01x37 - The John Wilbot Story

[bunniefuu]

Mr. Boot.

Was back on g*nsh*t

at what's.

Happening there.
He asked me to hold his heart.

So John Wilkes Booth, the actor.

Well, one thing, major,
it can't get any hotter.

You hope not.

And I better get started.

I'll get Morris with Roger.

What's

the stuff about?

Well,

I don't figure we ought to go any further
without somebody out in front.

A satellite?

No, you know, not without shoulder.

It's not getting any better
riding in one of these flour grinders.

Now, I know why
it took so long for your back to here.

Well, maybe now you can begin
to appreciate my end of this job.

From where I'm standing,
the hardest part is to see that wagon

might find it kind of hard to hang
on the satellite of 10 hours a day.

Well, it won't be as hard
as running this outfit for 24 hours a day.

Well, that depends upon
what seat you're sitting on.

Well, Flint, old boy,

I hereby deputize you as deputy wagon

master for the next few days.

Well, what do you think so far?

And funny.

Oh, well, I'm just thinking that when you
get back, you might need a little of

Charlie snake oil.

That for the city?

A bit

more.

Don't you worry about my britches.

You just concentrate on filling
until I get back.

Well, I want.

Plenty of Charlie's cookin there and

plenty of time.

I might be able to do just that.

That'll be the day

I go down wagon.

Oh, I tell you, he was one of the worst
president we ever had.

His foreign policy alone
belonged in the dark Ages.

I mentioned the domestic situation.

He was criticized time and time again.

A rebel wouldn't
follow the dictates of his own party

by his last speech before the Congress.

We'll go down in history
as one of the greatest betrayal.

It's up against.

It won't be for long.

Father

Barnes.

Father, please be careful.

Our duty girl.

Take it down.

I reckon it's fine right there.

Tell him that
rebel rank is a disgrace to this train.

I saw a lot of good men
die under that flag.

Mr. Hill.

I choose to call them secessionist
traitors.

I'll remove it.

Maybe you'd like to try that.

We're with you.

That is not only bluffing.

Art and me aren't exactly alone either.

One little yellow.

You know the kind.

I mean, you anxious to skedaddle off

with your tails between your legs
when you heard it?

Might bring us a little help
if you're looking for trouble.

Pelham, you'll
get it to the laws on our side in this.

How many times have I had to tell you
that it's ill*gal to fly the colors

of the Confederacy within the confines
of the United States or its territories?

Right now, that wagon's my home
and I'll hang up what I want in it.

I won't quibble with you, Pelham

and Iraq.

We won't stand for it.

We I.

Maybe you Yanks outnumbered some,
but they never fazed us before

that when we got down to the real stand up
Biden.

Well, tell us. Talk about Frankie.

He's flying the Confederate flag.

We took that flag down a long time ago.

South lost a lot in the w*r.

I know,
but it wasn't cheap with the North.

Seems to me the thing we've got to do
now is forget it.

What we have to learn to do is

live together.

Aren't you Henry McCullough?

I shut down my newspaper
and left my situations

because our elected representatives
talk like that.

This nation has wild and blood

brought on by the South.

Will forgive and forget

when the guilty have been punished.

And the last vestige of treason
rooted out and destroyed.

I don't

mind that if I come down,
there wouldn't have been any bloodshed

if Lincoln had let us exercise
our constitutional right to secede.

He was responsible for the w*r,
not the South.

I'm acting for Major Adams around here.

And that's enough out of both of you.

Tell him you're a soldier.

I wrote of Jeb Stuart,

and no, Col knows abolitionists going to
tell me what to do and what not to do.

Well, then, as a soldier,
you ought to know you don't fly

any flag after sundown.

You're right.

I should have remembered it.

Well, give the Pilgrims a hand, huh?

Nothing personal, Mr. Cullen.

Just better for the track

is the color.

You surprised me.

You're a born diplomat.

Same as me. You've got to be
to keep this bunch pace while

some folks go on fighting the w*r forever.

Eternity is a long time.

Even hatred and prejudice pass away.

Sometimes in the generations.

Sometimes in a moment.

The only thing that endures is guilt.

That's a pretty deep thought.

I wish they'd thought more and talk less

and kind of talk and lead real trouble.

Mansfield seems to get the hardest under

the color.

