A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES: MEMOIRS OF MRS. CLAY OF ALABAMA
Part 5 of 7 Parts

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May 17, 2000


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A Belle of the Fifties. Memoirs of Mrs. Clay, of Alabama, covering Social and
Political Life in Washington and the South, 1853-66. Put into narrative form
by Ada Sterling. Illustrated from contemporary portraits. 
New York, Doubleday, Page & Company, 1905. Published: September, 1904


Begin Part 5

        As times grew more and more stringent, tea and coffee
proved to be our greatest lack, and here, as we had done in the
last days at Warrenton, we were glad to drink potato coffee and
peanut chocolate. The skin of the raw potato was scraped off - to
pare it might have been to waste it - and the potato cut into
slices or discs as thin as paper. It was then carefully dried,
toasted and ground and made into what proved to be a really
delicious beverage. * Our chocolate was made in this wise:
Peanuts, or pinders, or goobers, as they were variously called,
were roasted and the skin slipped off. They were next

* A recent writer attributes to those experience, the coffee
substitutes which now, forty years later, have "ruined the
American coffee trade." A.S.

Page 225

pounded in a mortar; when, blended with boiled milk and a little
sugar (a sparing use of this most costly luxury was also
necessary), the drink was ready for serving, and we found it
delightful to our palates.

        There were spinners and weavers on Beech Island, too, and
unceasing industry was necessary to prepare and weave cloth, both
cotton and wool, sufficient for the clothing of the army of
slaves and the family on the great plantation. One of the island
residents, Mrs. Redd, was a wonderful worker, and wove me a
cotton gown of many colours which had all the beauty of a fine
Scotch plaid. She spun her own cotton and made her own dyes,
gathering her colours from the mysterious laboratories of the
woods, and great was the fame her handiwork attained wherever it
was seen. Calico of the commonest in those days was sold at
twenty-five dollars a yard; and we women of the Confederacy
cultivated such an outward indifference to Paris fashions as
would have astonished our former competitors in the Federal
capital. Nor did our appearance, I am constrained to think,
suffer appreciably more than our spirits; for the glories of an
unbleached Macon Mills muslin gown, trimmed with gourd-seed
buttons, dyed crimson, in which I appeared at Richmond in the
spring of '64, so impressed the mind of an English newspaper
correspondent there, that he straightway wrote and forwarded an
account of it to London, whence our friends who had taken refuge
there sent it back to us, cut from a morning journal.

        Not that our love for pretty things was dead; a letter
preserved by Mr. Clay is fine testimony to the fact that mine was
"scotched and not killed." It was dated Beech Island, November
18, 1864, and was addressed to Mr. Clay, now on the eve of
departure from Canada.

        "Bring me at least two silk dresses of black and purple.
I prefer the purple to be moire antique, if it is fashionable. If
French importations are to be had, bring me a spring

Page 226

bonnet and a walking hat, for the benefit of all my lady friends
as well as myself, and do bring some books of fashions -
September, October, and November numbers (Ruling passion strong
in war), and bring -." The list grew unconscionably. In after
years I found a copy of it carefully made out in my husband's
handwriting, and showing marks of having been carried in his
pocket until each article I had indicated for myself or others
had been selected, Here it is:

1. At least, 2 silk dresses, black and purple (for 'Ginie).
2. French spring bonnet.
3. Walking hat.
4. Some books of fashion.
5. Corsets - 4-6, 22 inches in waist.
6. Slippers with heels, No. 3 1-2.
7. Gloves - 1 doz. light coloured, 1 doz. dark.
8. Handkerchiefs, extra fine.
9. Two handsome black silk dresses for Lestia.
10. Flannel, white and red.
11. A set of fine, dark furs, not exceeding $25.
12. Set of Hudson Bay Sables, at any price, for Victoria, large
cape, cuffs and muff.
13. Two Black Hernanis or Tissue dresses, one tissue dress to be
brochetted for 'Ginie.
14. 3 or 4 pieces of black velvet ribbon, different widths.
15. Bolt of white bonnet ribbon; ditto pink, green and magenta.
16. French flowers for bonnet.
17. Shell Tuck comb for 'Ginie.
18. Present for little Jeff Davis, Claude and J. Winter.
19. Needles, pins, hairpins, tooth-brushes, coarse combs,
cosmetics, hair oil, cologne.
20. Domestic, linen, muslin, nainsook, swiss, jaconet, mull
muslin, each a full piece.
21. Dresses of brilliantine.
22. Black silk spring wrapping.
23. Chlorine tooth wash and Rowland's Kalydor.
24. A cut coral necklace.
25. Lace collars, large and pointed now worn.

        Alas! my husband's zeal in fulfilling my commissions

Page 227

all went for naught, for the boxes containing them (save two,
which were deposited with Mrs. Chestnut, at Columbia, and later
fell prey to the Federals or to the flames, we never knew which)
were swallowed by the sea, and only he himself came home with the
Government papers he had guarded, as the sole baggage he was able
to save from the wreck of the Rattlesnake of all he had carried.
And yet not all, for a long-lost pet which he had been enabled to
reclaim for General Lee * was also brought safely to shore.

        "Tell him," wrote my sister, from Richmond, that "General
Lee's dog arrived safely. Poor dog! I'm sorry for him, for he
will find the Confederacy a poor place to come to get anything to
eat! I trust for the country's sake, he knows how to live without
eating!"

        For the making of our toilette we discovered the value of
certain gourds, when used as wash cloths. Their wearing qualities
were wonderful; the more one used them the softer they became.
Needles were becoming precious as heirlooms; pins were the rarest
of luxuries; for the greater part of the time locust thorns
served us instead. Writing paper was scarcely to be had, and the
letters of that period which were sent out by private persons
were often unique testimony to the ingenuity of the senders.
Wall-paper, perhaps, was most frequently resorted to, and we made
our crude envelopes of anything we could find. We made our own
writing fluids, our commonest resource being the oak ball, a
parasite, which, next to the walnut burr, is the blackest thing
in the vegetable world. Or, this failing us, soot was scooped
from the chimney, and, after a careful sifting, was mixed with
water and "fixed" with a few drops of vinegar. Sometimes we used
pokeberries,

* Shortly after his arrival in Canada, Mr. Clay heard of General
Lee's lost favourite. The animal, a fine Newfoundland, had been
taken from the Lee home at Arlington by a Federal soldier, who
sold it to a Captain Anderson (commanding an English vessel) for
one hundred dollars. After some months of inquiry and
negotiation, Mr. Clay secured the dog, and personally brought him
back to the Confederate States. A. S.

Page 228

manufacturing a kind of red ink, or, made thin with water, some
bit of miraculously saved shoe polish provided us with an
adhesive black fluid.

        Our difficulties were as great in the matter of
transmitting our letters, when once they were written. We might
intrust them to the mails, but these particularly were prey to
our invaders; or we might charge with the care of them some
traveller who was known to be making his way to the city for
which the letters were addressed. Stray newspapers reached us at
"Redcliffe" occasionally, from even so distant a point as our
capital, and efforts were made by local editors to purvey the
news of battles and the movements of the armies, but the supply
of paper necessary for the issuing of a daily journal and even a
weekly edition was difficult to obtain. What at first had
appeared as morning papers were changed to evening editions, as
the cost of candles, by which the compositors must work, had
risen in '63 to three and one-half dollars a pound. Our brother,
J. Withers Clay, who owned and edited the Confederate, turned
peripatetic, and issued his paper where he could, being obliged
to keep shifting, printing paraphernalia and all, with the
movements of the army in the Tennessee region. Writing us from
Chattanooga, on August 16, 1863, he thus described his life: "I
am living in camp style. I mess with my office boys and our fare
is frugal. My bed is a piece of carpet, laid on a door, with one
end elevated on two bricks and the other resting on the floor. I
lay my blue blanket on this, and my bones on that, with my head
supported by my overcoat and carpet sack, and cover myself with a
Mexican scarf when it is cool!"

        On the whole, our condition was almost like that of the
ancients who depended on passing travellers for gossip or news of
the welfare or whereabouts of friends or kin. Thus my sister (by
every tie of affection), writing from Richmond in the spring of
'64, said: "Have no idea

Page 229

where you are, but send this letter by General Sparrow to Macon,
care of Mrs. Whittle. The last intelligence I had of you was
through Colonel Phillips. He told me he saw you between Augusta
and Macon somewhere."

        Nor dared we avail ourselves of our telegraph wires, so
costly had the sending of a few lines become. For the briefest
message sent C. O. D. from Macon to Richmond, my sister paid
sixteen dollars and implored me to send no more! The chief
resource of the people was the arrival of the local train, at
which time the railway stations swarmed with inquirers on foot,
hedged in by others as eager, who had driven long distances in
such vehicles as were at their command.

        My life was one of continual suspense, notwithstanding
the arrival of special couriers who came from time to time from
Richmond bearing tidings of my absent husband. All lives that lie
in close parallels to governments carry heavy anxieties. Mine, in
those days of strife and terror, was no exception to this general
rule. As negotiator at Niagara Falls with Professor Holcombe and
others, the eyes of the North as well as those of the South for
months had been fixed upon Mr. Clay, his interviews with Horace
Greeley and the messengers sent to him by Mr. Lincoln having
excited varying comments and criticisms that were anything but
reassuring. Our friends in Richmond, however, wrote cheeringly:

        " ... I hear occasionally of Mr. Clay," ran a letter
from the Executive Mansion, dated August 31st, '64, "but for some
time past nothing has been received from him. The company he
keeps * as reported by the newspapers cannot render you
apprehensive of his being too happy to wish to return, though
your desire to be with him may have increased his probable want
of more congenial communion when the day's work is done. I am
assured that his health has improved by Canadian air, and we may
hope that he will bring back increased ability to labour in the
cause of the Confederacy, if it should not be his portion

* Horace Greeley.

Page 230

to relieve us of the need for further toil such as now is
imposed. The carping spirit which prompted the criticism * on his
course would have found sufficient cause whatever he might have
done; or, if nothing had been done, that would have served
equally. No one can hope to please everybody. You would not wish
your husband to escape the reviling of those who envy such as
they cannot rival, and strive to drag others down from the
heights to which they cannot rise?"

        Messages were numerous, urging my return to Richmond,
which our President and the Mallorys assured me was the safest of
places.

        "Now that Sherman's barbarians are in unpleasant
proximity to you," wrote Secretary Mallory, "why not come to the
front where security, sympathy, mint juleps, an admiring
audience, the freshest gossip and the most unselfish regard, all
combine with the boom and flash of guns to welcome your coming?
The correspondence between your lord and master and Holcombe on
one side, and Greeley on the other, is doing good service. The
parties, fragments, cliques and individuals in the United States
who desire peace, but differ upon the modus operandi of getting
it, will now learn that with Lincoln at the head of affairs, no
peace is possible; while our weak brothers in North Carolina and
Georgia who have clamoured so loudly that peace propositions
should be made to us, cannot fail to see that, at present, peace
with Lincoln means degradation. I am very glad Mr. Clay went, for
I see that his presence must be beneficial to our cause."

        These, and other letters as urgent and as desirous of
quieting my apprehensions, came frequently. Nevertheless, my
husband's stay in the severe climate of Canada caused me constant
apprehension. For months my only direct news of him was through
"personals," variously disguised, in the Richmond papers, which
Colonel Clay was prompt to forward to me. Occasionally, however,
one of

* Printed in Richmond Enquirer, and quoted liberally throughout
the North.

Page 231

the numerous letters each endeavoured to send to the other
successfully reached its destination. "It gives me great pain," I
wrote on November 18, '64, "to learn from yours just received
that none of my numerous letters have reached you since the 30th
June! I have sent you dozens, my dearest, filled with all the
news of the day, of every character, and more love than ever
filled my heart before! ... My last intelligence of you was
sent me from Richmond through the bearer of despatches, I
presume, and bore the date of September fifteenth, more than two
months ago!"

