John Wilkes Booth (1838 to 1865) was a 19th-century American stage actor who assassinated US President Abraham Lincoln on 14 April 1865. Born to a family of famous actors, Booth was a rising star on stages across the United States, known for his leading roles in William Shakespeare's plays. He sympathized with the Confederacy during the American Civil War (1861 to 1865) and denounced Lincoln as a tyrant who sought to subjugate the South. After shooting Lincoln at Ford's Theatre in Washington, D.C., Booth went on the run and eluded authorities for nearly two weeks. He was finally cornered by Federal soldiers in a barn in rural Virginia, where, after a brief standoff, he was fatally shot in the neck.

John Wilkes Booth was born on 10 May 1838 in a log house on his parents' 150-acre farm near Bel-Air, Maryland. He was the ninth of ten children born to Junius Brutus Booth, a famous Shakespearean stage actor, and his 'wife', Mary Ann Holmes Booth, both of whom had moved to the United States from England shortly after eloping in 1821. Named after the radical English politician John Wilkes – a distant relative – Booth grew into a handsome and athletic, if reckless, boy, often playing pranks on his friends and neighbors. Though he was popular with his classmates at Bel Air Academy, he was not a good student, finding memorization and spelling difficult; as one classmate would recall, "He was not deficient in intelligence and brains – very much in fact the other way – but he was not bookish, not devoted to his studies" (quoted in Alford, 17). Instead, Booth devoted his time to horseback riding and fencing, hobbies he became quite skilled at.

His boyhood was largely defined by his relationship with his parents. Booth shared a special bond with his mother, who once said he was "the most pleasure and comfort to me of all my sons, the most affectionate" (quoted in Alford, 14). Their bond was so strong that, according to one family friend, Mary Ann could sense when her son was sick and would send him letters of well-wishing even without being told. Booth's relationship with his father was quite different. Junius Booth was an alcoholic, prone to violent mood swings. He was known to beat his children, especially the headstrong John, and had many skeletons in his closet, the worst of which came to light in 1851. It was revealed that he had not actually divorced his first wife – he and Mary Ann were never really married, and all his children with her had been illegitimate. The situation was rectified that same year, as Junius divorced his first wife and legally married Mary Ann, but in the eyes of the public, the Booth family was tainted by scandal and shame. As the leading tragedian of his day, Junius Booth was often away, touring the country. He was coming home from one such tour when he died on 30 November 1852 aboard a Mississippi River steamboat.

By the summer of 1857, the 19-year-old Booth was ready to enter the family business and become an actor. His older brothers, Junius Brutus Booth Jr. and Edwin Booth, had already carved out acting careers for themselves, and John was eager to follow them. With Edwin's help, he joined the resident acting troupe at the Arch Street Theatre in Philadelphia, where he was to be paid eight dollars a week to play "in any piece or part for which he might be cast and to appear at every rehearsal" (quoted in Alford, 39). To avoid unwelcome comparisons to his famous father, he went by the stage name "J. B. Wilkes". His first few performances did not go well. Gripped by stage fright, he often looked visibly nervous and forgot or flubbed his lines, earning hisses from the audience. On one memorable occasion, he was playing the role of Ascanio Petrucci in Victor Hugo's play Lucrezia Borgia. When it was time for his character to introduce himself, Booth struggled to get the line out. "Madame, I am Pondolfio Pet –, Pedoflio Pat –, Pantuchio Ped – , Damn it, what am I?" (quoted in Alford, 42). The audience erupted with laughter as the young actor stood there, mortified. "He was not without ability," one fellow actor would say of Booth, "but he was both lazy and inordinately vain" (ibid). If he wanted to become as successful as his famous father and brothers, he would have to work harder.

In mid-1858, he went to Richmond, Virginia, to join the stock company of the Marshall Theatre. Charming and strikingly good-looking – one friend said that he was as "handsome as a Greek god" – he made a strong impression on the Richmond social scene and quickly made many friends. He took the craft of acting more seriously, learning line memorization techniques from his more experienced colleagues. Within a few months, he had graduated from performing bit parts to strong supporting roles in both tragedies and comedies. In April 1859, he played the role of Horatio in Hamlet alongside his brother Edwin in the title role. When the play ended and the curtain went up, Edwin grabbed John by the hand, led him downstage, and said, "I think he has done well. Don't you?" The audience responded with cries of adulation that must have felt gratifying to a young actor whose performances, less than two years before, had been routinely met with boos. At the end of the theatrical season, Booth played his first leading role as the title character in Othello once again opposite Edwin, who played the villainous Iago. The play received positive reviews, solidifying Booth's status as a leading man in his own right. He dropped his stage name and was now billed as "J. Wilkes Booth". He was on his way to becoming a star.

