A Belle of the Fifties, Memoirs of Mrs. Clay, of Alabama,
covering Social and Political Life in Washington and the
South, 1853-66, Part 7

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Begin Part 7

        The President assured me I need have no misgivings;

Page 342

if I would write my plea and send it directly to him, he would,
he promised me, have it read at the next Cabinet meeting (on the
morrow). Actuated by the hope, however meagre, of gaining a
possible sympathy from the President's Governmental associates,
even though the dictator Stanton was so coercing a personality in
that body, I prepared my letter. I afterward secured an official
copy of it. It ran as follows:

WASHINGTON CITY, January 11, 1866.

"To His Excellency, President of the United States:

        "...How true it is that all conditions of life,
however seemingly extreme, are capable of augmentation! I have
thought and so told you, that for eight months past I have been,
and God knows with what cause, at the Nadir of despair; that my
cup, bitterer than the waters of Marah, was brimming, my heart
breaking. A letter received two evenings ago announces the death
of my husband's beloved mother, wife of ex-Governor Clay. Deeply
distressing to me; oh! Mr. Johnson, what a blow to my husband,
your unhappy prisoner! He was her idolised son, her first-born;
bears the name of her lover-husband, and upon whose lineaments
she had not rested her longing eyes for three long, weary,
desolate years.

        "On the morning of the first she swooned, and expired on
the second, inquiring, 'What of my son?' Oh, Mr. President, what
an agonising reflection to my husband! How can I summon nerve to
tell him the news? I cannot write so great a grief, nor can I
tell it and leave him in his gloomy prison to struggle with it
alone! Will you not pour in the oil of healing? I beg of you,
permit me to bear with me, along with my 'weight of woe,' the
antidote. Issue the order for my husband's release on his parole
d'honneur, with bail if desired, and let him once more see our
father, who lies (now) on a bed of illness. My sister writes,
'Father cannot long survive. * God grant that he may see dear
brother Clement ere he goes. Cannot he come?' --I repeat, cannot
he come?

        "Mr. President, you hold many noble prisoners in your
forts, but Mr. Clay's case is sui generis. General Grant, the
whole-souled soldier, in his letter to you in his behalf, says,
'His manly surrender is to me a full and sufficient guarantee

* Governor Clay died the following autumn.

Page 343

that he will be forthcoming at any time the civil authorities of
the land may call for him.' Even Mr. Stanton, who is not
considered partial to so-called 'Rebels,' told me, in my only
interview, that 'he was not my husband's judge,' as if he,
Pilate-like, were willing to wash his hands of innocent blood. I
replied tremblingly, 'I would fain not have you for his accuser,
Sir.' To which he rejoined, not unkindly, 'I am not his accuser,
Madam.' I thanked God for even that cold comfort as harbinger of
better days.

        "And now, Sir, may I ask you who are those opposed to my
husband's release on parole? I have yet to find the first man,
Federal or other, who does not express admiration at the high
sense of honour and chivalric faith, in the prompt and manly
surrender; and astonishment at the detention. To-day we might
have been far away in some peaceful spot, united at least, and
happy, but for that sense of unsullied honour, which 'feeling a
stain like a wound,' remained to wipe it out. Can you longer
refuse him the privilege?

        "The law supposes all men innocent till proven guilty,
and if it will allow me, I, alone, can disprove, in toto, the
testimony of the conspiracy case, implicating him. Mr. Clay,
always delicate, is dying daily. He told me he was resigned to
God's will and perfectly willing to perish in those four walls if
his country would be benefited thereby. Mr. President, my husband
is my world, my all, and 'dear to me as are the ruddy drops that
visit this sad heart.' Give him to me for a little while, at
least long enough to glad the dim eyes of the eager and aged
watcher at home and close them; and he shall return to you, on
his honour and my life, at any moment called for by the
Government. Let me bring him to you to prove to you the truth of
my statement in point of health, and to afford him the right of
personal appeal ... .That God may incline you to grant my prayer
and soften 'the hearts of our enemies,' restore Peace indeed to
the land, and bless and guide and guard you in public and private
life to your journey's end, is the prayer of her who hopefully,
trustfully, and truthfully subscribes herself,

                                                    "Your friend,
                                          (Signed.) "V. C. CLAY."

        I sent this epistle to Mr. Johnson, but, despite the
haste in which I had written and despatched it, I was too late
for the promised reading, which fact I learned from the

Page 344

following message, that reached me the next day. It was written
on the back of the President's card in his (by this time)
familiar, scrawling hand.

        "Your letter," it read, "was too late yesterday. It does
your heart and head credit. It is a most powerful appeal. You
have excelled yourself in its production!"

        At the next Cabinet meeting Mr. Johnson made his promise
good. The letter was then read, by Mr. Evarts, too late, however,
even had it produced immediate results, to enable me to carry the
parole I had hoped for to my husband. I was again with Mr. Clay
at the Fortress when this meeting took place, but, having no balm
to soothe the wound, I could not tell him of the blow that had
befallen him, nor did he hear of it until, nearly four months
later, he left the prison. In the interim, in order that my
husband should not remark upon the sombreness of my attire, I
wore a red rose in my bonnet and red ribbon at my throat whenever
I visited the Fort.

        I learned the particulars of that (to me) eventful
Cabinet reading from Mr. Johnson later. Upon the conclusion of
the letter Mr. Stanton asked for it. He scanned it closely and
put it into his pocket without comment. Nor was the missive again
returned to Mr. Johnson until weeks had elapsed and several
requests had been made for it.

Page 345

                          CHAPTER XXVIII
                      THE NATION'S PRISONERS

        ON the twenty-first of January, 1866, a few days after my
last conversation with President Johnson, I found myself a second
time within the ramparts of America's most formidable military
prison. This time, unhindered, I was led directly to my husband's
gloomy room. In this and the several succeeding visits I paid Mr.
Clay in prison, I learned to comprehend, where before I had but
imagined, the terrible sufferings my husband had undergone for
now eight months. When I parted from General Miles on May 24th,
of the preceding year, he gave me his promise that Mr. Clay
should have every comfort he could allow him.

        I found, upon my admission to Fortress Monroe, in
January, 1866, that his prisoner, for three or more months, had
been confined within a narrow cell, grated and barred like a cage
in a menagerie, into which the meagre daylight crept through the
long, thin opening in the thick walls. An unwholesome sweat had
oozed through the bare walls which surrounded him, at times, it
was said, increasing until it flowed in streams. For weeks after
entering the prison (I now learned) Mr. Clay had been denied not
only the use of his clothing, but his toilet brushes and comb,
and every item calculated to preserve his health and self-esteem
had been taken from him. His only food for weeks had been a
soldier's rations, until Dr. Craven, at last, felt obliged to
order a hospital diet. These rations had been passed through

Page 346

the prison bars in tin cup or plate, unaccompanied by knife, fork
or spoon.

        For forty days at a stretch he had not been permitted to
look upon the sun; for months, though debarred from communication
with or visits from his own family, he was exhibited to
strangers, civilian or military, who from time to time were
brought into his cell, conversing among themselves, or to the
gratings to stare at him with curious gaze. "I have been treated
as if already convicted of an infamous crime," wrote my husband
in a paper sent out by one who proved trustworthy. "Indeed, one
of my warders told me that the orders from Washington required I
should be subjected to the same prison discipline that the
assassins of Abraham Lincoln underwent. While the Third
Pennsylvania Artillery (volunteers) were on duty (till October
31st), I scarcely ever walked out without being greeted with
'Shoot him! Hang him! Bring a rope! The damned rascal!' But since
the regulars came in nothing like this has occurred. ... Mr.
Davis and I are not allowed to communicate with each other. We
have met but a few times, in walking contrary to the intention of
officers and orders, but only saluted each other and asked of
health."

        Once, my husband told me, upon thus meeting, Mr. Davis
and he greeted each other in French, whereupon the soldiers,
scenting some further "treason," rushed at them, pointing their
bayonets.

        "I have been subjected," continued my husband's
statement, "to the most refined but severe torture of body and
soul; my health considered in order to preserve the sensibility
of the body to pain. ... I have been allowed irregularly some
newspapers, but never one alluding to any evidence against me, or
mentioning me, unless in terms of reproach. I am cut off from the
world, except its reproaches!"

        During none of my visits to the Fort was I permitted

Page 347

to speak with Mr. Davis, between whom and my husband, as I have
said, even an occasional word, for a long time, was interdicted;
but, when sending to him a tray of good things from among gifts
to my husband or brought with me from Washington, I managed often
to send, with an extra segar or two, a twisted paper lighter on
which I had scribbled "Mrs. Davis and children are well," or some
(as I hoped) equally cheering greeting.

        In later days, when a fuller liberty of walking about the
Fort was granted the prisoners, they were occasionally able to
pass to each other some brief message, written, it might be, on
the inch-wide margin of a bit of newspaper or wrapping. Two or
three times a scrap of writing-paper, written all over in the
finest possible hand, was passed from one to the other. Two such
messages, uttered under the impression that Mr. Clay was soon to
be liberated, are expressive of the unflinching spirit which Mr.
Davis at all times showed, even under torments as humiliating,
and, in one instance, even more cruel, than those endured by my
husband. The first would seem to have reached Mr. Clay shortly
after my first visit to the Fort. A lengthy note, in finest
script and compressed within the dimensions of a single six-by-
eight sheet of paper, it read as if it had been written sentence
by sentence, as mood dictated or opportunity offered.

        A second note, in even more diminutive script, * was
passed to my husband in the early winter of '66, when at last it
seemed assured that Mr. Clay would be liberated. It was written
in this belief, and gave my husband directions as to friends
whose influence might be awakened on our late President's behalf.
Mr. Davis reiterated his loyalty to the cause for which he was
now suffering, but

* On the back of this scrap, Mr. Davis wrote in pencil, "If you
get this, say I've got the tobacco and will give you a puff."
Long afterward, lest the identity of the little slip should be
lost, Mr. Clay added this comment beneath the original
inscription: "Preserve! Mr. Davis to me in prison! C. C. C." A.
S.

Page 348

declared his anxiety for his wife's and children's fates. He felt
that there was a bloodthirsty hate against him, the strong motive
being to degrade the lost cause in his person.