        In this letter, which was dated from Beech Island, I
conveyed intelligence to Mr. Clay of Senator Hammond's death, he
being, at the time, a few days less than fifty-seven years of
age. It occurred while all the affluent colourings of the autumn
were tingeing his world at "Redcliffe." The circumstances
attending his decease and burial were unique, and to be likened
only to those which, in mediæval days, surrounded the passing
away of some Gothic baron or feudal lord. Mr. Hammond had been
failing in health for some time, when, feeling his end drawing
near, he asked for a carriage that he might drive out and select
his last resting-place. He chose, at last, a high knoll, from
which a fine view was to be had of Augusta and the Sand Hills;
and, having done this, being opposed to private burial grounds,
he bequeathed the surrounding acres to the town in the precincts
of which his estate lay, on consideration that they turn the plot
into a public cemetery. First, however, he laid an injunction
upon his wife and sons, that if the Yankee army penetrated there
(the end of the war was not yet, nor came for six months
thereafter), they should have his grave ploughed over that none
of the hated enemy should see it.

        Again and again in the remaining days he reiterated his
wish. Fears were spreading of the approach of Sherman's
devastating army, and the destruction of "Redcliffe,"

Page 232

conspicuous as it was to all the surrounding country, seemed
inevitable. Marvellous to relate, however, when at last the
spoiler came, his legions marched in a straight line to the sea,
some fourteen miles away from the Hammond plantation, leaving it
untouched by shell or the irreverent hand of the invader.

        The funeral of Mr. Hammond was solemn and made especially
impressive by the procession of two hundred of the older slaves,
who marched, two by two, into the baronial parlors, to look for
the last time upon their master's face. Save for this retinue,
"Redcliffe" was now practically without a defender, Mr. Paul
Hammond being absent much of the time, detailed upon home guard
duty. In his absence, my maid, Emily, and I kept the armory of
the household, now grown more and more fearful of invasion with
its train of insult and the destruction of property. There were
many nights when, all the rest in slumber and a dead hush
without, I waited, breathless, until I caught the sound of Paul
Hammond's returning steps.

        Just before the close of my refugee days on Beach Island,
a young kinsman, George Tunstall, who filled the sublime post of
corporal in Wheeler's Brigade in camp a few hundred miles away,
learning of my presence there, obtained leave of absence and made
his way, accompanied by another youth, to Mrs. Hammond's to see
me. The two soldiers were full of tales of thrilling interest, of
hairbreadth escapes and camp happenings, both grave and gay; and,
rumours of Sherman's advance being rife, our young heroes urged
my cousin to take time by the forelock and bury the family
silver. "Redcliffe" being almost in direct line of the Yankee
general's march, the advice seemed good, and preparations at once
began to put it into operation. Though there was little doubt of
the loyalty of the majority of the Hammond slaves, yet it seemed
but prudent to surround our operations with

Page 233

all possible secrecy. We therefore collected the silver, piece by
piece, secreting it in "crocus" bags, which, when all was ready,
we deposited in a capacious carry-all, into which we crowded. It
was at early dusk when lurking figures easily might be descried
in corn-field or behind a wayside tree by our alert eyes.
Declaring to those of the servants who stood about as we entered
the carriage, that we were taking some provisions to Mrs. Redd,
much to Lot's * surprise, we dispensed with a coachman, and drove
off. We had many a laugh as we proceeded through the woods, at
our absurdity in concealing our errand from the family servants
and in confiding our precious secret to two of Wheeler's men.
They had a terrible reputation for chicken stealing. **

        When we had driven a mile or more, Mr. Tunstall produced
a hatchet and began to blaze the trees. "There!" he said, after
instructing us as to the signs he had made, "when you come to
where the blaze stops, you'll find your valuables!" and under his
directions the silver was silently sunk in the ground and the
earth replaced. ***

        Apropos of General Sherman, when a month or two later I
was in Macon, I heard a very excellent story. A party of his men
one day dashed up to the house of a Mrs. Whitehead, a fine old
lady (a sister of my informant), and demanded dinner at once. The
lady long since had learned that resistance to such imperative
demands would be in vain, and preparations were at once begun for
the meal. Notwithstanding her obliging and prompt

* The family coachman.

** A gentleman in the War Department - to whom I spoke of a
violent protest uttered against General Wheeler's confiscations,
by one Betts (who sent his complaint, long as a Presidential
message, to Senator Clay, in Richmond) - smiled a little. "Well,"
he said, "Wheeler always would feed his men, you know!" A. S.

*** Speaking of that episode, Mrs. Hammond said to me: "It was
months before we succeeded in finding the silver again. Though we
dug the ground over and over in every direction where we thought
it was, we couldn't even find the blazes for a long time." A. S.

Page 234

compliance, the men immediately started a forage in the poultry
yard and the outhouses beyond. One of the officers penetrated the
servants' quarters, and entered a cabin in which a young black
woman lay sick.

        "What's the matter, Sis?" he asked, in a tone that was
meant to convey sympathy.

        "Ain't no Sis of yourn!" was the sullen reply. "God knows
I ain't no kin to no Yankee!" At that moment an infant's cry was
heard.

        "Hello!" said the officer. "Got a little pickaninny, hey?
Boy or girl?"

        "Boy chile! What's that ter you?" snapped the woman.

        "What's his name?" persisted the soldier.

        "Name's Wheeler, dat's what 'tis!" answered the invalid
triumphantly, and the colloquy ended abruptly.

        As the soldiers sat down to the table, some one, going to
the door, saw Wheeler's men come tearing down the road flat on
their horses. Instantly he shouted back to his companions,
"Wheeler!" but they, believing the cry to be a ruse, continued to
eat. The sounds of the galloping steeds soon became audible,
however, and a stampede that was highly amusing to the now
relieved household took place through doors and windows. When
General Wheeler arrived, he found a steaming repast already
prepared, and a cordial welcome from Mrs. Whitehead and her
family, including "Sis."

Page 235

CHAPTER XVIII
THE DEATH OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

        THE South was now sadly crippled. Our bulwarks were
demolished and our granaries emptied, our most fertile valleys
occupied by the Northern army, and Confederate money was
depreciated to such an extent as to make it practically useless.
* Our army was thinning daily, and even the news from Richmond,
save from Mr. Davis himself, seemed to carry an undertone
prophetic of coming collapse. "The enemy, yesterday and to-day,"
wrote Mr. Mallory, from the capital, late in October, "is, in the
graphic gorillaisms, 'pegging away' close at us; and the flash of
his guns is visible and their roar was audible from my piazza
yesterday. His approaches have been very slow, to be sure, but
nevertheless, he has taken no step backward, but is 'inching'
upon Richmond surely and methodically in a way that seems as
gopher-like as it is certain; and he will keep up this system
unless we can, by hard fighting, push him back."

        Supported by the hope of Mr. Clay's return, and knowing
he would seek me first among those of our kin who were nearest to
the coast, I lingered on Beech Island until late in January,
1865, though I did so against the advice of Colonel Clay, who
urged me to go southward, and the assurances of Mr. Davis that I
might safely return to Richmond,

* A cartoon which appeared about this time in a Richmond paper
was a graphic demonstration of the shrunk value of Confederate
money. It represented a man going to and returning from market.
In the first scene he carried a bushel basket piled high with
current bills, in the second, the basket was empty, and in his
hand was an infinitesimal package, which was supposed to contain
a beef steak! A. S.

Page 236

which city, the President was confident, would continue to prove
an impregnable refuge. In the last days of December two such
messages, equally positive and each positively opposed to the
other in its significance, sped to me by courier from the
capital. Who was to decide when such correspondents disagreed?
Yet the need for some move became more and more urgent. To return
to Huntsville was out of the question. Northern Alabama was
overrun with Federal soldiers, to whom the name alone of Clay,
borne as it was by three men all actively labouring for the
preservation of the Confederate States, was a challenge to the
exercise of fresh authority. I heard distressing news of the
contemplated transportation, to Nashville, of the aged ex-
Governor Clay (our uncle, Mr. McDowell, a non-combatant full of
years, had already died in that prison under most pitiful
circumstances), yet I was powerless to send him even a line of
comfort or encouragement. Mail routes in every direction were in
possession of the enemy, or liable to be interrupted by them, and
straggling companies of Union soldiers were on the lookout to
intercept such messengers as might attempt to bear our letters
from point to point.

        My husband was in Canada, or on the seas, I knew not
where; J. Withers Clay, the second son of the ex-Governor, was
active with pen and press in lower Alabama; Colonel Clay was
stationed in Richmond in the thick of the political battle. Our
parents were left alone in the old home, to brave the discomforts
put upon them by their sometimes cruel and sometimes merely
thoughtless oppressors. A grandson, Clement, a mere lad, but a
hero in spirit, venturing into the town to succour the old
people, was promptly arrested. "I wonder," wrote one who visited
our parents, "that their heartstrings have not long since
snapped!"

        All through the Tennessee Valley dejection was spreading.
"If Mr. Davis does not restore General Johnston to

Page 237

the army of the Tennessee," wrote J. Withers Clay, "his friends
generally out here believe that he will never recover his lost
popularity, or be able to get back the thousands of soldiers
(now) absent without leave. I wish you would tell the President
this. You have no idea of the extent of demoralization among
soldiers and citizens produced by his persistent refusal to
restore him!"

        For now several months I had been secretly tortured by an
indecision as to what course to pursue. Though urged by a hundred
generous correspondents to share their homes (for I have ever
been blessed by loyal friends), I had a deepening conviction that
my interests were detached from all. I was homeless, husbandless,
childless, debarred from contributing to the comfort of my
husband's parents, and I chafed at my separation from those to
whom my presence might have proved useful. As time went on, all
deprivations and anxieties were obscured by one consuming
determination to join my husband at all hazards; but, despite
every effort toward accomplishing this, I found myself swept
helplessly along by the strong currents of the times. My sole
means of communication with Mr. Clay was now through occasional
"personals," which were published in the Richmond Enquirer,
coöperating with the New York Daily News. One of these, which
appeared early in November, 1864, indicates the indecision and
anxiety which by this time was felt, also, by my husband in his
exile:

        "To Honourable H. L. Clay, Richmond, Virginia. I am well.
Have written every week, but received no answer later than the
30th of June. Can I return at once? If not, send my wife to me by
flag of truce, via Washington, but not by sea. Do write by flag
of truce care John Potts Brown, No. 93 Beaver Street, New York.
Answer by personal through Richmond Enquirer and New York News."

Page 238

        "I inclose you a 'personal' from Brother Clement,
published in yesterday's Enquirer," Colonel Clay wrote on
November 11, 1864. "I consulted Mr. Mallory, Mr. Benjamin and the
President, and then sent him the following: 'Your friends think
the sooner you return the better. At the point where you change
vessels you can ascertain whether it is best to proceed directly
or by Mexico. Your wife cannot go by flag of truce. She is well.
I send you letters to-day by safe hands. H. L. C.' The reason why
the earliest return is advised is that the fleet off Wilmington
is not yet increased to the degree intended; and during the rough
weather, before the hard winter sets in, it is much easier for
vessels to run the blockade. I shall tell him that the statistics
kept in the Export and Import Office show five out of six
vessels, inward and outward bound, safely run the blockade, but
that he must himself consider the risk from what he learns after
reaching Bermuda."

