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 http://archive.org/details/belleoffiftiesmeclay 
 
A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
MRS. CLAY 
 of Alabama 
 
A Belle of the Fifties 
 
 Memoirs of Mrs. Clay, of Alabama, 
 covering Social and Political Life in 
 Washington and the South, 1853-66 
 Put into narrative form by Ada Sterling 
 
 Illustrated from contemporary portraits 
 
 
 New York 
 
 Doubleday, Page & Company 
 
 1905 
 
Copyright. 1904, by 
 Doublcday, Page & Company 
 
 Published, September, 1904 
 
^0 
 
 the dear memory of the husband of my youth 
 
 Clement Claiborne Clay 
 
 Virginia Clay-Clopton 
 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The memoirs of "Mrs. Clay, of Alabama," by which 
 title Mrs. Clement C. Clay, Jr. (now Mrs. Clay-Clopton) , 
 was known during the period comprised by 1850-87, 
 begin in the middle of the second decade of the nineteenth 
 century, the scenes being laid among the affluent planta- 
 tions of North Carolina and Alabama, and, continuing 
 through two brilliant administrations at the national 
 capital, close, as she emerges from the distresses which 
 overtook her and her husband after the never-to-be- 
 forgotten tragedy that plunged a nation into mourning — 
 the death of Mr. Lincoln. 
 
 In the researches made in order to obviate all possible 
 inaccuracies in these memoirs (a precaution always 
 necessary where one's life has been long and experiences 
 so varied), I have come upon no record of any other 
 woman of her time who has filled so powerful a place 
 politically, whose belleship has been so long sustained, 
 or whose magnetism and compelling fascinations have 
 swayed others so universally as have those of Mrs. Clay- 
 Clopton. In the unrestful days at the capital which 
 preceded the Civil War her winning personality was 
 such as to cause even those whom she esteemed the 
 enemies of her section, in those days when "sections" 
 were, to be covetous of her smiles. At no period of her 
 long career have her unique courage, her beautiful 
 optimism, her inspiring buoyancy been more accentuated 
 than during the making of the present book. The recall- 
 ing of incident after incident, step by step, of so great a 
 procession of memories as are here set down is a task 
 
PREFACE 
 
 from which many persons of twoscore years might 
 shrink. At the ripe age of almost eight decades Mrs. Clay- 
 Clopton entered into the work with a heart as light as a 
 girl's and a sustained energy and enthusiasm that have 
 been as remarkable as they are unparalleled. While 
 preparing these pages I enjoyed a daily intercourse with 
 her extending over eight months, during which time I 
 often found myself spellbound by the descriptive powers 
 which nearly a half century ago compelled the admira- 
 tion of leading men and women of that day. 
 
 "My wife was amazed at your eloquence," wrote 
 Attorney -General Jeremiah Black in 1866, and in suc- 
 ceeding letters urged Mrs. Clay to put her experiences 
 with Messrs. Johnson, Holt and Stanton into book form. 
 To these and urgings as powerful from many quarters, 
 reiterated during the past forty years, until the present 
 work was undertaken, Mrs. Clay-Clopton has remained 
 indifferent. Her recollections of a long life are now 
 gathered in response to a wide and insistently expressed 
 desire to see them preserved in a concrete form ere the 
 crowding years shall have made impossible the valuable 
 testimony she is able to bear to ante-bellum and bellum 
 conditions in her dearly loved South land. To that 
 end many friends of Mrs. Clay-Clopton have lent an 
 eager aid, and it is an acknowledgment due to them that 
 their names be linked here with the work they have so 
 lovingly fostered. 
 
