The complete story of the Ulkes and their remarkable photograph remains a mystery. In an odd twist, a few years after the assassination, Henry Ulke painted an official oil portrait of Edwin M. Stanton that hangs today in Washington at the National Portrait Gallery.
Soon other artists created assassination oil paintings, including the first, Carl Bersch, who painted the scene of Lincoln being carried across the street from Ford’s to the Petersen house, to “make it the center and outstanding part of the large painting I shall make, using the sketches I made earlier in the evening, as an appropriate background. A fitting title for the picture would, I think, be ‘Lincoln Borne by Loving Hands on the Fatal Night of April 14, 1865.’ Altogether, it was the most tragic and impressive scene I have ever witnessed.” Once in the collection of the White House, this haunting painting was transferred to the National Park Service in 1978. The morbid work, judged unsuitable for the eyes of future presidents, made its way back to Ford’s Theatre, where it hung for almost thirty years until it was banished to storage.
CHAPTER FIVE
“The Body of the President Embalmed!”
Mary Lincoln had arrived at the White House about two hours ahead of her husband. She had not slept all night, but this was not a place where she could find rest. Elizabeth Dixon had accompanied her from the Petersen house. “At nine o’clock we took her home to that house so changed for her and the Doctor said she must go immediately to bed. She refused to go into any of the rooms she had previously occupied, ‘not there! Oh not there’ she said—and so we took her to one she had arranged for the President for a summer room to write in—I remained till eleven o’clock (twelve hours from the time I went to see her) and then left her a lonely widow, everything changed for her, since they left so happily the evening previous.”
When the cortege arrived from Tenth Street, Mary did not gather herself, go downstairs, and receive the president with honors as he entered his White House for the last time. Lincoln’s army tendered those honors without her. Abraham Lincoln’s homecoming at 11:00 A.M. on April 15, 1865, was the most dramatic moment in the Executive
AN EARLY BROADSIDE ANNOUNCING LINCOLN’S DEATH.
Mansion’s history since it was burned by the British in the War of 1812.
Although Mary refused to bear witness, Mrs. Dixon did: “As I started to go down the stairs I met the cortege bringing up the remains of the murdered President.” Shocked by the unexpected encounter, Dixon watched as soldiers dressed in dark, Union-blue frock coats carried the flag-draped pine coffin slowly up the grand staircase.
The soldiers carried the temporary coffin into the Prince of Wales Room, also known as the Guest Room, removed the flag that draped the box, and unscrewed the lid. They lifted the body and laid it on wooden boards supported by wood trestles. They unwrapped from his corpse the bloody flag that shrouded him. At the Petersen house, his clothes—suit coat, torn shirt, pants, plus pocket contents—had been tossed in the coffin. Somebody had forgotten his boots; they were still under Willie Clarke’s bed. His tie was also missing—somebody had already taken it. For the moment Lincoln lay naked on the improvised table, which looked like a carpenter’s bench. He had been dead for less than five hours, and his body was still cooling.
The physicians and witnesses were waiting. Present were Dr. Joseph K. Barnes, surgeon general; Dr. Charles H. Crane, assistant surgeon general; Dr. H. M. Notson, assistant surgeon; Dr. Charles S. Taft, assistant acting surgeon; Dr. Robert King Stone, the Lincolns’ family doctor; Dr. Janvier J. Woodward, assistant surgeon; and Dr. Joseph Curtis, assistant surgeon. Dr. Charles Leale had declined the invitation to watch them cut open the body of the man whose life he had tried to save. Civilian observers included Lincoln’s friend and former Illinois senator Orville Hickman Browning and Benjamin Brown French.
At 9:00 A.M. French had left his home and headed to the White House. His carriage arrived at the gate not long after the remains had been taken inside. “I went immediately to the room where they were and saw them taken from the temporary coffin in which they had been brought here.” French did not stay for the autopsy. Instead, at somebody’s request, he went to Mary Lincoln’s room. “She was in bed, Mrs. Welles being alone with her. She was in great distress, and I remained only a moment.” He was already thinking of how the national capital should honor the dead president. “I then gave all the directions I could as to the preparations for the funeral.”