        Colonel Clay's prompt decision, such was my distracted
state of mind, by no means satisfied me. The suggestion contained
in my husband's words seemed feasible to my courageous mind. I
despatched a note of inquiry at once to Richmond, begging Mr.
Davis to write to Mr. Seward to secure my safe passage by land to
Canada. I told him of my unrest, the increasing uncertainty that
prevailed in the neighbourhood of "Redcliffe," and my desire to
join my husband. The President's reply was reassuring and full of
the confidence which sustained him to the end of the remaining
days of the Confederacy. "There is no danger in coming here now,"
ran his message from the capital, dated December 29, 1864. "When
he (Mr. Clay) returns he will, of course, visit this place, and
can conveniently meet you here." But, when I proposed to try to
make my way to this haven, Colonel Clay wrote excitedly, animated
by an anxiety as great as my own:

Page 239

        "Don't come to Richmond! Don't send the President letters
or telegrams. He is in a sea of trouble, and has no time or
thought for anything except the safety of the country. I fear the
Congress is turning madly against him. It is the old story of the
sick lion whom even the jackass can kick without fear. It is a
very struggle for life with him. I do not know that he has any
reliable friends in Congress, who will sustain him upon
principle, fearlessly and ably. He has less and less power to
intimidate his enemies, and they grow more numerous every day...
If he were preëminently gifted in all respects, the present
moment is perilous enough to call forth all his energies no
matter how great... Before this reaches you, you will have
read my private letter to Hammond, in regard to the military
situation in South Carolina and Georgia. I think as soon as
Sherman reduces Savannah, he will move promptly up the Savannah
River, and endeavour to capture Charleston by taking it in
reverse. That success would be a feather in any general's cap. We
cannot hope to make fight on that river, I think, but must take
the Edesto as our line of defense. Now, look upon the map and you
will see that the whole of Beech Island lies between the two
rivers, and in the event Sherman moves up (as he will do, to cut
off supplies from Charleston and Virginia), the South Carolina
Railroad will fall within the line of his advance. I only give
you my personal opinion; for, of course, no one can speak
assuredly of Sherman's intentions. If I am right, I think you had
better move in the direction of Alabama before there is any rush
of travel, and as soon as you can well do so... In Alabama or
western Georgia there will be plenty of food; more, indeed,
because of the inability to bring it east of Augusta. I write to 
advise you to go as far away from the line of the enemy's march
as you can... I dare no look into the future, after Hood's

Page 240

battles in Tennessee, if the Yankee accounts are verified. God
knows we are pressed hard on every side by the enemy, and have no
wise counsellors to give proper direction to our weak, erring
efforts for independence. Passion and prejudice and personal
feelings govern in many instances where patriotism should rule.
Congress is discussing questions of the smallest moment while the
Confederacy is in the grip of the Yankees struggling for
existence... I fear the pending attack upon Wilmington will
prevent Brother Clement from coming in at the Port (if he should
conclude not to go to Mexico) for some time yet. Until the
flotilla set sail from Fortress Monroe I looked for him to come
in about the last of this month or the first of the next. Now I
shall not know when to expect him, for no vessels will attempt
the blockade there at Washington."

        It now became apparent that to wait at our exposed Island
was no longer prudent. A family council was called, and it was
decided that, upon the first sign of a suitable escort, I should
make my way to Macon. I had not long to wait. Within a few days
we learned of the presence of General Howell Cobb in Augusta. I
wrote to him at once, telling him of my contemplated exodus and
of my desire to place myself under his protection upon his return
journey to his headquarters at Macon. He replied with the gallant
cordiality which was ever a characteristic with him, and which I
think would never have deserted him even in the midst of the roar
of cannon:

                              AUGUSTA, Georgia, January 21, 1865.

        "My Dear Friend: ... I assure you that your threat to
cling to me like the old man of the sea to Sinbad is the most
agreeable threat that ever was made to me, and it shall not be my
fault if it is not executed. I am here under orders from
Richmond, which leave me in doubt whether I am to remain a day, a
month, or a year. My opinion is that I will be ordered back to
Macon in a very few days, and there

Page 241

is no telling at what hour I may receive the order. To make it
certain, however, that I can give you timely notice, you ought to
be in Augusta. I am ready to receive the acceptable trust and
devote my best efforts to your comfort and happiness.

                                          Very truly your friend,
                                                   "HOWELL COBB."

        Early in February I arrived in Macon without
misadventure, and here, on February 10th, my husband joined me,
having learned of my whereabouts from our friends in Augusta.

        Mr. Clay's experiences since leaving Nassau had been
exciting. The Rattlesnake, a hitherto skilful blockade runner, on
which he had taken passage, was bound for Charleston; but,
finding an entrance at that port impossible for the moment, she
had crept cautiously up to Wilmington, only to be obliged again
to show her heels to the wary and enlarged blockading fleet.
After numerous efforts to find a friendly harbour, the little
ship, reconnoitering about the South Carolinian coast, ran
aground four miles away from Fort Moultrie, grounded, it was
rumoured, by the pilot. Here the little craft, which quickly
became the target of the enemies' guns, was abandoned, her
timbers ablaze, while passengers and crew, taking to the life-
boats, bore with them such baggage as might be gathered in their
haste; and now, to cap the climax of their disasters, the life-
boats, too, ran aground, and sailors and passengers were
compelled repeatedly to wade through the waves, which dashed
throat-high about them, in an effort to rescue the pieces of
baggage they had been able to save from the ship. On that cold,
blustery day in early February, in garments saturated with brine,
Mr. Clay was taken in a yawl to Fort Moultrie, whence, ill from
the exposure he had undergone, he was carried in a sail-boat to
Charleston by the Reverend Mr. Aldrich, an accidental visitor to
the Fort. By that kindly man he was put to bed and to sleep

Page 242

under the stimulus of orange-leaf tea, while his clothing and few
rescued belongings were undergoing a drying.

        Upon awakening, Mr. Clay's first effort was to forward to
Richmond to the care of Colonel Clay, to be held until his own
arrival in the capital, a small hand-trunk addressed to Judah P.
Benjamin, and to General Lee, his restored pet; his second, to
find me. This accomplished, it was his intention to proceed at
once to Richmond, to deliver in person his state papers, the most
important of which he had carried in an oil-silk bag suspended
about his neck. To the complete frustration of his plans,
however, my hapless husband found the railway route between
Augusta, where he supposed me to be, and Charleston, now
effectually closed. It was by a roundabout road, therefore, made
partly by carriage, that he reached the desired point on the
seventh of February, only to learn of my departure a few days
before the escort of General Cobb. By the 10th, when Mr. Clay
arrived at last in Macon, he had informed himself of the grave
plight of our armies, and of the lamentable political differences
existing in the capital, to which Colonel Clay, in his letter to
me, had alluded. A few hurried conferences with General Cobb and
others, and together we took our departure for Richmond.
Everything which might become an impediment to the rough travel
that lay before us was dispensed with, even my invaluable maid,
Emily, being left behind at the home of Major Whittle. We
proceeded first to Washington, Georgia, going, upon our arrival,
to the home of General Toombs, where was sojourning Mr. Stephens,
our Vice-President. The hearts of all were heavy as the gentlemen
conferred upon the outlook of our country and arms. Letters from
Richmond which reached our hands at this point were excited in
tone, and added to our apprehension and sorrow.

Page 243

        "On every side," wrote our sister, "the city rings with
the cries of Rachels weeping for their children!"

        "Don't come to Richmond!" urged Colonel Clay, "[or] if
you think it necessary to come on, do so at once; don't delay.
Leave sister; don't undertake to bring her in the present 
condition of the railroad connections between her and the Georgia
line. ... Our armies have been dwindling, until none is large
enough to withstand an attack in the open field. There is a
collapse in every department, and, worse than all, there is an
utter lack of confidence by the people, in the administration, in
Congress, and in the success of the cause itself. ... Campbell
will go out. He cannot see any benefit to be derived from his
longer continuance in office as the drudge of the War Department,
especially when the Treasury is bankrupt, and Congress cannot
devise a new scheme for reestablishing faith in the currency.
That department is $400,000,000 in arrears, it is said. I know it
is enormously in debt to the War Department ($32,000,000), and
that the Quartermaster General and the Commissary General cannot
obtain the means to pay current expenses. If we cannot have
transportation and bread for the soldiers in the field, to say
nothing of clothing and pay, ... what becomes of our army? ...
As I see the present and argue thence what the future has in
store for us, ... I see nothing but defeat and disaster and
ruin!"

        Characterised throughout his life by a punctilious
observance of everything which in his eyes appeared a duty, Mr.
Clay was not to be deterred by even such grave news from carrying
out his intention to deliver in person, to the President and Mr.
Benjamin, an account of his stewardship in Canada. Late in
February, therefore, he resumed his journey, mounted upon General
Toomb's grey mare, and accompanied by the General's man, Wallace.
He had not proceeded far, however, when,

Page 244

overtaken by an illness, the result of his exposure at
Charleston, he was obliged to return to Washington. A month
elapsed ere he was able again to set out for Richmond, the city
which was as so soon to be the theatre of our national collapse.

        The roads now, in many places, were impassible. The
number of Union soldiers was increasing daily in the States which
Mr. Clay must cross in his northward journey. My husband, with
his precious documents, would have been a rich prize to any who
might have seized him. Through many vicissitudes he made his
cautious way toward the capital, securing a horse, when he could,
or a mule team, or following the railroad tracks where necessary.
Much of the journey he made alone, but he sometimes found himself
in company, and that not always wholly desirable. On one occasion
he fell in with two straggling Confederate soldiers, and, being
near the home of a distant kinsman, Robert Withers, upon the
arrival of the trio he asked Mr. Withers' hospitality for them
all. Consent was promptly forthcoming, but my husband's feelings
were somewhat less cordial toward his whilom companions when one
was allotted to him as a bedfellow. "Had to sleep with-," reads
his diary, "much to my dread of camp-itch!"

        Eight days were consumed in that journey to the capital,
by this time the scene of an excitement truly anarchistic. Mr.
Clay was probably the last man in the Confederate service to seek
to enter Richmond. The trend of Confederate travel just then was
in an opposite direction.

        Making at once for Colonel Clay's headquarters, my
husband secured the trunk destined for Mr. Benjamin, to whom he
shortly afterward transferred his papers. The transaction was a
hurried one, and Mr. Clay pushed on to the apartment of Mr.
Davis. In after days I often heard him describe the scene which
there met him. He

Page 245

found the President engaged in hastily packing a valise, his
clothing and papers scattered in little heaps heaps about. I
think he assisted his hapless friend in these preparations. An
hour or two later and Mr. Clay was en route for Danville, on the
last of the over-laden trains to draw out from the once dear but
now desolated city. Of the sad journey of the President through
the Carolinas, with his company of legislative friends, of which,
for a portion of the way, my husband was one, I remember no
particulars. I recall a hasty return to Macon, where Mr. Clay
joined me, whence we hurried on in a few days to the home of
former Senator B. H. Hill, at Lagrange, in western Georgia. The
remembrance of the days that immediately succeeded the evacuation
of Richmond, followed, as that event was, by the murder of
Abraham Lincoln, is a confused one. A kind of horror seized my
husband when he realised the truth of the reports that reached us
of this tragedy. At first he had refused to credit them. "It's a
canard!" he said; but when, at last, he could no longer doubt, he
exclaimed: "God help us! If that be true, it is the worst blow
that yet has been struck at the South!"

Page 246

CHAPTER XIX
C. C. CLAY, JR., SURRENDERS TO GENERAL WILSON

        UPON leaving the home of General Toombs, we proceeded
directly to that of Senator Hill, where shortly were gathered ex-
Secretary of our Navy and Mrs. Mallory, Mr. and Mrs. Semmes, of
Louisiana, and Senator Wigfall. We were an anxious circle, our
hearts heavy with the constantly increasing testimony to our
great disaster, and our minds alert to measure the ways and means
of our future course. My husband and Mr. Wigfall had already
determined to seek the other side of the Mississippi, there to
join the gallant Kirby Smith, and make a last stand for our
cause; or, if needs must be, to press on to Texas. Day by day
disturbing news reached us concerning the whereabouts of Mr.
Davis and his party, now making their sorry flight toward the
coast of Florida, fugitives from the Federal authorities.
        A Northerner would have found us a wonderful nest of
"rebels," could he have looked in upon the group that one evening
surrounded the table in the library of the Hill residence, upon
which was spread the map of Georgia. The gentlemen were seated,
the ladies standing behind them. Every eye was bent upon the road
which our host was pointing out.

