Copyright © Jacob Freeman Hill
ENDING TYRANNY
by
JACOB F. HILL
Copyright © Jacob Freeman Hill
Ending Tyranny – Jacob F. Hill
2
I was more than just a man that made things happen, I was the man who changed history.
The morning of the crime I committed I drank my typical coffee to start my day like any other
normal day one might encounter. Two sugar hold the cream may I add since you told me to be
specific, Lieutenant. My partners and I went about planning the destruction of the rule that had
plagued the U.S. and I was to kill the big man himself behind abolition, Lincoln. Powell was to
kill the Secretary of State, Seward, who was convienently injured from a carriage accident. And
that damn coward Atzerodt was to take out Vice President Johnson. The plans had been made
and set in stone. Lincoln was in my hands that night, I controlled his future. I prepared my
pristine .44 handgun for the crime, planning a running escape was the only way I thought to get
out, I honestly didn’t care if I got out at first, as long as he was dead. When I shot Lincoln the
crowd went amuck, spitting out their babble of “what a blind crime it was” and the thought of
actually making it out alive settled in. The hailed leader was surely dead, and I needed to escape
with haste. I proceeded to ride my horse out of the area, making my way to the south, the true
home I believed in. The plan was spectacularly perfect in thought, but little did I see that the
whole north would come after me on all fours like the hounds they are. Now I sit here in front of
you Lieutenant Doherty, accused of murder and you wonder why I did it. So this, this is the full
story of me, John Wilkes Booth, and the glorious assassination of the North’s beloved tyrant,
Abraham Lincoln.
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Like I said, it all started to fall into place the night before when I sat at the bar with
Powell and Atzerodt. I was the one giving the orders, it was all so perfect. The plan would take
out the whole lot of them if done correctly. Regardless if it did or didn’t, I wasn’t one to back
down from finishing the job. The precision at which the timing was placed just complemented
the act so flawlessly. After planning it I couldn’t let the thought of killing Lincoln escape my
mind for even a second. The metallic smell of blood haunted me in my dreams the night before.
You see, this sensation of unfathomable blood lust came over me after the president’s speech on
the 11th of April, and ever since then, these dreams continued, even after killing. Nightmares you
say? No, not at all. These dreams were that of pure rage and revenge, soothing and calming more
than anything. They take the nerves off of me like a good puff from a tobacco pipe, just pure
bliss. That night at the bar though, after my partners, in what you would call crime, left, I sat at
the bar thinking. I thought of every facet that I could expend in this murder. I thought of how I
would go about my daily routines without letting others see something odd was about me, how I
would kill him, what I would do afterwards. Coming to a conclusion on the small details as a
whole, I saw the need to ensure a death. No fancy knife work like in the plays, what this country
needed was a one hundred percent guaranteed kill. I trusted my old pistol, the .44 I had acquired
from my father. Ah, this pistol will carry the legacy long after my body degrades wherever you
animals put me. One shot to the head would surely do what was necessary in order to pry power
from the man’s hands and send the country into utter chaos.
That night as I left the bar, a crisp spring rain gently cleansed the city of the corruption
and improper rule for a brief period. How purposefully soothing. Arriving at my house I
prepared for the next night, informing a friend to leave a horse from his stables outside of the
theatre for an escape. He warned me of this horse’s apparent “wild” nature and I assured him it
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4
would cause no trouble. But this blind view of a clean get away was flawed. Well, we all have to
be wrong sometimes, isn’t that right Lieutenant? Regardless, I loaded my pistol as the sweat
from my fingers slid across the metal casings of the shells, my head collectively was calm but
my body was giddy and nervous, like that of a young girl on a Christmas morning. The thought
of finally acting on something that could never be done by anyone else gave me a sense of
grandiose worth for the south. Oh, what I know they will say about me in the years to come! I set
my boots and coat out for the next day, my mind lost its calm at this moment, but I remember it
so clearly. I started to panic, what if I didn’t kill him and were to be caught? I surely had to end
his life, no exceptions. I talked myself away from the mental ledge and figured that it was
impossible for me to fail. It was my destiny as the savior of southern culture. I knew that by the
time I left that theatre he would not be breathing. He would be lifeless. He would shine with a
river of blood, the way he was meant to. Then the thought came, “If I went down with him, it
would be with valor, not disappointment”, knowing I had done myself and my country one of the
greatest favors of history would be the most honorable way to go. I laid in bed attempting to
sleep that night before the day of reckoning, only to find myself smiling uncontrollably and
laughing without valid reason. Lincoln, in my hands, yes.