        In all of his communications, however short, Mr. Davis
wrote with dignity and conviction, as became a man who had been
the Chief Magistrate of a people. Once only, and that during my
first stay in the Fort, I saw the tall figure of our late Chief.
"I saw Mr. Davis walking on the ramparts," I wrote to ex-Governor
Clay. "His beard and hair are white, and he is thin to
emaciation, but walked like a President still."

        Upon my arrival at the Fortress early in '66, I found Mr.
Clay established in Carroll Hall, in what, in view of his earlier
surroundings, was a comfortable room. It was perhaps sixteen feet
square, and was lighted by two fairly large windows which opened
toward the front of the building, but were heavily barred with
iron, as was also the entrance. The cot upon which my husband
slept was much too short for his comfort, and a stool was the
only seat at his disposal.

        After a survey of Mr. Clay's quarters, I at once called
the attention of General Miles to the shortcomings of the cot and
the absence of a chair, and in a few hours a mattress
sufficiently long and two chairs were brought in. I also
requested that a drugget be placed upon the floor of Mr. Davis's
room, in order that the noise caused by the change of guard might
be diminished; for, in his nervous state, it was said, he
suffered greatly by reason of it. This, I believe, was also
conceded. My husband had converted the window-sills of his room
into a buffet and book-shelf, respectively, on one of which were
kept his medicines and such tidbits and delicacies as were now
from time to time sent to him by Dr. Withers, our cousin, or
which I carried in with me from Washington friends. On the other,
his meagre supply of books, the Bible and Jay's Prayers being the
principal volumes.

Page 349

        But for his own scrupulous cleanliness, Mr. Clay's life
must long ago have succumbed to his unparalleled deprivations in
that cruel imprisonment. So neatly had he kept his cell and room,
however, that they were the wonder of all his attendants. It was
his custom, when he took his morning bath (he told me), to stand
the basin first in one and then another position in the room,
splashing the water about as far as he could, after which he
would take the broom with which he was provided and brush the wet
portions clean! To such depths of cruelty did the agents of Mr.
Stanton and Mr. Holt condemn a delicate scholar - a former
friend, recently a United States Senator, whose name throughout
the land was the synonym for unfailing integrity, against whom
the United States as yet seemingly had not found a single charge
on which he might be brought to trial!

        I learned of many instances of insult offered to Mr. Clay
by his rude first custodians. Upon one occasion, reminded of it
by the sound of the dull-splashing waters without the walls of
his cell, my husband conceived the idea that a salt bath would
assist in strengthening him. He therefore asked the attendant for
the day if, instead of the fresh water usually supplied to him,
he would bring him some salt water. The man's reply was emphatic.

        "You damned Rebel!" he said. "You may thank God you get
any water. You don't deserve to have any!"

        My husband, whose nature was of the tenderest and most
patient, especially with the ignorant, answered very quietly, "I
am thankful for any water!" His reply illustrated anew the magic
of the soft answer, for the soldier, looking very much ashamed,
spoke in a moment in a very different manner.

        "Forgive me, Mr. Clay," he said, "I don't know why I did
it. I've got nothing against you. Guess it's a kind of habit of
damning Johnny Rebs! I'll get you the water. I believe you're a
Christian gentleman!"

Page 350

        On the evening of the first day of my second visit to the
Fortress, I encountered Dr. Cooper, against whom, it will be
recalled, Dr. Craven had warned me. To the prisoner he had always
revealed himself as a man of strictly unsocial manner, not to say
an austere and pitiless one. During the first day of my visit to
the Fort, I saw nothing; of him. It was dark when I left my
husband's cell and set out, escorted by Lieutenant Stone, for the
little hotel outside the ramparts. Once outside of the prison,
the air was chill, and so silent, save for a strong wind, that I
was conscious of no sound save it and the swashing of the waters
against the stone walls of the Fort. Its cadence was weird and
full of melancholy. As the doors of the prison closed behind us,
I saw in the shadows a curious figure coming directly toward us.
It was clad in a long, loose, flapping dressing-gown, and in its
mouth was a pipe in which glowed a live spark of tobacco. I
observed my guard looking straight ahead and apparently
unobservant; but he said, under his breath and in a tone only
audible to me, "Here comes Dr. Cooper!"

        Another moment and the figure was beside us.

        "Stone," said a gruff voice, "present me to Mrs. Clay!"

        My escort complied promptly, and then, to my alarm,
hastened away at once, leaving me dismayed and apprehensive, in
the care of the "blackest of Black Republicans" and one who would
"show me no mercy!"

        "Madam!" said the Doctor, whose features I could scarcely
discern in the dusk, "my wife wishes you to accept the
hospitality of our house to-night!"

        Had the man turned suddenly and clasped manacles about my
wrists, I could scarcely have been more startled.

        "I beg your pardon!" I stammered. "I am on my way to
General Miles's headquarters for my passport with which to leave
the Fort. I have not the privilege of remaining within the
ramparts over night."

        "Nonsense, Madam!" replied the Doctor, almost rudely.

Page 351

"My wife expects you! We soldiers have no luxuries and but few
comforts, but we can give you shelter and save General Miles some
trouble in sending you to and fro!" And he started rapidly across
the stone walk. I followed him in silence for some distance,
hardly knowing why I did so, my mind busy conjuring up the
possible significance of his conduct, and alert to meet the
unknown perils into which it was possible I was being led.
Presently the Doctor, between puffs of tobacco, asked, "Ever been
here before?"

        "Yes!" I answered, sorrowfully enough, but with some
pride, too, unless at that moment I proved untrue to myself,
which I know I did not. "Yes! I was here during President
Pierce's administration, when my husband was an honoured Senator,
and I, beside Secretary Dobbin, looked on the brilliant rockets
that wrote the names of Pierce and Davis across the night sky!" I
was sad at the thought of that joyful occasion and the contrast
the present afforded me. Suddenly the Doctor, who had been
chewing most ostentatiously at his pipe, edged up to me and said,
in a low voice:

        "Cheer up! Cheer up! Cheer up! Madam!" He spoke so
rapidly that I hardly realised the significance of his words.
They sounded exactly like "chirrup, chirrup, chirrup, Madam." "My
wife," he added, still in that low-guarded voice, "is the
damnedest Rebel out, except yourself, Madam!"

        I was dumbfounded! He, Dr. Cooper, the blackest of Black
Republicans, etc., against whom I had been warned so 
emphatically? A flood of gratitude rushed over me. Half crying, I
turned to grasp his hand and thank him, but seeing my intention,
he drew away, saying sharply, "None of that, Madam! None o'
that!" and, increasing his gait suddenly, almost flew before me,
his long gown rising in his wake most ludicrously, as he made for
a dark cottage that now began to shape itself out of

Page 352

the gloom. It was so small that until we were almost upon it I
had not perceived it. Every window it boasted was mysteriously
dark.

        My guide pushed open the door, however, and entered, I
following him mechanically. The door closed behind me, and it
seemed automatically, as the Doctor disappeared from view; but,
in a moment, I found myself in the friendly embrace of the
Doctor's wife, one of the loveliest of women, Elva Cooper.

        "Be of good cheer, my sweet sister!" she said, as her
tears flowed in sympathy with mine. "You are in the right place.
There is nothing under heaven you would do for Mr. Davis or Mr.
Clay that I will not do. I am an Old Point Comfort woman, born
here. My mother is a Virginian," she continued, "and is with me;
and you must know my little Georgette. We are all Rebels of the
first water!" and this I found to be true.

        This strangely God-given friend, Elva Jones Cooper, with
whom I remained four days and nights, never flagged in her
devotion to me and the prisoners. I saw her many times in my
several visits to the Fort, and on numberless occasions had
reason to note the womanly expression of her sympathy. Quite
frequently she would prepare with her own hands a dainty
breakfast, write on a card, "By order of Dr. C-," and send to one
or the other of the prisoners.

        I once saw her gather from a box of growing violets a
small bunch of flowers, tie them with a strand of her shining
hair, and drop them into her husband's hat, saying, "Put that hat
where Mr. Clay can see it. He shall smell violets, even though he
is a prisoner!"

        Mrs. Cooper was young, not thirty; beautiful in form and
face; snowy skin and raven hair and eyes; tall, commanding, and
graceful. My husband, on seeing her, exclaimed, "Maid of
Saragossa!" And very appropriately did he transfer to her this
poetic title.

Page 353

        Outwardly, Dr. Cooper's deportment to me was barely
civil, and so continued. I dared not ask one favour, so stern and
seemingly implacably did he deport himself toward my husband and
me, toward our section and the cause for which we were suffering;
yet, in the months to come, as on that memorable night of January
21, 1866, many an occasion arose to convince me that Dr. Craven's
successor, after all, was actuated by a genuine feeling of
humanity toward the State prisoners, and I soon grew to recognise
in him a lamb in wolf's clothing.

Page 354

                         CHAPTER XXIX
         PRESIDENT JOHNSON HEARS WHAT THE "PEOPLE SAY"

        UPON my return from the Fort on the 30th of January I
redoubled my pleadings for Mr. Clay's release, both by
correspondence and by visits to the White House. The President's
bearing toward me was courteous and friendly, though it was
apparent the confusion of the times and the pressure which was
being brought upon him on every side was troubling him; but,
notwithstanding that he listened and with every evidence of
sympathy, Mr. Johnson continued irresolute, deferring from time
to time on what, in fact, seemed the most trivial excuses, the
issuing of the release papers. If I called once at the White
House during the weeks that followed, I called fifty times,
incessantly suing for my husband's freedom, and adding sometimes
a plea for the pardons of friends and neighbours in Huntsville
who were eager to resume their normal positions in the community.
In the middle of February I was enabled to write home as follows:

        "My Dear Father: I send your long-sued-for pardon. Act
upon its requirements at once! I am pressing my husband's case
and never mean to stop until success crowns my efforts. I am
emboldened to hope the day not far distant when he will be a free
man! Great political excitement now reigns. ... The President
is very kind to me always."

        Notwithstanding there were times when my own heart sank
to an almost hopeless state, I wrote thus hopefully to the
patriarch at home, for each post told me of his increasing
feebleness, and I longed to sustain him, at least until my
husband's release was accomplished.

