The Judicial Murder of Mary E. Surratt — Story, Setting & Ideas

The Rhetoric of Condemnation

DeWitt's prose is marked by a relentless, almost legalistic repetition. In the final chapter, he builds a cascade of accusations, each paragraph beginning "Murder, not only in the case of..." and then escalating to a higher official. He writes that the soldiers can plead military discipline, but the President "stands before the law in the same position as though, sweeping aside all empty forms, he had seized a sword and with his own hand cut off the head of the woman." This rhetorical device—a ladder of guilt—forces the reader to confront each participant's responsibility. DeWitt also uses vivid, contemptuous imagery: Stanton is described as having "presided like a Moloch over the scaffold." Such language is not dispassionate; it is the language of a prosecutor addressing a jury.

Structure as Argument

The book's organization itself makes a case. Part I is titled "The Murder" and Part II "The Vindication." Within Part I, chapters progress from the opening of the court through the death warrant and execution, ending with a chapter titled "Was it not Murder? The Milligan Case." This chapter invokes the Supreme Court's 1866 decision in Ex parte Milligan, which held that military commissions could not try civilians where civil courts were open. By placing this legal precedent at the climax of his narrative, DeWitt implies that the commission that tried Surratt was illegitimate from the start. The structure thus mirrors a legal brief: first the facts, then the law.

Evidence from the Trial Record

DeWitt draws heavily on the trial transcript and official documents. He notes that the commission included nine military officers and three advocates, and he contrasts their authority with that of a civilian court. One specific detail he highlights is whether Surratt was "ironed"—shackled—during the trial, a question he raises in the chapter title "Was She Ironed?" This focus on physical restraint underscores his argument that the proceedings were inherently coercive. He also quotes Senator Garrett Davis's declaration that "There is no power in the..." (the excerpt cuts off), using contemporary political opinion to bolster his case. Throughout, DeWitt treats the trial record as evidence of procedural illegality, not as a neutral account.

The Role of Andrew Johnson and Stanton

DeWitt assigns ultimate responsibility to President Andrew Johnson and Secretary of War Edwin Stanton. He argues that Johnson, by appointing the commission and approving its sentence, acted as a "twi-formed barbarian-despot." Stanton is portrayed as the driving force: he "initiated the iniquitous process, pushed on the relentless prosecution, shut his own ears and the ears of the President to all pleas for mercy." DeWitt even claims Stanton "kept the key of the charnel-house" where Surratt's body lay. This characterization is consistent with the book's overall thesis: that the execution was not a tragic mistake but a deliberate act of murder orchestrated by the highest officials. The excerpts do not reveal whether DeWitt provides counterarguments or acknowledges any mitigating factors.

Readers should approach this book as a work of advocacy rather than impartial history. DeWitt's evidence is drawn from official records, but his selection and framing are driven by a moral outrage that he makes no effort to conceal. The value of the work lies in its detailed reconstruction of the trial and its unflinching assignment of blame. Those interested in the legal and political dimensions of the Lincoln assassination conspiracy will find a passionate, if one-sided, account that raises enduring questions about the rule of law in times of crisis.

Reading about Mary Surratt’s trial, I kept thinking how easily a community decides who deserves mercy. It reminded me of the quiet dread I felt with Cincinnati's "Old Cunny": A Notorious Purveyor of Human Flesh — Text and Context, where a woman’s reputation sealed her fate long before any verdict. Both books leave that unsettling ache—the sense that justice was never really the point.