The Pres. was assassinated in his seat at Ford’s Theatre,” she wrote, “a ball pass through his brain.” 27
Sarah Browne had referred her husband to the newspapers, unable to bring herself to write out the particulars, but unlike Sarah, many mourners drank up and dwelled on the details. Some cut out newspaper columns and pasted them into their journals, while others copied out the facts, refashioning official reports into personal records. Either way, it was a means both to preserve history and to face what still felt incomprehensible, as the act of assembling, organizing, and composing formed another step in the confounding process of “realization.”
They wrote down everything. How the president’s bodyguard went ahead to the theater but was nowhere to be found when the assassin approached. How the president’s personal valet unwittingly let the assassin by. That the assassin was the actor John Wilkes Booth. How Booth entered the anteroom and looked through a peephole in one of the doors that led directly to the box. How he had earlier carved that peephole himself, since he was permitted access to the theater as a recognized actor. How he opened the door and wedged it shut from the inside. How he shot the president once in the back of the head. How Mary Lincoln screamed. How Booth broke his ankle on his clumsy
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