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End Of A Manhunt
Who was the dark-haired stranger with the limp?
June 1966 | Volume 17, Issue 4
Some time toward noon he went into the house and soon afterwards as I passed through the room he asked me if I could take down a large map that hung on the wall. I climbed up on a chair and taking the map down, spread it out on the floor at his direction. He then placed his crutches against the wall and by leaning heavily upon a chair got down upon the map. After carefully studying it for a long time he took a pencil and notebook from his pocket and wrote something in it. He then traced with his pencil on the map a line to Norfolk, Virginia. Then running the pencil around he made a mark at Charleston, South Carolina, and another at Savannah. By this time my boyish curiosity was excited and I began to ask questions and to show off my knowledge of geography. I asked him where he wanted to go. He said, “To Mexico.” “Why,” I said, “I thought last night you were going to join Johnston’s army in North Carolina.” He looked up quickly and after looking at me a moment he turned away and went on with his work. I said no more but stood and watched as he traced a line from Charleston around through the Gulf of Mexico to Galveston and from there he seemed to be uncertain as to his route into Mexico.
Early the next morning, my brother Jack went to Port Conway to fish; returning in time tor dinner he told of the rumor he had heard of the assassination of President Lincoln. My father said at once, “I do not believe it, it is some idle report started by stragglers.” Boyd enquired the amount of reward offered for the capture of the assassin. When young Garrett told him $100,000, Boyd said, “That is not as much as I expected them to offer.” The question was then asked who the man was who killed the President. The reply was that the name had not been given. My brother laughingly remarked, “That man had better not come this way for I would like to make a hundred thousand dollars just now.” Mr. Boyd turned to the speaker and asked, “Would you betray him for that?” “He had better not tempt me,” was the reply, “for I haven’t a dollar in the world.” The conversation then turned upon the effect on the South if the news were true and Mr. Boyd joined in the conversation as calmly as any of the rest agreeing with my father in the belief that the report was false. As they left the table Mrs. Garrett asked if she could dress his wound for him, to which he replied, “No, Madam. I thank you, though it does give me pain, yet there are other things I think of more than my wounds.”