Due to falling asleep at early hours of the morning, I awoke a little before noon, just
when the sun was highest in the sky. I could barely contain my joy Lieutenant! Today was the
day that would imprint me in history as the infinite peace keeper, the great mediator! Like any
other morning I drank my coffee, you know how I like it. Then that afternoon I double and triple
checked all of my planned actions. I read the newspaper over a nice lunch at a local restaurant,
just ensuring tonight was the night of the play at the theatre and that my favorite sandwich on the
menu had not changed. If the newspaper was correct, I was more than prepared. And if my taste
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buds are correct, that meal is the best you can get in D.C. So as most know, I worked as an actor
at John Ford’s theatre in D.C., so obtaining information about the show was incredibly easy. I
went to the Ford Theatre to ask John of the specifics on the show even though I already knew
most of them. I recall a very basic and obliviously informative conversation with him. In fact,
from what I recall, it went along the lines of this:
“Excuse me sir, this is your theatre, correct?”
“That would be correct, to whom does it conce-, ah! Mr. Booth, How has the day been to you?”
“Great John, it is a great day to be alive isn’t it? So, I just was curious of these reports that
President Lincoln is attending the show tonight.”
“That is indeed the story, we are blessed to have Mr. Lincoln grace us with his attendance.”
“Ah, that is fantastic, isn’t it? What seats are reserved for the president and his guests?”
“Well we reserved the box seats on the left balcony of course. You know of all people that those
seats are always reserved for the most special guests.”
“Oh, of course. I just wasn’t sure if he would take the left or right box. Well, thank you John,
you can count on me being there to watch the show. I might just have to jump on stage and
preform, huh?”
“Ha ha ha, not your turn to shine tonight my lad, you have had plenty of those! Well good day,
and enjoy the show tonight!”
Hah, if he only knew. The show was mine to take. Regardless of location, a gunshot will
trump any harlot prancing across a stage. The afternoon I planned before the show was so
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beautiful and seemingly normal, no-one who could have seen me would have known that I was
going to kill Lincoln in a matter of hours. Hidden in plain sight. It is quite stunning to think
about it Lieutenant, I actually acted on the streets for a whole day before my big show. Later, I
rode on my horse to Powell and Atzerodt, ensuring that they were both still on board with the
plans for the night. I first visited Powell who was already sharpening his knife. I criticized his
choice, saying that he needed to be sure Seward would die, but he insisted on the knife and
assured me there would be no mistakes. I then left for Atzerodt’s telling Powell I’d see him at the
rendezvous. At this point it was edging on seven in the afternoon, Powell was ready and I was in
a bit of a hurry. Searching at Atzerodt’s apartment, I couldn’t find a trace of him. I yelled his
name in each of the rooms, but then I noticed his coat was gone. It was far too early for him to be
leaving for his little sideshow. I knew exactly where to find the waste of life, the only place the
poor bastard could’ve been. I remember riding up to the bar and seeing his horse tied up at one of
the posts, I will admit at this moment my rage got the best of me. Usually, I keep it at bay
Lieutenant, but this man knew how to set me off. I knew exactly what the damn flake was doing.
I busted through the doors, sure enough that helpless heap was sitting at his usual spot. He had
his typical scotch on the rocks in front of him and was now looking towards the door, at me. I
locked eyes with him and hastily walked to his stool. Without saying anything at first, I grabbed
his glass of scotch and threw it on the ground, then proceeded to grasp his throat and lift him off
of his stool. I remember yelling something along the lines of, “YOU KNOW EXACTLY
WHERE YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE”, then abruptly tossing him to the ground as his
drunken body folded on the floor. I grabbed the stool he sat in and raised it over my head as he
somberly moaned on the wood floor. I brought the rickety stool down on his back, it splintered
from the blow, little bits of wood danced and clanked on the floor and his face fell to the dirty
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planks. The bar tender, who I knew very well, asked me to take the dispute outside and put the
stool cost on Atzerodt’s tab. I grabbed the drunk by the back collar of his coat and the belt of his
pants and threw him out of the bar. Kicking him in the ribs, I threatened he would be my next
target if he didn’t follow through. The cowardly scoundrel slithered onto his horse like the snake
he was, and rode to his apartment to prepare. Now as we both know Lieutenant, both Powell and
Atzerodt ended the lives of their targets successfully as did I, an amazing feat of the modern age
wouldn’t you say? A triple assassination, but you rewarded their services by savagely shooting
them down! Anyway, back to my account of the infamous night at the theatre.
I remember the feeling I got the second I stepped into the doors of the theatre. The
jubilation of the crowd was different than that of the dormant joy that manifested in my soul.