 The inception of the work as now presented is primarily 
 due to Mrs. Milton Humes, of Abingdon Place, Hunts- 
 ville, Alabama, a daughter of the late Governor Chapman, 
 of that State, and the friend from her childhood of Mrs. 
 Clay-Clopton. For many years Mrs.. Humes has ardently 
 urged upon our heroine the necessity for preserving her 
 rich memories as a legacy, not alone to the South, but to 
 all lovers of the romantic and eventful in our national 
 
PREFACE 
 
 history, to whatsoever quarter of the country they may 
 claim a particular allegiance. Through Mrs. Humes 
 Mrs. Clay-Clopton and I met ; through her unintermitting 
 energy obstacles that at first threatened to postpone the 
 beginning of the work were removed, and from these 
 initial steps she has brought a very Minerva-like wisdom 
 and kindness to aid the work to its completion. At the 
 instance of Mrs. Humes General Joseph Wheeler lent me 
 a valuable sympathy; through the courtesy of General 
 Wheeler General James H. Wilson, to whom Clement 
 C. Clay, Jr., surrendered in 1865, kindly gave his con- 
 sideration to the chapters of the memoirs in which he 
 personally is mentioned, correcting one or two minor 
 inaccuracies, such as misapplied military titles. Through 
 the continued forethought of Mrs. Humes and General 
 Wheeler Colonel Henry Watterson's attention was 
 directed to the work, and he, too, generously scanned the 
 manuscript then ready, at a considerable expense of time, 
 guiding my pen, all untutored in political phrases, from 
 some misleading slips. I owe a large debt of gratitude 
 to Colonel Robert Barnwell Rhett, who, though an invalid 
 while I was a guest of Mr. and Mrs. Humes in Huntsville, 
 gave his unsparing counsels to me, enlightening me as to 
 personages and events appertaining to the formation of 
 the Confederate Government, which would have been 
 unobtainable from any books at present known to me. 
 For the acquaintance with Colonel Rhett I am, on behalf 
 of the memoirs and for my personal pleasure, again the 
 debtor of Mrs. Humes. 
 
 The aid of Mrs. Paul Hammond, formerly of Beech 
 Island, South Carolina, but now residing in Jacksonville, 
 Florida, has been peculiarly valuable. Possessed of a fine 
 literary taste, a keen observer, and retaining a vivid 
 recollection of the personages she encountered when a 
 debutante under Mrs. Clay's chaperonage in 1857— '58 in 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Washington, the six or seven weeks over which our 
 intercourse extended were a continual striking of rare 
 lodes of incident, which lay almost forgotten in the 
 memory of her kinswoman, Mrs. Clay-Clopton, but which 
 have contributed greatly to the interest of certain chap- 
 ters dealing with Washington life in antebellum days. 
 
 Thanks are due to Mrs. Bettie Adams for her unsparing 
 efforts to facilitate the getting together of the necessary 
 manuscripts to support, and, in some instances, to 
 authenticate and amplify the remembrances carried by our 
 heroine of the crucial times of the great internecine war; 
 to Miss Jennie Clay, who in her editorial pursuits discov- 
 ered special dates and records and placed them at my 
 disposal in order that the repetition of certain commonly 
 accepted errors might be avoided; and to Mrs. Frederick 
 Myers of Savannah, daughter of Mrs. Philip Phillips, who 
 sent for my perusal (thereby giving me valuable sidelights 
 on the times of '61-62), her mother's letters from Ship 
 Island, together with the latter's journal, kept during 
 her imprisonment by General Benjamin F. Butler. 
 
 The letters of Judge John A. Campbell, contributed by 
 his daughter, Mrs. Henrietta Lay, have been so well 
 prized that they have become part of the structure of 
 her friend's memoirs; to Mrs. Lay, therefore, also to Mrs. 
 Myra Knox Semmes, of New Orleans, Mrs. Cora Semmes 
 Ives, of Alexandria, Virginia; Mrs. Corinne Goodman, of 
 Memphis, Tennessee ; Mrs. Mary Glenn Brickell, of Hunts- 
 ville, Alabama; Mrs. George Collins Levey, of England, 
 and Judge John V. Wright, of Washington, D.C., thanks 
 are hereby given for incidents recalled and for suggestive 
 letters received since the work on the memoirs began. 
 
 Ada Sterling. 
 
 New York City, September 15, 1904. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter I. Childhood, Girlhood, Marriage. 
 
