“Sic semper tyrannis!” [Thus let it ever be with tyrants.] Then brandishing a gleaming dagger he added, “The South is avenged!” and escaped.

For a moment the audience was paralyzed, scarcely realizing the tragic situation.

“John Wilkes Booth!” shouted a man in the audience.

“Shoot him!” “Shoot him!” “Hang him!” screamed a hundred men, awaking to the fact that it was the shot of an assassin which startled them.

Women screamed and fainted; men gesticulated and threatened; everybody was filled with consternation and dismay; hundreds wept in fright and horror. The scene beggared description. From the highest peak of joy the audience was plunged in a moment down to unutterable sorrow. To add to the terrible fear and apprehension the tidings were brought, as the excited assembly were issuing from the building, that Secretary Seward and Vice-President Johnson were assassinated, also. At once hundreds caught up the idea that the oft-repeated rebel threats to assassinate the members of the Cabinet and take forcible possession of the Government were being executed. All sorts of rumours of violence and blood spread through the city, creating the apprehensions that republican institutions were dissolving into anarchy, and that horrid butchery would destroy what treason had failed to overthrow.

The reports proved to be true as far as Secretary Seward was concerned. One of the conspirators, Lewis Payne, an infamous character, had entered the secretary’s chamber and stabbed him three times in bed. Mr. Seward was helpless at the time, from the effects of a serious injury; and, but for the courage and great strength of his attendant, the assassin would have killed him on the spot. Mr. Seward’s son was present, and was badly wounded, with four others, by the villain, before he escaped from the house.

The unconscious form of the President was borne across the street to the house of Mr. Peterson, where the best medical and surgical talent of the city came to his relief. It was soon manifest that the good and great man was beyond the skill of physicians. He was shot through the back of the head, the ball entering on the left side behind the ear, passing through the brain, and lodging just behind the right eye.

By midnight all the members of the Cabinet stood around the couch of the dying President, together with Mrs. Dixon, for whom Mrs. Lincoln had sent, Miss. Harris, Major Rathbone, Captain Robert Lincoln, and his almost distracted mother, with other friends. At the announcement of Surgeon-General Barnes, that there was “not a ray of hope,” Secretary Stanton burst into tears, saying,—

“Oh, no! General,—no, no!”

Senator Sumner stood holding one of the President’s hands, sobbing as if parting with his father. Mrs. Lincoln walked to and fro from room to room, wringing her hands in despair, exclaiming,—

“How can it be so? Why did he not shoot me instead of my husband?”

Again and again she would leave the room, but soon return, wringing her hands in agony, reiterating,—

“Why is it so? I must go with him!”

Captain Robert Lincoln bore himself with great firmness, comforting his mother in the most affectionate manner, and entreating her to look to God for support. Occasionally, unable to control his feelings, he retired to the hall, and gave vent to his deep sorrow for a moment, and then returned, with renewed strength, to assuage the grief of his mother.

Such a night of woe and anguish was never known before in Washington. The weary hours dragged heavily because of their weight of sorrow. The murdered one lay unconscious of his sufferings and the grief of friends around his bed, through all the dismal night. Before eight o’clock in the morning, Secretary Stanton sent the following telegram over the land:—