Page 355

        "God bless you!" wrote my sister, Mrs. J. Withers Clay,
early in March, "and give you success! I asked father to send you
some special message. He replied, 'Give her my best love, and
tell her for God's sake to tell me when my poor boy will be
pardoned!' "

        These appeals, as will be understood, were the private
agonies which acted like a lash to spur me to the end of the task
of securing my husband's freedom, and to stimulate me, even in
the face of the continued delays which now were become so
inexplicable.

        Early in February a change in public feeling began to be
made manifest in the press. The mystery of the detention of the
prisoners at Fortress Monroe without trial was arousing
curiosity. The New York Herald, thanks to the intervention of our
friend, Colonel Robert Barnwell Rhett (of the doughty and
fearless Charleston Mercury), who had presented Mr. Clay's case
to Mr. Bennett, now began to make inquiry in the cases of the
unjustly treated prisoners.

        "Dear Mrs. Clay," wrote Colonel Rhett, late in December,
"having the opportunity of a good talk with Mr. Bennett, of the
New York Herald, day before yesterday, I urged him to come out
for the release of your husband. He said he did not know much
about the business! I told him Mr. Clay was universally
recognised to be one of the purest and most high-minded public
men in the country - one wholly incapable of anything criminal or
questionable; and that he had gone to Canada at the solicitation
of Mr. Davis to communicate with the Peace Party of the North. I
reminded him that, after the collapse of the Confederate
Government, when a reward was offered for his arrest, Mr. Clay
had voluntarily and promptly surrendered himself, asking an
investigation; and that no intelligent man in the country who
knew anything of our public men believed the charges to be other
than frivolous and absurd. I added

Page 356

that Mr. Clay's prolonged captivity was regarded simply as an
outrage on propriety, and that if he, Mr. Bennett, would take the
subject in hand, he would greatly gratify the Southern people.

        "He showed an interest in the matter, and said he would
take it up in the Herald. That paper, you are aware, aims to 
reflect current public opinion, irrespective of parties, and now
warmly supports President Johnson against the Radicals. It is a
great power, and by preparing the public mind and strengthening
the President, may aid you efficiently."

        The results of this interview by no means met the hopes
of Colonel Rhett, however; for the utterances of Mr. Bennett's
paper were few and guarded. But they were as a straw showing the
veering of the wind.

        "I was disappointed in Mr. Bennett's fulfilment of his
promise to speak in Mr. Clay's behalf in the Herald," ran a
second letter from our friend. "A few incidental expressions of
opinion and a communication published did not come up to my
expectations. If you feel disposed to write, Mrs. Bennett is the
channel by which to reach him. She told me she sympathised with
the South in her feelings, and admired Southerners ... .In
failing to deal with the case as you present it, the President
must be very feeble in the article of nerve, touching his War
Secretary and other Radical adversaries. Yet the widow prevailed
with the unjust Judge, and I trust your importunity may weary the
cautious Tennesseean into decided steps for Mr. Clay's release!

                                                    "Yours, etc.,
                                             "R. BARNWELL RHETT."

        Early in the month of February two important letters
reached me through Mr. R. J. Haldeman. They were addressed to the
President, and bore the signature of Thaddeus Stevens and R. J.
Walker, respectively. Since my letter addressed to him in May,
1865, Mr. Haldeman's

Page 357

efforts had been unremitting to interest in my husband's behalf
those whose recommendations were likely to have most weight with
the President and his advisers. He now wrote me as follows:

"MRS. C. C. CLAY, JR.

        "My Dear Madam: I inclose you a very handsome letter from
the Honourable R. J. Walker to the President. I also sent you the
letter of Mr. Stevens, which has become of some importance in
view of Mr. Stevens's recent utterances. Mr. Walker considers it
of the highest importance, and wonders how I obtained it.

        "After seeing you, I called on Mr. S- in reference to the
proposed visit (to you), but found him brooding over the violent
speech which he has since made. I did not therefore deem it
prudent to insist upon the performance of his promise, and am
confirmed in my judgment by events.

        "During the day I heard something which convinced me the
President would not then act. This I could not bring myself to
tell you, and therefore obeyed a hasty summons to New York by an
unceremonious departure from Washington. As the future unfolds, I
hope to be again at Washington, and at the propitious moment. I
hope you will keep up your good spirits, for, upon the faith of a
somewhat phlegmatic and never over-sanguine Dutchman, I think the
period of Mr. Clay's release approaches rapidly... Mr.
Walker, however, desires me to say to you that 'as we must all go
to Clay at last, why not go at once?' I think this pointed
witticism would bear repetition to the President. I am, very
respectfully, Madam,

                                                           Yours,
                                                "R. J. HALDEMAN."

"February 3, 1866.

        As I had done in the case of General Grant's letter, I
now hastened to send to the President the letters from Thaddeus
Stevens and Judge Walker, both of whom recommended the prompt
release of Mr. Clay. The letter from R. J. Walker was what might
have been expected from an old friend of Mr. Clay's; that from
Mr. Stevens, the most radical of Radicals, was a source of some
astonishment. It was not the only surprise of those weeks,
however.

Page 358

        "I have had strange visitors lately," I wrote to father.
"Some extremists of the Radical party have called upon me to 
assure me of their belief in my husband's innocence!" And in my
diary of the 14th of that fateful February, I find entered: "When
will wonders cease? Who but the Honourable Mr. Wilson, of
Massachusetts, has called, and voluntarily, to say he will do
anything in his power for me or Mr. Clay; knows he is innocent;
believes Mr. Davis to be also innocent! It is the goodness of
God!"

        The circumstances of Mr. Wilson's unexpected visit were
altogether dramatic. I was seated at the dinner-table with the
family of Mrs. Parker, when, it being still early in the evening,
a visitor was announced who declined to give his name or the
purpose for which he had called.

        "Tell Mrs. Clay that a friend wishes to see her," was his
message. A sudden remembrance flashed over me, and, indeed, over
the friends around me, of the secret warning I had received just
after my arrival in Washington, viz.: that I must be on my guard
against strange visitors. After a few moments' consultation with
the family, I decided to see the stranger. Doctor Maury, Mrs.
Parker's son-in-law (who had been Chief of Staff on General
Longstreet's medical staff, and was a brave and charming man),
accompanied me to the drawing-room door, encouraging me by
telling me to have no fear, as he would remain near by. As I
entered the room the Doctor drew back into the hall. He was
prepared, he assured me, for any emergency.

        Great, indeed, was my astonishment upon entering, to see,
rising to meet me, Senator Wilson, Vice-President of the United
States! To that moment I had had no acquaintance with the
Massachusetts Senator, though I had seen him often on the floor
of the Senate. Though seized with an inward panic of apprehension
that he

Page 359

was the bearer of some dreadful tidings, I took the proffered
hand of my strange visitor, obeying mechanically an instinct of
responsive courtesy. For a moment, however, fear made me
speechless. At last, Mr. Wilson broke the painful silence.

        "You are doubtless surprised to see me," he said.

        "Unutterably so!" I rejoined. "Please tell me quickly why
you have come, and end this agony of suspense!" And I burst into
tears.

        "Do not weep, dear Madam!" said Mr. Wilson. "Mr. Clay is
well, and I have come to tell you that I deeply sympathise with
you and desire to help you to obtain his release!"

        "Mr. Clay's surrender," Mr. Wilson continued, "reflects
great honour upon him. He is a brave and good man. Though he and
I were opposed in politics, I have always respected Mr. Clay.
Even his enemies on my side of the Chamber always knew where to
find the Senator from Alabama!"

        My heart was so full as I listened to these words, I
could not make answer to this tribute to the worth of my
suffering husband but by a fresh flow of tears. Somehow, as he
stood before me, the erstwhile shoemaker of Nantucket seemed
stamped with the seal of nobility from God! I did not then know
his kindly nature, and those to whom I related the incident of
this visit said nothing to impress me with the sincerity of
Senator Wilson's act. On the contrary, many assured me that some
selfish and sinister motive impelled the interview, and that Mr.
Wilson would not commit himself by writing what he had spoken. A
friend to whom I wrote an account of the visit, replied,
counselling me as follows:

        "I do not personally know Mr. Wilson, but believe him,
from report, to be tricky, unscrupulous, and only hypocritically
fanatical. Mr. Stevens may have spoken

Page 360

to him, or Mr. Sumner (whom, you remember, I saw); or he may have
wished to approach the President through an opening which he
supposed congenial to the President's wishes. However, your
course is clear. Commit Mr. Wilson by a letter to the President,
so that when the fight waxes furious he may not be able to take
advantage of what the President may do. I consider it a good sign
that the President desires to keep the letters of Messrs. Stevens
and Walker."

        In the meantime I had spoken of the incident with warm
enthusiasm to Mr. Johnson. He replied very much as others had
done; to wit., that Mr. Wilson would not commit to writing the
sentiments he had expressed verbally to me.

        "He fears the Radical press too much," said the
President.

        Nettled somewhat at this distrust, I assured Mr. Johnson
of my faith in his Vice-President; that I would get the letter
from him, and voluntarily. "If not," I added, somewhat stung by
his cynicism, "I will extort it!"

        Shrugging his shoulders, and casting up one eye, a
characteristic habit of the President, he asked, "How?"

        "Simply," I replied, "by an avowal that I will give to
the Herald and other papers the whole affair, telling how the
Honourable Senator had come, secretly, by night, like Nicodemus,
to deceive by false promises a sorrowful woman, for some base
reason best known to himself!"

        Leaving the President still with an incredulous smile
upon his face, I returned to my asylum at Mrs. Parker's, and
shortly addressed Mr. Wilson a note, expressive of my wish. A
reply, under his own frank, reached me early in March, and I bore
it in some triumph to the President. The Vice-President's letter,
a copy of which I afterward secured, was dated from the "United
States Senate Chamber, Washington, March 3, 1866." It was
addressed to

Page 361

"HIS EXCELLENCY, THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES.

        "Sir" [the letter began]: "Mrs. Clay, the wife of Clement
C. Clay, is now in the city, and has requested me to obtain
permission for her husband to go to his home on parole. His
father is said to be at the point of death, his mother recently
deceased, and, if there be no objections or reasons unknown to me
why the request of Mrs. Clay should be denied, I have no
hesitation in recommending its favourable consideration, if only
from motives of humanity, as I have no doubt Mr. Clay will be
forthcoming when his presence is again required by the
Government.