 A Bit of Family History — Plantation Scenes in North Caro- 
 lina and Alabama — A Caravan of the Early Thirties — "De 
 Year de Stars Fell"— I Partially "Scalp" My Cousin — The 
 Strange Experience of an Early Alabama Instructress — Miss 
 Brooks, a Distinguished Educator — My Uncle Takes My 
 Training in Hand — A First Flight into the Beautiful World 
 — Charles Kean and Ellen Tree — I Meet a Famous Belle 
 — Mme. Le Vert Instructs Me in the Dance — An Intense 
 Love Affair — My Knight Fails Me — A Gallant Lover 
 Appears — Social Doings at a Primitive Capital — Poet- 
 swains in the Early Forties — A Dance with Willam L. 
 Yancey — My Premonitions Are Realised and "My Own 
 Comes to Me" — Marriage in the Morn of Life — The Home- 
 coming of the Bride ....... 3 
 
 Chapter II. Washington Personages in the 
 Fifties. 
 
 Journey to the Capital — An Early "Congressional Limited" 
 — A Stump Orator of Alabama, the "Maker of Senators" 
 — Arrival at the Capital — The Night Clerk Refuses Us 
 Accommodations at the National Hotel— Undercurrents 
 of Strife in Society — Mrs. Pierce — Pennsylvania Avenue in 
 the Fifties — Survey of Washington's Hostesses — Mme. de 
 Bodisco and the Glacees — Her Second Marriage at Old 
 St. John's — Foreign Legations— Reminiscence of Octavia 
 Walton in Washington— Mrs. Riggs Gives a Midnight 
 Supper to Patti — Heller Appears; Likewise the Grand 
 Elephant Hannibal ........ 19 
 
 Chapter III. A Historic Congressional 
 "Mess." 
 
 Our Mess at Historic Brown's Hotel and at the Ebbitt 
 House — Mrs. Pugh and the Baron Hulseman — The Boy 
 Henry Watterson — Congressmen Clopton, Curry, Dowdell, 
 L. Q. C. Lamar, and Shorter, Senator Fitzpatrick, and 
 Their Wives — Mr. Dowdell Goes to Hear Gottschalk — 
 Circumstances of the Sudden Death of Preston Brooks — 
 
CONTENTS— Continued 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Stockton Mansion and Its Romances — Our "Mess" 
 Considers the Prudence of Calling on a Certain Lady — 
 Retribution Overtakes Us — Master Benny, the Hotel Terror 42 
 
 Chapter IV. The Cabinet Circles of Presi- 
 dents Pierce and Buchanan. 
 
 Washington in 1856 — Secret Visit of President Pierce — 
 Personal Recollections of Him — Secretaries Marcy, Cushing, 
 and Dobbin— Incidents of the Latter's Kindness of 
 Heart — Secretary of War Jefferson Davis — Postmaster- 
 General Brown — Secretary of State Guthrie — Story of 
 the Conquest of Chevalier Bertinatti . . . . 58 
 
 Chapter V. Solons of the Capital. 
 
 Society of Supreme Court Circles — Chief Justice Taney — 
 Judge Campbell — Professors Henry and Maury — A Visit 
 to the Latter's Observatory — Thomas Hart Benton — 
 George Wallace Jones : His Romantic History as Surveyor- 
 General of the Great Northwest. At the Age of Ninety- 
 one He Recalls a Day When He Meant to Kill Seward — 
 Meeting with Myra Clarke Gaines — Senator and Mrs. 
 Crittenden, a "Perfectly Happy Woman" ... 73 
 
 Chapter VI. Fashions of the Fifties. 
 
 Aspect of Fashionable Society of the Pierce and Bu- 
 chanan Administrations — Perditas of the Period — Low 
 Necks and Lace Berthas — Kind Offices of American 
 Consuls — Mr. Thomson and Miss Lane's Toy Terrier — He 
 Reports Upon the Petticoats at Brighton — Washington 
 Dressmakers as Miracle- Workers — Mrs. Rich, a True 
 R.econstructionist — Belles and Beaux of the Period — 
 Barton Key — His Murder — Mrs. Sickles at Home — 
 Revival of Moustaches — General Sam Houston ; His Strange 
 Attire — A Glimpse of This Hero in the Senate and in 
 Society .......... 86 
 
 Chapter VII. The Relaxations of Congres- 
 sional Folk. 
 