In October 1859, the abolitionist John Brown was arrested after his failed attempt to trigger a slave insurrection by seizing the federal arsenal at Harpers Ferry, Virginia. He was sentenced to death, leading to a wave of unrest throughout Virginia and, indeed, the entire nation. Though he did not come from a slave-holding family himself, Booth abhorred abolitionism and could often be found railing against Brown in hotel bars – he would have loved to have been present at John Brown's raid on Harpers Ferry, he told friends, so he could have "shot the damned Abolitionists" (quoted in Alford, 68). He borrowed a uniform of the Richmond Grays, a local militia company, and traveled with them to Charlestown, Virginia, to watch the execution on 2 December. He was standing only a few feet away from the gallows when Brown was hanged – though he detested everything else about the man, Booth could not help but admire the stoic way in which Brown met his end. It was a transformative moment for the young actor, who had seen heroes martyr themselves for a greater cause on stage but never before in real life.

In 1860, Booth left Richmond to embark on his first national tour as a leading actor. He traveled throughout the South, performing the leading roles in such plays as Romeo and Juliet, The Tragedy of Richard III, and The Lady of Lyons, which would all become signature shows in his repertoire. Despite some hiccups – Booth was accidentally shot in the leg by a fellow actor and needed several weeks to recover – the tour was a great success, boosting his profile to a national level. But even as he was achieving nationwide fame, that same nation was coming apart; the sectional crisis that had been brewing for decades finally reached its boiling point with the election of Abraham Lincoln in November 1860. Southerners felt threatened by Lincoln and his Republican Party, believing that they sought to eliminate slavery, destroy Southern institutions, and reduce the Southern states to mere vassals of the federal government. South Carolina became the first state to secede in December, followed by ten more states by April 1861. Proclaiming themselves a new nation – the Confederate States of America – they fired on Fort Sumter on 12 April 1861. The American Civil War had begun.

Though Booth's home state of Maryland had voted against secession, a large portion of Marylanders supported the Confederacy and wanted to uphold the institution of slavery. Booth himself passionately and vocally defended the Southern cause – in his mind, it was the abolitionists who had caused the sectional problems that had torn the nation apart, and it was the Northern 'fanatics' who now sought to impose their tyrannical will on the South. His beliefs seemed vindicated when President Lincoln cracked down on dissent in Baltimore and other parts of Maryland by suspending habeas corpus, imposing martial law, and imprisoning secessionist leaders at Fort McHenry, all acts that many Marylanders, including Booth, decried as unconstitutional. But despite these strong feelings, as well as pressure from his friends, Booth did not enlist in the Confederate army – when asked why by his brother, Booth replied, "I promised mother I would keep out of the quarrel if possible" (quoted in Alford, 115). Indeed, it seems that Booth repeatedly begged his mother for her blessing to go off and fight for the South. But the widowed Mary Ann, fearful of losing her favorite son, would not allow it.

So, rather than going off to fight, Booth continued to act. Between October 1861 and June 1862, he gave 163 performances in eleven cities across the Northern and border states. He dazzled audiences with his ferocious stage combat and his acting ability, which was improving all the time. "Booth was a genius whose dramatic powers were little less than marvelous," recalled a fellow actor, while newspapers hailed Booth as the most promising young actor on the American stage (quoted in Alford, 157). He lost himself in whatever role he was playing, captivating his audiences with his larger-than-life performances. But whenever he was not on stage, his thoughts were never far from the war raging to the South. He was outraged by Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation, which freed the slaves in the Confederate States, and became increasingly outspoken about his hatred for the president. On 9 November 1863, the Lincolns attended a play at the new Ford's Theatre in Washington, D.C., where Booth was performing. According to legend, at one point Booth – in character – waved his finger threateningly in the president's direction, causing Lincoln to remark, "He looks pretty sharp at me, doesn't he?" (quoted in Alford, 140).

On 25 November 1864, Booth and his older brothers, Junius Jr. and Edwin, performed William Shakespeare's Julius Caesar before a crowd of 2,000 in New York City. The production was staged to mark the 300th anniversary of Shakespeare's birth and to raise funds for a statue of the Bard to be raised in Central Park (the statue still stands to this day). By this point, the war had been going poorly for the Confederacy – in Virginia, General Robert E. Lee's beleaguered army was under siege while, out west, the Confederate Army of Tennessee was about to be obliterated outside Nashville. Booth deeply regretted his decision not to fight for the South, writing to his mother that "I have begun to deem myself a coward and to despise my own existence". Additionally, his hatred for Lincoln had only grown since the performance at Ford's Theatre. He blamed Lincoln for the destruction of the South and saw his attempt to seek a second term – something no president had done in Booth's own lifetime – as the first step toward making himself king. Such thoughts led him into conflict with Edwin, a Unionist; after one particularly heated argument over breakfast, Edwin threw his younger brother out of his home. As the South's chances of independence grew ever dimmer, Booth racked his brain for ways that he could help at such a late hour and soon reached a conclusion: he would kidnap the president of the United States.