"I have the honour to be,

                       "Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
                                           (Signed.) "H. WILSON."

        Some six weeks later, when Mr. Clay's release was at last
accomplished, and the press was busy with comments upon it, the
names of the gentlemen who had written to the President on my
husband's behalf being enumerated, some of the Radical papers
attempted to deny the probability of Mr. Wilson's intercession;
which was, as it appeared to me, a singularly useless thing to
do, since his letter was already filed among the Government's
archives. But the air everywhere was full of political
revolution, and parties and partisans did not hesitate to resort
to such means in their endeavour to effect the desired feeling in
the public mind.

        Every step taken by the President in those days was
opposed or attacked. In my efforts to accomplish my husband's
release, I came in contact with many good and earnest men,
anxious to serve Mr. Clay and me, though often wholly
disapproving of Mr. Johnson's weak course. The retention of Mr.
Stanton in the Cabinet was peculiarly offensive to a great many.
Wherever a political meeting was held, Mr. Johnson was liable to
vituperative assault. Private conversation teemed with rumours of
a growing and increasingly violent opposition.

        In view of Mr. Johnson's demonstrated kindliness to me,
it was not only loyal to the President, but, I hoped,

Page 362

would prove protective to Mr. Clay's interest, that I should give
the Executive the benefits of some of the warnings I had heard by
no means privately uttered. I, therefore, spoke to him
fearlessly, and wrote to him no less unrestrainedly.

        A few days after Mr. Wilson's visit, I wrote to Mr.
Johnson in this wise, my letter being dated February 16th:

"MR. PRESIDENT.

        "Dear Friend: Fearing I may not see you this morning, I
fortify myself with this note. I go up [to the War Department]
hoping for my father's correspondence. If I get neither, may I
beg to remind you of your promises? I have some strange things to
tell you... Rumour says that 'the people say,' 'If Mr. J- does
not support them versus the Radicals, they will call on General
Grant!' I know you will not falter, and are not to be intimidated
by threats from brave men, far less cowards ... .Will you not
send me one line? Do! and say the wheel has advanced one notch
toward the day of deliverance!"

        A letter received after sending the above missive, in
addition to the conferences I held daily with Judges Black and
Hughes, and with others calculated by their established judicial
and political worth to aid me, had its share in stimulating me to
press my arguments home more and more confidently in my future
interviews with Mr. Johnson.

        "I was spectator yesterday in a Democratic Convention in
an adjoining County (Harrisburg)," ran the letter, "when the news
of the veto was brought. A resolution of approval was immediately
adopted, and I, being seen in the crowd, was called out. I raised
such a storm in fifteen minutes as would have done the
President's heart good to have witnessed. The people are
palpitating with eagerness to have the battle- ground defined,
foggy constructions and platforms removed, so that they may
charge upon the foes to a restored and tranquil Union.

Page 363
        "Alea jacta est: Mr. Johnson has put his hand to the
plow, and cannot look back ... He has shown the very highest
order of statesmanship in that command of himself and ability to
bide his time, amid unexampled embarrassments, which have won for
him the confidence of reflecting men. But could you not gently
insinuate some day that, hereafter, the great debate, on appeal,
is to be carried before the Tribunal of the American people in
the case of the President versus Congress? ... .Many of Mr.
Lincoln's acts, wrong in themselves, were nevertheless pardoned
or applauded, because they evinced energy, courage or willingness
to shoulder responsibility ... 

        "As one of the people, ... and accustomed to 'pulse'
the public, I think I may unhesitatingly assert that Mr. Johnson 
would gain immensely by no longer waiting to be attacked and
undermined, but boldly striking his country's and his own
enemies. If he would break out before witnesses into indignant
denunciation of Mr. Stanton for having attempted to sap the
foundation of liberty, and that, therefore, he is unfit to be in
the Government of a free people, a thrill of joy would course
like electricity through the land. Let the contest be only
strictly defined; let the President, with a cabinet of friends,
stand forward as the defender of peace and Union against a
Congress which seeks to perpetuate strife, discord, and disunion,
and we will, by meetings held in every county of the North, so
arouse the people in support of our constitutional and law-
abiding President against a lawless and usurping Congress, that
it would be comparing small things to great to compare it with
the pressure which General Monk and the people of England brought
to bear upon the fanatical Parliament in behalf of Charles II."

        A few days after the receipt of this letter, while on my
way to call upon the President, and in the company of

Page 364

my faithful friend, Mrs. Bouligny, I met Mr. Stanton descending
the stairs of the White House. I saw by the Secretary's manner
that he recognised me. Indeed, there was a half-inclination of
the head, as if he had expected me to bow to him. I did not do
so. The innate contempt I felt for this despotic Secretary of
War, whom I knew to be the power upholding Mr. Holt, who was so
cruelly detaining my husband, froze my manner into a hauteur I
could not easily have assumed. I went angrily to my appointment.

        As I entered the parlour in which the President stood
ready to receive me, I immediately broke into the subject to
which I so continually had returned at each of my many visits
during the past three months. But the President interposed a
question.


        "Did you meet Stanton as you came in?" he asked.

        "I did!" I replied. "And he had the audacity to bow to
me!"

        "The scoundrel!" ejaculated the President. "He has been
here an hour clamouring for the blood of Davis and Clay!"

        "But you will release them?" I asked.

        "You must be patient," answered Mr. Johnson. "I must
detain them a little longer to satisfy public clamour!"

        At this my indignation rose. In augmenting emotion I
recapitulated the letters and indorsements I had brought to him
urging my husband's release. I reiterated my reasons why the
recommendations of these gentlemen should have weight with him. I
referred to my husband's inability to combat the charges that had
been made against him, while denied trial, the access of counsel,
or his release from custody. I described his ill-health and the
aged father at home, now so near to death; I rehearsed my
husband's past services to his country and the dishonourable way
in which the

Page 365

Government had acted toward this self-surrendered prisoner. I
spoke the thoughts that rose in my heart, irrespective of the
consequences, and, having massed my arguments in this way, I
summed them all up in one uncontrollable protest:

        "And now, Mr. President," I asked, "in the name of God,
what doth hinder? In view of all these things, does it not seem
that you are the lion in the path? Please tell me who was
benefited by Mr. Lincoln's death? Was it Clement C. Clay? What
good accrued to him from the murder? He was the loved
representative of a proud constituency. He is now pining in
solitary confinement. You, Mr. Johnson, are the one man
benefited! You have succeeded to the highest office in the gift
of the people! You, through this elevation, have become the
centre of a nation's hopes, the arbiter of life and death!" I
paused in my plea, at a movement of deprecation made by the
President, but I would not be halted.

        "You have promised me," I continued, "and Heaven knows
how I thank you for it, that never while you sit in the
Presidential chair will you surrender to the Military Commission
the two prisoners in Fortress Monroe. In that, you have saved
their lives! I have not the shadow of a doubt but that execution,
and that in chains, as in Mrs. Surratt's case, might have taken
place. But, when, notwithstanding the recommendations of such men
as General Grant, Thaddeus Stevens, Judge Walker, and Henry
Wilson, I see you waiting for 'public clamour' to subside, and,
at the same time, in counsel with your Secretary of War, I am
afraid. Again I implore you to stand firmly, my friend; thus far,
at least, by not yielding to the desires of that wicked
Commission and staining your soul with innocent blood!"

        Turning, my eyes rested upon the marble bust of the late
President, and I said, "Whose bust is that?"

        "Mr. Lincoln's," was the surprised reply.

Page 366

        "I know it!" I answered. "But is he not a dead President?
And why, may I ask, do you, a living one, stand surrounded by his
Cabinet? Why do you not reach out to the great conservative heart
of this Nation and select your own Cabinet? Why not become the
popular head, as you can become? So long as you stand, Mr.
President, as the barrier between your Military Commission and my
husband and Mr. Davis, so long will I dare to be your friend to
the extent of telling you what the people say of you!"

        "Well, what do they say?" asked the President, with an
air of indifference which, it was obvious, was assumed.

        "They say," I replied, "that you should get rid of Mr.
Lincoln's Cabinet; that you should surround yourself with a
Cabinet of your own! Why do you hobble yourself with a dead man's
advisers? They say, too, you are swinging in too circumscribed a
circle! I have even heard," I added, "hints of 'impeachment'
uttered in connection with the dissatisfaction resulting from
your administration!"

        During my bold speech the President gave evidence of
being deeply moved, if not irritated, by my revelations; and,
feeling that I had said enough, if, indeed, not too much, in the
intensity of my feelings, Mrs. Bouligny and I withdrew. Ere we
left him, however, the President assured me, as he so often had
done (though he said the words over each time with an earnest
gravity that was void of consciousness of his repetition), that
he would "confer as to the release in our next Cabinet meeting!"

Page 367

CHAPTER XXX
THE GOVERNMENT YIELDS ITS PRISONER

        BY the early spring of '66 the faces of old friends began
to reappear in the Northern cities. New York, which I necessarily
visited at times during those eventful months, when not at the
Fort with Mr. Clay or beseeching the President on his behalf, was
crowded with Southern people, many of whom were returning from
abroad, or were industriously seeking to reestablish business
connections. In the capital one met on every hand friends of the
ante-bellum days, saddened and changed, it might be, in fortune,
but brave-spirited and walking with heads upright and hearts
strong to meet the future. "I am persuaded that our States and
people are to be prosperous, despite the portentous clouds which
are now around us," wrote Mr. Mallory, from Bridgeport,
Connecticut, where, now an invalid, he was constrained to remain;
"and that the day is not far distant when you and your
incomparable lord, with other congenial spirits, will smile at
fate and look back to the paths we are now treading with more of
pride than of sorrow! My love to Clay. God love him! What would I
not give to be able to serve him!"

        A spirit as loyal and comforting to us pervaded the
circle of old-time associates in Washington, and permeated the
newer ones who had gathered about me in my adversity. Mrs.
Parker, the brilliant hostess of the Buchanan days, who now so
hospitably had thrown open her home to me, proved an unsparing
and faithful friend. Her hospitality to me and to the legion of
other friends

Page 368

who flocked to offer their sympathy and services to me was
unstinted, and the several members of her family vied with each
other in extending their kindnesses and protection to me.

