He had signed his own name, but also that
of George Atzerodt.
The men who worked with Atzerodt once said
he was a man you could insult and he would
take no offense. It was the kindest thing
they could think of to say. Three men from
the Kirkwood bar appeared and took
Atzerodt by the arms. "Letтs find another
bar," they suggested. "We have hours and
hours yet before the night is over. Eat,
drink. Be merry."
At six p.m. John Wilkes Booth gave the
letter to John Matthews, an actor, asking
him to deliver it the next day. "Iтll be
out of town or I would deliver it myself,"
he explained. A group of Confederate
officers marched down Pennsylvania Avenue
where John Wilkes Booth could see them.
They were unaccompanied; they were turning
themselves in. It was the submissiveness
of it that struck Booth hardest. "A man
can meet his fate or make it," he told
Matthews. "A man can rise to the occasion
or fall beneath it."
At sunset, a man called Peanut John lit
the big glass globe at the entrance to
Fordтs Theatre. Inside, the presidential
box had been decorated with borrowed flags
and bunting. The door into the box had
been forced some weeks ago in an unrelated
incident and could no longer be locked.
It was early evening when Mary Surratt
returned home. Her financial affairs were
still unsettled; Mr. Nothey had not even
shown up at their meeting. She kissed her
daughter. "If Mr. Nothey will not pay us
what he owes," she said, "I canтt think
what we will do next. I canтt see a way
ahead for us. Your brother must come
home." She went into the kitchen to
oversee the preparations for dinner.
Anna went in to help. Since the afternoon,
since the moment Booth had not spoken to
her, she had been overcome with
unhappiness. It had not lessened a bit in