You're an educated man.

If you get a chance,
why don't you talk to him?

I'm sorry.

My color.

I hardly think I'm the man for the job.

Which side are you on?

I'm like you.

I'm trying to forget.

Otherwise.

Traffic flows

and I want to run deep.

Still, it had to be front

and last.

Forgive me, sir,

but I find this
subject exceedingly painful.

Girl.

So we are back.

Evening.

Good evening.

Isn't it blissfully cool tonight?

Such a welcome change.

Yes. Isn't it?

Ladies.

Oh, Lord.

Byron. Do you know,

I swear that man takes my breath away
every time I see him.

Really? Amy.

Now, Harriet Field.

You know darn well he makes your heart
beat a little faster, too.

You used to say that about Clint
McCullough.

Oh, Bland.

Well, he's wonderful, too, but he's no

physical.

I'll admit, Mr.

Roberts.

Interesting.

Interesting.

You divine.

Oh, those are

that, boys.

Oh, you two girls are so silly
mooning around like that.

Why don't you ask him
for a lock of his hair?

Oh, I wouldn't dare.

But I dearly love to ask for some more.

Harriet.

Please let me go.

Till we get things straight.

There's nothing more to say.

Harriet, stop pretending.

I was evenings after we left Independence.

Well, your father
and I thought you weren't like this.

Take me long. Times.

Let me kiss you.

I was Say it didn't mean anything.

I don't believe you.

Your father's got you so under his thumb
you can't breathe yourself.

How dare you talk about my father
that way?

He gave up everything he owned for
something he believed was right.

And it was an easy revenge.

You're a good daughter. I know that.

The time has come for you
to be a good wife to him.

He needs me.

My place is with him.

So do I.

I don't let what he thinks
come between us.

That your life and your happiness.

And mine, too. I'll make up your own mind.

It's made.

And it won't ever be any different.

Not about you. Right?

Oh, if I catch you annoying

my daughter again, I'll k*ll you.

I better cry it out

for whatever reason.

Cry it out.

Isn't singing in front of a stranger.

We're not really strangers.

And the one on the train is.

Was your.

I don't like.

We speak women.

I'm not usually this way.

Don't be ashamed of your tears.

Be grateful for them.

Tears, prayers, sleep.

They're priceless gifts.

Without them, we'd all be monstrous
or mad.

Most of us is difficult enough with them.

That's bitter.

My name is Wilbert.

I know.

I've seen you reading.

I wasn't aware of that.

Made me conspicuous.

There aren't many in this group
have even opened a book except my father.

It was hard for him to leave his library.

What sort of books were they?

Oh, history, Mostly an abolitionist tract.

I read some of them.

What's that?

Oh, Shakespeare.

Julius Caesar.

I never read that one.

Well, you'd probably be more interested
in Romeo and Juliet.

Or as you like it.

All the world's a stage.

And all the men and women merely players.

They have their exits and their entrances.

And each man in his time plays

many.

Please go on.

I forget the rest.

Where on earth
did you learn to recite so well?

My father taught me when I was very young.

You should be on the stage.

Should I?

Oh, I'm terribly sorry I offended you.

Of course I forgot your affliction.

That terrible.

Yes, the w*r.

But you mustn't be bitter about it.

Although you have more reason
to be than other people.

So pleasant

talking of other things
for a little while.

I'm sorry.

I was rude.

Perhaps we can talk about them again
some other time.

That would be a great pleasure to me, Mr.

Wilkie. My first name is John.

Thank you.

My name is Harriet.

Good night, sir.

Good night, John.

Good afternoon, Miss.

Good afternoon, Mr..

All right.

That Mr. Wilmot seemed unduly familiar.

Just ordinary politeness, Father.

Have you conversed with him?

Yes, several times.

Last night, The night before.

Is there any reason why he didn't
address me?

I believe that's customary.

Please, Father.

Mr. Wilberforce different.

He isn't interested in me like that.

We just talk about books, poetry,
things I like.

Nevertheless,
I prefer to know more about him.

Whether he thinks the way you do.

Well, I don't know if he does
or doesn't, and I don't care.

We're not serious about each other.

It's just.

He's just a friend.

He demands nothing of me
except companionship.

And please try to understand what it.

Is to build it.

I'm moving out in a few minutes.

Well,

let's see.