        Among the friends who reappeared in Washington about this
time, my diary notes the calls upon me early in '66 of fair
Constance Cary and her fiancé, Burton Harrison, * long since
released from the imprisonment which, for a time, he shared with
Mr. Davis; of my kinswoman, Mrs. Polk, of North Carolina, and of
Madame Le Vert, the brilliant Octavia Walton, who, almost three
decades before, had led all other fascinating beauties in the
capital. Accompanied by her daughters, Mme. Le Vert had returned
to the North to intercede for the pardons of General Beauregard
and others of her kin and friends. Her comings and goings were
heralded everywhere. She was the distinguished member of the
Southern coterie in New York, whence frequent trips were made to
the capital, and it was commonly remarked that the charm of her
personality had suffered no diminution with the increase of
years.

        Our beloved General Lee, who had been summoned to
Washington to appear before the Reconstruction Committee, was the
lion of the day. I saw him several times, surrounded by hosts of
admirers, the ladies begging for mementoes, buttons - anything,
in fact, he might be persuaded to give up, while he, modest and
benevolent, yielded helplessly to their demands. It was during
these months that I became acquainted with the lovely Mme. de
Podestad, General Lee's kinswoman, who was both witty and
beautiful. For a number of years, as the wife of one of the
Spanish Minister's suite, she was a conspicuous member of
Washington society. Going thence to Spain, she became lady-in-
waiting to the Queen. Madame de Podestad was a devoted admirer of

* Mr. Harrison died in Washington, March 29, 1904. A. S.

Page 369

her heroic kinsman, and I saw much of her in those memorable days
of '66.

        It was a time of intense political excitement. The strife
over the Civil Rights bill was the absorbing topic everywhere.
The "returning good sense of the people," upon which the
President so long had appeared to depend, was less apparent than
he had hoped, and to many astute minds the air seemed to vibrate
with premonitions of the Government's overthrow. Cabinet changes
were so earnestly desired that a discussion of that body became
part of every conversation. Mr. Johnson's absorption in the
progress of the Civil Rights bill was so great, that, upon my
return from a visit to my husband, early in April, realising the
inadvisability and the inconsiderateness of pressing my demands
at that moment, I yielded to the urgings of my friends and
entered upon a short season of diversion. I remember to have
visited, in company with Senator Bright and Mr. Voorhees, the
studio of Vinnie Reames, whose vogue in Washington was then at
its height; and I indulged in a pleasure trip to Baltimore, where
a great fair was in progress which had been arranged by the
patriotic ladies of that city. Contributions had poured in, and
half the capital was in attendance.

        "Mrs. Johnson sent a superb basket of flowers," reads the
account I sent home, "which was raffled for sixty dollars! A
portrait of the President was bought and sent to her. Also
General Johnston's and General Lee's were bought and sent to
their wives. Mr. Corcoran won the portrait of 'Stonewall'
Jackson. Admiral Semmes was present one day, and he and I
promenaded the rooms together. Though not the 'Pirate's Bride,' I
was proud of his company. A robe de chambre for Mr. Davis and a
superb pillow for Mr. Clay are in my possession. Will take them
soon! Ross Wynans," I added, in describing the more generous
donations sent

Page 370

to the energetic ladies, "has sent one hundred thousand dollars,
and an English gentleman twenty-five thousand!"

        Admiral Semmes was the most recent of the State prisoners
to be released, and his appearance at the fair was the signal for
a lively enthusiasm. By this time Mr. Stephens, our late Vice-
President, was a free man, and thrice had called upon me in
Washington to offer sympathetic suggestions concerning the case
of my husband, so inexplicably detained. Our dear friend, ex-
Secretary of the Navy Mallory, had been given his liberty early
in March.

        "Deeply anxious about your good husband," Mr. Mallory
wrote, early in April, "I have deferred writing to you from day
to day since my release, confident that I would soon be able to
congratulate you upon his release. Persuaded that he will never
be called upon seriously to respond to the charge upon which he
was incarcerated, and unable to perceive any reason or motive for
discriminating between him and others, myself included, who
laboured in the Confederate cause, I am at a loss to conceive why
this confinement continues. Of course, I fully appreciate the
character of the struggle between the two great departments of
the Government, and the embarrassments which it throws in the
President's path; and hence I attribute to this cause all which
affects Mr. Clay, and which I cannot otherwise account for. But
the restoration of civil law throughout the country opens a way
which his friends may very properly take ... and I have been
prepared to learn it has been entered upon!"

        A resort to the habeas corpus proceedings thus suggested
by Mr. Mallory had already been discussed by Judge Black as a
step to be taken when all other efforts had proved unsuccessful.
By the fourteenth of March, Mr. Johnson's courage to act in
behalf of Mr. Clay had risen to the point of procuring for him
the liberty of the Fort

Page 371

without guard, from sunrise to sunset, which order I had carried
at once to General Miles.

        "I have not yet called upon the President," I wrote
father upon my return from Fortress Monroe, on the 29th of March,
"but will report myself to-morrow and ask of him that no
revocation of the late order shall be made. I shall urge Mr.
Clay's release, if only temporary, that he may come and see you
and help you arrange your business ... .The Radical pressure on
the President is fearful. They have expelled Foote, and have
persuaded Stewart, of Nevada, his son-in-law, to desert his
colours and cause, and they may pass the veto over the
President's manly veto of the Civil Rights bill. But President
Johnson will fall, if fall he must, battling!"

        The records of my calls upon the Executive during the
weeks that followed almost might be traced by the many pencilled
cards sent me by Mr. Johnson from time to time.

        "It will be impossible for me to see you until it is too
late. I am pressed to death!" reads one. "There is a committee
here in consultation; I cannot tell what time they will leave. I
fear too late, but see if in twenty minutes," runs another. And a
third, "Some matters of importance are now transpiring. I will
see you at anytime, but would prefer passing the answer until
Saturday." Weeks passed thus in futile calls and beseechings,
until, having tested every expedient to hasten the President to
the fulfilling of his promise, my patience was exhausted.

        "Again I am under the necessity of writing," I began in a
letter to my sister, dated the fourteenth of April, "without
announcing my husband's release! Nor can I give you any definite
information save what I mean to do and wish others to do. I am at
this moment from the President's; did not see him, but left a
note inquiring when I could, and [asked] to be informed by note,
which

Page 372

he often does in my case. He shall tell me in this interview
whether he means speedily to release Mr. Clay. If not, then I
will have issued the writ of habeas corpus, unless Judge Black
oppose it!"

        At eleven o'clock at night, however, I added, "The
President sent for me to-night, and I have strong hopes that Mr.
Clay will be released in a few days! I will telegraph you
immediately when it occurs. I pray Heaven it may be ere this
reaches you!"

        Three days later, accompanied by my faithful friend, Mrs.
Bouligny, I again called upon the President. It was eight o'clock
in the evening. Having detected, as I believed, a disposition on
Mr. Johnson's part yet further to procrastinate, notwithstanding
his recent promises that he would order Mr. Clay's release, I was
resolved not to leave the White House again without the requisite
papers. I announced this intention to the President as he greeted
us, asking him at the same time whether he would not spare me
another moment's anxiety and write me the long- petitioned-for
order for Mr. Clay's release.

        Mr. Johnson's mood was light. He repeated some of the on
dits of the day, trying in various ways to divert me from my
object, to which, however, I as often persistently returned. From
time to time other visitors entered to claim the President's
attention; or, he excused himself while he went into a Committee
meeting which was being held in an adjoining room. During such an
interval I sat at the President's desk and scribbled a short
letter in pencil to Mr. Clay. It was dated:

                           "EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON, D. C.,
                                                  April 17, 1866.

        "My precious husband!" I wrote. "Behold me seated in the
library of this house, in the President's chair, writing you the
'glad tidings of great joy!' The President has just gone in for a
few moments to see some gentlemen, and will bring me your release
papers when he returns! He told me on the

Page 373

fourteenth that he would try to have them, but not to be too
hopeful. So I came with some misgiving, to be relieved and
rejoiced. Ere this will reach you, you will be informed by
telegram of the release. I will telegraph you to-night. ...
Judge Black anxiously desires to see you, also Judge Hughes, both
kind friends to me!"

        It was still early in the evening when I wrote this
buoyant epistle, which immediate after-events scarcely bore out.
The President returned again and again to my companion and me,
but ten o'clock arrived and still the papers had not been given
me. I was growing more and more impatient, but upon reiterating
my intention not to leave without the papers, the President
became somewhat jocular. He invited Mrs. Bouligny and me to make
ourselves comfortable, his words being accompanied by an evasive
smile. My soul rose up in resentment at this!

        "You seem to be inclined to treat this matter lightly,
Mr. President," I said hotly. "I am indignant! I want the paper!"
Alas! my protest did not win me a direct compliance. The hands of
a nearby clock already pointed to eleven when, the President
having seated himself at a desk or writing-table that stood at
hand, I rose and stepped to his side.

        "Mr. President," I said, "are you going to give me that
paper? I will not go until you do!" My words were hurled at him
angrily. He looked up at me curiously, and the half-cynical smile
on his face changed. It was as if, notwithstanding the ardour
with which I had urged my demand throughout the evening, he now
for the first time realised I was not to be put off.

        "Give me the paper, Mr. Johnson!" I urged. "I am resolved
to have it!"

        My imperative demand at last proved effectual. The
President turned without further demur and wrote a brief note,
which, upon calling an attendant, he sent out

Page 374

immediately. In a few moments the messenger returned, bearing a
paper which read as follows:

                              "WAR DEPARTMENT, WASHINGTON, D. C.,
                                                 "April 17, 1866.

"ORDERED:
        "That Clement C. Clay, Jr., is hereby released from
confinement and permitted to return to and remain in the State of
Alabama, and to visit such other places in the United States as
his personal business may render absolutely necessary, upon the
following conditions, viz.: That he takes the oath of allegiance
to the United States, and gives his parole of honour, to conduct
himself as a loyal citizen of the same, and to report himself in
person at any time and place to answer any charges that may
hereafter be preferred against him by the United States.

