英文
31
Booth had hardly ceased breathing before the detectives were kneeling to search him. They found a pipe, a bowie-knife, two revolvers, a diary, a compass greasy with candle drippings, a draft on a Canadian bank for about three hundred dollars, a diamond pin, a nail file, and the photographs of five beautiful women who had adored him. Four were actresses: Effie Germon, Alice Grey, Helen Western, and “Pretty Fay Brown.” The fifth was a Washington society woman, whose name has been withheld out of respect for her descendants.
Then Colonel Doherty jerked a saddle-blanket off a horse, borrowed a needle from Mrs. Garrett, sewed the corpse up in the blanket, and gave an old Negro, Ned Freeman, two dollars to haul the body to the Potomac, where a ship was waiting.
On page 505 of his book entitled the “History of the United States Secret Service” Lieutenant La Fayette C. Baker tells the story of that trip to the river:
When the wagon started, Booth's wound, now scarcely dribbling, began to run anew. Blood fell through the crack of the wagon, and fell dripping upon the axle, and spotting the road with terrible wafers. It stained the planks and soaked the blankets... and all the way blood dribbled from the corpse in a slow, incessant, sanguine exudation.
In the midst of all this an unexpected thing happened. Ned Freeman's old wagon, according to Baker, was “a very shaky and absurd” contraption “which rattled like approaching dissolution.” It not only “rattled like approaching dissolution,” but under the strain and speed of the trip, the rickety old wagon actually began to dissolve there on the roadway. A king-bolt snapped, the wagon pulled apart, the front wheels tore away from the hind ones, the front end of the box fell to the ground with a thud, and Booth's body lurched “forward as if in a last effort to escape.”
Lieutenant Baker abandoned the rickety old death-car, commandeered another wagon from a neighboring farmer, pitched Booth's body into that, hurried on to the river, and stowed the corpse aboard a government tug, the John S. Ide, which chugged away with it to Washington.
At dawn the next morning the news spread through the city: Booth had been shot. His body was lying that very minute on the gunboat Montauk, riding at anchor in the Potomac.
The capital was thrilled, and thousands hurried down to the river, staring in grim fascination at the death-ship.
In the middle of the afternoon Colonel Baker, chief of the Secret Service, rushed to Stanton with the news that he had caught a group of civilians on board the Montauk, in direct violation of orders, and that one of them, a woman, had cut off a lock of Booth's hair.
Stanton was alarmed. “Every one of Booth's hairs,” he cried, “will be cherished as a relic by the rebels.”
He feared that they might become far more than mere relics. Stanton firmly believed that the assassination of Lincoln was part of a sinister plot conceived and directed by Jefferson Davis and the leaders of the Confederacy. And he feared that they might capture Booth's body and use it in a crusade to fire the Southern slaveholders to spring to their rifles once more and begin the war all over again.
He decreed that Booth must be buried with all possible haste, and buried secretly; he must be hidden away and blotted out of existence, with no trinket, no shred of his garments, no lock of his hair, nothing left for the Confederates to use in a crusade.
Stanton issued his orders; and that evening, as the sun sank behind a fiery bank of clouds, two men—Colonel Baker and his cousin, Lieutenant Baker—stepped into a skiff, pulled over to the Montauk, boarded her, and did three things in plain sight of the gaping throng on the shore:
First, they lowered Booth's body, now incased in a pine gun-box, over the side of the ship and down into the skiff; next, they lowered a huge ball and heavy chain; then they climbed in themselves, shoved off, and drifted downstream.
The curious crowd on the shore did precisely what the detectives had expected them to do: they raced along the bank, shoving, splashing, talking excitedly, determined to watch the funeral ship and see where the body was sunk.
For two miles they kept even with the drifting detectives. Then darkness crept up the river, clouds blotted out the moon and the stars, and even the sharpest eyes could no longer make out the tiny skiff in midstream.
By the time the detectives reached Geeseborough Point, one of the loneliest spots on the Potomac, Colonel Baker was sure that they were completely hidden from view; so he headed the skiff into the great swamp that begins there—a malodorous spot, rank with rushes and slough weeds, a burial-ground where the army cast its condemned horses and dead mules.
Here, in this eerie morass, the two detectives waited for hours, listening to find out if they had been followed; but the only sounds they could hear were the cry of bullfrogs and the ripple of the water among the sedges.