That passage is

subtle.

As Sphinx,

as sweet and musical as bright.

Apollo's lute strung with his hair.

And when love speaks,

the voice of all the gods
make heaven drowsy

with the harmony.

I believe

that's from Love's Labor's lost.

It's pretty,

pretty, but exaggerated.

You are refreshingly unromantic.

Most young women would almost swoon
that those lines.

I'm afraid I'm not the swooning kind.

Oh, in other words.

How does it go?

Oh, yes.

Men have died
and the worms have eaten them.

But not for love.

Very sensibly put.

Sometimes it

seems as if love is more trouble
than it's worth.

Perhaps you feel that way

because it's yours for the asking.

There are some not so fortunate.

When a person loves
someone who doesn't love them.

Even that has its own rewards.

I mean, those who are doomed

never to love again.

Or to be loved.

Doomed.

I don't understand.

Don't buy what.

Fate.

I must be lonely.

I pity them.

Pity.

Do you think such men want pity?

Why? Brutish would have scorn your easy,
childish pity.

Brutus.

Oh, in the book

you always carried it,
but you never read from it.

Pity.

Understanding, perhaps, but not pity.

Listen.

Brutus speaks as he stands beside

Caesar's body.

If there be any in this assembly,

any dear friend of Caesar to him,

I say that Brutus love to
Caesar was no less than his.

If then that friend the man bribed

with this rose against Caesar,
this is my answer.

Not that I love Caesar less,

but that I loved Rome more.

Would you rather Caesar were living?

And we all die as sl*ves,
Or that Caesar were dead

and that we live free men?

As Caesar loved me,

I weep for him

as he was fortunate.

I rejoice at it as he was valiant,
I honor him.

But as he was ambitious, I in

there is tears

for his love, joy for his fortune,

honor for his valor and death,

for his ambition.

Who among you is so base that it would be
abandonment of any speak for him?

Have I offended?

Who is so rude
that he would not be a Roman

if any speak for him?

Have I offended?

And who is so vile

that he would not love his own country

if any speak for him?

Am I offended?

I paused for reply

and I reckon it's allowable
for me to burst

in flame because ask him some volunteers
to stand over.

Watch tonight

I'm at a service.

You'll appreciate that.

That was some performance
you were given here.

Good night, Mr..

All that stuff about Brutus and Caesar.

Think a court and man and find something.

Well, more fitting.

My conversation with Miss Field
is no concern of yours, sir.

How about her father?

And get his permission
to spout poetry at home? Roy?

I'm not much good at it myself.

You certainly aren't.

But there are other ways.

This, for instance.

You know, John, it really doesn't matter.

Nothing he says or does bothered.

Are you sure of that?

His sure isn't

sure.

Goodnight.

How you feeling?

Oh, good evening, Harriet.

Well, good evening, girls.

Are you finished with your chores? Right.
Quickly. Tonight?

Yeah.

Well, these two of us. Yeah.

We like to take a little constitutional
if we can.

So can confide in once a train start.

And usually so uninteresting.

Well, browsing through
this might help pass the time away.

At least I hope so.

Where did you get

an individual who shall remain nameless?

Amy, don't be a fool.

Oh, maybe you're not the only one
who reads to

your values that book a great deal.

I'm sure he didn't give it to you.

Amy didn't say so.

It's good.

You mean she filched?

You give it to me. I'll take it.

Okay.

Know? I mean, I'm the one who found it.

You think you ought to be on time?

Well, I know what I'd like, but

for me.

Young ladies your age,
scuffling like street agents.

To skylarking a little bit, Mr.

feel no harm.

And that you weren't along. You too.

But, Harriet, get on with her work.

That belongs with the book.

Father.

Sam, All rise.

Listen to this report of death
of John Wilkes

Booth, April 24th, 1865.

Reports have been received
that the assassin of President Lincoln,

John Wilkes
Booth, was k*lled last night at Garret

Farm near Port Royal, Virginia.

I remember receiving this very report
at the office

after 13 days of the greatest manhunt
in the nation's history.

Booth and two heavily
armed accomplices took refuge in a barn

which federal agents ignited after vainly
calling on the assassin to surrender.

Booth permitted his villainous companions
to emerge.

And then either shot himself
or was wounded by one of the men

surrounding the conflagration.

