Lewis Powell

Quick Facts

A former Confederate soldier turned assassin, Lewis Powell (also called Lewis Payne) is John Wilkes Booth’s handpicked enforcer in James L. Swanson’s Chasing Lincoln’s Killer. First seen on the night of April 14, 1865, at Secretary of State William H. Seward’s home, Powell’s mission is the most physically brutal of the conspiracy: kill Seward in his bed. Key ties: Booth as mastermind, David Herold as guide and deserter, Mary Surratt as unwitting trap, and the Seward family as his targets and survivors.

Who They Are

Powell embodies the conspiracy’s muscle—an obedient weapon designed to translate Booth’s ideology into blood. Where Booth imagines a grand historical gesture, Powell delivers raw force. His role crystallizes the book’s focus on Conspiracy and Betrayal: a network that depends on trust, secrecy, and timing—and collapses when even one cog falters. Powell’s frightening competence during the attack contrasts sharply with his disoriented wandering after Herold deserts him, exposing the conspiracy’s fragility without its orchestrators.

What he represents: the unvarnished violence behind the romantic myths that lured the conspirators. Booth postures as a tragic actor of Southern honor; Powell’s knife strips away the stagecraft to reveal the brutality beneath the supposed ideals of the 'Lost Cause' and Southern Honor. Within the book’s moral frame, he stands as a vivid counterpoint in the struggle of Heroism vs. Villainy.

Personality & Traits

Powell’s persona blends charisma, overwhelming physicality, and unnerving calm. Swanson’s descriptions and photographs emphasize his striking appearance—“a tall, attractive, muscular man” in fine boots—yet it is his unforgettable face and deadened composure that make witnesses remember him and readers fear him.

• Brutally violent, with soldierly efficiency: A “battle-hardened and extremely strong ex-Confederate” (p. 52), he clubs Frederick Seward with his pistol, stabs Sergeant Robinson, and slashes Seward’s face when his pistol misfires, adjusting instantly from plan to force.
• Fiercely loyal to Booth’s command: He accepts the assassination assignment without question (p. 53), making him the perfect instrument of Booth’s will.
• Deceptive and relentless: He gains entry by posing as a medicine courier and, when challenged by William Bell, repeats, “I must go up,” pushing past social barriers with single-minded purpose.
• Stoic, even when unmasked: Amid the frenzy he coolly tells Augustus Seward, “I’m mad. I’m mad!” (p. 58), as if narrating his own insanity. Captured days later, the same man surrenders “meekly, without protest” (p. 122), suggesting not remorse so much as a spent will once the plan evaporates.

Character Journey

Powell’s arc is less transformation than descent. He begins the night poised and lethal, executing a simple plan with frightening vigor. The plan’s single weak link—Herold’s panic—turns precision into chaos. Stripped of guidance and weaponry, Powell becomes a bloodstained drifter haunting Washington’s streets, his strength suddenly useless without direction. His return to Mary Surratt’s boardinghouse—seeking shelter, not strategy—lands him in the hands of soldiers, where his menace collapses into a wordless, photogenic stoicism aboard the Montauk. From invader to wanderer to captive, his path mirrors the conspiracy’s fall from audacious coordination to scattered ruin.

Key Relationships

• John Wilkes Booth: Booth identifies Powell as the conspiracy’s blade—reliable, fearless, and obedient. Their dynamic is asymmetrical: Booth supplies the ideological script; Powell supplies impact. The tragedy for Booth is that his “perfect instrument” cannot function without orchestration.
• David Herold: Assigned to shepherd Powell to and from the target, Herold bolts at the first screams, abandoning Powell to the city’s labyrinth. This betrayal is pivotal: it converts Powell’s strengths into liabilities, isolates him from escape routes, and effectively signs his arrest warrant.
• Mary Surratt: Powell’s prior appearances at her boardinghouse link them fatally. When he returns during a military search, Surratt’s denial—both immediate and implausible—cements their mutual doom, making her house the site of the manhunt’s first decisive break.

  “Before God, sir, I do not know this man; and I have never seen him and did not hire him to dig a gutter for me.” (p. 121)

• The Seward Household: The Sewards and Sergeant Robinson become the crucible where Powell’s role is most legible. Their resistance—Frederick and Augustus fighting, Fanny’s presence, Robinson’s courage—turns the assassination into a brutal melee that reveals both Powell’s ferocity and the human cost of the plot.

Defining Moments

Powell’s story unfolds through kinetic scenes that expose both his force and his limits.

• The Attack on the Seward Household (pp. 51–58)
  • What happens: His pistol misfires, so he pivots to knife and pistol-whip, wounding multiple defenders and slashing Seward’s face.
  • Why it matters: The misfire shatters the illusion of a neat assassination and reveals Powell’s terrifying adaptability—and the conspiracy’s dependence on luck.
• Lost in Washington (p. 65)
  • What happens: Abandoned by Herold, Powell wanders the moonlit streets, “lost, unarmed, and wearing a coat stained with blood.”
  • Why it matters: Separated from the network that empowered him, he becomes powerless—proof that his menace is contingent on the conspiracy’s structure.
• Capture at the Surratt Boardinghouse (pp. 120–122)
  • What happens: He walks into a military raid, offers a flimsy workman cover story, faces Surratt’s denial, and surrenders meekly.
  • Why it matters: This accidental encounter hands authorities their first major victory and transforms Powell from hunter to prize.
• Imprisonment and Execution (pp. 142–146)
  • What happens: Photographed aboard the ironclad Montauk, Powell’s “haunting” images fix his stoic gaze in public memory; he is hanged on July 7, 1865, with Herold, George Atzerodt, and Mary Surratt.
  • Why it matters: The images codify his myth as an unrepentant blade of the plot, while the execution underscores the state’s determination to close the conspiracy’s chapter.

Essential Quotes

“I must go up.” (p. 54)
Powell’s refrain to William Bell compresses his method: polite form masking iron will. It’s the verbal equivalent of a battering ram—minimal words, maximal pressure—showing how performance and insistence get him past doors even before violence does.

“I’m mad. I’m mad!” (p. 58)
Spoken calmly to Augustus Seward mid-assault, the line functions as both alibi and threat. Whether a ploy to confuse or a glimpse of self-awareness, it reframes the attack as the work of a man claiming derangement, complicating the clean assignment of motive.

“If Lewis Powell had not wandered into the government’s hands this night, he might have escaped Washington and vanished from history. Instead, the government celebrated his capture as the first major break in the manhunt.” (p. 122)
Swanson highlights contingency: Powell’s fall isn’t the result of flawless policing but of his own disorientation. The passage underscores how the conspiracy unravels not only through heroism but also through error, chance, and exhaustion.

“Then, surprisingly, meekly, without protest, he surrendered without a fight.” (p. 122)
The surrender jars against his earlier savagery, revealing a man whose strength depends on mission and momentum. Without them, he deflates into passivity, turning the book’s most frightening assailant into a strangely quiet prisoner.