Overcome by a severe headache, French left the White House by noon and rode to Capitol Hill. “I came through the Capitol, gave directions for clothing it in mourning…and then came home.” French’s workers used shears to cut long panels of black bunting for that purpose.
Soon after the body was laid out in the Guest Room, the doctors prepared their instruments to cut open Lincoln’s body. Dr. Curtis, the assistant surgeon, described the scene. “The room…contained but little furniture: a large, heavily curtained bed, a sofa or two, bureaus, wardrobe, and chairs comprised all there was.” He noticed that the generals and civilians in the room with him were silent or conversed quietly in whispers. He saw that at one side of the room “stretched upon a rough framework of boards covered only with sheets and towels, lay—cold and immovable—what but a few hours before was the soul of a great nation.”
He recalled the surgeon general saying that “the President showed most wonderful tenacity of life, and, had not his wound been necessarily mortal, might have survived an injury to which most men would succumb.”
Dr. Woodward would expose the brain. He reached into his medical kit for a scalpel, sliced through the skin at the back of the president’s head, and peeled the scalp forward to expose the skull. Then he
THE BULLET’S FATAL PATH.
reached for the bone saw. To get to the brain, he needed to cut off the top of Lincoln’s skull. Dr. Curtis described the procedure:
Dr. Woodward and I proceeded to open the head and remove the brain down to the track of the ball. The latter had entered a little to the left of the median line at the back of the head, had passed almost directly forwards through the center of the brain and lodged. Not finding it readily, we proceeded to remove the entire brain, when, as I was lifting the matter from the cavity of the skull, suddenly the bullet dropped out through my fingers and fell, breaking the solemn silence of the room with its clatter, into an empty basin that was standing beneath. There it lay upon the white china, a little black mass no bigger than the end of my finger—dull, motionless and harmless, yet the cause of such mighty changes in the world’s history as we may perhaps never realize.
During the autopsy, a man opened the door and walked into the room, breaking everyone’s intense concentration. Was the intruder a curiosity seeker, or, even worse, an infernal relic hunter? He was the latter, but one authorized by the highest authority. He was a messenger from the first lady.
“During the post-mortem examination,” said Dr. Taft, “Mrs. Lincoln sent him in with a request for a lock of Mr. Lincoln’s hair.” Dr. Stone clipped one from the region of the wound and dispatched it to her room. Taft wanted one too. “I extended my hand to him in mute appeal, and received a lock stained with blood, and other surgeons present also received one.”
THE BULLET THAT ENDED LINCOLN’S LIFE.
The doctors marked the bullet for identification—Dr. Stone scratched the initials “A.L.” on it—and dropped it into a paper envelope, sealed it, and surrendered it to Secretary Stanton. It would make a prized and historic addition to the gruesome collection of wounded-tissue specimens, shattered bones, and deadly projectiles being assembled at the new U.S. Army Medical Museum. The fatal bullet from Booth’s Deringer pistol became an object of fascination not just for Dr. Curtis but for the American people. It even became the subject of a bizarre allegorical print.
This lithograph, published in Chicago within a few weeks of the assassination, depicts the bullet resting beneath a powerful magnifying glass, with an eerie, all-seeing eye peering through the lens at the figure
of John Wilkes Booth—imprisoned inside the bullet! In a colossal error, the artist rendered the bullet as an elongated, conical round of the type fired by Civil War rifled muskets and not as the spherical pistol ball recovered from Lincoln’s brain. That inaccuracy does not disqualify the print as the most bizarre artwork created in the aftermath of the president’s murder.
The bullet now recovered, and the direction of its path through Lincoln’s brain confirmed, Dr. Curtis asked his superiors if he would be allowed to weigh the brain. Was it possible that an unusually large brain mass accounted for Lincoln’s genius? Curtis unpacked the scale he and Dr. Woodward had brought to the White House for this purpose. Curtis would be the first of many, over the next century and a half, to speculate on the origins of Lincoln’s greatness.
