“I sat by the side of the bed nearest the door, reading “Legends of Charlemagne.” Robinson was near. I saw that Father seemed inclined to sleep, so turned down the gas, laid my book on a stand at the food of the bed, & took a seat on the other side. About 10 o’c Dr. Norris paid his visit & left us all quiet…I do not remember hearing voices outside, but something led me to think that Fred was there with someone else…Perhaps the President was there, or had sent over. I did not stop to see if father wakened thoroughly, but hastened to the door, opened it a very little, and found Fred standing close by it, facing me. On his right hand, also close by the door, stood a very tall young man, in a light hat & long overcoat. I said, “Fred, Father is awake now.” Something in Fred’s manner led me at once to think that he did not wish me to say so, and that I had better not have opened the door…The man seemed impatient, & addressing me in a tone that struck me at once as much more harsh & full of determination than such a simple question justified, asked, “Is the Secretary asleep.” I paused to look at my father, & replied “Almost.”
Then Fred drew the door shut very quickly. I sat down again…Very soon I heard the sound of blows—it seemed to me as many as half a dozen, sharp and heavy, with lighter one’s between. There had been an interval of quiet…I could not tell what it mean…and being impatient to find out, started…I thought Robinson & I reached the door at the same time…I saw that two men came in, side by side…the one nearest me, was Fred. The side of this face was covered with blood, the rest very pale, his eyes full of intense expression…On his right was the assassin…his arms were both stretched out, he seemed rushing toward the bed. In the hand nearest me was a pistol, in the right hand a knife. I ran beside him to the bed imploring him to stop. I must have said, '“Don’t kill him,” for father wakened…then raised himself & had on glimpse of the assassin’s face bending over, next felt the blows and by their force…was thrown to the floor…”This must be a fearful dream!”…Three men struggling beside the bed…they were Fred & Robinson & the assassin…Then I knew it was not a dream. I remember pacing the room back & forth from end to end—screaming. My screams wakened Gus but I do not remember seeing him…After a little time…some vague idea of calling for assistance carried me into the hall…at that time the assassin & those struggling with him were by the door in Father’s room, & I passed them as I went out…I think I saw the assassin stab Hansell, as he…rushed headlong down the stairs…It seemed to me that every man I met had blood on his face…
I remember running back, crying out “Where’s Father?” seeing the empty bed. At the side I found what I though was a pile of bed clothes—then I knew that it was Father. As I stood my feet slipped in a great pool of blood. Father looked so gastly I was sure he was dead, he was white & very thin with the blood that had drained from the gashes about his face & throat…”O my God! Father’s dead”…” Good Friday, April 14, 1865
Lewis Powell, the “assassin”, is pictured to the left c. 1865.