 Public Recreation — Flights to New York — Jenny Lind 
 — Charlotte Cushman — Mrs. Gilbert and the Come- 
 dian Brougham in "Pocahontas" — Mr. Thackeray — Dr. 
 Maynard — Blind Tom at the White House — Marine 
 Band Concerts on the White House Lawn — President 
 
CONTENTS— Continued 
 
 Pierce and the Countryman — President Buchanan and 
 the Indians — Apothleohola, a Cherokee Patriarch — Dr. 
 Morrow and the Expedition to Japan — Return of Same 
 — Ruse of the Oriental Potentate to Prevent Our Securing 
 Germinating Rice — A Plague of Japanese Handkerchiefs . 101 
 
 Chapter VIII. The Brilliant Buchanan Ad- 
 ministration. 
 
 Miss Lane Becomes Lady of the White House — Her Influ- 
 ence on Washington Life — The Coming of Lord and Lady 
 Napier — Their Hospitality — They Give a Ball to Lords 
 Cavendish and Ashley — Mrs. Crittenden Puts to Rout a 
 Younger Belle — Lord Napier Proposes a Toast to the 
 Chevalier Bayard — Washington Citizens Give a Ball to 
 the Napiers, at Which James Gordon Bennett Is Seen in the 
 Dance — Some Prominent Citizen Hostesses — Lilly Price, 
 the Future Duchess of Marlborough — Mr. W. W. Corcoran 
 — His Lavish Entertainments — Howell Cobb's Apprecia- 
 tion — A Stranger's Lack of It — I Take the Daughter of a 
 Constituent to See the Capitol . . . . .114 
 
 Chapter IX. A Celebrated Social Event. 
 
 Mrs. Gwin's Fancy Ball — To the White House for Inspection 
 — Aunt Ruthy Partington Presents Herself to Mrs. Gwin 
 — Mrs. Pendleton is Mystified — Senator Gwin and "My 
 Boy Ike" — Lord and Lady Napier and Others of "Our 
 Furrin Relations" — The Squelching of a Brave Balti- 
 morean — Senator Seward Gives Welcome to the Stranger 
 from Beanville — Mr. Shillaber Offers "to Immortalise" Me 126 
 
 Chapter X. Exodus of Southern Society 
 from the Federal City. 
 
 Gayety Begins to Wane in the Capital — A Wedding in 
 Old St. John's — Lord Lyons Replaces the Napiers — 
 Anson Burlingame Rescues Me from a Dilemma — Politi- 
 cal Climax — -Scenes in the Senate — Admiral Semmes 
 Declares His Intentions — Mr. Rufnn's Menacing Arsenal — 
 Ex-President Tyler's Grief — We Hear News from Morris 
 Island — Senators Clay, Davis, Fitzpatrick, Mallory, and 
 Yulee Withdraw from the Senate — Visits of Representa- 
 tives Pendleton and Vallandigham, and Senator Pugh, of 
 Ohio — Joseph Holt Writes Deploring the Possible Loss to 
 Our Country of Senator Clay's "Genius and Patriotism" 
 — "A Plain New Hampshire Minister" Writes of the Times 
 — We Leave the Federal City — Mrs. Philip Phillips De- 
 
CONTENTS— Continued 
 
 PAGE 
 
 scribes It a Few Weeks Later — Blair's Alarm at Loss of 
 
 Lee, Magruder, and Other "Good Officers" . . .138 
 
 Chapter XL War Is Proclaimed. 
 
