Commander Lee here. To kick it off, General Johnson and I offer our most sincere apologies for not posting for such a long time. We have been very busy, but I know that there is now real excuse for ignoring all of our loyal readers. This post is where you will finally, be able to read our long awaited for, Abraham Lincoln story! Please enjoy. :)
“This is our chance,” whispered John Wilkes Booth, “our chance to avenge the South’s loss, and finally replace the North’s weak leader.” He was seated in an ornate round table, with his comrades, Lewis Powell and George Atzerodt, in a crowded ale house. That day, Booth had devised a plan to assassinate the South’s 16th President, Abraham Lincoln. Unknowingly, Booth and his comrades were heard by 2 young men, me, and a friend.
“This bloody well might be President Lincoln’s last days among the living,” I thought as I followed Kenneth home through the thick brush. At Kenneth’s house, we played “Blind-Man’s Bluff” until we were so dizzy, that we decided that I had better go home and rest. As the burning sun descended below the West side of town, I spoke. “Shall we go to Ford Theatre, like those strange men spoke of at the ale house?” I asked. Nodding his head, Kenneth sprinted off in the direction of the Theatre, with me close behind. When we arrived at the Theatre, we were questioned by authorities stationed outside the doors for ID and tickets. Shaking our heads like we knew nothing better and trying to act cute in front of the General of the US Army was a feeling, which I will never forget. Finally, after long persuasion, the General opened the door, and shoved us inside. As we walked into the crowded Theatre, we decided to hide back-stage until the sign of Booth’s entrance which, according to his men during their conversation at the Ale House, would be at exactly 7:00 PM.
At exactly 6:45, Kenneth and I ventured out of our hiding place, and began to tiptoe up a staircase, which led to the President’s Box. We hid behind a large potted plant until Booth and his comrades were standing just outside of President Lincoln’s door. According to our information at the ale house, Booth would enter the box at the exact moment when the performer on stage would crack a hilarious joke. “Hahahaha!” roared the audience. “Crash!” the door went as Booth kicked it in.
Everyone gasped. Then Kenneth and I exploded into action like hot tamales in the microwave. Booth, with his pistol held at the ready, began to edge forward towards his target, Abraham Lincoln, who was completely oblivious to the happenings around him. As it was the only thing I had available to me, I threw an oil painting by Michelangelo right in front of Booth’s surprised face. The canvas split around Booth’s neck, and he looked as if he were a dog crowned with a flea collar. I signaled to Kenneth, and he edged towards Booth. “Oof!” Kenneth grunted as he began to bind Booth’s hands with a tight rope. “Let this be a warning to whoever wishes to underestimate our glorious President’s Guards!” Kenneth screamed as he shoved Booth’s beet red face into the curtain to display to the entire crowd. Quickly, as the orchestra played distracting music, the State Guards bound Booth in a more civilized form of confinement, steel handcuffs. Grinning, Kenneth and I both exited the theater before anyone would learn what we did, and at home, we continued our game of Blind-Man’s Bluff like nothing had ever happened.