His initial plan was to abduct Lincoln and take him into the South to use as a bargaining chip to secure the release of Confederate prisoners of war. In October 1864, he took an unexplained trip to Montreal, Canada, where he likely made connections with Confederate agents – over the course of the next few months, he assembled a team of fellow Confederate sympathizers that included David E. Herold, a pharmacist's assistant; George Atzerodt, a German immigrant and repairman; Lewis Powell, an embittered ex-Confederate soldier; and John Surratt, a young Confederate spy. The five of them would meet at the boarding house of Surratt's mother, Mary, to work out the details of their plan. In the meantime, life went on. Booth continued to act, albeit with decreasing frequency. He began courting Lucy Hale, the daughter of a US senator, and became secretly engaged to her. Yet Booth's radicalism consumed him. He drank and smoked more than usual, his behavior growing moody and erratic. By April 1865, the war was as good as over – the Confederate capital of Richmond had fallen, and Lee had surrendered his army at Appomattox Court House. On 11 April, Booth looked on in horror as Lincoln gave a speech, calling for suffrage for African Americans. Turning to Herold, the actor's expression went dark. "That is the last speech he will ever make," he said (quoted in Alford, 257).

On the morning of 14 April 1865, Booth learned that Lincoln would be attending a production of Our American Cousin at Ford's Theatre. He quickly gathered his co-conspirators and informed them that their purpose had changed. Now that the war was over, there was no longer any reason to kidnap the president. Instead, Booth would kill him to avenge the South. Hoping to cripple the leadership of the federal government and perhaps incite a revolution, Booth tasked Powell with killing Secretary of State William H. Seward and Atzerodt with the murder of Vice President Andrew Johnson that same evening. Herold was charged with standing by to help the assassins escape into Virginia. That night at around 10 p.m., Booth nervously entered Ford's Theatre and silently approached the presidential box, where Lincoln was watching the play with his wife, Mary Todd, his friend Major Henry Rathbone, and Rathbone's fiancée, Clara Harris. Booth leveled his derringer handgun at the back of Lincoln's head, waited for a roar of laughter from the audience, and then fired.

Immediately, the president slumped forward, his head drooping down onto his chest. Rathbone lunged at Booth to restrain him, but the assassin produced a bowie knife from his jacket, stabbed the major in the arm, and then leaped down onto the stage, a 12-foot (3.6 m) drop. Ever the showman, Booth turned to the audience, lifted the bloody knife above his head, and shouted, "Sic semper tyrannis" – the motto of Virginia, often translated as "Thus Always to Tyrants" – before running through a side door into an alley, and jumping on a getaway horse. He rode out of Washington and met up with Herold before the two of them made their way to the Maryland home of a friend, Dr. Samuel A. Mudd. Booth had broken the fibula of his left leg during his jump and needed treatment; the actor told Mudd that he had injured his foot in a fall from a horse. Despite being woken at 4 a.m., Mudd went to work treating his friend, giving him a makeshift splint and crutches. That same morning, 15 April, Lincoln died in a house across from the theatre.

When Mudd found out what Booth had done, he made him leave, terrified that by harboring the assassin danger would befall his family. Booth and Herold made their way to the home of Confederate sympathizer Samuel Cox, who hid them in the woods behind his home as they waited for a chance to cross the Potomac River into Virginia. In the five days they spent behind Cox's home, they learned that the other conspirators had failed – Powell had managed to only wound Seward while Atzerodt had gotten too drunk, lost his nerve, and never attacked Johnson at all. They also learned that the War Department had offered a $100,000 reward for their arrest. But the thing that stung Booth the most was that he was being reviled in the newspapers as "wicked" and "cowardly" for his actions. Even in the South, where he had expected to be received as a hero, he was being denounced for his crime. Hurt and disillusioned, Booth had no choice but to press onward. He and Herold crossed the Potomac on 24 April and, ultimately, came to the tobacco farm of Richard H. Garrett. Posing as a wounded Confederate soldier, Booth asked Garrett for shelter and was allowed to stay in his barn.

Sometime after 2 a.m. on 26 April, Garrett's barn was surrounded by 29 soldiers of the 16th New York Cavalry and two federal detectives, who had tracked down the assassins. They demanded that the men turn themselves in – while Herold complied, nervously stumbling out of the barn to be arrested, Booth refused, telling the soldiers that he would rather fight. Hoping to flush him out, the soldiers set fire to the barn. Booth, standing on his crutches, still refused to come out and hobbled back and forth, his gun in hand. The situation reached its climax when one of the soldiers, Sergeant Boston Corbett, fired his Colt revolver, striking Booth in the neck. The assassin was pulled from the burning barn and brought to the porch of Garrett's farmhouse, where he spent the next three hours dying in agonizing pain. He spoke little, alternating between begging the soldiers to kill him and proclaiming that he was dying for his country. At one point, he asked the soldiers to hold his hands up so he could see them; examining his hands, he mumbled, "Useless, useless". He died shortly after 7 a.m., at the age of 26.