Midnight came; and, with breathless quiet and the utmost caution, the two men rowed stealthily back up-stream, fearing to whisper, and dreading even the lisping of the oars and the lapping of the water at the gunwales.
They finally reached the walls of the old penitentiary, rowed to a spot where a hole had been chopped in the solid masonry near the water's edge to let them in. Giving the countersign to the officer who challenged them, they handed over a white pine casket with the name “John Wilkes Booth” printed on the lid; and, half an hour later, it was buried in a shallow hole in the southwest corner of a large room in the government arsenal where ammunition was stored. The top of the grave was carefully smoothed over, so that it looked like the rest of the dirt floor.
By sunrise the next morning excited men with grapplinghooks were dragging the Potomac, and raking and prodding among the carcasses of dead mules in the great swamp behind Geeseborough Point.
All over the nation millions were asking what had been done with Booth's body. Only eight men knew the answer—eight loyal men who were sworn never to disclose the secret.
In the midst of all this mystery, wild rumors sprang into existence and newspapers broadcast them over the land. Booth's head and heart had been deposited in the Army Medical Museum at Washington—so said the “Boston Advertiser.” Other papers stated that the corpse had been buried at sea. Still others declared it had been burned; and a weekly magazine published an “eye-witness” sketch, showing it being sunk in the Potomac at midnight.
Out of the welter of contradiction and confusion another rumor arose: the soldiers had shot the wrong man, and Booth had escaped.
Probably this rumor arose because Booth dead looked so different from Booth alive. One of the men Stanton ordered to go aboard the gunboat Montauk on April 27, 1865, and identify the body, was Dr. John Frederick May, an eminent physician of Washington. Dr. May said that when the tarpaulin that covered the remains was removed—
to my great astonishment, there was revealed a body in whose lineaments there was to me no resemblance to the man I had known in life. My surprise was so great that I at once said to General Barnes: “There is no resemblance in that corpse to Booth, nor can I believe it to be that of him.”... It being afterwards, by my request, placed in a sitting position, standing and looking down upon it, I was finally enabled to imperfectly recognize the features of Booth. But never in a human being had a greater change taken place, from the man whom I had seen in the vigor of life and health, than in that of the haggard corpse which was before me, with its yellow and discolored skin, its unkempt and matted hair, and its whole facial expression sunken and sharpened by the exposure and starvation it had undergone.
Other men who saw the corpse did not recognize Booth even “imperfectly,” and they told their doubts about the city. And the rumor traveled fast.
Matters were not helped by the secrecy with which the Government guarded the body, the speed and mystery of its burial, and Stanton's refusal to give out any information or to deny ugly tales.
The “Constitutional Union,” a paper published in the capital, said the entire performance was a hoax. Other papers joined in the cry. “We know Booth escaped,” echoed the “Richmond Examiner.” The “Louisville Journal” openly contended that there had been something rotten in the whole show, and that “Baker and his associates had wilfully conspired to swindle the United States Treasury.”
The battle raged bitterly; and, as usual in such cases, witnesses sprang up by the hundreds, declaring that they had met Booth and talked to him long after the shooting affray at the Garrett barn. He had been seen here, there, and everywhere: fleeing to Canada, dashing into Mexico, traveling on ships bound for South America, hurrying to Europe, preaching in Virginia, hiding on an island in the Orient.
And so was born the most popular and persistent and mysterious myth in American history. It has lived and thrived for almost three quarters of a century; and, to this day, thousands of people believe it—many of them people of unusual intelligence.
There are even some learned men of the colleges who profess to believe the myth. One of the most prominent churchmen in this country has gone up and down the land, declaring in his lectures to hundreds of audiences that Booth escaped. The author, while writing this chapter, was solemnly informed by a scientifically trained man that Booth had gone free.
Of course, Booth was killed. There can be no doubt of it. The man who was shot in Garrett's tobacco barn used every argument he could think of to save his life; and he had a splendid imagination; but, in his most desperate moments, it never occurred to him to deny that he was John Wilkes Booth. That was too absurd, too fantastic, to try even in the face of death.