The circumstances
are not yet definitely ascertained.

He died several hours later,

according to reputed eyewitnesses.

His last words were useless.

Useless.

By an odd coincidence,
the location of the fatal wound

was identical
to that of the martyred president's.

The man that was captured at Garrett's
barn was never proven to be Booth.

To this day, the authorities haven't
revealed where the body was buried.

Why not, Father?

Because the whole thing was trumped up
by men.

Hand in glove with Booth and his g*ng.

Men in high places
still in power, Northerners

in cahoots
with the leaders of the Confederacy.

Abraham Lincoln's m*rder

was a treacherous conspiracy
to rob us of the fruits of victory.

Why was he left unguarded?

Why was a telegraph shut off
by official order and a Potomac Bridge?

The only bridge by which he could escape.

Why was it left open that far?

Garrett's barn
was staged as a soft of public opinion.

And then the trial.

The trial of his accomplices secret.

And they were hung with Hodge over
their heads and gagged in their mouths.

And Booth himself still alive.

There have been reports of him from Texas
to California, places in Europe,

even to China.

Did you ever see him perform, Father? Yes.

Once in Boston,

he appeared with his brothers,
Edwin and Junius.

They appeared together in Julius Caesar

and very play.

Where did you get it?

Well, it belongs to John Wolpert.

Why would a man
keep this particular news account in it?

I'm sure I don't know.

I'll ask him.

Harriet, you spent considerable
time with him.

Would you say he speaks like a man
connected with the stage?

Yes, I suppose you could say so.

But surely there are many cultivated
people who do.

People named Wilmot.

I believe
you said his first name was John.

John Wilmot.

Doesn't
that similarity seem strange to you?

Father, you can't be serious.

Why? Such a thing would be impossible.

Harriet,

He limps.

Don't you understand?

The assassin caught one of his spurs
on a flag draped

over the president's box when he jumped
from it to the stage at Ford's Theater.

It broke his leg.

Dr. Mudd, the man that was sent to prison
for sending it,

he testified he'd be maimed for life.

Father, I can't believe it.

If you knew John will,
but if you knew the kind of person he is.

Shakespeare.

This clipping,
the resemblance, the name, the limp.

What more do you want?

Father, It's just too horrible.

He couldn't possibly be. Why not?

Why not? Forgive me for intruding.

I. I seem to have mislaid one of my books,

and I thought perhaps that Miss Harriet
had inadvertently.

Oh, I.

I think you have it there, sir.

Well, I'd be very much obliged

if you'd attended.

I believe this is yours to

mine.

Well, it's very possible.

I often keep items of interest
in my books.

What is it?

An account of your death.

Stay where you are.

Father.

See if he's on.

Well, I won't be necessary.

Sorry.

Now, that was a very curious remark, Mr.

Field.

Would you do me
the courtesy of explaining it?

I think you understand, Mr. Both

as Mr.

John Wilkes Booth

Roxton.

Come here.

But is it?

Come on,

then,

Yanks.

All of them.

The family caught in whistling Dixie.

I round up some of my boys.

What happened?

He quit making pretty speeches and start

lollygagging around.

What's the matter?

My father's insane.

He must be. He's taken John Will.

But the Flint McCullough
thinks he m*rder*d Abraham Lincoln.

Those men with him.

They think so.

I must be crazy to.

He makes it sound so convincing.

For a moment, I almost believe it myself.

No. I don't know what to think.

I don't know what.

This fellow will,
but he means a lot to him.

Father does to.

All right.

I'll see what I can do. You.

You hate them both.

Those are the facts, McCullough.

Not to my way of thinking.

And I'm running this train
to find time you picked for this field.

Don't you understand?

We're camp right
in the middle of the Shawnee country.

Get on back to your wagons.

All of you. Well,
this train concerns us, too.

But not more than
justice and the welfare of this country.

You want me in a club of men

and I's because you got some lame
brained idea in your head.

Is that what you call Justice McCullough?

We intend to take every precaution
to see this man

doesn't escape until we can turn him
over to federal authorities.

No matter what you think.

What have you got to say, Welborn?

What do you want me to say?

Well,
I don't expect you to just stand there

if you're not who he claims, deny it.

He's both. And I expect him to deny it.

All right. Give him a chance. Lives.
That's all you'll get from him.

