Part 12 (1/2)
After this the play ran its smooth course, and the audience settled into its accustomed humour of sympathetic attention.
In spite of the novelty of this, her first view of a theatre, the President fascinated Margaret. She watched the changing lights and shadows of his sensitive face with untiring interest, and the wonder of his life grew upon her imagination. This man who was the idol of the North and yet to her so purely Southern, who had come out of the West and yet was greater than the West or the North, and yet always supremely human--this man who sprang to his feet from the chair of State and bowed to a sorrowing woman with the deference of a knight, every man's friend, good-natured, sensible, masterful and clear in intellect, strong, yet modest, kind and gentle--yes, he was more interesting than all the drama and romance of the stage!
He held her imagination in a spell. Elsie, divining her abstraction, looked toward the President's box and saw approaching it along the balcony aisle the figure of John Wilkes Booth.
”Look,” she cried, touching Margaret's arm. ”There's John Wilkes Booth, the actor! Isn't he handsome? They say he's in love with my chum, a senator's daughter whose father hates Mr. Lincoln with perfect fury.”
”He is handsome,” Margaret answered. ”But I'd be afraid of him, with that raven hair and eyes s.h.i.+ning like something wild.”
”They say he is wild and dissipated, yet half the silly girls in town are in love with him. He's as vain as a peac.o.c.k.”
Booth, accustomed to free access to the theatre, paused near the entrance to the box and looked deliberately over the great crowd, his magnetic face flushed with deep emotion, while his fiery inspiring eyes glittered with excitement.
Dressed in a suit of black broadcloth of faultless fit, from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet he was physically without blemish. A figure of perfect symmetry and proportion, his dark eyes flas.h.i.+ng, his marble forehead crowned with curling black hair, agility and grace stamped on every line of his being--beyond a doubt he was the handsomest man in America. A flutter of feminine excitement rippled the surface of the crowd in the balcony as his well-known figure caught the wandering eyes of the women.
He turned and entered the door leading to the President's box, and Margaret once more gave her attention to the stage.
Hawk, as Dundreary, was speaking his lines and looking directly at the President instead of at the audience:
”Society, eh? Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old woman, you darned old sockdologing man trap!”
Margaret winced at the coa.r.s.e words, but the galleries burst into shouts of laughter that lingered in ripples and murmurs and the shuffling of feet.
The m.u.f.fled crack of a pistol in the President's box hushed the laughter for an instant.
No one realized what had happened, and when the a.s.sa.s.sin suddenly leaped from the box, with a blood-marked knife flas.h.i.+ng in his right hand, caught his foot in the flags and fell to his knees on the stage, many thought it a part of the programme, and a boy, leaning over the gallery rail, giggled. When Booth turned his face of statuesque beauty lit by eyes flas.h.i.+ng with insane desperation and cried, ”_Sic semper tyrannis_,” they were only confirmed in this impression.
A sudden, piercing scream from Mrs. Lincoln, quivering, soul harrowing!
Leaning far out of the box, from ashen cheeks and lips leaped the piteous cry of appeal, her hand pointing to the retreating figure:
”The President is shot! He has killed the President!”
Every heart stood still for one awful moment. The brain refused to record the message--and then the storm burst!
A wild roar of helpless fury and despair! Men hurled themselves over the footlights in vain pursuit of the a.s.sa.s.sin. Already the clatter of his horse's feet could be heard in the distance. A surgeon threw himself against the door of the box, but it had been barred within by the cunning hand. Another leaped on the stage, and the people lifted him up in their arms and over the fatal railing.
Women began to faint, and strong men trampled down the weak in mad rushes from side to side.
The stage in a moment was a seething ma.s.s of crazed men, among them the actors and actresses in costumes and painted faces, their mortal terror s.h.i.+ning through the rouge. They pa.s.sed water up to the box, and some tried to climb up and enter it.
The two hundred soldiers of the President's guard suddenly burst in, and, amid screams and groans of the weak and injured, stormed the house with fixed bayonets, cursing, yelling, and shouting at the top of their voices:
”Clear out! Clear out! You sons of h.e.l.l!”
One of them suddenly bore down with fixed bayonet toward Phil.
Margaret shrank in terror close to his side and tremblingly held his arm.