(Had not all this terrible scene--making the
mimic ones preposterous--had it not all been rehears'd, in blank, by
Booth, beforehand?)
A moment's hush--a scream--the cry of _murder_--Mrs. Lincoln leaning
out of the box, with ashy cheeks and lips, with involuntary cry,
pointing to the retreating figure, _He has kill'd the President._
And still a moment's strange, incredulous suspense--and then the
deluge!--then that mixture of horror, noises, uncertainty--(the sound,
somewhere back, of a horse's hoofs clattering with speed)--the people
burst through chairs and railings, and break them up--there is
inextricable confusion and terror--women faint--quite feeble persons
fall, and are trampl'd on--many cries of agony are heard--the broad
stage suddenly fills to suffocation with a dense and motley crowd,
like some horrible carnival--the audience rush generally upon it, at
least the strong men do--the actors and actresses are all there in
their play-costumes and painted faces, with mortal fright showing
through the rouge--the screams and calls, confused talk--redoubled,
trebled--two or three manage to pass up water from the stage to the
President's box--others try to clamber up--&c., &c.
In the midst of all this, the soldiers of the President's guard, with
others, suddenly drawn to the scene, burst in--(some two hundred
altogether)--they storm the house, through all the tiers, especially
the upper ones, inflam'd with fury, literally charging the audience
with fix'd bayonets, muskets and pistols, snouting _Clear out! clear
out! you sons of_----.
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