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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."

(* 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.)

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,

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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

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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."

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"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:

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"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

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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

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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

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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 so journing 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.

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"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, anaccount 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,

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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

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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!"

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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

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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

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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!"

(* 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.)

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

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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."

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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

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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,

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"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?"

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"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.

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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

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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

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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

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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!

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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

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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 boardedthe 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 Washingtonor 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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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 thefollowing "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."

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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.

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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

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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

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was who gave the papers to me, though I was more fortunate in regard tothe 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

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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

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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

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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,

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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 tothe 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!

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

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

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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

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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,

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- 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.

"Whar's dat bureau?" was sure to be the first question. "Whar all dem drawers what got de money an' de sugar an' de coffee? God knows I neber see no bureau 't all, an' dat man at de book-cupboard(*) talked mighty short ter me, at dat!"

(* Desk.)

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While letting my thoughts linger for a moment on those dreary days, I cannot refrain from recalling one of the occasional instances of humane conduct shown us by those placed in authority over the citizens of Huntsville, associated, as it is, with a bit of genuine negro blundering. The generosity of Dr. French, Medical Director, there stationed, toward the family of our brother, J. Withers Clay, in giving his medical services freely to them, greatly touched us all. Appreciating his obvious desire to administer to our wounded spirits a true "oil and wine," my sister one morning gathered a bunch of fragrant camomile blossoms, and, calling her ebony feminine de menage to her, she said, "Take these flowers over to Dr. French and say Mrs. Clay sends them with her compliments. Tell him that these camomile blossoms are like the Southern ladies - the more they are bruised and oppressed the sweeter and stronger they grow! Now," she added, "tell me, Sally, what are you going to say?" Sally answered promptly:

"I'se gwine tell de doctor dat Mis' Mary Clay sont her compliments an' dese cammile flowers, an' says dey's like de Southern ladies, de harder you squeezes an' presses 'em de sweeter dey gits!"

It is perhaps unnecessary to relate that the message which reached the kind doctor was put in written form.