People mumbled rumors of Lincoln and his wife, escapades of anti-slavery, and a multitude of
other things that just ensured my desire to gun down the tyrant. The contrast of the beautiful
architecture of the theater and the simplistic gossip of the general public downgraded the value
of the theatre to me. Almost as if someone had taken a piss on a classic piece of art. Like I
mentioned before, I carried the .44 that I had inherited, but I also brought a knife in the case of
misfire. Ah you see, I had thought of everything. The plan was going to be executed with such
ease and grace, the beauty of the kill would be so harmonious. I watched the play from backstage
for a solid thirty minute span. Let’s just say that I’m glad I had the opportunity to spice it up. I
proceeded to sneak my way out of the backstage prop room and down the hallway to the box
seat. When I came to just the other side of the curtain I recall seeing only the president and his
horrendously insane wife sitting in the box. But as sauntered closer to pull back the curtains, I
saw a third and fourth shadow, another man and woman. Surely a useless grunt of a guard and
his ball and chain of a spouse. Ha, the protection he ensured for ol’ Abe was about to be tested. I
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lifted the already cocked pistol to Lincoln’s head and time became a malleable dimension. The
moment I actually pulled the trigger was such a euphoric moment, it all became a blur. A five
second window seems to have been erased from my memory. The next thing I knew, Lincoln lay
dead, blood leaked out from the fresh bullet hole on the back of his head. Then I looked to the
right, his wife held her throat attempting to stop the blood from gushing out of her neck. You
could see the fear in her eyes as her dress became a beautiful crimson mess. His so-called guard
then proceeded to try to tackle me, surely he knew what was coming from such an abrasive
gesture. I thrusted my already dripping knife into his heart, twisting clockwise and counter
clockwise. I saw the life leave his dull eyes as they rolled to the back of his head. I then Pushed
the man off the balcony, who I am now informed was Major Henry Rathbone, I watched his
body crumple on the floor below. Spinning around, I heard the cries of the second wench. The
shrill, piercing screams ceased when I covered her mouth and gave her the same accessory as
Mrs. Lincoln. Being the artist I am Mr. Doherty, I raised my knife into the air and fittingly
yelled, “Sic semper tyrannis”. Do you know the meaning of these words Lieutenant? The poetic
line is Latin for, “thus always to tyrants”, a masterpiece of rhetoric in my opinion, and the motto
of the great state Virginia. A fitting end to an act of cleansing. As I did this, I noticed the theatre
security and the president’s guard coming up behind me to the curtain. They strategically
blocked my means of leaving with ease. So I did the only thing I could if I were to escape, I
jumped. I leapt from the balcony and landed next to the body of Rathbone. Knowing that Mr.
Ford would have directed all security to the box, I had a free pass to the main public exit right in
the front. Sprinting down the aisles of the theatre I heard the arranged symphonies of shrieks and
astounded gasps that I will forever replay in my head as the moment I became famous. As I had
requested, my horse awaited me outside. All I could do as I rode away from the theatre was
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smile. Similar to the night before, but this time, I knew exactly why I was smiling. I had done
what no other person could possibly attempt to complete.
From there, I rode to the rally point Powell, Atzerodt and I had agreed on. Surratt’s
Tavern, a small joint I might add. There, we stored our guns for the escape. Rifles, shotguns,
pistols and ammunition. When I arrived Powell was already there, he confirmed his target to be
dead. I told Powell to go grab the arms from Mrs. Surratt as I waited for Atzerodt. He came five
munities later with his horse. The look in his eyes when he pulled up and the way he shuttered
when the spring breeze of the night whistled past his hat told me that something was wrong.
“Did you kill him Atzerodt? Don’t you dare lie to me.”
“Y-Y-Yes Booth, back off.”
“Why are you shivering?”
“I-I didn’t want to do it Booth! Y-You made me get into this mess! Y-Y-You! You alone!”
I grabbed the coward by the hair on the back of his head and held his face close to mine and I
harshly whispered, “We’re both in it now Atzerodt. Now grab one of the guns when Powell
comes out and let’s go.” I threw his head back into his possession and scoffed at his blind
obedience as he slumped over and cried his way back to his horse. I knew the incompetence of
Atzerodt would most definitely be his downfall at this point. His incessant complaints and
uncertain nature made the execution of decisions sloppy, I was not pleased. Powell emerged
from the tavern carrying a rifle for the coward and a shotgun for me, he himself had another
shotgun crossed at his back. He threw us our guns and hastily jumped on his horse. Mary Surratt
came out behind him in a bustle, she briefly told us that news was already spreading of the
President and his men’s assassination. She finished by saying that our pictures were already
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being passed about, bounties were on our heads, and they were not small. I assured her it made
no difference in our escape and looked to Atzerodt as his jittery hands grabbed the reins of his
horse. Then I looked to Powell and I will never forget the look on his face. He turned his head to
me and gave me a nod of sheer conviction and glory. Powell understood that we were making
history, Atzerodt did not.