“Silently, in one corner of the room, I prepared the brain for weighing,” Curtis remembered. “As I looked at the mass of soft gray and white substance that I was carefully washing, it was impossible to realize that it was that mere clay upon whose workings, but the day before, rested the hopes of the nation. I felt more profoundly impressed than ever with the mystery of that unknown something which may be named ‘vital spark’ as well as anything else, whose absence or presence makes all the immeasurable difference between an inert mass of matter owning obedience to no laws but those governing
A BIZARRE PRINT DEPICTING BOOTH IMPRISONED INSIDE HIS OWN BULLET.
the physical and chemical forces of the universe, and on the other hand, a living brain by whose silent, subtle machinery a world may be ruled.”
Oddly, no one at the autopsy made contemporaneous notes indicating the disposition of Lincoln’s brain. Nor, as best it can be determined, did any of the doctors or witnesses ever make any oral statements regarding the fate of the brain. The Army Medical Museum would have been its natural repository. That is where the bullet, skull fragments, blood relics, instruments, probe, and more were sent. But no records survive to suggest that Lincoln’s brain or blood was placed on secret deposit there.
The reading on the scale disappointed Dr. Curtis: “The weighing of the brain…gave approximate results only, since there had been some loss of brain substance, in consequence of the wound, during the hours of life after the shooting. But the figures, as they were, seemed to show that the brain weight was not above the ordinary for a man of Lincoln’s size.”
Their work done, Drs. Curtis and Woodward stepped back from the corpse and wiped their tools clean of Lincoln’s blood, hair, flesh, brain matter, and bone chips. Their shirt cuffs exhibited the signs of their trade—blood spots and brain fluid stained the absorbent, white cotton fabric. They packed their instruments away in their medical kits and returned the bone saw, scalpels, and other devices to their proper, velvet-lined niches in the trays. They and the witnesses beheld the president’s body. It looked ghastly. The skin was pale, the jaw slack, the eyelids slightly open, the face bruised (especially in the area surrounding the right eye socket, behind which the bullet had been lodged), the scalp peeled back, the top of the skull sawn off, and the brain, now washed clean of blood and void of Booth’s profane missile, lying nearby in a basin. It was time for the embalmers to arrive. They would be responsible for repairing the damage and concealing the violations the pathologists had committed upon the president’s corpse.
Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles described what happened: “When Mr. Lincoln’s body had been removed to the President’s House, the embalmers proceeded to prepare it for the grave. Mr. Harry P. Cattell, in the employ of Doctors Brown and Alexander, who, three years before, had prepared so beautifully the body of little Willie Lincoln, now made as perpetual as art could effect the peculiar features of the late beloved President. The body was drained of its blood, and the parts necessary to remove decay were carefully withdrawn, and a chemical preparation injected, which soon hardened to a consistence of stone, giving the body the firmness and solid immobility of a statue.”
Edwin Stanton supervised the dressing of the corpse. He went through Lincoln’s wardrobe to choose the suit. Lincoln did not own an extensive collection of clothing. He was always an indifferent dresser, as many of his photographs testify. It was an old habit from his circuit-riding days as a lawyer, when he needed to travel light. He never packed many clothes on those trips. Lincoln was the kind of man who did not replace his clothes until he wore them out.
Stanton eyed the suits. There was the one the president had worn during the day of April 14, before he changed to attend the theater. If necessary, it would do. Another good suit, tailored by Brooks Brothers, lay crumpled in the temporary wood coffin on the floor. Stanton couldn’t bury him in the suit he wore when he was shot. (A century later, this suit surfaced from obscurity and became a sensational collector’s prize.)
There was another suit in Lincoln’s closet. It was new, so the president had not had the opportunity to wear it out. This suit was one of the finest garments he had ever owned. Stanton selected it. He watched as they fitted the president with a white cotton shirt, looped the bow tie under the collar (Lincoln bought his neckties pre-tied), and dressed him in the suit. They did not put him in a coffin yet.
