Seth Grahame-Smith - Abraham Lincoln - Vampire Hunter

Thousands lined the tracks as the “Lincoln Special” pulled away from the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad Depot at five minutes past eight o’clock, its nine cars draped in black garlands, a framed portrait of the late president hanging over the steam engine’s cowcatcher. Tearful men stood with their hats in their hands; ladies with their heads bowed. Soldiers, some of whom had left their beds at St. Elizabeths Hospital to see the train off, stood up arrow straight, saluting their fallen commander in chief.

Two of Abe’s sons were aboard with him, Robert, now a twenty-one-year-old army captain, and Willie, whose coffin had been removed from its temporary crypt and placed beside his father’s. Tad remained in Washington with Mary, who was too grief stricken to leave the White House. For thirteen days and nearly 1,700 miles, the train wound its way through the North, stopping in designated cities to lie in state. In Philadelphia, 300,000 people pushed and shoved to catch a glimpse of the slain president’s body. In New York, 500,000 stood in line to lay eyes on Abe, and a six-year-old Theodore Roosevelt watched his funeral procession go by. In Chicago, hundreds of thousands gathered around an outdoor viewing stand engraved with the words “Faithful to Right—Martyr to Justice.”

In all, more than twelve million people stood by the tracks to watch the funeral train pass, and more than a million waited in line to view the president’s open casket.

On Thursday, May 4th, 1865, a sea of black umbrellas shielded thousands of mourners from the scorching sun as Abe’s casket, sealed for all eternity, was carried into Oak Ridge Cemetery on a hearse pulled by six white horses.

As Bishop Matthew Simpson gave a stirring eulogy for the “Savior of the Union,” one particularly ashen mourner looked on from behind a pair of dark glasses, a black parasol in his gloved hands. Though his eyes were incapable of tears, he felt the loss of Abraham Lincoln more deeply than any living person in Springfield that day.

Henry remained by the closed gates of the receiving vault (where Abe and Willie’s caskets would remain until a permanent tomb could be built) long after the sun had set and the crowds dispersed, standing guard over his friend of forty years. Standing guard over the man who’d saved a nation from enslavement and driven darkness back into the shadows. He remained there most of the night, sometimes sitting in silent contemplation, sometimes reading the little slips of paper that people had left along with flowers and keepsakes at the foot of the iron bars. Henry found one of them particularly moving. It read simply:

“I am a foe to tyrants, and my country’s friend.” *

In 1871, Tad Lincoln—then living with his mother in Chicago—was stricken with tuberculosis. He died on July 15th at the age of eighteen. His body was taken to Springfield and placed in his father’s tomb beside brothers Willie and Eddy. Again, it was Robert who accompanied the funeral train, as Mary was too distraught to attend.

Of all Abe’s children, only Robert survived to see the new century. He would marry and father three children of his own, and in later life, he would serve two presidents, James Garfield and Chester A. Arthur, as secretary of war. He died peacefully at his estate in Vermont in 1926, at the age of eighty-two.

Tad’s death had been the final, irreparable blow to Mary Lincoln’s mental health. In the years that followed, she became increasingly erratic, often swearing that she saw her late husband’s face staring at her from the darkness on nighttime walks. She suffered from paranoia, insisting that strangers were trying to poison her or steal from her. She once had $56,000 worth of government bonds sewn into the linings of her petticoats for safekeeping. After Mary attempted suicide, Robert had no choice but to commit his mother to a psychiatric hospital. After her release, Mary moved back to Springfield, where she died in 1882, at the age of sixty-three. She was laid to rest beside the three young sons she’d wept for in life.

There would be several attempts to steal Abraham Lincoln’s body following the Civil War—until, at Robert Lincoln’s request, the casket was covered with cement in 1901, never to be seen again. None of the would-be grave robbers had had much success. In fact, none had even managed to pry the president’s heavy casket lid open.

If they had, they would have been shocked by what they found.

III

On August 28th, 1963, Henry Sturges stood in front of the Lincoln Memorial, his clothing and hair in keeping with the times, a black umbrella protecting his skin and dark glasses covering his eyes. He was accompanied by an uncommonly tall friend, his eyes behind a pair of Ray-Bans; his shoulder-length brown hair beneath a floppy brimmed hat. A bushy beard obscured his angular face, the same one staring down at him from its marble throne (and causing him no shortage of discomfort). Both listened intently, proudly, as a young black preacher looked out on more than 250,000 faces.

“Five score years ago,” the preacher began, “a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity. But one hundred years later, we must face the tragic fact that the Negro is still not free.”

Abe and Henry had come to help finish the work begun a century before. They’d been there during Reconstruction, driving out the vampires who continued to terrorize emancipated slaves….

“I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.”

They’d been there in Mississippi, dragging white-hooded devils to their deaths by the light of burning crosses….

“Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God’s children.”

And they’d been there in Europe, where millions gave their lives defeating the second vampire uprising between 1939 and 1945.

But there was still work to be done.

“Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

The crowd cheered wildly, and the preacher took his seat. It was a perfect late-summer day. A defining day in man’s struggle for freedom. Not unlike the day Abraham Lincoln was laid to rest, ninety-eight years before.

The day Henry made a choice…

… that some men are just too interesting to die.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks go to Ben Greenberg, Jamie Raab, and all my new friends at Grand Central for being excited by the idea and seeing it through brilliantly; to Claudia Ballard for making it all happen, Alicia Gordon for making more things happen, and everyone at William Morris Endeavor; to the wonderfully terrifying Gregg Gellman; to the Internet (without which this book would not have been possible), particularly Google, Wikipedia, and the Lincoln Log—invaluable resources, all; to Starbucks—you complete me; to Stephanie Isaacson for her Photoshop genius; to David and everyone at MTV for bearing with me as I bit off more than I could chew; and to my fearless research assistant, Sam.

A special thanks to Erin and Josh for letting me sit out most of 2009.

And finally, to Abe—for living a life that hardly needed vampires to make it incredible—and to Henry Sturges—wherever you are….