I planned and purchased the costumes myself, Tim Bellamy being unavailable for his usual role as prop master. We had not heard anything definite from him in a week, not since the paper had been deposited at the cabin with a brief note explaining its meaning and import. If anything happened to him, how long would it take for us to find out? Or would we never know? He’d be buried under his alias, if there was even a marked grave. He might be dead already.
I brushed away the morbid thoughts as best I could. I needed to focus on the plan at hand. Perhaps Bellamy was in danger, and perhaps there was nothing I could do to save him. But Abraham Lincoln was indisputably in the biggest danger of his life, and his life depended on the success of this plan.
As planned, Lincoln was interrupted at his dinner in Harrisburg. His private secretary came in to tap his shoulder, and Lincoln excused himself from the dinner party without saying how long he would be gone. By the time a quarter of an hour had passed and people began to wonder at his absence, he would already be on the eastbound train.
Upstairs in the hotel, he changed into a slightly worn brown suit and left his trademark stovepipe hat on the chair. We thought about having him shave to remove his beard, further changing his appearance. But this furtive night trip would be followed hard on its heels by the most public and important moment of his life. He wanted to look like himself for that moment. I only wanted to make sure he got to that moment alive.
I waited in Philadelphia, trusting that the president-elect and his single guard were speeding toward me.
I had arranged for an entire car on the Pennsylvania Railroad sleeper, leaving Philadelphia at seven o’clock in the evening. The train from Harrisburg pulled in at quarter past six, and by prior arrangement, I was to enter the hindmost door as soon as it had pulled to a stop. The two men would be waiting for me just inside that door, one slated to go off in a different direction, and one ready to be spirited onto the Philadelphia train.
I stepped onto the train, and without greeting Lincoln, I flung a shawl about his shoulders and swapped out his hat for a soft mob cap. Then, spinning a finger to indicate he should turn around, I bumped the wheeled chair behind his knees, and he naturally sat down into it.
“Ready to go, Jacky?” I asked.
I saw the mob cap nod, and within the minute, we were off the Harrisburg train and headed toward the next. Lamon left us without fanfare; if all went well, we’d see him upon arrival in Washington.
News of Lincoln’s absence from the dinner in Harrisburg would by now be spreading. It would not reach us here, I knew; Pinkerton, a friend of the head of the telegraph company, had had all lines interrupted. There would be no word to or from Baltimore this night, not by telegraph, and nothing else could travel faster than we would. The cutting of the lines also improved our plan, as we knew there would be no communication at all while it was happening. Those plotting against us would not be able to punish us by cutting the lines, since it was already done.
It was time for me to play my part.
Shoving Lincoln ahead of me, my manner entitled and preemptory, I accosted the conductor and thrust our tickets in his direction.
“Where is the rear sleeping car? I have a car reserved. Can you show me where it is? I’m Dolores Mogden, and this is my brother, Jacky. He’s not well, you know—his lungs. Taking him down to Baltimore to see the best doctor in the land, thinks he can help him. Well, I don’t know if he can, but it’s a man’s life at stake, so we are gonna try it. By God, we are gonna try it.”
I saw the conductor’s eyes glaze with annoyance, sending my pulse rocketing. All according to plan.
“I’m Dolores, like I said, but you can call me Dot. Everyone does. Do you need to see our tickets? I have our tickets here. Where should we go? Can you show me there? Maybe tell me about the train?”
He gave the tickets the quickest glance and waved us forward. He did not walk us there, nor did he offer help of any kind, which pleased me no end. The farther away he stayed, the better things would be. The last thing we needed was an attentive man who would look down into the face of the supposed invalid and recognize him for who he really was.
And then we were on the train, and the train was pulling out of the station. We did not speak, but I heard Lincoln give an audible sigh.
The first part of the plan was complete. The second would be even harder.
I watched out the window as we went. Every once in a while, I saw a flash of light, a lantern shining and then extinguished. These were our signals, arranged by Pinkerton to assure us that nothing had gone wrong, not that we had many options if something had. Twenty miles. Forty. Sixty. All’s well. All’s well. All’s well.
The train pulled into Baltimore around half past three o’clock in the morning. Now, we had reached the moment of danger. Pitch blackness all around. We were here well ahead of the announced schedule, so the hope was that our enemies would not be ready. But perhaps we had underestimated them. If so, we would only find out once our feet were on the ground and it was too late to run.
The dark of the sleeping city did not jar me, but the silence was deafening. I had never seen a city so large absolutely devoid of people. It was a dead place, full of dead buildings lining dead streets. I did not want to see it spring to life.
It was not a long way between the Calvert Street Station and the Camden Street Station. And yet, it felt like we were crossing an ocean and not just a mile of city streets. The plan was for the sleeping car to be drawn by horse through the dark streets, and it seemed to go well as best I could tell from inside the car itself, jouncing this way and that.