        "If Davis would take this route" - and Mr. Hill's finger
traced the way upon the diagram before us, "if he keeps to it
without any detour whatsoever, he will get away," he declared.
"If he turns aside a step or lingers an hour he is lost! If he
crosses the river there" - and

Page 247

our host, who knew the topography of his State by heart, paused
as he marked the spot, "no one can take him!"

        Not a member of that circle but was tense in his or her
desire that our chief should be spared the ignominy and pain of
capture. The magnanimity of Senator Wigfall, whose antagonism to
President Davis had caused a profound concern in Richmond in this
hour of the Confederacy's downfall, was especially marked.

        To the present, none of those assembled at the hospitable
Hill home had reason to apprehend a personal danger from the
conquering party. The meeting had taken place at Appomattox
which, more than victories gained, has made the name of Grant
immortal. The Northern General had received the proffer of Lee's
sword, and peace had been proclaimed. By the terms made we had
some little reason to be optimistic as to our future, despite the
peopling of our Southern cities with Union soldiers. The
developments of one fateful day, however, unveiled to us the
actual perils we were yet to face.

        As I have said, my husband and Mr. Wigfall had
practically completed their arrangements to leave Lagrange and
strike for the Mississippi. It was my expectation, thereupon, to
return to our parents' home in Huntsville. The day agreed upon
for my departure approached. At the request of my husband, I
drove to the cars to ascertain what currency would be required to
take me to Macon, whence I was to proceed at once to Alabama. In
company with Henrietta Hill and her little brother, I drove to
the station in time to see the afternoon train pull in. As it
swept into the city with a shrill scream, it was crowded with men
and women of both races; so overcrowded, rather, that many clung
to the platforms. There were shouts and a general Babel, which I
did not understand, and, as debarkation began, to these was added
the bedlam of drunken laughter. When as near to the cars as the
carriage would permit, I

Page 248

directed Benny Hill to go forward to the conductor and ask "What
currency is needed to get to Macon?"

        The man seemed to understand that I had prompted the
question, and called to me, "Gold or greenbacks, Madam?" Then,
not waiting for my reply, he hastened to add the news, "Macon has
been surrendered by General Howell Cobb to the Federals, General
Wilson commanding. Atlanta, as you know, is in the hands of the
Yankees, Colonel Eggleston in charge!"

        This was disappointing news to me, as I had but little
gold and a peck of Confederate paper, which was not likely to
carry me far under reported conditions. I waited until the crowd
had thinned out somewhat, and then questioned the man further.

        "Is there any other news than that of the proclamation
for Mr. Davis's arrest?" I asked. His reply astounded me.

        "Yes, Madam!" he said; "$100,000 * is offered for Clement
C. Clay, of Alabama." A trembling seized me. I don't know how I
made my way to the carriage. Before I was fairly seated I saw
Colonel Philip Phillips, at this time a resident of Lagrange,
coming toward us. In his hands he held a journal. Quickly
reaching the carriage, he handed me the paper, and, pointing to
the despatch, which contained the proclamation, he said, "Go home
quickly and give this to Mr. Clay!"

        Scarcely aware of what I did, I ordered the coachman to
drive back at once, forgetting in the excitement of the moment to
invite the Colonel to accompany me. Arriving at the Hill
residence, I met my hostess almost at the door.

        "Please ask the gentlemen to come to us!" I said

* The actual amount offered for Mr. Clay's apprehension was
$25,000; but, in the dissemination of the proclamation through
the press, the larger sum was repeatedly given as the amount
offered - being so quoted by General Wilson and others. See
Records of the Rebellion, series I, vol. XLIX, page 733.

Page 249

faintly, "I have important news!" and I hastened upstairs.

        I found Mr. Clay sitting quietly, deep in the conning of
a thick volume. It was Burton's "Anatomy of Melancholy," ever a
favourite with him. It lay open on his knee, steadied with one
hand; the other, as was a habit with my husband, was stroking his
beard, absentmindedly. Before I could summon my voice to utter
the terrible news, the others of the party had hastened upstairs.
Handing the fatal paper to Senator Hill, I cried, half-
hysterically, "For God's sake, read that!"

        As Mr. Hill read the proclamation aloud, everyone was
silent. Senator Semmes was the first to break the silence that
followed the reading.

        "Fly for your life, Clay!" he said, "The town is full of
men from two disbanded armies, any of whom would be tempted by
such a sum. Take no chances!" Then all at once everyone but my
husband began to talk excitedly. As the meaning of the despatch
broke upon him, Mr. Clay blanched a moment, but at Mr. Semmes's
urgings he spoke.

        "Fly?" he said, slowly, like one recovering from a blow,
"from what?" Mr. Semmes's answer came drily.

        "From death, I fear!" he said. My husband turned
inquiringly to the others. Secretary Mallory, seeing the unspoken
question in his face, answered it.

        "I don't know what to say, Clay! One hundred thousand
dollars is a glittering bribe to half-starved soldiers!" He had
scarcely spoken when a knock was heard. Alarmed by the thought
that some renegade was already come to arrest my husband, I flew
to the door and locked it. As I did so, Senator Hill was beside
me, and I remember the forceful feeling with which he spoke, even
as the click of the key sounded.

        "By the eternal God, Clay!" he said. "The man who dares
cross my threshold to arrest you, falls on it."

Page 250

        Fortunately our fears were groundless, for in a moment we
heard the word, "Phillips!" and, upon opening the door, the
Colonel quickly entered. His calm bearing was a relief to us.
Some one at once put the question to him, "What do you think Clay
ought to do?"

        "What does Mr. Clay think he should do?" was Colonel
Phillips's reply. My husband was prompt to answer:

        "As I am conscious of my innocence, my judgment is that I
should at once surrender to the nearest Federal authorities!" he
said.

        At this announcement I could not restrain my sobs. I
doubt not I troubled him much by my tears and pleadings. I begged
him hysterically to fly; I would join him anywhere if he would
but escape. But my ever patient husband only answered, as he
tried to calm me, "Virginia! my wife! Would you have me fly like
an assassin?"

        I could say no more, but only listen, between the
crowding fears and terrors that seized me, while those about
discussed the wording of a telegram which, a short time
afterward, Colonel Phillips carried to the telegraph office. It
ran thus:

        "Bt. Major-General Wilson, United States Army: Seeing the
proclamation of the President of the United States, I go to-day
with the Honourable P. Phillips, to deliver myself to your
custody.

                                                 C. C. CLAY, Jr."

        I think this resolute act, and the preparation of a
letter which was immediately written to the same general,
relieved my husband, for he was instantly calmer. For myself, I
felt that he had signed his own death warrant. During the
succeeding hours, the entire household was in consultation.
Having decided to proceed to Macon by the early train the next
morning, Mr. Clay retired and slept, to my surprise, as
peacefully as a child, though I, less fortunate, watched and
wondered at his calmness.

        Early the following morning we left Lagrange, accompanied
by Colonel Phillips. The world appeared

Page 251

very strange and worthless to me as the train hastened on to
Atlanta, where a change of cars was necessary. We found that city
a pandemonium; soldiers patrolling the streets, drums beating,
and vans, loaded with furniture, moving up and down the avenues.
In our desire to proceed as rapidly as possible we accosted a
soldier.

        "Where is Colonel Eggleston?" Colonel Phillips asked.

        "There he is, within ten feet of you!" was the reply. The
Colonel thereupon approached the officer in command and said to
him, "I have a distinguished friend here, Mr. Clement C. Clay, of
Alabama, who is on his way voluntarily to surrender himself."

        On hearing my husband's name, Colonel Eggleston
approached us and held out his hand, saying: "Is it possible, Mr.
Clay, you are the man who is making such a stir in the land? I am
not surprised at your surrender. I knew your record through my
Senators, Pugh and Pendleton, of Ohio. You've done the right
thing, sir, and I hope you'll soon be a free man."

        Mr. Clay, surprised at the Federal Colonel's magnanimity,
turned and presented him to me. He extended his hand. I took it.
It was the first Yankee hand I had touched since we had left
Minnesota, four years before. The Colonel assured us it was
impossible for us to proceed that night to Macon. "It will be
best for you," he said, "to spend the night at the Kimball House.
But the city is in a tumult, and, as Mrs. Clay is with you, I
will have a guard that you may not be disturbed." When we were
ready to retire, two soldiers appeared, with muskets in hand, and
took their stand, one at each side of our chamber door, where
they remained until the next morning.

        Shortly after breakfast, Colonel Eggleston presented
himself. His manner was courteous. "As times are so turbulent,"
he said, "I think it best that I should detail a guard to
accompany you to Macon; that is," he added,

Page 252

"unless you object." Upon Mr. Clay's assurance that the guard
would not be unpleasant to us, the General presented Lieutenant
Keck, a young officer, who, during the conversation, had been
standing near. Thereupon the Lieutenant attached himself to our
party and we boarded the car for Macon. Throughout the trip our
guard behaved with undeviating consideration, and this, under
trying circumstances; for, the wires flashing the news about the
country, many of the stations along the road were crowded with
friends, who, when they saw us, uttered expressions of intensest
regret, even urging my husband to fly. On more than one occasion,
so considerate was Lieutenant Keck's conduct, that he allowed Mr.
Clay to leave the car, unguarded.

        During that journey the young officer addressed me but
twice; the first time to offer me a glass of water, and the
second to tell me a piece of news that shocked me in double
force. As we approached Macon, my husband had endeavoured to
prepare me for whatever the future might hold for us. He was a
prisoner, he said, and though self-surrendered, I must not be
alarmed if we should find a phalanx of soldiers waiting us at the
depot. The picture thus conjured had already made me sick at
heart, when my husband, excusing himself, went forward into the
next car for a few moments. A short time afterward Lieutenant
Keck appeared. Approaching me he said, with some hesitation,
"Mrs. Clay, I have some sad news for you!"

        My husband's previous words suddenly rushed over me. He
had been preparing me for something he knew but dared not tell
me! In a moment, in my mind's eye, I saw a gibbet. "Great God," I
cried. "What is it? Will they hang my husband?"

        "Don't be frightened, Mrs. Clay," our guard answered.
"Don't cry! Your chief was arrested yesterday!"

        "My chief," I echoed. "You mean General Lee?"

Page 253

        "No!" was his response, "Mr. Davis! He is now at the
Lanier House, in Macon!" The loosening of the tension to which I
first had been keyed was so great that I was scarcely able to
utter a comment, nor had I recovered from the shock when the
train pulled into Macon. Notwithstanding my husband's brave
counsels, the news of Mr. Davis's arrest added a hundredfold to
our depression. When I told Colonel Phillips and Mr. Clay, who
shortly returned, my husband's face grew graver. "If that is
true," he said, "my surrender was a mistake. We shall both
perish!"

        In an indistinct way I felt my husband to be right; and
surely after events demonstrated how nearly truly he had
prophesied. The almost instantaneous appearance of Mr. Clay and
Mr. Davis as prisoners produced a confusion in the press
statements and telegrams that flew over the country, and coloured
the feeling of the public to such an extent that those in high
places who were seeking sacrificial victims were enabled, without
exciting a protest, to overlook the fact that Mr. Clay, scorning
arrest, had confidently and voluntarily committed himself into
the Government's hands, to court its fullest investigation. "The
arrest of Clement C. Clay," was the heading under which my
husband's courageous act was buried in so far as it might be; and
so generally was the fact of his voluntary surrender overlooked,
that a Southern historian, whose books have been circulated among
schools, took up the phrase and incorporated it among the
"historic" facts which children con.