                                      "By order of the President,
                                                 "E. D. TOWNSEND,
                                           "Ass't Adgt. General."

        The paper, prepared by the hand of an amanuensis, had
been written at and dated from the Executive Mansion, and a space
beneath had been reserved for the name of the Secretary of War.
When it reached my hand, however, the words at the top, viz.:
"Executive Mansion," had been crossed out and "War Department"
substituted; the space for signature had been filled in with the
name of Mr. Stanton's assistant, General Townsend, and the words
"Secretary of War" (below) had been crossed out. The changes were
made in a different ink from that used in the body of the paper.
The document was a curious additional proof of Mr. Stanton's
personal indisposition to release his illegally detained
prisoner, and of Mr. Johnson's equal evasion of the
responsibility of freeing him. As neither name appeared upon the
document, it would seem as if a "muddle" had been intended in the
event of some later complications arising.

        It was already toward the midnight hour when this
document was handed to me. I seized it eagerly, and,

Page 375

thanking the President for at last performing the act for which I
had so long pleaded, I hurried to the carriage which had been in
waiting and ordered the coachman to drive with all haste to the
telegraph office. As I parted from the President he expressed the
warmest good wishes for Mr. Clay's health and our future, and
pressed upon me an autographed carte de visite, which I took with
no less surprise than pleasure, being glad to see in the
politician before me this evidence of the inner, sympathetic man.
Though our horses dashed down the avenue at breakneck speed, it
was within a few moments of twelve o'clock when I hurried into
the telegraph office.

        "Can you send a telegram to-night?" I asked.

        "Yes, Madam," was the reply.

        Inexpressibly relieved, I dictated these words:

"HONOURABLE C. C. CLAY, Fort Monroe.

        "You are released! Have written you to-night.

                                                       "V. C. C."

        The President's telegram to the Fortress having been sent
simultaneously with mine, my husband was given his freedom the
next day. There remained, however, yet a few duties to perform
ere I might join him at Petersburg, whence we together were to
return to our beloved home; to Alabama, with its purple and
russet mountains and spreading valleys, its warm hearts and loyal
friends, and where waited the feeble and eager father, Ex-
Governor Clay, whose remaining tenure of life was to be so short.
There were kindnesses to be acknowledged ere I left the capital,
and on every side I met detaining hands overwhelming me with
congratulations on my success at last. The evening before my
departure, the venerable former Vice-President of the Confederate
States called upon me to extend his good wishes for the future.
Being deterred from coming in

Page 376

person, Judge Black wrote several notes full of his
characteristic impulsiveness.

        "Dear Madam," his messages ran, "tell your great and good
husband I could do nothing for him, because his magnificent wife
left nobody else a chance to serve him! I would have been proud
to have some share in his defense, but circumstances have denied
me the honour. I rejoice none the less in his happy deliverance,
and I have no right to envy you the privilege which you have used
so grandly, of vindicating his stainless name. His liberation
under the circumstances is a full acknowledgment that the charges
against him in the proclamation are infamously false. ... Your
note of yesterday evening literally took my breath away. After
you had done so much for yourself and I had done so little, nay,
less than nothing, you address me as if I had been your
benefactor merely because I rejoiced in your success. ... If I
say but little, you must not, therefore, suppose that I shall
ever forget your amazing eloquence, your steadfast courage under
circumstances which might have appalled the stoutest heart; your
unshaken faith where piety itself might almost have doubted the
justice of God; the prudence with which you instinctively saw
what was best to be done, and the delicacy which never allowed
the charms of the lady to be lost in the great qualities of the
heroine. These things are written down at full length in the book
of my memory, where every day I turn the leaf to read them. ...
I cannot forget your sad look when I saw you at Mrs. Parker's the
last time. Do not allow yourself to doubt the ultimate triumph of
justice. God has recorded among His unalterable decrees that no
lie shall live forever!

        "Remember, if I can serve you it will always seem like a
privilege to do it. In feudal times, when the liege man did
homage to his suzeraine, he put his head between her hands (if it
was a queen or a lady) and declared himself

Page 377

hers to do her commands; to be the friend of her friends, and the
enemy of her enemies, for life and limb and earthly honours.
Imagine the homage vowed in proper form, and claim your authority
as suzeraine whenever you please. I ought to add that Mrs. Black
was so wrought upon by your conversation that she has longed to
see you again, and her whole heart, an honest and good one as
ever beat, is yours."

        "You went to work like a true wife," was the message sent
by my dear old mess-mate, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, "and God blessed you
for it. Did you see Mr. Holt? I have heard he was our bitterest
enemy. Can it be so?"

        "Ten thousand thanks to God, my dear friend, for your
release!" wrote Mr. Mallory to my husband. "May He punish with
rigorous justice ... your unjustifiable and most cruel
incarceration! My wife and I, if indescribables would permit us,
would dance for joy to-day at the news of your release. Love to
your wife! God bless her bright spirit and noble heart; and may
we meet in Florida, one acre of whose barrens I would not give
for all New England!"

        From Mr. Lamar, "dear old Lushe," the following tender
word came: "Ah, my friend, you know not how often, how constantly
my heart has been with you! Often in the watches of the night,
when all around was hushed in sleep, have I wept over your fate!
 ... I have not time to write now, except to beg you to come
right here and make your abode with me. We have a large house.
Oh, do, Mr. Clay, do come and see me! I would share the last
dollar I have with you. Come, my friend, and live with me, and
let us henceforth be inseparable. Please come. I believe the
sight of you will restore my health; at least, if anything can.

                        "Your devoted brother, L. Q. C. LAMAR." *

* Mr. Clay's response to this letter is printed in Mayes' "Life
of Lamar." (Page 122.)

Page 378

        The sight of these letters of long ago sets the tears
gushing, and awakens a thousand tender memories of kind hearts
that long since ceased to beat to the emotions of pain or
pleasure. Oh! the vast army of men and women who, by their
sympathy in those last crucial days of my experiences in the
capital, were a buoy to my courage, and that of my husband,
broken in health, and heart, and spirit, as we turned back to our
home in Alabama!

        The news of his mother's death, which came to Mr. Clay a
few days after his release from Fortress Monroe, fell upon him
like a pall. I could not induce him to visit Washington, to which
city powerful friends had invited him. He had but one wish; to
return to his stricken father, far from the turbulent political
centre, where a man's life and honour were but as a pawn in the
hands of the unscrupulous politicians of that day.

        A few months and his father had passed away, gladdened,
despite the vicissitudes of his later days, that his cherished
son at last was restored to him. We laid the tired body beside
that of the little mother. Together they sleep in the valley that
smiles up so perennially to the crest of Monte Sano. A few years
of effort for my sake, to retain an interest in the world which
to his broken heart appeared so cruel and hollow, and my husband
withdrew to our mountain home, sweet with the incense of the
cedars; to his books and the contemplation of nature; to the
companionship of the simple and the young. Yet a few more years,
and he, too, fell wearily to sleep, and was put to rest beside
those he had so well loved. I can think of no more fitting close
to this portion of my memories than these brief quotations, from
some of the hundreds of tributes which came from all quarters of
the land, like the upwelling of healing springs in the desert,
when at last I was left alone.

        One who sat in the Senate Chamber in Washington,

Page 379

scanning a later generation of his fellows, all eager in the
strife for the fame that is the guerdon of the true statesman,
wrote thus of Mr. Clay, his predecessor:

        "You knew him best, having proved him, by a long
association in the sacred character of wife, in many years of
trial filled with memorable vicissitudes, as a true and knightly
gentleman, a devout Christian, a loyal husband and friend, a
patriot of the sternest type, a statesman of great ability, and
the devoted son of Alabama. In my course of thought and conduct,
as his successor in the Senate, I have thought it well to accept
his standard as that which would best help me worthily to
represent our beloved State. Mr. Clay left a character here which
stands greatly to the credit of the State, and will be quoted
long after we have passed away, in proof of the character of the
people he so worthily represented. His name and public history in
the Senate are a cause of pride to our people.

                                            "Your sincere friend,
                                                "JOHN T. MORGAN."

        And one who had been our intimate friend for more than
thirty years, Bishop Henry C. Lay, wrote of my dear one thus:

        "How gentle and kind he was! How fond of young things,
and how tender to the weak and helpless! Especially was he a
singularly devoted husband, giving you his admiration and his
confidence... Life seemed very full of promise to him in those
days. It was a sad change when the storm arose, with its exile,
imprisonment, disappointed hopes, retirement into seclusion and
inaction! Truly your life, with its opposite poles in Washington
and Alabama, has been a varied one!"

THE END

Page 381

INDEX

Acklin, Miss Corinne, 97, 117.
Adams, J. Q., 62.
Aiken, Frederick A., 309, 320.
Alabama, University Of, 17.
Aldrich, Reverend Mr., 241.
Apothleohola, 108-10.
Arrington, Anne, 3.
Arrington, General William, 3.
Ashley, Lord, 117.
Astor, John Jacob, 42.
Ayr, Colonel, 307.

Baggioli, Signor, 97.
Baker, General, 279-80.
Bannister, Reverend J. M., 183.
Barrow, Commodore, 174.
Barry, Mrs. Captain Du, 222.
Bass, Mrs. (Of Mississippi), 72.
Battle, Alfred, 6-7.
Battle, Mrs. Alfred, 6-11.
Battle, William, 7.
Bayard, Thomas F., 92, 117-18.
Bayard, The Misses, 78.
Baylor, Eugene, 132.
Beauregard, General G. T., 188-9, 368.
Benjamin, Judah P., 238-42.
Bennett, James Gordon, 118.
Benning, General, 205.
Benton, Thomas Hart, 42, 77, 80, 150.
Bertinatti, The Chevalier, 38, 40, 71-2.
Bickley, Captain R. W., 298.
Bierne, Miss Bettie, 36.
Big Spring, 162.
Birmingham, Alabama 17.
Bishop, Mme. Anna, 104.
Black, Judge Jeremiah S., 300, 309-10, 314, 329, 362, 370, 376 .
Blair, Montgomery, 152.
Blakeman, Captain, 332-33.
Blind Tom, 104-5.
Blount, Mrs., 95.
Bochsa, The Harpist, 104.
Bodisco, Baron Alexandre De, 25, 31, 39.
Bodisco, Baroness, 31-4.
Bodisco, Waldemar, 34.
Boileau, Mme. Gauldrée, 78-9.
Bouligny, J. E., 119.
Bouligny, Mrs. M. E. P., 81, 281, 318, 364-6, 373.
Bozio, Mme., 101.
Bragg, General Braxton, 191.
Breckinridge, General J. C., 173.
Bright, Senator John, 369.
Brooks, Maria Brewster, 9.
Brooks, Preston, 51, 95.
Brooks-Sumner Encounter, 104.
Brougham, John, 103.
Brown, Aaron V., 69, 70. 
Brown, Mrs. Aaron V., 69.
Brown, Senator A. G., 140.
Brown, John Potts, 237.
Brown, Robert W.,187.
Brown, Miss Rose, 43.
Buchanan, James 20, 63, 77, 87, 90, 106, 108, 150.
Buckner, Simon B., 173.
Buell, General D. C., 172.
Buena Vista, 68.
Burlingame, Anson, 142.
Butler, Senator A. P., 218.