From there we rode to Samuel Cox’s residence. An old confederate supporter and friend
of mine. The road was easy to take, but we were unable to stop to rest. As you know, your posse
of army boys got really close to catching us a few times before you actually dragged me here.
Good show by the way Lieutenant. If I do recall correctly, the closest encounter you had almost
catching us was after I had met up with Cox. Ah, yes, we had stopped in hopes to find a place for
shelter and rest, little did we know that Cox did not want us in his presence at all. He hastily
whipped up a plan. He told us of a man by the name of Thomas Jones who might give us a place
to stay. I see that smirk lieutenant. Yes, you know his name. You know. As you also remember
our trip through the swamp was one of a quiet game you might say. You and your men stood at
the other end of the swamp as we barely made it out on the other side with Cox. The swamp sat
so quiet as we exited the other end. You could hear a pin drop on a damp leaf, it was so quiet.
But we trumped the army at that encounter with extreme stealth and constant pauses in
movement to hear how close the dogs of the army were on the adjacent bank. I remember a
shuffle of the snout of a hound dog being heard and our whole party remaining quieter than the
mouth of dead Lincoln. From that point we rode as fast as we could to Jones’s residence to put
some distance in between your men and mine.
By the time we had made it to Jones’s residence it was well after two in the morning. As
we neared the house I could smell the tobacco fields that were down wind. Ah, that smell just
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made me lust for a pipe-full. After that nerve-racking experience in the swamp, I really wanted
something that would bring me back to my senses. Cox walked all three of us to the porch and
knocked some secret pattern or code on the door that I do not remember. The next thing you
know, Jones came out with a shotgun in hand.
“Cox! What’re you doing here right now?” His eyes darted around the lawn that stood behind us,
examining every single blade of grass.
“Old friend, I need a favor. These three men are responsible for the assassinations of Lincoln,
Johnson and Seward. I cannot and will not take them in for rest, but I thought you would.”
His troubled scowl turned into a face that suggested he was considering it. “I can keep you men
in the tobacco shed, but only for one night. You have to leave by eight in the morning.”
I nodded in agreement to the brother of the South’s terms and conditions.
When we set up inside the shack it was nearing three in the morning. We agreed on shifts
that would last an hour. Be flattered, it was just to look out for you, Lieutenant Doherty. Atzerodt
was the first shift and Powell was to be the second, then me. The cycle would continue until we
had to leave Jones’s residence. You decided that should be earlier rather than later I assume, and
I am the only one here, so I guess you could call my conspirators expendable. I handed Atzerodt
the rifle and I specifically told him to shoot if he saw anyone pursuing us, no talking or
negotiation, just shoot and then yell for us to leave so that we could all escape on our horses
behind the building. He shakily said, “yes sir” and briskly walked to the side of the house that
faced the swamp from that we had come. I personally was impressed that you arrived so quickly
Lieutenant, but before that moment of your arrival, I sat in the shack with Powell and we had a
very conclusive discussion that definitely justifies his actions before his murder by you animals.
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I remember I sat down on a hay bale that rested at the entrance while Powell crossed his
legs and sat on the floor. I then pulled out my pipe from my coat pocket and packed some of the
fine tobacco that Jones had hung all over the walls into it. Just deviating from the story for a
second Doherty, let me tell you, this tobacco was some of the best I have smoked. The instant
calm overtook me so quickly but so smoothly it felt as if I had just passed a cerebral barrier into
another reality. Then Powell spoke.
“John, give me a puff of that. It’s been a long day.”
“Ah, yes it has, I’d be glad to share, this tobacco is one to be shared my friend.”
Powell took a puff of the pipe then looked at me, “do you think those northern dogs will get us
before we find a safe place to stay? And even then, where should we live after this all blows
over? We are wanted criminals across the United States.”
“Well, if they do, what would that mean to us?”
“Hmm, well for me it would be an honor to die for my country doing such a great deed for the
people. With this plan, it seems as if that might be my only option at this point. What do you
think?”
“Well said, seems as if you might be right. Either way, we all have left an imprint on this country
for the better.”