Settle down, Braxton.

Let's get this straightened out.

If I were the fugitive, Mr.

Field claims me to be

what I call myself.

John Wilbert.

A name so similar to the other.

Or wouldn't it have been wiser for
a desperate, hunted man to assume a name?

Completely different.

Pride, Vanity.

The vicarious contempt of the criminal.

Does that answer your question, Mr.

Field?

You say you saw Booth once
and that I resemble him.

When did you see him, Mr.

Field?

Ten years ago.

Has anybody else here ever seen him?

Ten years ago.

Look, I've heard this rumor
about Booth escaping before.

Everybody has.

We've also heard talk about Marshal now
and the last.

Fine.

And what about the fountain of youth?

I've been looking for a long time,
but I don't think they've ever found it.

All right, now, why don't you people
get back to your wagon?

Get some rest. We're pulling out at dawn.

I ask him to explain his knowledge
of Shakespeare.

Look, I. Feel I know a little bit
about Shakespeare myself now.

Why don't you shut up. Mr. Field?

Any schoolmaster can acquire an
appreciation of Shakespeare.

A schoolmaster with

an account of both death in his book.

Well, the death of Caesar
and the death of Abraham

Lincoln have certain literary parallels.

Perhaps I was gathering material
for a study of them.

And a clever man.

I expected you would be,

but not clever enough to

explain that limp.

Congenital defect.

Childhood accident.

Ward one.

I could give you many explanations, but
I'm sure you would accept none of them.

But let me ask you a question, Mr.

Field.

On which leg did Booth limp?

The right leg.

The left.

Right, left.

What difference does it make?

I would like to eliminate your limp.

I try. Not for me.

You'd have to do better than that
in a Court of Love Field.

You're poisoned with hate, old man,
and you want a scapegoat.

And you're picking on him.

He's John Wilkes Booth. And you're not

protecting
him because you approve of his crime.

Oh, not me.

I blame Abe Lincoln, too,

for the slaughter and suffering.

But I don't hold on
sneaking up behind any man,

whoever he is or whatever he's done,
and sh**ting him in cold blood.

And I thought that man was Lincoln's
m*rder*r.

I'd turn him over to federal authorities
myself.

And any man that says I wouldn't
is a liar.

All right,
come down on your people, Field Pelham.

Take it easy.

Both of you.

The price we're paying

for that punishing insurrection.

We should have hanged Jefferson
Davis and Robert E

Lee and laid waste to the south
from the Potomac to the Gulf.

You're following a mad man.

Even his own daughter says so.

Go on. Tell him what you told me.

Tell them what you said to me.
I calm down.

Listen to me.
There's a way to settle this.

Phil, as

far as I'm concerned,
you haven't proven anything.

What's the long run on this high?

Put it to a vote.

I'll accept that, McCullough.

But we won't

see. It's the same old story.

You yanks aloud, Countess, and I'll sh**t
you too, if it comes to that.

k*lling each other
isn't going to settle this.

We want no k*lling. We don't either.

Well, you're sure. As heaven get it.

If you keep this up.

All right,

then.

Let's split up.

You'll go your way. We'll go ours.

Who's the seed now?

This trend stays together.

All right, Phil,

you go your way.

But who takes?

Well, but we will watch
so you can string them up.

You have our solemn promise.

We'll turn him over to the proper
authorities when we reach Virginia City.

Your words. No guarantee for me.

And McCullough goes with you.

I'll take it.

Use your brains. You too.

If you split up in the Shoshoni,
see what happens then.

Two small parties just have the strength
you've got now.

The Lord will strengthen the righteous.

With his help,
we'll reach Virginia City Shoshone.

The notion is.

That he won't listen to reason.

It's up to you.

You've got to keep this train together.

Now, McCullough, I'll.

I'll take my with the Shoshone, too,

if there are any, between here
and Virginia City.

So far, we've seen no sign of them.

They're around, believe me.

If you separate.

You're inviting suicide.

And if we don't m*rder men coming with me.

Me to my wagon. Rabb has made it mine.

Mr. Field, it's the problem, right?

He wants to say something.

There have been words of

great bitterness here tonight.

Hatred,

recrimination,

echoes of the anguish

and the pain of the past.

And perhaps there were ghosts here, too,

who were listening to us.