        Arrived at Macon, we found a single transfer wagon at the
station. To this we were conducted, and our party of four, with
our grips and valises, completely filled the vehicle. As we drove
away from the station I felt much as must have felt the poor
wretches in the French Revolution as they sat in the tumbrels
that bore them to the guillotine.

Page 254

        We drove at once to the residence of our friends, Colonel
and Mrs. Whittle, whence Colonel Phillips proceeded to General
Wilson's headquarters to deliver my husband's letter announcing 
his surrender. It was a beautiful afternoon. The trees were in
full foliage and the air delicious with sweet odours of Southern
blossoms. Dusk was approaching as, without previous announcement,
we drove up to the Whittle home. The family were seated on the
veranda. With them was our brother, J. Withers Clay. As they
recognised us they rushed down the steps to meet us, full of
eager questioning.

        "What does it mean?" they cried. "Why have you come
here?" and every eye was full when my husband answered, "I have
surrendered to the United States Government. Allow me to present
my guard, Lieutenant Keck!" Never shall I forget how dear Mrs.
Whittle (who was slightly deaf), with eyes full of tears, reached
out her hand to that representative of our triumphant
antagonists, as if, by a forbearing kindness, she would bespeak
his favour for my husband.

        As we entered the house, we were all in tears, and
Colonel Phillips, glad of an excuse to leave the painful scene,
hastened to deliver his message to the General in command.
Returning in the course of an hour, he reported General Wilson as
approving Mr. Clay's course. He sent word that he was awaiting
instructions in regard to Mr. Davis's party, "Whom, I presume,
you will accompany. Meanwhile, I request that you will not talk
of the surrender!" He further directed that Lieutenant Keck be
sent immediately to him. I think this young soldier had a tender
heart, for, seemingly touched at our sorrowful situation, he
lingered about a moment as if unwilling to leave us without a
farewell. Seeing his hesitation, I offered him my hand and
thanked him for his humane treatment of my husband, which, I
assured him, I should ever remember. If his eyes, or

Page 255

those of others to whom he was dear should see this
acknowledgment they will know I did not speak lightly.

        General Wilson's request was scrupulously observed by us,
and though friends came in numbers to sympathise with us and
encourage us, we were silent on the forbidden topic of my
husband's surrender. A day or two later, word came that we must
hold ourselves in readiness to leave Macon. Meantime, I had
addressed a note to General Wilson, begging that I might be
allowed to accompany my husband on his journey to his
destination, wherever it might be. The Commanding General
promptly acceded to my request, though, he assured me, the trip
before us would be a rough and disagreeable one, and advised me
to consider well before I took it.

        Of course, I was not to be deterred. I made instant
preparation for the journey. My available wardrobe was small,
being limited to a few Perodi's (which in those days served the
same purpose as the shirt-waist of 1900) and a rusty black skirt,
a veritable war-relic; but my friends in Macon, knowing the
impossibility of getting my own possessions together, quickly
came to the rescue. The results of their generosity were not in
all cases strictly what donor or recipient might have wished,
from the point of view of fashion or art. For example, Mrs.
Lucius Mirabeau Lamar sent me a treasured foulard silk gown, of a
pretty brown and white pattern; but she, being both shorter and
stouter than I, the fit was not one that even the deliberately
courteous would have ventured to call a good one; nevertheless, I
received it gratefully and courageously adapted it to serve as
travelling attire. Mrs. William D. Johnston, too, sister of our
loved General Tracy, likewise urged a gift upon me of several
changes of Parisian lingerie, which she had but just acquired.
With this borrowed finery (which afterward carried its own
penalty) stowed in my valise, when the announcement

Page 256

of the time appointed for our departure came to us, it found me
ready.

        It was set for the late afternoon. We arrived at the
railway station a half-hour before train time. At the last, we
hastened away from the friends whose sorrow and sympathy
threatened to disturb the composure it was so necessary to
preserve against our coming ordeals. We were surprised to find
the city in a kind of uproar. Cavalry clattered through the
streets and gazing sightseers thronged the sidewalks. Our passage
to the station proceeded without mishap or adventure of any kind;
nevertheless, we had scarcely alighted from our carriage when,
looking back, up the street we saw a company of cavalrymen
approaching. There was an increasing activity in the gathered
crowds, which were composed of silent citizens of Macon, elbowed
by Freedmen and Union soldiers, who lounged among them.

        As the cavalry approached the station, the significance
of the scene became plain to us. They were a guard, flanking on
each side an old "jimber-jawed, wobble-sided" barouche, drawn by
two raw-boned horses. In the strange vehicle were seated Mr. and
Mrs. Davis. Mr. Davis was dressed in a full suit of Confederate
grey, including the hat, but his face was yet more ashen than was
his garb. Behind them, completing the pitiful cortège, came a
carryall, in which were Miss Howell, the Davis little ones and
nurses; and, as the procession drove by, the alien and motley
crowd along the walks yelled and hooted in derision. But not all
- one heartless Union soldier tried the patience of a sorrowful
"rebel" onlooker.

        "Hey, Johnny Reb," shouted the first, "we've got your
President!"

        "And the devil's got yours!" was the swift reply.

        As the procession arrived at the station, two soldiers
approached Mr. and Mrs. Davis, and escorted them at

Page 257

once to the cars. The interest of everyone for the moment being
centred on the party of the late President, my excitement grew.
Wild thoughts filled my mind. I could not restrain them. "Oh! if
they would only forget you!" I said impetuously, to my husband.
Alas! scarcely had I uttered the words when two guards
approached. "This is Mr. Clay, I presume?" and with a hasty
farewell to our kind friends, the Whittles, we were soon aboard
the cars.

        As we entered, Mr. Davis rose and embraced me.

        "This is a sad meeting, Jennie!" he said, as he offered
me a seat beside him, for Mrs. Davis and my husband, already deep
in conversation, had established themselves nearby. As I seated
myself I became aware that the car had filled up with soldiers. I
heard the doors slam, and the command, "Order arms!" and in the
dull thud of their muskets as the butts struck the floor, I
realised for the first time that we were indeed prisoners, and of
the nation!

Page 258

CHAPTER XX
PRISONERS OF THE UNITED STATES

        DAWN found us haggard and ill. Our night ride to Augusta
was a fatiguing one. Of our party, only the children slept. The
air in the car was of the foulest, and the discomforts of the
trip were consequently most trying to our invalids, of whom there
now were three - Mr. Davis, Mr. Clay, and our venerable Vice-
President, Mr. Stephens, we having taken the latter aboard during
the night; also, our late Postmaster-General Reagan, ex-Governor
Lubbock, and General Wheeler and staff. Nor were we again
permitted to leave the car until our arrival in Augusta.
Telegraphic orders having been sent ahead for our meals, these
were brought to the train and eaten en route.

        Upon our arrival in Augusta, I asked Colonel Pritchard
for the privilege of driving in the carriage assigned to us to
the home of a beloved friend, Mrs. George Winter. Upon my promise 
that at the hour appointed I would be responsible for Mr. Clay's
appearance on the boat which was to take us to Savannah, Colonel
Pritchard gave a somewhat reluctant consent and we drove rapidly
away. As had been the case in Macon and Atlanta, the town was in
commotion. This visit to our friends was almost an error; for,
greatly excited at our appearance among them, they embraced us in
hysterical alarm, and begged my husband even yet to fly. To add
to the distress, neighbouring friends, hearing of our presence,
hastened in and joined their pleadings to those of our hostess.
The scene was unendurable to Mr. Clay, and, literally tearing
ourselves from their embraces, we re-entered the carriage. The

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horses heads were turned at once toward the river where our
custodians awaited us. Arrived there, though I cannot admit that
it was our intention or impulse to board the boat with a fond
alacrity, our embarkation was not without a misleading appearance
of eagerness. The bank of the river was both steep and slippery,
and, notwithstanding I was assisted in my descent by two
officers, my approach was neither stately nor awe- inspiring. In
fact, it was precipitate, and I found myself, most unexpectedly,
in the arms of a soldierly little figure in undress uniform who
stood close to the crude gang-plank. As I opened my lips to
apologise for my unexpected onslaught, he turned and raised his
hat. It was "little Joe!"

        An episode of that trip in connection with General
Wheeler fixed itself indelibly in my mind. I was in conversation
with this hero on one occasion, during which he leaned against
the side of the boat in a half-recumbent position. Presently a
young officer, rude in the display of "his brief authority,"
approached us, and rapping General Wheeler sharply with his
sword, said, "It is against the rule to lean on the guard-rail!"

        To my amazement, our hero, who had fought so nobly
against his peers and whose name alone had been a menace to his
foes, merely touched his hat and said quietly, "I did not know
the rule, sir, or I would not have infringed it." I was thrilled
with admiration.

        "General!" I exclaimed, "you have taught me a lesson in
self-control and courtesy I can never forget! Had I been a man,
that Yankee would have been exploring the bottom of the Savannah
River, or I, one!"

        The discomforts to which we had been subjected during our
journey to and from the headquarters of General Wilson culminated
in the wretched little craft on which we now were. Not a chair
was in the cabin for our invalids, nor an available couch. For
Mr. Davis, who suffered intensely during the trip from pain in
his eye (for years a

Page 260

chronic disability), two valises were stacked one on top of the
other, being the nearest approach to a seat it was possible to
improvise. On these he rested during much of the journey, Mrs.
Davis, Miss Howell or myself in turn acting as support in lieu of
a chair-back. From time to time we bathed his temples with
cologne in vain attempts to lessen his tortures.

        Our journey from Savannah may best be pictured by
reference to my pocket-diary, carried throughout those momentous
weeks. We boarded the William P. Clyde on the fifteenth of May,
our destination still unknown to us, as we steamed out into the
Atlantic. These are some of the brief records I made of ship and
passengers:

        "May 16, 1865. William P. Clyde is a brig-rigged steamer,
quite comfortable. The Fourth Michigan is with us, and an armed
convoy, the Tuscarora, escorts us. Her guns bear directly upon
us, day and night. Fears are entertained of the Stonewall or
Shenandoah. My husband keeps well and heroic. God in mercy give
us grace for the fiery ordeal."

        "May 17th. Fairly at sea, and considerable fear of the
Stonewall evinced by the ship's crew. All the axes of the vessel
are removed from their usual positions to the Colonel's room.
Mrs. Davis sent ashore for oranges for Miss Howell, who is ill.
Poor girl!"

        ["It was Mr. Davis who called my attention to the removal
of the battle-axes. 'Cowards!' he said, 'They're afraid of this
handful of Confederate men!' "]

        "May 19. Nearing Fortress Monroe. We are boarded by
Captain Fraley, Commander of the Tuscarora, the man-of-war which
has been our escort, her guns bearing directly on us from Hilton
Head. The Captain called on Mr. and Mrs. Davis, and husband and
myself, and renewed an acquaintance of former years. He proffered
any attentions in his power. Just to our left is seen Fort
Calhoun, built by Mr. Davis, while Secretary of War ... ."

        "May 20. Anchored off Fort Monroe awaiting orders.
General Halleck to arrive on board at 11 A. M. I sadly

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fear they will land my darling at this fort. God forbid! In sight
are many vessels, some bearing the English and some the French
flags. The fort presents the same appearance as years ago, when I
went to visit the spot. One week this day since we bade adieu to
friends. Two days have we been anchored. General Halleck said to
be on Tuscarora."

        "May 21. Last night at dark a tug was hailed. She
replied, "General Halleck!" She was alongside in a few moments
with orders which were quickly known. Governor Lubbock, Colonel
Johnston and General Wheeler and staff left at six this A. M. for
Delaware. At ten, Mr. Stephens and Judge Reagan were put aboard
the Tuscarora for Fort Warren. Mr. Stephen's servant detained. We
are still in doubt, but Monroe is probably our destination."