 I Go with Senator Clay to Minnesota — "Let's Mob the 
 Fire-eater" — We See Our First Federal Soldiers at Cairo — 
 Echoes of Sumter — Once More in the Blossomy South — 
 In Picturesque Huntsville — We Hear from Montgomery 
 of President Davis's Unceasing Industry — A Survey of 
 Huntsville — The "Plebs" and Aristocrats Compete for 
 the Naming of the Town, and the Descendants of a Poet 
 Give Way before Its Discoverer — A Nursing Mother of 
 Alabama's Great Men — The Fascinations of the Fair Vixens 
 of the Early Nineteenth Century — A Baptism at the Big 
 Spring — The Make-up of Our Army in '61 — We Hear from 
 a Hero at Harper's Ferry — Letters from Washington — We 
 Prepare to Go to Richmond . . . . . .153 
 
 Chapter XII. Richmond as a National 
 Capital. 
 
 We Arrive in Richmond, Where We Meet Many Old Friends 
 — An Evening at the Mallorys' — We Establish Our Mess 
 at Mrs. Du Val's — Some of Our Heroes — We Feast on 
 Oysters and Terrapin — Greenbacks, Canvas-backs, and 
 Drawbacks — We Hear of the Fall of Nashville, and 
 General Buell's Designs Upon Huntsville — Some of Rich- 
 mond's Hostesses — Mrs. Stannard entertains ; and the Fa- 
 •mous Private Theatrical Performance of "The Rivals" — 
 Mrs. Burton Harrison Recalls Her Triumph as Lydia 
 Languish — The Caste — Mrs. Drew Acts as "Coach" — 
 Mrs. Ives, Our Hostess, Is Saved from Stage Fright by a 
 Bonnet Which Has Run the Blockade . . . .168 
 
 Chapter XIII. Glimpses of Our Beleaguered 
 South Land. 
 
 Richmond in '62 — John A. Campbell Gives an Opinion 
 on Confederate Money — An Exodus from the Capital — 
 Mrs. Roger A. Pryor Rebukes a Contemptuous Lady — 
 Our Mail a Pandora's Box — News of New Orleans — 
 William L. Yancey Returns from a Fruitless Trip to 
 England — And Mr. Lamar from Russia — An Astronomer 
 Turns Martinet — A Careful Search Is Made for General Pope 
 Walker — Our Pastor's Prayers Curtailed — The Federals 
 Are Worried by General Roddy — Miss Mitchell "Con- 
 fiscates" Some of My Property — "Hey! Git off 'Ginie 
 
CONTENTS— Continued 
 
 Clay's Mare!" — General Logan, a Case of Mistaken 
 Identity — My Refugee Days Begin — A Glimpse of North *"" 
 Carolinian Hospitality — And of che Battle of Seven Pines 
 — The Seed-corn of Our Race Is Taken — Return to Hunts- 
 ville 178 
 
 Chapter XIV. Refugee Days in Georgia. 
 
 Detained in Macon — General Tracy Tells of Conditions at 
 Vicksburg — Senator Clay Writes of Grave Conditions in 
 Richmond — A War-time Dinner with President Davis — 
 My Sister and I Turn Seamstresses — Looking for Big 
 Battles — Travel in '63 — Cliff and Sid Lanier Write from - — 
 "Tented Field" — News from "Homosassa" . . . 193 
 
 Chapter XV. Clement C. Clay, Jr., Departs 
 for Canada. 
 
 A Memory of Dahlgren's Raid — Mr. Clay Accepts a Mission 
 to Canada — Mr. Lamar's Ideas on National Friendships — 
 My Husband Takes His Departure — Troubled Petersburg 
 and Still More Troubled Richmond — Hospital Experiences 
 — My Sister Accuses Me of "Running from Yankees," and 
 Overtakes Me — We Nurse a Sick Soldier — I Get a Pass- 
 port, but Fail to Use It — A Distinguished Watermelon 
 Man . . • . . . . . . .203 
 
 Chapter XVI. The South's Departed Glories. 
 