And to make doubly sure that it was Booth who had been killed, Stanton sent ten men to identify the corpse after it reached Washington. One, as we have already recorded, was Dr. May. He had cut “a large fibroid tumor” from Booth's neck, and the wound in healing had left “a large and ugly scar.” Dr. May, who identified him by that scar says:
From the body which was produced by the captors, nearly every vestige of resemblance of the living man had disappeared. But the mark made by the scalpel during life remained indelible in death, and settled beyond all question at the time, and all cavil in the future, the identity of the man who had assassinated the President.
Dr. Merrill, a dentist, identified the body by a filling he had recently put into one of Booth's teeth.
Charles Dawson, a clerk in the National Hotel, where Booth had stopped, identified the dead man by the initials “J. W. B.” tattooed on Booth's right hand.
Gardner, the well-known Washington photographer, identified him; and so did Henry Clay Ford, one of Booth's most intimate friends.
When Booth's body was dug up by order of President Andrew Johnson, on February 15, 1869, it was identified again by Booth's close friends.
Then it was taken to Baltimore to be reburied in the Booth family plot in Greenmount Cemetery; but before it was reburied, it was identified again by Booth's brother and mother, and friends who had known him all his life.
It is doubtful whether any other man who ever lived has been as carefully identified in death as Booth was.
And yet the false legend lives on. During the eighties, many people believed that the Rev. J. G. Armstrong of Richmond, Virginia, was Booth in disguise, for Armstrong had coal-black eyes, a lame leg, dramatic ways, and wore his raven hair long to hide a scar on the back of his neck—so people said.
And other “Booths” arose, no less than twenty of them.
In 1872 a “John Wilkes Booth” gave dramatic readings and sleight-of-hand performances before the students of the University of Tennessee; married a widow; tired of her; whispered that he was the real assassin; and, stating that he was going to New Orleans to get a fortune that awaited him, he disappeared, and “Mrs. Booth” never heard of him again.
In the late seventies a drunken saloon-keeper with the asthma, at Granbury, Texas, confessed to a young lawyer named Bates that he was Booth, showed an ugly scar on the back of his neck, and related in detail how Vice-President Johnson had persuaded him to kill Lincoln and promised him a pardon if he should ever be caught.
A quarter of a century passed; and, on January 13, 1903, a drunken house-painter and dope-fiend, David E. George, killed himself with strychnine in the Grand Avenue Hotel in Enid, Oklahoma. But before he destroyed himself, he “confessed” that he was John Wilkes Booth. He declared that after he shot Lincoln, his friends had hidden him in a trunk and got him aboard a ship bound for Europe, where he lived for ten years.
Bates, the lawyer, read about this in the papers, rushed to Oklahoma, looked at the body, and declared that David E. George was none other than the asthmatic saloon-keeper of Granbury, Texas, who had confessed to him twenty-five years before.
Bates had the undertaker comb the corpse's hair just as Booth had worn his; wept over the remains; had the body embalmed; took it back to his home in Memphis, Tennessee, and kept it in his stable for twenty years, while trying to palm it off on the Government and claim the huge reward that had been offered—and paid—for the capture of Booth.
In 1908 Bates wrote a preposterous book entitled: “The Escape and Suicide of John Wilkes Booth, or the First True Account of Lincoln's Assassination, Containing a Complete Confession by Booth, Many Years after His Crime.” He sold seventy thousand copies of his sensational paper-back volume; created a considerable stir; offered his mummified “Booth” to Henry Ford for one thousand dollars; and finally began exhibiting it in side-shows throughout the South, at ten cents a look.
Five different skulls are now being exhibited in carnivals and tents as the skull of Booth.