        "May 22. Mr. Davis, Mr. Clay and Burton Harrison are all
left! Preparations are going on at Fortress Monroe for them, 'tis
said. Colonel Pritchard says I will not be allowed to land or go
to Washington or Baltimore or abroad!!! Terrible firing from a
man-of-war!"

        "May 23. Wrote letter to Judge Holt, and note to General
Miles. At ten we were boarded by Major Church, and two Yankee
women and four guards, and all hands, luggage, berths and persons
thoroughly searched. A 'comico-serio-tragico' scene! Sailors our
friends. Both nurses leave. Mrs. Davis's [man] Robert only left."

        Our journey on the Clyde, though sorrowful, apprehensive
as we were concerning the fate to which the prisoners were being
led, was otherwise uneventful. Mr. Davis was exceedingly
depressed, and moved restlessly about, seeming scarcely ever to
desire to sit down. Always an intellectual cosmopolite, however,
he made observations on the natural phenomena about us,
commenting from time to time on the beauty of sea or sky. Our
meals, which were served at a table reserved for the prisoners,
by no means represented the fare of the coastwise steamers of to-
day, but few of us were in a mood to take note of culinary
deficiencies.

Page 262

        On the morning of May 22d a sultry, drizzling rain fell.
It was a day exactly calculated to induce melancholy even in the
stoutest-hearted. To us, eagerly alert to learn what we might of
our fate, it was unspeakably distressful. Shortly after breakfast
my husband came quietly into our stateroom. "There is no longer
any doubt," he said, "that this fort is the one destined for
Davis and me! I have just been notified that we are expected to
take a ride on a tug. I am convinced we shall be taken to
Fortress Monroe. I can't imagine why they do not come out boldly
and tell us so, but be sure this is our farewell, my wife!" We
took leave of each other in our stateroom, nor did I leave it to
follow Mr. Clay to the deck. I stood, instead, at the fourteen-
inch window of my cabin, alone with my thoughts.

        As Mr. Davis passed the aperture, he stopped for a second
to say good-bye to me, then he, too, disappeared. A few moments
passed, and then the weeping of children and wailing of women
announced the return of the stricken family. I heard a soldier
say to Mr. Davis's little son, "Don't cry, Jeff. They ain't going
to hang your pa!" and the little fellow's reply, made through his
sobs.

        "When I get to be a man," he cried, "I'm going to kill
every Yankee I see!"

        When the child approached my door and I caught him in my
arms and tried to cheer him, his resentment quickly changed to a
manly tenderness; and, putting his baby lips up for a kiss, he
said, "My papa told me to keep care of you and my Mamma!"

        I referred in my diary to the serio-comic incidents of
the search of our party. The event occurred early in the morning
of the day following that of my husband's removal. While gazing
sadly across the waters toward the grim fort, I espied what
seemed to be a pretty shallop, dancing lightly over the waters,
in which were seated two women, brightly dressed. The little
vessel seemed to be

Page 263

making for the Clyde. When I observed this, I called Mrs. Davis's
attention to the approaching party, saying, "Thank God! Here, I
do believe, are two Virginia ladies come to give us some
comfort."

        In a few moments one of our unknown visitors was at my
cabin door. In my eagerness to meet a friendly face, I had almost
extended my hand, when something in the appearance of the person
before me struck me as peculiar. My surprise and curiosity was
soon relieved, for my visitor said glibly, "We've been sent by
the Government to see if you have any treasonable papers on
board!" I looked at her in amazement.

        "Is it possible," I asked, "that the United States
Government thinks we are such simpletons as to have carried
treasonable papers aboard this ship?" My indignation grew.

        "I frankly confess that if I could sink the whole Yankee
nation in Hampton Roads I would do so; but carry valuable papers
here? Pshaw!" and I turned away from her, full of contempt.

        It was a hot, sultry day; one of those May days when the
sun strikes the water vertically, and even breathing becomes a
fatiguing effort. Despite the weather, the women who had thus
unexpectedly presented themselves were greatly overdressed. Each
wore an immense chignon on the back of her head, and was rouged
and powdered and befrizzed to an extent that was altogether
unusual in ordinary circles. Bustles of the largest size, high-
heeled shoes, conspicuous stockings, and as freely revealed gay
petticoats completed the gaudy costumes of these remarkable
agents of the Government. The person who had addressed me entered
my cabin and proceeded to strip the pillow-case from the by no
means immaculate pillow. She shook and felt carefully each
article of bedding; then opened my valise and as minutely
examined every article of borrowed finery therein. She commented

Page 264

on their quality as she did so, but I speedily put an end to
this. "Proceed with your work, Madam!" I said, and I turned from
the unpleasant sight before me.

        As she emptied my gripsack, I heard her utter a half-
shriek of alarm.

        "Oh!" she cried, "you have a pistol!"

        "Of course I have," I said, complacently reaching for it
and taking it in my hand; and, a spirit of mischief seizing me
(it has often been my salvation), I twirled the alarming firearm
in the air, taking care that the barrel should fall pointing
toward her, saying, as I did so, "You may take everything in the
stateroom but this. If necessary, I shall use it!" As I marked
the effect of my words, her shrinking and ejaculations of fear
amused me more and more, nor did she resume her work until, tired
of the farce, the pistol was once more safely bestowed in my bag.
When she renewed her search, her manner was somewhat more timid.

        Upon completing the overhauling of my belongings she
turned to me. "Will you please take off your dress, Madam?" she
said. My answer was forceful and prompt.

        "I will not! If you wish it taken off, you may disrobe
me!" And I added, in my indignation, "I've heard that white maids
are as good as black ones!"

        And now the comedy moved rapidly. The lady began by
taking off my breastpin and my collar. She unfastened my bodice
and removed it, examining every seam with a microscopic care. She
then proceeded to remove my clothing piece by piece, submitting
each to the same scrupulous examination. Coming at last to my
stays, she attempted to unclasp them.

        The situation was so amusing I could not resist the
growing desire to accentuate it. I have alluded to the prevailing
sultry weather. In the close little cabin, the heat was scarce
bearable. Already perspiration was trickling in streams down the
cheeks of my unwelcome

Page 265

visitor. Smiling within myself as the lady came forward to remove
the last-named garment, I took a full, deep breath and held it,
expanding my form to the very utmost, tightening my clothing for
the time being to such an extent that I think she could scarcely
have pried open the garments with hammer and chisel. The efforts
of my tormentor (?) were entertaining. Every now and then between
a straining on my part and a futile tugging on hers, she would
run out of the cabin, fanning herself and gasping to the guards,
"Oh! I am nearly dead!"

        At first, I utilised these intervals "to gird on my
armour" still tighter; but, at last, when I was myself almost
exhausted from holding my breath, I relaxed and allowed her to
proceed. By the time her examination of my apparel and belongings
was completed, the lady's face was striped, and the path of the
perspiration, wending its way through layers of cosmetics, had
quite destroyed her erstwhile dazzling appearance; but though I,
too, was almost fainting from the heat, and would gladly have
been left alone, my determination to tease her was by no means
appeased. I, therefore, demanded that, having undressed me, the
lady complete her work and put my clothing on again. This, with
various delays, amusing and otherwise, she at last accomplished,
much to her satisfaction if not wholly to mine. Once
rehabilitated, I stepped to Mrs. Davis's stateroom, mine being
between those of Mrs. Davis and Miss Howell. I found the former
in tears and reduced to the lightest of deshabille. I tried to
comfort her, but she still wept, saying:

        "Oh, 'Ginie! What humiliation!"

        "But I would die before they should see me shed tears!" I
declared.

        "Ah, you haven't four little children about you," said
Mrs. Davis. Nor did this search end the trials that

Page 266

befell us while we lay in Hampton Roads. Upon leaving my
stateroom the following morning I met Mrs. Davis, baby Winnie in
arms. She was greatly agitated.

        "What has happened?" I asked.

        "That man!" she replied, pointing to an officer near by,
"has come to take away my shawl. It's the last wrapping I have!
He declares it is part of Mr. Davis's disguise!"

        "You're not going to let him have it?" I asked, my
indignation rising at once.

        "What can I do?" asked Mrs. Davis, wringing her hands.

        "Tear it into shreds as fine as vermicelli!" I cried,
"and throw it into Hampton Roads!"

        As I spoke the officer stepped toward us. Raising his
hand and shaking his finger in my face, he asked, threateningly,
"You dare counsel resistance, Madam?"

        "Yes!" I retorted, returning the finger-shaking, "To the
shedding of blood, and I'll begin with you!"

        The scene must have been a ludicrous one to all save the
two participants. Mrs. Davis's spirits certainly rose in
contemplating it, for, as the officer strutted off, his sword
dragging at his side, she smiled as she said, "Puss-in-boots!" In
a second, however, her anxiety returned.

        "What shall we do?" she asked. "He will surely come back
for the shawl." Bent upon foiling him, I quickly suggested an
expedient.

        "My shawl," I said, "is almost a counterpart of yours.
Let's fold them both up and make him guess which is which.
Perhaps he'll take mine!" and we laughed heartily at the device.

        It was not long ere Lieutenant Hudson returned, this time
with another shawl, a coarse thing such as the small stores
nearby afforded. Upon his repeated demand we complacently handed
him Mrs. Davis's shawl and mine.

Page 267

To our amazement he took them both. Then, as the old saying puts
it, we "laughed on the other side of our faces." For, by the aid
of one of Mrs. Davis's former maids, Lieutenant Hudson was
enabled to identify Mrs. Davis's shawl, which he retained,
returning mine. The first, for many years, was preserved among
the curios of the Smithsonian Institution.

        During the morning of the day made memorable by the visit
of the Government's searching party, General Miles and his staff
boarded the Clyde. It was my first meeting with the handsome
young officer who was destined to incur so much odium in the near
future for his treatment of the unfortunate ex-President of the
Confederate States. I can recall no particular of that first
meeting with my husband's jailor, save that he and his staff made
an impressive group as they stood bowing respectfully, while a
few civil words were spoken by their leader.

        Upon the question of the latter, as to whether he might
serve me in any way, I answered, "Yes! let me know, from time to
time, whether my husband lives or is dead. If you will do this it
will relieve me from an insupportable suspense!" To this he
kindly agreed.

        In the interim, I had sent to my husband his valise,
containing some gold and my Bible, which, being set in a
specially large type, I knew he would be glad to have. These were
brought back to me shortly after General Miles's visit, by an
officer who found us still at the mess table. My Bible was
returned to me because of the following "communication from Mrs.
Clay, written on the fly-leaf."

         "2 P. M. Ship-board. May, '65. With tearful eyes and
aching heart, I commend you, my precious husband, to the care and
keeping of Almighty God. May He bless you, and keep you, and
permit us once again to meet, shall be my unceasing prayer.
Farewell,
                                                           WIFE."

Page 268

        As the officer dropped the gold upon the table beside me,
he said, "Please count it, Madam!" I instantly declined to do
this, however, saying, "If General Miles sent it, I presume it is
correct," and swept it into my lap without further examination.

Page 269

CHAPTER XXI
RETURN FROM FORTRESS MONROE

        BY the second day after the incarceration of Mr. Davis
and Mr. Clay we were a heartsick company, and I was glad when, in
the late afternoon of the twenty-fourth of May, our sailing
orders came. During the last day we were anchored off Fortress
Monroe, two hundred paroled prisoners had been taken aboard the
Clyde, a small and stuffy boat at best, and the five days spent
upon the return trip added to our anguish of mind by much
physical discomfort. The sea was exceedingly rough. Often during
the voyage a hundred or more passengers at a time were confined
below. Those who were well found their cabins unendurably warm.
In mine, the gossip of the negroes and sailors on the lower deck
was clearly audible; and, as their themes ran principally upon
the probable fate of the prisoners, questionable as I knew the
source to be from which flowed the conversations, the gossip did
not serve to lessen my melancholy, though it keyed my alertness
to a higher pitch.