And if there were, one,

might have had on his lips

a verse that he quoted
so often in his line

from the Bible.

If a house be divided against itself,

it cannot stand.

And his name was

Abraham Lincoln.

Mr. Pelham,

you said that if I were his assassin,

you would turn me over
to the federal authorities.

I would

then do so in company with Mr.

Field.

I am John Wilkes Booth.

All right, you folks,
there's nothing you can do here.

Fix your supper
and then get all the rest you.

I want to make an early start.

That means you two Missouri.

You kind of.

Tired. Mr. McCullough.

Do you believe he did it?

Management.

First it seemed impossible.

Yet? No. What else can one think?

Well, I know a couple ones
who thought I was Napoleon.

Looking back, many things that he said.

Things that seemed strange at the time.

They all seem clear now.

Well, it's hard to tell about people,
Miss Harriet.

Very hard.

What made the corporal
think he was Napoleon?

I don't know.

Maybe Wilbert likes the fuzzies.
Kick it up.

Or maybe he.

Likes to go around

half pretending his boots
so he can sponge off diehard Southerners.

I don't know.

Anyway, the truth of the matter.

Virginia City.

But if he's Booth, he'll be home.

That's right.

And maybe that's what he wants.

Come.

Think
of it. He said something to me about.

Only the guilt remained.

The man's living with a crime like that
in his head.

Well.
But wouldn't that be punishment enough.

Last night for us to say.

But to my way of thinking,
a man of be better off dead.

My father wants to see you, Mr.

Roxanne. Me?

What for?

I don't know.
Except he said it was urgent.

And I say what he wants,
but only come here himself.

I don't know. Georgia or the wagon?

No, it. Flint McCullough.

All right.

I don't like leaving him alone to watch.

I'll stay here with him.

And for me?

Sure. Could use it.

The prisoner
hasn't heard anything since yesterday.

And I don't think it's right,
no matter what he's done.

I go on, take into

the coffee.

Smells wonderfully good.

Hope it's hot.

I can't bear to see you like this. Roy.

You must have those irons on.

I'm afraid so.

Take them off

one. Take them off.

Now, do as I say.

I'll keep him here while you slip
out of camp at your last chance.

Take them off. Roy.

Unlock them.

I made you think I won't use this.

You think I'm afraid

I will.

Well.

Maybe you're not afraid.

Maybe you're as head sick as your father.

Roy, please help him.

I'll make it up to you.

I promise.

He's suffered enough already.

Please, Roy.

You know how I feel about you.

I had told you that often enough,
But I can't do that.

I can't go back on my word. Even for you.

Go ahead.

sh**t me.

Of course.

You can't.

You know why you can't?

Because you love him.

And you just pity me.

But you hang your job.

Maybe,

Mr. Pelham.

You know, when I think of the years
that lie ahead, I envy no man.

Except you.

Your life with her

and the goodness of her gentle heart.

You almost make me feel like doing what
Harriet wants.

Oh, please, Roy, do.

Please.

All right, you people get back
to your wagons and barricade them.

And keep calm.

What the hell has to get stuck in right.

Where's my daughter?

In there with him.

All right, come out of there.
We've got work to do.

Leave her alone.

I want the guard double here.

You need every man on the wagon
line. Braxton.

Well,
but let's give him a r*fle. Yes, sir.

Now, come on. I'll hold you responsible.

If he escapes, escapes.

None of us will escape
if you don't stop talking.

So why don't you save it? Yes, I.

Harriet,
go to the wagon and get the r*fles.

Come on with me. Feel

well.

You may need this.

Thank you.

That got a

stop.

Thought The best asset.

What's?
Everybody's got plenty of ammunition.

Everybody said, All right,
make sure there's a water barrel

by every wagon like this with arrow.

Oh, hey.

Hey, boss.

Activity

till the time.

All right, You got that?

Got to let.

Go of ammunition.

Ask him.

Ask him his name.

My name?

John.

John Wilkes Booth

or John Wilbert.

Only you know.

And it won't, Major.

That's the way it happened.

Well, my color.

I guess from now on,

I better run this wagon train.

And you just stick to your scout.

Hey, Charlie,
you got any more of that snake oil.

I take from you?

Well, get it. Don't sit there. That's it,

McCullough.

I know exactly what you're thinking,
but don't you say it

again.

The only.