中文
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布斯还没断气时，侦探们便跪在地上搜了他的身。侦探们找到了一管烟斗、一把博伊刀、两支左轮手枪、一本日记、一个黏糊糊的满是蜡烛油的罗盘、一张面值三百美金的加拿大银行汇票、一枚钻石别针、一个指甲锉，以及五位爱慕他的女性照片。其中四人是演员：艾菲·热尔蒙（Effe Germon）、爱丽丝·格雷（Alice Grey）、海伦·韦斯顿（Helen Western）和“漂亮的费伊·布朗（Pretty Fay Brown）”。第五人是一位名流。出于对她子孙的尊重，这里便隐去她的名字。
接着多尔蒂上校扯下一块马鞍褥，问加勒特太太借了针线，将布斯的尸体缝在马鞍褥中，然后给了黑人老头内德·弗里曼（Ned Freeman）两美金，请他将布斯的尸体拖到波托马克河，有船在那里等着。
贝克中尉（La Fayette C．Baker）在《美国特工处历史》一书第五百零五页这样描绘了去往河边的那一段行程：
在马车的颠簸下，布斯本已不流血的伤口再次滴起血来。鲜血从马车的缝隙里往下滴落在车轴上，在路面上留下了一摊摊圆形的痕迹。车板上全是斑驳血迹，马鞍褥也被血浸湿了……一路上，殷红的血不停地从布斯的尸体上缓缓渗出，滴滴答答地流着。
在这过程中，一件意想不到的事发生了。贝克曾说内德·弗里曼的旧马车“一路摇摇晃晃，发出咯吱咯吱的声响，就好像随时会解体一样”。这辆旧马车不仅是“好像随时会解体一样”，在负重奔驰的过程中，它真的在路面上解体了。一枚大螺栓突然断裂，马车从中间断裂开来。前轮脱离了马车滚到一边，车厢前段砰的一声砸在地上。布斯的尸体向前倒去，“就好像用尽力气跳车逃跑一样”。
贝克中尉放弃了这辆散架的旧马车，从附近的农民那儿征用了一辆马车，将布斯的尸体扔进车厢，匆匆赶到了河边，接着将尸体搬上了政府的拖船“约翰·艾德号”。在突突的声响中，拖船载着布斯向华盛顿驶去。
第二天凌晨，布斯被杀的消息已传遍了全城。此时，布斯的尸体正躺在即将在波托马克河抛锚停泊的“蒙托克号”炮艇上。
整个首都都沸腾了，数千人涌到了河边，虎视眈眈地盯着那艘运尸船。
中午的时候，特工处长官贝克上校冲到了斯坦顿面前，向他报告有一群市民公然违反命令登上了“蒙托克号”，其中一位妇女还剪下了布斯的一簇头发。
斯坦顿顿时警觉起来。“布斯的每一根头发，”他大喊道，“都会被反叛者们当作珍贵的纪念品。”
斯坦顿一直认为，暗杀林肯是杰佛逊·戴维斯和其他南方联盟领导人精心策划的一场罪大恶极的阴谋，因此他担心布斯的头发不仅仅是纪念品那么简单。他担心南方联盟得到布斯的尸体后，利用它煽动南方的奴隶主们再次扛起来复枪，掀起新一轮的战争。
斯坦顿下令以最快的速度秘密掩埋布斯的尸体。必须抹除布斯身上的一切痕迹，一件饰物、一片衣服碎片、一根头发也不能留给南方联盟。
斯坦顿发布了命令。当天傍晚，当太阳沉入火烧云后面时，贝克上校和他的侄子贝克中尉踏上一艘小艇，来到“蒙托克号”旁，他们登上炮艇，然后在岸边、在众多目光的注视下做了三件事：
首先，他们将装有布斯尸体的松木枪支箱从“蒙托克号”上降了下来，放在他们来时的小艇上。接着，他们降下了巨大的铁球和沉重的铰链。随后，他们爬上来时的小艇，向着下游驶去。
岸边好奇的人们做了一件两位探员期望他们做的事：人们沿着河岸奔跑，互相推搡着，一时间水花飞溅。人们兴奋地谈论着，坚决要看着那艘殡仪船，看看布斯的尸体到底要沉在何处。
人们跟着漂流而下的探员们跑了两英里。夜色笼罩了河面，云层遮挡了月亮和星辰，再敏锐的眼睛也无法辨认出河中央的小艇。
当两位探员来到波托马克河最偏僻的天鹅港（Geeseborough Point）时，贝克上校确定他们已完全离开了人们的视线。于是他们划着小船驶入前方的沼泽地。那里臭气熏天，满是各种腐烂的沼泽植物，是军队中死马、死驴的埋骨之地。