Calhoun, John C., 77.
Camerana, Marchisa Incisa De, 72.
Campbell, Miss Henrietta, 76.
Campbell, John A., 64, 74-5, 178, 243.
Campbell, Mrs. John A., 76.
Capers, Bishop, 17.
Carlisle, J. M., 292, 320.
Cary, Clarence, 174.
Cary, Miss Constance, 174-5.
Cass, Miss Belle, 30.
Cass, Lewis, 77.
Castle Garden, 101.
Catron, Judge John, 74.
Catron, Mrs. Judge John, 74.

Page 382

Cavendish, Lord, 117.
Chaillu, Paul Du, 111. 
Chambers, Judge William L., 55.
Chapman, Governor Reuben, 182.
Chase, Chevy, 28.
Chase, Salmon P., 58.
Chestnut, Mrs. General, 43, 50, 206, 227.
Clarke, Daniel, 82.
Clay "Castle," 18.
Clay, C. C., Sr., 19, 74, 83, 88, 109-10, 236, 281, 375.
Clay, Mrs. C. C., Sr., 19, 35.
Clay, Clement Claiborne, 11, 15, 17, 88, 97, 132, 139, 143-7,
157, 161, 193, 195, 204, 242, 245, 248.
Clay, Henry, 77, 88.
Clay, Hugh Lawson, 28, 154, 164, 206, 235-6, 242-4.
Clay, Mrs. Hugh Lawson, 166, 175, 191, 195, 243.
Clay, James B., 88.
Clay, J. Withers, 228, 236-7, 254.
Clay, Mrs. J. Withers, 284-5, 340.
Clemens, Jere, 13-14, 19-21, 161.
Cleveland, Grover, 75, 92, 118.
Clingman, Gen'l Thomas L., 95, 307.
Clopton, David, 43.
Clopton, Mrs. David, 55.
Clyde, The William P., 260.
Cobb, Howell, 30, 121, 210, 240-2, 248.
Cobb, Mrs. Howell, 30.
Cobb, W. R. W., 21, 23.
Cohen, Miss, 104.
Coke, Mrs., 71.
Collier, Miss Evelyn, 50.
Collier, Governor H. W., 4, 15, 17, 44.
Collier, Mrs. H. W., 6-9.
Columbus, Mississippi, 15.
Colquitt, Alfred, 195.
Comer, Major Anderson, 191.
Comer, Miss L., 84, 128, 135, 215.
Cooper, Elva E., 352.
Cooper, Dr. George E., 333, 350-2-3.
Corcoran, Louise, 121.
Corcoran, W. W., 120, 123, 308.
Corcoran & Riggs, 81.
Crampton, British Minister, 25, 36.
Craven, Dr. John J., 298, 333, 345.
Crisp, The Comedian, 10.
Crittenden, John J., 77, 83.
Crittenden, "Lady," 84-5, 140-1.
Croxton, General, 279.
Culver, George, 155.
Curry, J. L. M, 43, 55.
Curry, Mrs. J. L. M., 55.
Cushing, Caleb, 64.
Cushman, Charlotte, 103, 139.
Cutting, Mrs. Brockholst, 95.
Cutts, Miss Addie, 35, 106.

Dahlgreen's Raid, 203.
Davis, Jefferson, 68-9, 75, 147, 157, 173, 235, 244-6, 256-262,
298, 348.
Davis, Mrs. Jefferson, 54, 134, 167, 206, 256-7, 265, 301, 347.
Dean, Julia, 102.
"Dearborns," 5.
Dickens, Asbury, 77.
Doane, Bishop, 138.
Dobbin, Secretary Of Navy, 64-8.
Dolan, Pat, 57.
Douglas, Mrs. Stephen A., 35, 133, 310.
Dowdell, Congressman, 20, 23, 25, 48, 49.
Drake, Major, 4.
Drew, Mrs., 176.
Duke, Colonel Basil, 191.
Du Val, Mrs. Gabriel, 170.

Eames, Ex-Minister To Venezuela, 140.
Earle, Mrs. Mattie Orr, 52.
Ebbitt House, 25, 42, 51, 59, 314.
Echols, Major W. H., 302-5, 315.
Eggleston, Colonel, 248-51.
Emily, 61, 101, 130, 242, 278.
Endicott, Mrs., 79.
Enquirer, The Richmond, 26, 237.
Erlanger, Baron D', 30.
Evans, Augusta, 207.
Evarts, William M., 344.
Ewing, Thomas, 288.

Fern, Fanny, 58.
Fillmore, President, 83.
Fitzpatrick, Benj., 20, 55, 147.
Fitzpatrick, Mrs., 25, 55, 57, 91, 377.

Page 383

Fitzpatrick, Master Benny, 55-7.
Fitzsimmons, Miss Catherine, 213.
Flash, Captain Harry, 197.
Forrest, Edwin, 102.
Fort, Mr., 4.
Fort, Martha, 4, 15.
Fort, Mary, 4.
Fortress Monroe, 94, 240, 261-2, 269, 281, 298, 334-7, 345-52,
378-9.
Fraley, Captain, 260.
Frémont, Mrs. Jessie Benton, 78-80.
French, Dr., 284-5.
French, General S. D., 199.

Gaines, General, 82-3.
Gaines, Mrs. Myra Clarke, 82-3.
Gamble, Mrs. (Of Louisville, Ky.), 303.
Gamester, The, 10.
Gardner, Charles, 25.
Garfield, James A., 62.
Garland, James, 307.
Garner, Colonel, 192.
Garnett, Muscoe, 50.
Garrett, Mr., 107-8.
Gautier's, 31, 70.
Georgetown, 28, 31.
Gilbert, Mrs., 103.
Glentworth, Hamilton, 138.
Gordon, General John B., 206.
Gottschalk, Louis, 49.
Granger, General, 331.
Grant, U. S., 20, 315-17, 357.
Grant, Mrs. U. S., 316, 317.
Greeley, Horace, 330.
Green Academy, 160-3.
Green, Duff, 300.
Greenhow, Mrs. 35.
Grey Eagle, The, 155-6.
Grisi, Mme., 101.
Guthrie, Secretary James V., 30, 70.
Gwin, Senator W. M., 86, 126, 132.
Gwin, Mrs. W. M., 126-37, 152.

Haldeman, R. J., 289, 292, 357.
Halleck, General H. W., 260.
Hamersley, Mrs. 120.
Hammond, E. S., 212.
Hammond, Senator J. H., 96, 213, 231-2.
Hammond, Mrs. J. H., 219, 232.
Hammond, Paul, 232.
Hammond, Mrs. Paul, 36, 215.
Hampton, Colonel Wade, 213.
Harper & Mitchell, 110.
Harper's Ferry, 165, 306.
Harrison, Burton, 174, 368.
Harrison, President, 83.
Havilland, Major De, 129.
Henry, Professor, 76, 111.
Henry, Senator, 203.
Herbert, Mrs. Hilary A., 9.
Herstein, Robert, 302.
Hill, Benjamin H., 247.
Hill, Miss Henrietta, 247.
Hilliard, Miss, 46, 127, 138.
Hitchcock, Major, 333.
Holcombe, Professor James P., 209, 229.
Holt, Joseph, 54, 148, 271-5, 287-314, 320-28, 364.
Holt, Mrs. Joseph, 127.
Homestead Bill, 21.
Hood, General J. B., 239.
Hotel, Brown's, 42, 51.
Hotel, National, 23.
Hotel, Spottswood, 167.
Hotel, St. Charles, 82.
Hotel, Willard S, 112, 306-7, 315.
Howard, Mrs., 95.
Howell, Miss Maggie, 256, 260, 265.
Hudson, Lieutenant, 266.
Hughes, Judge, 309-10, 362.
Hulseman, Baron, 44, 89.
Hunt, John, 160.
Hunter, R. M. T., 75.
Huntsville, Alabama, 17-8, 157, 164, 172.
Hurlburt, General Stephen A., 222.

Ihrie, General, 307-315.
Institute, Hydropathic, 22.
Intelligencer, The Washington, 325.
Irving, Washington, 13. 
Ives, Mrs. Cora Semmes, 173, 174.

Jackson, Thomas Jonathan ("Stonewall"), 188.
Japanese Embassy, 110-113.
Johnson, Andrew, 35, 288, 311-12, 318-29, 340-4, 354, 361, 364,
371-3.
Johnson, Colonel George, 192.

Page 384

Johnson,Reverdy, 75.
Johnson, Colonel Robert, 318.
Johnston, Albert Sidney, 172.
Johnston, Dr., 93.
Johnston, Joseph E., 152, 188, 236.
Johnston, Mrs. Joseph E., 167.
Johnston, Mrs. W. D., 255.
Jones, General George Wallace, 77, 80-1, 129.
Jones, Mrs. Thomas Benton, 78.

Kean, Charles, 10.
Keck, Lieutenant, 252, 254.
Keitt, Lawrence M., 95-6.
Keitt, Mrs. Lawrence M., 96.
Kennedy, Mrs., 313.
Key, Francis Barton, 95-6, 130, 133.
Kierulf, Miss Rose, 90.
King, Butler, 174.