“I second that, friend.” He handed the pipe back to me. “I need rest if we have to be up and out
by eight Booth, I’ll see you in an hour when it’s my shift.”
I jokingly saluted to him as I puffed another plume of smoke from the pipe. At this
moment Lieutenant, I won’t lie, I was prepared to die. The calm that I felt from the tobacco
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consumed all of the worries I currently had. The thoughts that Powell had just brought to my
attention sounded more poetically conclusive than sad and heart wrenching. What a legendary
end to such an astounding story. The headlines would read, “Booth and Crew’s Final stand
against Tyranny”, ah, what a fitting title Lieutenant. My thoughts drifted off to being finally free
from tyranny and to finally live a life of fame and fortune even if it just was an instant. Ah, the
air alas felt to be crawling through the crevasses and gaps in the boards of the shake just to touch
my skin in praise. I was and still am a hero. One who finally restored peace, the way it should be.
As I finished the last puff from my pipe, I could hear Atzerodt outside the walls. It was a muffled
yell and I was immediately filled with rage for his disobedience, I’m glad that this one cost him.
Powell rose out from under the blanket he had covered himself with on the floor and tilted his
head to hear more clearly.
“Didn’t you say for Atzerodt not to speak, just to shoot?”
“YES, THAT DAMN FOOL.”
I busted through the door in an infuriated rage, only to see the flash of a barrel from where
Atzerodt stood, then the flash of five barrels back at him from the tree line. His body jerked as
three bullets hit him, the last knocking his already limp body to the ground, his rifle made a
dulled thump as it landed in the grass. Again Lieutenant, you said no lies, so I will not; I
panicked. The tobacco no longer had any effect on how my world was spinning, it spun in real
time to the impending doom at hand. I sprinted back inside and slammed the door behind me,
Powell was already loading up the second shotgun, he handed me the first and said, “Four slugs
boss, make ‘em count.” We heard the thud of multiple horse hooves as they neared closer and
closer to the tobacco shed. I looked back at Powell to see what he was planning to do. He
mouthed the words “Run, I’ll buy you time.” A truly great man Lieutenant, more genuine than
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every one of your Marshalls combined. But before we had time to exit, we heard the hooves stop,
not just at the front door, but all around the shed. Then your malicious voice eased its way to life.
From what I can remember you said, “Come out and we won’t kill you Booth, same goes for you
Powell.”
I responded, “For whom do you take me?”
“It doesn't make any difference. Come out.”
“I am not going to come out, and Powell is long gone.”
“I know who is with you, both of you better surrender.”
“I may be taken by my friends, but not by my foes.”
“If you don't come out, I'll burn the building.”
“If you come back here I will put a bullet through you.” Powell grabbed my forearm and nodded,
“Oh, sir! There is a man here who wants to take your offer though!”
With that queue Powell burst from the doors like a madman with his shotgun already
firing at whoever stood in front of the door. The door slammed behind him, sealing his fate with
you and your men. I thought of running out, but then hesitated when I sat to listen for a few
seconds. The yells I heard from Powell and the cluster of gunfire didn’t last long at all. Then a
gurgled cough was heard from the other side of the door. Then the familiar sound of a man
dismounting his horse came along with it. A revolver shot then sounded through the night,
accompanied by the sound of a body hitting the ground. This echoed through the adjacent woods
like the somber hoot of a wise owl in the trees. Ah, see at this time, I knew I was the only one
who had survived, Atzerodt and Powell had perished by the hand of the north. For me to be the
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only coward alive? That was unacceptable! I needed to die with pride in a blaze of glory like that
of the men who fought for and with me. And that, Lieutenant is when I smelled and saw the
smoke. It crawled like and engulfed all of the shed walls and the air that I was breathing. You set
the shed ablaze! I dropped the shotgun as I started uncontrollably coughing and wheezing. I
remember being on all fours and looking up. The door shot open and there stood a soldier with a
cloth hung over his face and I said, “Looks like I am the dog now.” Then a sharp pain gripped
my face, the butt of a rifle. The next thing I knew I was tied up like a hog slung over the back of
a horse on the way back to the station with you. By the way, thanks for the broken nose.
“You know what charges face you Mister Booth, and with your story, I don’t see those charges
changing.”
“Yes Lieutenant, I awaited those usually dreaded lines to crawl from your deceitful mouth.”
“And with that I charge you, John Wilkes Booth, with the assassination of Abraham Lincoln in
addition to three counts of murder.”
“The actions of tyrants will never go unnoticed by the wise men of the public, and it will always
be our duty to end their reign.”
“You scum, mutter those words when you dangle from a rope.”
THE END