两位探员在这片可怕的沼泽里等了数个小时，仔细听着周围的动静，以判断是否有人跟踪他们。然而，除了牛蛙的叫声和水波在莎草间荡漾的声音，四周没有任何异常。
午夜时分，四周安静得令人窒息。两位探员极为小心地调转船头逆流而上。一路上，他们不敢说话，摇桨的声音和水花拍打船舷的声音让他们感到惶恐。
最后，他们来到了一所旧监狱的围墙外侧。与水面接壤的那面坚固的石墙上有一个洞，探员们驾着船顺着墙洞进入了监狱。他们向盘查他们的官员递交了连署口令，随后递上了一副盖子上刻着“约翰·威尔克斯·布斯”的棺木。半个小时后，布斯的棺木被埋在了一间大屋的西南角。这间大屋是个兵工厂，原本是用来存放弹药的。棺木入土后，地面被重新抹平，看上去和其他地方一样。
第二天日出时分，兴奋的民众拿着抓钩挤上波托马克河，在天鹅港后面的沼泽里捅开死马、死驴的尸体仔细地搜索着。
全国数百万人都在询问布斯的尸体到底是怎么处理的。只有八个人知道答案——这八个人全都忠心耿耿，发誓绝对不会泄露秘密。
在重重谜团中，谣言四起，各大报纸也堂而皇之地散播着谣言。布斯的头和心脏存放在了华盛顿陆军医学博物馆——《波士顿广告报》这样写道。有的报纸则声称布斯的尸体已被丢入大海，还有媒体称布斯已被火葬。有一家周刊发表了一份所谓“目击者”的简述，称布斯的尸体已在午夜葬入波托马克河底。
在这种互相矛盾的猜测中，又产生了新的谣言：布斯逃走了，被枪杀的另有其人。
新谣言的产生大概是因为布斯死时的样子和他生前的模样很不一样。一八六五年四月二十七日，在斯坦顿授意下，约翰·弗雷德里克·梅（John Frederick May）医生登上了“蒙托克号”炮艇，指认布斯的遗体。梅医生是华盛顿名医，当遗体上的防水油布被揭开时，他是这样说的：
令我感到震惊的是，我面前的这具尸体的相貌和我记忆中的那张脸一点儿也不像。我当时非常惊讶，于是立刻对巴恩斯将军说：“这具尸体一点儿也不像布斯，我也无法相信他就是布斯。”……后来，在我的要求下，尸体被摆成了坐着的姿势，我站着从上往下看，终于勉强认出了布斯的特征。我从没见过哪个人生前和死后会有如此大的变化——一个健康的、充满活力的生命，变成了眼前这具形容憔悴的尸体：皮肤蜡黄且满是污渍，头发蓬乱打结，由于风吹日晒和饥饿的折磨脸颊凹陷。
其他见过布斯尸体的人甚至不能“勉强”认出他来。他们将自己的疑虑说了出来，于是谣言迅速地传播起来。
守护尸体的人守口如瓶，政府迅速又秘密地掩埋了布斯的尸体，再加上斯坦顿拒绝透露任何讯息，也不否认任何谣言，于是谣言越传越荒谬。
首都当地的《宪政公会报》称整场表演都是一个骗局。其他报纸也纷纷发声。“我们都知道，布斯跑了。”《里士满检查者报》如是说。《路易斯维尔报》公开表示整个事件的真相肮脏不堪，还表示“贝克和他的同伙特意策划了这起阴谋来欺骗美国财政部”。
这场论战越来越激烈。和通常情况一样，数百位目击者跳了出来，声称自己在加勒特谷仓枪击事件过后遇到过布斯，还和他说上了话。布斯一会儿在这里，一会儿在那里，到处都有他的影子——有的说他逃到了加拿大，有的说他去了墨西哥，有的说他乘船去了南美，有的说他躲在欧洲，有的说他在弗吉尼亚州讲道，还有的说他去了东方的小岛上。
就这样，布斯之死成了美国历史上最为人所津津乐道的神秘话题。这个话题盛行了约七十五年。直至今日，仍有数千人相信布斯成功逃跑了，其中很多人拥有着非凡的智力。
很多学识渊博的人士都公开表示自己相信这些谣言。国内一位知名神父在全国各地的演讲中，对着成百上千的听众公然宣布，布斯逃走了。就在我写这一章时，还有一位受过科学训练的学者郑重地对我说，布斯当时成功逃脱了。