Lamar, Colonel, 205.
Lamar, Mrs. Lucius Mirabeau, 255.
Lamar, L. Q. C., 43, 48, 75, 181, 204, 377.
Lamar, Mrs. L. Q, C., 48, 130.
Lane, Miss Harriet, 89, 90, 104, 114-130.
Lanier, Clifford A., 55, 197-9.
Lanier,Sidney, 197-9, 201.
Lay, Bishop Henry C., 379.
Lee, Robert E., 189, 227, 242, 368.
Lee, Mrs. Robert E., 201.
Leese, Mrs. William, 90.
Le Vert, Mme., 12-17, 35, 213, 368.
Lincoln, Abraham, 75, 119, 245.
Lind, Jenny, 101, 105.
Ligon, Governor, 55.
Logan, General John A., 184.
Longstreet, General James, 187-8, 358.
Lubbuck, Ex-Governor Francis R., 258.
Lumley, Mr., 37.
Lyons, Lord, 141.

"Macaire, Robert" (Play Of), 10.
Magruder, Colonel John B., 152.
Mallory, Miss Ruby, 176.
Mallory, Stephen R., 30, 147, 170, 177, 195, 209, 235, 246, 249,
313, 367, 370, 377.
Mallory, Mrs. S. R., 158, 167.
Marcy, Miss Nellie, 63.
Marcy, William L., 62.
Marcy, Mrs. W. L., 63.
Mario, Signor, 101.
Marlboro, Duchess Of, 120.
Marshall, Chief Justice, 74.
Marshall, Henry, 174.
Mason, Miss Emily, 201.
Massonis, The, 39.
Maury, The Misses, 78, 92.
Maury, Dr. Thos., 358.
Maury, Professor, 76.
May, Dr., 51, 358.
Maynard Rifle, 105.
Mcclellan, General G. F., 63.
Mcclelland, Secretary, 64.
Mcclung, Alex. Keith, 15-16.
Mcdaniels, The, 201.
Mcewan, Captain, 298.
Mclean, John, 77.
Mckim, Charles, 273.
Mcqueen, General And Mrs., 51, 56.
Memphis, Tennessee, 72, 157, 222.
Mercer, General, 274.
Merrick, Mrs. Judge, 54.
Miles, General Nelson A., 267-8, 275, 292-3, 296, 334, 345.
Miles, Porcher, 36.
Miller, Major, 307.
Mississippi, Territory Of, 4, 160.
Mitchell, General O. M., 181, 183.
Mitchell, Miss, 183-4.
Mobile Meadows, 10.
Montague, Mr., 11.
Monterey, 15.
Moore, Sydenham, 188, 190.
Morgan, General J. H., 169.
Morgan, Senator J. T., 153, 378.
Morris Island, 143.
Morrow, Dr., 110, 112.
Muhlenberg, Lieutenant, 334.
Myers, Lieutenant Henry, 126.
Myers, Mr. Frederick, 274.

Napier, Lord, 30, 89, 114, 117, 133.
Napier, Lady Nina, 114.
Nashville Female Academy, 15.
Nashville, Tennessee, 15, 172, 236.
New York Herald, 355-6.
New York News, 237.
Nicolay & Hay, 73, 86.
Norwalk, Connecticut, 27.

Page 385

O Conor, Charles, 290-1.
Orr, James L., 20, 51, 314.
Orr, Mrs. James L., 52-3.
Ouseley, Sir William Gore, 134.

Palmer (Heller), 38-40.
Parepa Rosa, 101.
Parker, Mrs. A. S., 119, 281, 321, 340, 367.
Parker, Reverend Henry E., 148.
Parrish, Mr., 123.
Partington, Mrs., 128-137.
Patterson, Mrs., 339.
Patti, Adelina, 37.
Pember, Mrs. Phoebe, 201, 277.
Pendleton, George H., 146, 304-5.
Pendleton, Mrs. George H., 89, 130, 303.
Pennsylvania Avenue, 28, 42, 102, 306.
Perry, Commodore M. C., 110.
Pettigrew, General James G., 188.
Phillips, Philip, 229, 248, 254.
Phillips, Mrs. Philip, 151, 201.
Phillips, The Misses, 104.
Pierce Administration, 27.
Pierce, Franklin, 28, 59-63, 68, 87, 106.
Pierce, Mrs. Franklin, 28.
Pierce, T. W., 271.
Pillow, General Gideon J., 69, 172.
"Pocahontas" (Play), 103.
Polk, Mrs., 71, 368.
Poore, Ben-Perley, 128.
Pope, Colonel, 160.
Podestad, Mme. De, 368.
Potomac, The, 28.
Prescott, Harriet, 64.
Price, Lilly, 120.
Pryor, Mrs. Roger A., 44, 47, 179.
Pritchard, Colonel, 258, 261.
Pugh, George E., 146.
Pugh, Mrs. George E., 44-47, 97, 133, 146, 303-4.

Raasloff, Minister From Denmark, 150.
Ramsey, Admiral, 95.
Ramsey, Marian, 95.
Randolph, Mrs., 173.
Rattlesnake, The, 227, 241.
Reagan, John H., 258.
Reames, Vinnie, 369. 
Redd, Mrs., 225, 233.
Reedy, Miss, 169.
Rhett, Colonel Robert Barnwell, 355-6.
Rich, Mrs. 90-94.
Richmond Va., 168, 206, 236, 239.
Richmond Enquirer, 26, 237.
Riggs, Mrs. George, 37.
Riggs & Corcoran, 308.
Robinson, Reverend Stuart, 287. 
Roddy, General, 183.
Rogers, Representative, 325.
Rountree, Mlle., 94.
Ruffin, Edmund, 145-6.

Sanders, Miss Narcissa, 69.
Sandidge, "Little Jimmy," 131.
Sartiges, Countess De, 30.
Scarlett, Lieutenant, 136.
Schaumberg, Miss Emily, 116. 
Scott, Alfred, 315.
Scott, Captain, 33.
Semmes, Mrs. Myra Knox, 174.
Semmes, Raphael, 144, 370.
Semmes, Thomas H., 246, 249.
Seward, Frederick, 81.
Seward, Senator W. H., 58, 81, 131, 136, 238.
Sewing Machines, The New, 103.
Seven Pines, Battle Of, 187.
Shea, George, 292.
Sherman, General W. T., 230, 232-3, 239.
Shipman, Lieutenant Lemuel, 298.
Shorter, Eli S., 164.
Sickles, Daniel E., 52, 97, 118.
Sickles, Mrs. Daniel E., 52.
Slidell, Mrs. John, 29.
Smith, General Gustavus W., 188.
Smith, General Kirby E., 154, 246.
Smith, Judge William, 160.
Smithsonian Institution, 124.
Soulé, Congressman, 174.
Sparrow, General, 229.
Spence, Alice, 184.
Spicer, Emily, 65, 66, 90.
Spicer, Commander W. F., 65, 66.
Spofford, Mr., 64.
Staeckl, Baron De, 38-9.
Stafford, General, 205.
Stafford, Samuel M., 9.

Page 386

Stannard, Mrs., 174.
Stanton, Edwin M., 289, 312-14, 344, 361, 364.
Star Of The West, 143.
Stars, Falling Of The, 7.
Stephens, Alex. H., 242, 258, 370.
Stevens, Miss, 50, 95.
Stevens, Thaddeus, 356.
Stone Mountain, 17.
Stover, Mrs., 338.
Stuart, General J. E. B., 170.
St. Thomas, Island Of, 150.

Taney, Roger B., 73- 4.
Tayloe, Ogle, 307.
Tayloe, Mrs. Ogle, 30, 119, 307.
Tennessee, Palisades Of, 19.
Tetlow, Captain J. B., 298.
Thackeray, W. M., 104.
Thomas, A. J., 104.
Thomas, General B. M., 278.
Thompson, Mrs. Jacob, 29, 86.
Thomson, Mrs. J. R., 118.
Thomson, William, 91.
Toombs, Senator Robert, 30, 243.
Toombs, Mrs. Robert, 86.
Townsend, General E. D., 374.
Tracy, General E. D., 155, 165-6, 190, 193.
Tree, Ellen, 10.
Tucker, Lee, 174.
Tunstall, Brian, 10.
Tunstall, Sir Cuthbert, 10.
Tunstall, George, 232.
Tunstall, Peyton Randolph, 3.
Tunstall, Thomas B., 9, 13, 14, 26.
Tunstall, Tom Tait, 90.
Tuscaloosa, Ala., 4, 6, 9, 15, 17, 109.
Tyler, Ex-President John, 144.

Vallandigham, Clement L., 146.
Vallette, Captain Octave, 207-8.
Vogell, Dr. Henry C., 335.
Voorhees, Daniel, 369.

Walker, Aunt Dolly, 205.
Walker, Leroy Pope, 182.
Walker, R. J., 75, 357.
Walton, Octavia, 35, 368.
War, Black Hawk, 80.
War, Revolutionary, 3.
Ward, Miss Josephine, 118.
Warrior, The Black, 109.
Watterson, Henry, 47.
Wayne, James M., 77.
Weed, Thurlow, 58.
Wesselhoeft, Dr., 22.
Wheeler's Brigade, 232.
Wheeler, General Joseph, 234, 259.
White House, The, 26, 85, 106, 130, 339, 354.
Whittle, Major And Mrs., 229, 242, 254, 278, 279.
Wickliffe, Sisters, 54, 202.
Wigfall, Louis T., 246-7.
Williams, General A. S., 35.
Williams, Buxton, 185-6.
Williams, Harriet, 31.
Wilson, Henry A., 358-9, 360-1.
Wilson, General James H., 250, 254, 276.
Winder, General John H., 187.
Winter, Mrs. Annie, 207, 258.
Wirt, General And Mrs. Wm., 69.
Withers, Miss Hattie, 127.
Withers, General Jones M., 164, 192.
Withers, Mrs. Jones M., 223.
Withers, Robert, 244.
Withers, Dr. Thomas, 153, 348.
Wood, Benjamin, 289.
Woods, Colonel, 278.
Winans, Ross, 369.
Wyeth, John A., 279.

Yancey, William L., 16, 180-1.
Yulee, David L., 147, 274.
Yulee, Mrs. David L., 54, 202-3.

Zollicoffer, General Felix K., 172, 197.



EOF