        Some hours previous to our departure from Hampton Roads,
in sheer exhaustion from the experiences that had crowded upon
us, I lay down in my cabin, a prey to mingled heart-aching and
bitterness; when, looking toward the door, I perceived a sentinel
on guard. What I took to be an added indignity made me resentful.
I spoke to him.

        "You are a brave man, standing there with bayonet in hand
to terrorise a wretched woman!" I said. He

Page 270

turned slightly, "Mrs. Clay," he answered, "You ought to be glad
to have me here guarding you, for this boat is full of rough
soldiers!" In a moment any wrath was turned to gratitude. I
thanked him, and I felt that in him, thereafter, I had a friend;
indeed, we had reason to feel that all aboard who dared to show
it felt pity for and kindness toward our desolate party.

        During the trip, as Mrs. Davis, Miss Howell and I sat at
night on deck, looking out over the seas, I thought the swish of
the waters against the Clyde's side was as melancholy a note as I
had ever heard. One evening we had sat thus, discussing our
situation and the dangers that surrounded us, when, rising to
return to my stateroom, I felt my dress slightly pulled. Thinking
my skirts had become entangled in the rope coils or rigging near
us, I reached out to detach them, when, to my alarm, I found my
hand in contact with another, and into mine was thrust a bundle
of newspapers. I could not have thanked the sailor who handed
them to me had I had the presence of mind to do so, for, passing
swiftly on his way, he was lost in the darkness ere I could
identify him. The roll was in my hand, however, and I made my way
quickly to the cabin with it. They were the first newspapers we
had had since arriving at the Fortress. By the light of the dim
cabin lamp I read them. The aggregation of "opinions of the
press" was so awful in its animosity that they stunned my very
power of thought. One extract burnt itself into my brain. It ran,
"We hope soon to see the bodies of these two arch traitors, Davis
and Clay, dangling and blackening in the wind and rain!"

        The horror of these printed words for the moment
overbalanced my reason. I hastened with it to Mrs. Davis; a great
mistake, for her agony of mind upon reading it was such that
restoratives were necessary to prevent her from fainting. I never
knew who the sailor

Page 271

was who gave the papers to me, though I was more fortunate in
regard to the author of another kindness which, happily, was less
reactionary upon me.

        Immediately upon my husband's incarceration I had busied
myself in writing letters to a list of distinguished public men
which had been prepared for my use by Mr. Clay. It included the
name of Joseph Holt, who, once our friend, had deplored the
possible loss to the nation of my husband's counsels. My list
comprised thirteen names, the number that has been accounted
unlucky since thirteen sat at the table of our Lord and one
betrayed him. In view of the months of persecution, which
followed my husband's surrender, directly traceable to malice or
fanatical zeal in the Judge Advocate's office, an analogy is
unavoidable. My list included the names of T. W. Pierce, of
Boston, Ben. Wood, owner and editor of the New York Daily News,
R. J. Halderman, Charles O'Conor, the great jurist, Judge
Jeremiah Black and others. To Mr. Holt I wrote as follows:

                           "OFF FORTRESS MONROE ON STEAMER Clyde,
                                                   "May 23, 1865.

                                    "JUDGE ADVOCATE GENERAL HOLT.

        "My Dear Sir: The circumstances of my husband's voluntary
surrender to the Federal authorities, to meet the charges against
him, doubtless have reached you, as General Wilson, commanding at
Macon, promised to telegraph as well as write you immediately of
it. We left Macon on the 13th, in company with other prisoners,
General Wilson permitting me to accompany Mr. Clay without orders
or restrictions. For five days we have lain at this spot awaiting
events. Yesterday morning, with five minutes' warning only, my
husband was taken to Fortress Monroe. As no communication is
permitted, I am denied appeals to Generals Miles or Halleck, but
entertain strong hope that one or the other may arrive to-day to
relieve my suspense.

        "But the object of this letter is to appeal to you, in
this moment of dire necessity, on behalf my dear husband. You,
Judge Holt, now the embodiment of the 'majesty of the

Page 272

law,' were once pleased to subscribe yourself my 'sincere
friend.' I will not believe that time or circumstances have
changed your feelings toward one who reciprocated that friendship
and was beloved by your angelic wife. So, into your hands, my
dear sir, I commit my precious husband's case, begging that you
will see to it that he receives proper counsel and a fair and
impartial trial, from which he will surely come forth vindicated.
Of course, you have some appearance of testimony in your courts
or the proclamation would not have been issued, but I also
believe that you esteem Mr. Clay as innocent of that horrid
crime, as I know him to be. Hold the scales of mercy and justice
as our great and final Judge will hold them in your and my cases
when we stand at the Bar, and I shall fear no evil. Write me a
line at Macon, if you please, and, if possible, permit me to
visit my husband. With kindest regards to ... believe me,

                                                           "ETC."

        With the exception of the Archbishop of Bermuda, who was
away from his post, as I learned some time later, only Mr. Holt,
of the thirteen written to, ignored my appeal.

        Having taken the precaution to give to each correspondent
an address at which, under cover, replies might reach me, I
sealed and addressed each letter preparatory for posting; but now
I found myself in a quandary as to how I should accomplish this
important feat. I held them for several days uncertain as to
whose care I might intrust them. As we were approaching Hilton
Head, however, a soldier, whom I had observed passing and
repassing the open door of my cabin, tossed in a slip of paper on
which was written, "I will mail your letters. Trust me." As there
was nothing treasonable in them, and the need was urgent for
getting them swiftly to their several destinations, I concluded
to accept the offer so miraculously made.

        I therefore rolled them up, and, putting a gold dollar in
a bit of paper, awaited the reappearance of my unknown messenger.
In a few moments he came, and I slipped

Page 273

the little parcel into his hands. That afternoon I heard a
careless whistler pass my door and the bit of gold was tossed
into my stateroom, and with excellent aim, too, for it fell
directly upon my berth. The friendly stranger had refused to
retain sufficient coin to pay for the postage. Before leaving the
Clyde I ascertained his name. He was Charles McKim, of
Philadelphia.

        Such kindly aid unexpectedly extended to us by a stranger
now and then had its own part in stimulating and encouraging us
during a voyage in which a thousand hopes and fears and memories
tortured us. The very coast-line, there in the distance, seemed
to write on the horizon the story of our disasters. We passed on
our way within one hundred yards of desolate, historic Sumter,
over which the Union flag floated, and the solitary sentinel
pacing his rounds was visible to us. Beyond lay Charleston, her
outlines placid, though we knew she was scarred within.

        Our journey, as I have stated, was full of discomfort.
Our cabins were far from clean, and chamber service we had none
save that performed by Mrs. Davis's coloured servant, Robert, who
attended to our needs; and so soiled were the pillows that we
were obliged to pin over them our white petticoats before
retiring, these being our only protection against the nocturnal
invaders that thronged in the bedding. It will be concluded,
therefore, that, upon our arrival in Savannah, we were a rather
bedraggled and travel-stained party. Our original supply of
clothing for the trip had been small, and the service demanded of
it thus far had been in exactly an inverse ratio. It required
some courage, therefore, as well as ingenuity, to arrange our
toilettes in such manner as would help us to a condition of
outward composure. I, having no little ones to care for, was most
abundantly provided, and was, therefore, enabled to contribute to
my less fortunate companion, Mrs. Davis, my black silk

Page 274

Talma, a loose garment of those days much used in travelling.

        We heard at once, upon stepping ashore at Savannah, that
the Federal authorities had prohibited our party the use of
carriages, and the absence of friendly faces at the wharf told us
that the date of our arrival had also been kept a secret. We
were, therefore, obliged to begin our walk up the acclivity that
led to the Pulaski House without the moral support of a friendly
presence. Those of the young children who could toddle did so;
but the infant, Winnie, was carried by Miss Howell, Robert 
following behind with such luggage as he could "tote." We were a
sad procession!

        We had nearly reached the hotel, when a party of
gentlemen, seeing us, stopped in the midst of a conversation and
eyed us a second. Among them were our friends, Mr. Frederick
Myers and Mr. Green. Upon recognising our party, first one and
then another of the group caught up the children and bore them on
their shoulders into the Pulaski House.

        The news of our arrival spread over the city at once, and
an impromptu levee was begun which lasted until late in the
night. It was followed, the next day, by gifts of flowers and
fruit, and, what was immediately needful, of clothing of every
description. The people of Savannah acted as by one great impulse
of generosity, all eager to demonstrate their devotion to the
prisoners now in the hands of the United States Government, and
to us, their representatives. We found in the city many of our
former Washington and Richmond friends, among whom were ex-
Senator Yulee, of Florida, and General Mercer. Savannah was in a
state of continual disquiet. The air rang with sounds of fifes
and drums of Federal soldiers, and bands of triumphant music were
encountered in every direction. Drills were constant and
innumerable, and fully as unpleasant to our eyes as our
conquerors

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could wish; but, to my Southern mind, no sight was so sad, and
none presented so awful a travesty on the supposed dignity of
arms, as the manoeuvres of a regiment of negroes in full dress!

        However, I was in no mood to think resentfully upon these
minor evils of our times; for, notwithstanding the kindnesses
shown our party on every side, my apprehensions for my husband's
safety increased as the journals of each day gave out their
horrors. The news that Mr. Davis, saddened, ill, strengthless, as
we knew him to be, had been put in chains, startled us. Not a
soul in the South but was horrified at the wanton act, and none,
I think, will ever forgive the deed though its authorship has
remained unacknowledged to this day. The press, both North and
South, was filled with alarming prognostications and with news of
the gathering testimony which would fix the crime with which the
ex-President and my husband were charged, upon them. Items which
I might not otherwise have seen were clipped from Northern papers
and sent to me by friends eager to acquaint me with news of every
development which might warn or strengthen. From mysterious
purlieus, witnesses were being brought forward on whose awful
testimony were to be formulated, it was said, charges of heinous
crime against the prisoners of state. What this testimony was to
be, who was to give it, were mysteries to me. I tried in vain to
communicate with Mr. Clay, and on the 8th of June, unable longer
to endure the suspense, I wrote to General Miles, imploring him
to send me at least one line to assure me of Mr. Clay's welfare;
at the same time inclosing a second letter to Judge Advocate
General Holt.

        To add to my distress of mind, the interest of the
newspapers, being now concerned with the Surratt and other
trials, became silent for the time being on the cases of Messrs.
Davis and Clay, and, until the receipt of a letter from General
Miles, I was uncertain of my husband's

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whereabouts, rumours having reached me of his having been
transferred to Fort Warren. A letter received at this time from
General James H. Wilson records that he, too, was under this
impression. Waiting from day to day in the hope of ascertaining
some definite information concerning Mr. Clay, and having
established communication with friends in various quarters, I now
began to shape my plans for a return to Huntsville, meanwhile
offering such consolations to my companions as was in my power.
Only the uncomprehending children of our party seemed happily
free from the weight of trouble everywhere besetting us. I
remember an amusing incident in connection with the little Jeff.,
our manly protector, just previous to my leaving the hotel to
accept the hospitality of friends. He had scarcely arrived, when
he formed an attachment for a fine Newfoundland dog, a regular
attache of the popular hostelry. While Mrs. Davis and I were
entertaining some of Savannah's kind people, we heard Jeff.'s
voice shouting every now and then in uproarious good humour,
"Bully for Jeff.! Bully for Jeff.!" At last I went out to reason
with him. I found him successfully mounted on his canine
acquaintance, a strong bridle in one hand, a switch in the other.

        "You shouldn't say 'Bully for Jeff.,' " I remonstrated.
"It isn't nice. You must remember whose boy you are!" The little
fellow looked nonplussed.