当然，布斯确实死了，这点是毫无疑问的。那个在加勒特的仓库里被射杀的男人想尽一切理由为自己开脱，但是即便在最后关头，他也没有说自己不是约翰·威尔克斯·布斯。因为在死亡面前，这个理由实在是荒谬得连试都不用试。
为了再次确定被射杀的男人是布斯，在布斯的尸体到达华盛顿后，斯坦顿派了十个人前去辨认尸体。其中一个就是上面提到的梅医生。他曾在布斯的脖子上“切下了一个巨大的纤维瘤”，刀口愈合后留下了一条“巨大而丑陋的伤疤”。梅医生就是靠这道伤疤辨认出了布斯。他是这样说的：
从抓捕人员带回来的尸体看，遗体的脸上没有哪一处和活着的布斯是相似的。但是手术刀留下的痕迹是抹不掉的。这道疤痕解决了当下所有的以及未来有可能出现的疑虑，证明了眼前的男人便是谋杀总统的凶手。
梅里尔牙医根据他不久前塞在布斯牙齿里的填充物认出了布斯。
布斯曾投宿过的酒店的职员查尔斯·道森（Charles Dawson）根据布斯右手上名字首字母“J．W．B．”字样的文身认出了布斯。
华盛顿著名摄影师加德纳也认出了布斯，还有布斯的密友亨利·克莱·福特（Henry Clay Ford）。
一八六九年二月十五日，当安德鲁·约翰逊（Andrew Johnson）总统下令挖出布斯的尸体时，布斯的朋友们再一次确认了布斯的身份。
接着布斯的遗体被运往巴尔的摩，重新埋在绿山公墓，与布斯家族合葬。在下葬前，布斯的哥哥和母亲以及布斯的至交好友再次确认了尸体是布斯本人。
不知道除了布斯外，是否还有人在死后被辨认了那么多次。
即便如此，谣言仍在继续传播。在八十年代，很多人都认为弗吉尼亚州里士满的阿姆斯特朗牧师便是伪装后的布斯，因为阿姆斯特朗有一双煤黑色的眼睛，跛足，行事风格很戏剧化，留着一头乌黑的长发，正好可以遮住脖子上的伤疤——人们如是说。
各地还出现了其他版本的“布斯”，数量不少于二十个。
一八七二年，一位“约翰·威尔克斯·布斯”在田纳西大学的学生面前念了几段戏剧台词，表演了几个敏捷的手法。这位布斯娶了一位寡妇，后来又厌倦了对方。他告诉那位寡妇，自己才是暗杀林肯的凶手，还说自己要去新奥尔良，因为那里有一笔钱在等着他。接着他便消失了。自那以后“布斯夫人”再也没有得到他的消息。
七十年代末，得克萨斯州格兰伯里市有一位患有哮喘的总是醉醺醺的酒馆老板，向一位名叫贝茨的年轻律师承认自己才是真正的布斯。他露出脖子上难看的伤疤，有模有样地说约翰逊副总统命他杀死林肯，还向他承诺如果被抓到会宽大处理。
二十五年后，也就是一九〇三年一月十三日，一位喝醉了酒的瘾君子，油漆工大卫·乔治（David E．George）在俄克拉荷马州伊尼德市的大道酒店服用士的宁自杀了。在自杀前，他“承认”自己就是约翰·威尔克斯·布斯。他说暗杀了林肯后，他的朋友们将他藏在行李箱中，带着他坐上了前往欧洲的轮船，还说他在欧洲待了十年。
那位名叫贝茨的律师在报上读到了这条消息后，立刻冲到了俄克拉荷马州。查看了尸体后，贝茨发现，这位大卫·乔治正是二十五年前向他坦言自己就是布斯的得克萨斯州格兰伯里市的那位患有哮喘的总是醉醺醺的酒馆老板。
贝茨让殡仪馆的工作人员将尸体的头发梳成布斯生前的发型，他趴在尸体上大声痛哭，然后给尸体涂上了防腐剂。他将尸体带回自己在田纳西州孟菲斯市的家中，存放在马厩长达二十年之久。在此期间，他曾试图用这具尸体冒领美国政府当初为了抓捕布斯而承诺的巨额奖金。
一九〇八年，贝茨写了一本荒谬的书，名为《逃亡后自杀的约翰·威尔克斯·布斯——刺杀林肯的凶手多年后真正的自白》。这本名噪一时的作品卖了七万册，引起了不小的轰动。他曾向亨利·福特（Henry Ford）索价一千美金出售他的“木乃伊布斯”。最后，他带着这具干尸在南方巡回展览，一张票十美分。
现在，在各种嘉年华中共有五个不同的头骨被当作布斯的头骨进行展出。