While the morticians embalmed and dressed Lincoln’s corpse, Benjamin Brown French dined at home at 3:00 P.M. His headache was worse. He thought of his diary. He did not want to let the events of this day pass without committing them to writing in his thick, quarto-sized, leather-bound journal. But he couldn’t concentrate, so he went to bed. He slept until 7:00 P.M., then rose, took tea, and opened his diary. What he wrote that night and in the days to come, in his distinctive, beautiful script, fills the pages of one of the great American journals.
Lincoln’s corpse was ready for burial, but it was unclear where that would occur. Mary had the right to choose the site, but given her mental state, she was in no condition to discuss the subject only hours after her husband’s death. Edwin Stanton would confer with her and Robert Lincoln later. In the meantime, whatever the final destination of the president’s remains, official funeral events would have to take place in the national capital within the next few days. Stanton may have had time to supervise the dressing of Lincoln’s body, but he had no time to plan and supervise a major public funeral, the biggest, no doubt, that the District of Columbia had ever seen. The secretary of war needed to delegate this responsibility, and there were several qualified candidates. Ward Hill Lamon, marshal of the District of Columbia, had known Lincoln for years, ever since their days as circuit-riding Illinois lawyers. Lamon had accompanied the president-elect on the railroad journey from Springfield to Washington in 1861 and had appointed himself the president’s unofficial bodyguard. Lamon, a big, strong, barrel-chested man, was once found sleeping outside Lincoln’s door at the White House clutching pistols in both hands. And it was Lamon who had organized the procession at Gettysburg on November 19, 1863, when Lincoln spoke there at the dedication of the national cemetery.
On less than a week’s notice, Lamon had planned everything, devised and printed the order of march and program of events, recruited U.S. marshals from several other states to assist him, and stood on the platform with Lincoln and announced to the crowd in his bellowing voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States!” But Lamon was in Richmond the night of the assassination and still had not yet returned to Washington. Stanton would have to select someone else.
Benjamin Brown French was another obvious choice. The old Washington veteran had been on hand for decades of historic events, including the deaths of other presidents, and a multitude of public ceremonies and processions. French was perfect but he was needed to play another role—decorator in chief of the public buildings, especially at the U.S. Capitol, where without doubt Lincoln’s corpse would lie in state.
Lincoln was, in addition to chief executive, commander in chief of the armed forces, and if Stanton wanted to entrust planning the funeral events to a military officer, he had several options. Major General Montgomery Meigs, quartermaster general o
f the U.S. Army, was a master planner with superb organizational skills. Stanton relied on him to supply the entire Union army with muskets, uniforms, blankets, food, and more, and to deliver those goods wherever and whenever needed. But the war was not over, and Stanton could not spare Meigs from his vital mission.
There was Brigadier General Edward D. Townsend, the brilliant assistant adjutant general of the army. Townsend had served the legendary General Winfield Scott, hero of the War of 1812 and the Mexican War, who in 1861 still held command of the army at the start of the Civil War. Upon Scott’s resignation, Lincoln, who knew Townsend’s qualities, offered him his choice of spots: “On reporting to the President, he asked what I desired. I replied I did not think it right to indicate for what duty I was most required, but was ready for any orders that might be given me.”
Townsend hoped for a field command, but the new general in chief, George B. McClellan, said that he was too valuable in army administration. Townsend served under Lincoln’s first secretary of war, Simon Cameron, and when he resigned the new secretary, Edwin M. Stanton, kept Townsend on, relying on him to run the adjutant general’s office during the extended absences of its titular head, General Lorenzo Thomas. Townsend whipped the office into shape and was willing to stand up to the formidable Stanton, thereby earning his respect. He would be a good choice to plan the funeral. But already Stanton had Townsend in mind for a special duty of utmost importance, one even more critical than planning the president’s funeral in the nation’s capital. He held Townsend in reserve.
Stanton turned to another government department and considered George Harrington, assistant secretary of the Treasury. Harrington, fifty years old, was experienced in the ways of Washington. He had served as a delegate from the District of Columbia to the Republican National Convention of 1860 and had won the confidence of Lincoln’s second secretary of the Treasury, William P. Fessenden. Lincoln, Stanton, and all the other members of the cabinet