        "Well!" he said, ruefully, "Mis' Clay, if a fellow don't
bully for hisself, who's going to bully for him?" I gazed at him,
puzzled. This was a Waterloo for me. I answered, "Well, bully for
yourself! but don't bully so loud," and retreated to the parlour,
leaving the little lad to cogitate on whether he or I was master
of the situation.

        I lingered in Savannah, eagerly awaiting letters which I
hoped would meet me there, until the middle of June, when I
proceeded to Macon, en route for Huntsville, and I am amused now
at the contrariety of the human memory,

Page 277

when, into the woof of the thoughts of those strenuous days,
there is thrust a thread of comedy. Just before leaving the
hospitable coast city, I was the guest of Mrs. Levy, mother of
the brilliant Mrs. Philip Phillips, of Washington, of Mrs.
Pember, and of Miss Martha Levy, one of the readiest wits I have
ever known.

        During the evening first referred to, many guests were
introduced, among them some of Savannah's prominent Hebrews. For
an hour Miss Martha had been busy presenting her friends, both
Christian and Jew, when, one after another, came Mr. Cohen, Mr.
Salomon, Dr. Lazarus and Dr. Mordecai. At this remarkable
procession my risibles proved triumphant. I glanced slyly at Miss
Martha. Her eyes shone with mischief as she presented Dr.
Mordecai.

        "And is Haman here, too?" I asked.

Page 278

CHAPTER XXII
RECONSTRUCTION DAYS BEGIN

        UPON leaving Savannah I proceeded by boat to Augusta,
reaching that city on the fifteenth of June, going thence to
Macon, escorted to Atlanta by Colonel Woods. During the last half
of my journey I was under the care of General B. M. Thomas, who
saw me safely into the hands of our kind friends, the Whittles,
whose hospitable home became my asylum until I proceeded on my
way to Huntsville. The necessity for procuring passports through
the several military districts made my journey a slow one. To add
to my discomforts, my trunks, recovered at Macon, were several
times rigorously searched ere I reached my destination. At every
transfer station my baggage was carefully scrutinised, and the
small value in which passports were held may be conjectured from
the following incident.

        At a certain point in my homeward journey a change of
cars became necessary at a little wayside town. Night was already
upon us when we reached the station of Crutchfield, where the
transfer was to be made. The little structure was surrounded by
hangers-on, threading their lazy way through a small company of
black and white soldiers. I was alone, save for the little five-
year-old son of my maid, Emily, who, being ill, I had left at the
home of Mrs. Whittle. No sooner had my trunk been deposited on
the platform than it became the object of rough handling and
contumely. The train on which I was to continue my journey was
already in position, but the close-pressing crowd about were
heedless alike of my

Page 279

protest and appeals to allow my baggage to be put aboard. I
begged them not to detain me, saying I had General Croxton's
passport with me; but their only answer was a gruff rebuke. "You
have passed his jurisdiction, Madam," said one of the military
near by.

        It was a black night, and but few of those about me
carried lanterns. The scene was fear-inspiring to a lonely woman.
My alarm at the thought of a detention had reached its height,
when, by the fitful lights about, I saw a tall young man break
through the crowd.

        "By what right do you detain this lady?" he cried,
angrily. Then, turning to the black figures around us, he
commanded, "Put that trunk on board the car!" and almost before I
realised it my difficulties were over, and I had myself stepped
aboard the waiting train, rescued from my unfortunate dilemma by
John A. Wyeth, since become a surgeon of national distinction.
Mr. Wyeth had come to the station for the purpose of boarding
this train, which proved a happy circumstance, for it gave me his
protection to Stevenson, a few hours distant from Huntsville. His
father had been the long-time friend of my husband; moreover, Dr.
Allen, grandfather of the young knight-errant, had been one of
Senator Clay's earliest instructors. Thus, the circumstance of
our meeting was a source of double gratification to me.

        While a guest at the home of Colonel Lewis M. Whittle,
being unceasing in my efforts to secure all possible aid for and
to arouse our friends in behalf of my husband, I made several
trips of a day or so to other homes in the vicinity. During such
an absence, the Whittle home was invaded by a party of soldiers,
headed by one General Baker, who made what was meant to be a very
thorough search of all my belongings, despite the protests of my
gentle hostess. But for her quick presence of mind in sending for
a locksmith, the locks of my trunks would have been broken open
by the ungallant invaders. I returned to

Page 280

find my friends in deep trouble and anguish of mind on my behalf.
They repeated the story of the search with much distress of
manner. From the disorder in which I found my room when, shortly
afterward, I entered it, these agents of the Government must have
hoped to find there the whole assassination plot. Clothing of
every description was strewn over the floor and bed and chairs;
while on mantelpiece and tables were half-smoked cigar stumps and
ashes left by the gentlemen who took part in that memorable paper
hunt. After a thorough examination of my wardrobe, piece by
piece, they had taken possession of numerous letters and
photographs, almost purely of a private character, among them the
picture of my dead infant, treasured beyond any other. My hostess
informed me that, during the process of searching, General Baker,
regardless of her presence, personally had commented on the
quality of my lingerie and the probable avoirdupois of its owner,
saying, among other things, "I see none of the destitution I've
heard tell of in the South!" In his eagerness to discourse on the
beauty of a lady's apparel, he overlooked a recess in one of my
trunks which contained the only written matter that, by any
turning of words, might have been designated treasonable.

        Great, indeed, was my surprise, when, seated on the floor
surveying the disorder about, overwhelmed with a conviction of
desolation to come, I opened one secret little slide and looked
within the pocket. Now my chagrin and disappointment were changed
to joy; for there, within, lay the sermon-like, black-covered
book that contained my husband's careful copies of his State
correspondence while in Canada, together with other important
original papers! The sight was almost too good to be true!
Immediately I began to see all things more hopefully. I remember
even a feeling of merriment as I gazed upon one of my husband's
boots standing

Page 281

just where it had been thrown, in the middle of the floor, while
hung around it was a wreath of once gorgeous pomegranate flowers,
which I recognised as those I had worn at one of the last
functions I had attended in the Federal City.

        Many months passed, in which repeated demands were made 
for the letters carried away by these emissaries of the
Government, ere they were returned to me. Though taken thus
forcibly from me for Governmental examination, I have no reason
to conclude that those in authority at the War Department
detained them for so serious a reason or purpose. On the
contrary, I have ground for believing that my letters and other
possessions lay open for seven or eight months to the gaze of the
more curious friends of the department authorities; for, my
friend, Mrs. Bouligny, * early in '66, wrote warning me in regard
to them, "I heard a lady say the other day that she knew of a
person who had read your journal at the War Department!" By this
time I was again in the North, pleading with President Johnson
for the release of my husband and the return of my papers. When,
at last, I received them, they were delivered to me at the home
of Mrs. A. S. Parker, at 4 1/2 and C Streets, Washington, by a
Federal officer, who came in a United States Mail wagon with his
burden!

        My home-coming after the eventful trip to Fortress Monroe
was a sore trial. Ex-Governor Clay, now an old man of seventy-
five years, and Mrs. Clay, almost as aged (and nearer, by six
months, to the grave, as events soon proved), were both very much
broken. For more than three years they had waited and wept and
prayed for the loved cause which, in its fall, had borne down
their first-born. The Clay home, every stone of which was
hallowed to them, was now occupied by Captain Peabody

* Then widow of Congressman Bouligny, of Louisiana, and now Mrs.
George Collins Levey, of London, England.

Page 282

and his staff. Servants and all other of their former possessions
were scattered; and Mother Clay, whose beautiful patrician hands
had never known the soil of labour, who throughout her long life
of piety and gentle surroundings, had been shielded as tenderly
as some rare blossom, now, an aged woman, within but a few months
of the tomb, bereft of even her children, was compelled to
perform all necessary household labour. The last and bitterest
pain, that of my husband's incarceration, fell crushingly upon
her. Her son, who had added lustre to his distinguished father's
name, who in private virtues had met every wish of her heart, now
lay a prisoner in the nation's hands, and the nation itself had
gone mad with the desire to wreak a vengeance on some one for the
deplorable act of a madman. The knowledge came to her as a very
death-dealing blow, the climax of years of unintermitting
anxiety, deprivations, and the small tyrannies practiced by our
many invaders during the investment of Huntsville. Friends and
kindred had been cut down on every side. For three years our
little city had been in Union hands. None of her formerly
affluent citizens but had been impoverished or ruined. By the
summer of '65, the country about was completely devastated.

        The crops were inconsiderable; scarcely any cotton had
been planted, and the appalling cotton tax had already been
invented to drain us still further. All over the South
"Reconstruction days" had begun. Confusion of a kind reigned in
every town or city. It was no longer a question of equality
between the Freedmen and their late masters, but of negro
supremacy. On every side the poor, unknowing creatures sought
every opportunity to impress the fact of their independence upon
all against whom they bore resentment. The women were wont to
gather on the sidewalks of the main thoroughfares, forming a line
across as they

Page 283

sauntered along, compelling their former masters and mistresses
who happened to be approaching to take the street; or, if not
sufficiently numerous or courageous to do this, would push their
way by them, bumping into them with a distinct challenge to the
outraged one to resent it. As if to encourage this spirit of
"independence," the agents of the conquering Government were
there to protect their protégés from the indignant resentment
such conduct might well awaken, though they seemed not to be
equipped to instruct them in better things.

        Upon my return to Huntsville, after Mr. Clay's
incarceration, having been absent from it now nearly four years,
I found the metamorphosis in the beautiful old town to be
complete. Indignation at the desecration about us was the one
antidote to despair left to the majority of our neighbours, who,
their property seized, their fields unplanted, their purses
empty, had small present peace or ground for hope in the future.
Indignities, petty and great, multiplied each day at the hands of
often wholly inexperienced Federal representatives, who, finding
themselves in authority over the persons and property of men
distinguished throughout the land, knew not how to exercise it.
Looking back upon those frightful years, I am convinced that
these agents, far more than our enemies who strove with our
heroes upon the field, are responsible for a transmitted
resentment that was founded upon the unspeakable horrors of
"Reconstruction days." Happy, indeed, was it for us that the
future was hidden from us; for, bad as the conditions were that
met my husband's family then, there were to be yet other and
worse developments. Our home, opposite to that of Governor Clay,
was now occupied by one Goodlow, head of the Freedmen's Bureau.
From the one wing of the parental house to which ex-Governor and
Mrs. Clay were now limited, only the sorry sight met our eyes of
the desecration of our once lovely residence,

Page 284

- the galleries and portico of which were now the gathering place
for protégés of the Government. Daily I saw Alfred, the former
dining-room servant of Governor Clay, revelling in his newly
acquired liberty, dash by our dwelling, seated in a handsome
buggy behind a fine trotter. He was a handsome copper-coloured
negro, with the blood of red men in his veins. His yellow
gauntlets were conspicuous two streets away, and as he passed he
left on the evening air the odour of the Jessamine pomade with
which he had saturated his straight Indian locks in his effort to
outdo his late master.

        Poor Alfred! He was a child with a toy balloon. A few
years passed. In tattered attire, and with the humblest demeanor,
he eked out a scanty living at a meagre little luncheon-stand on
the corner of a thoroughfare. His former respect and regard for
his old master now returned, and with it, I doubt not, a longing
for the days when, in his fresh linen suits, laundered by the
laundress of the Governor's household, a valued servant, he had
feasted on the good things he himself had assisted in concocting!

        Ground to the earth as we were by the cruelties of the
times, that Freedman's Bureau was frequently, nevertheless, a
source of amusement. Its name bore but one meaning to the simple-
minded follower of the mule-tail who appealed to it. He knew but
one "bureau" in the world, and that was "ole Missus's" or "Mis'
Mary's," an unapproachable piece of furniture with a given number
of drawers. Bitter was the disappointment of the innocent blacks
when they failed to see the source whence came their support.

End of Part 5