 A Typical Plantation — Senator Hammond's Little Republic 
 on Beech Island — Its General Influence — The Mill and the 
 Miller — My Cousin, Mrs. Paul Hammond, Writes a De- 
 scription of "Redcliffe" — The Hammond Negro as I Have 
 Found Him — She Wins Them by Subterfuge — Senator Clay 
 Dances a Highland Fling and Startles Some Gentle Metho- 
 dists — St. Catharine's; a Solemn Service There — A Sight 
 for Abolitionists — Choristers of the Field — A Comparison 211 
 
 Chapter XVII. Conditions in '63 and '64. 
 
 Cost of Clothing — Scarcity of Necessities — Memphis in 
 Yankee Hands — Revival of Spinning and Weaving — A 
 Salt Famine — Senator Hammond's Sagacity — Potato 
 Coffee and Peanut Chocolate — Mrs. Redd Weaves Me a 
 Notable Dress — London Takes Note of Richmond Fashions 
 — I Send a List of "Desirables" to Mr. Clay in Canada — 
 Novelties for the Toilette and Writing-Table — Difficulties 
 of Getting News — The President Writes Me of My 
 Absent One, and Secretary Mallory Rejoices at His 
 
CONTENTS— Continued 
 
 Conduct of Canadian Interest — Postal Deficiencies — Ad- 
 ventures of an Editor — Price of Candles Rises — Telegrams 
 Become Costly and My Sister Protests — ' ' Redcliff e' ' Mourns 
 Her Master — Gloom and Apprehension at News of Sher- 
 man's March — We Are Visited by Two of Wheeler's 
 Brigade — They Give Us Warning and the Family Silver 
 Is Solemnly Sunk in the Ground — I Hear a Story of 
 Sherman and Wheeler . . . . . . .222 
 
 Chapter XVIII. The Death of Mr. Lincoln. 
 
 Conflicting Advice Reaches Me from the Capital — Also 
 Sad News from Huntsville — Our Brother Tells of Political 
 Opposition to the President — Soldiers and Citizens Desire 
 the Presence of General Johnston in the Tennessee — Mr. 
 Clay Communicates with Me by "Personals" — I Beg to Be 
 Sent to Canada, but am Met by Opposition — The President 
 Bids Me Take Refuge in the Capital — But Another Urges 
 Me to Leave the Line of Sherman's Army — I Place Myself 
 Under General Howell Cobb's Protection and Go to Macon 
 — My Husband Runs the Blockade, but Is Shipwrecked 
 Off Fort Moultrie — After Some Adventures He Reaches 
 Macon — At the Home of General Toombs — -We Hear News 
 from Richmond — Mr. Clay Makes for the Capital and 
 Reaches It — He Returns to Georgia — The Death of Mr. 
 Lincoln: "The Worst Blow Yet Struck at the South ! " . 235 
 
 Chapter XIX. C. C. Clay, Jr., Surrenders to 
 General Wilson. 
 
 We Go to Lagrange — A Nest of "Rebels" — We Hear 
 of President Johnson's Proclamation Concerning Mr. Clay 
 — My Husband Resolves to Surrender — He Telegraphs to 
 General Wilson — We Proceed to Atlanta — Courtesy of 
 Colonel Eggleston — He Gives Us a Guard — On to Macon — 
 "Madam, Your Chief Is Taken" — Arrival at Macon — 
 General Wilson Relieves Us of Our Guard — The Generosity 
 of Women Friends — We Drive to Station — And See a 
 Pathetic Cortege — -"Say, Johnny Reb, We've Got Your 
 President!" . . ' . . . . . . . 246 
 
 Chapter XX. Prisoners of the United States. 
 
 We Have an All-Night Ride to Augusta — Our Party of 
 Prisoners Augments — I am Made Responsible for My 
 Husband's Appearance and We Go Visiting — We Return 
 to Captivity — I Board the Boat Somewhat Hastily — 
 And Unexpectedly Find Myself in the Arms of General 
 Wheeler — He Gives Me a Lesson in Forbearance — A Dis- 
 
CONTENTS— Continued 
 
 mal Voyage — We Reach Savannah and Are Transferred 
 to the Clyde — Extracts from My Diary — Mr. Davis's 
 Stoicism — We Anchor Off Fortress Monroe — Mr. Clay Is 
 Invited "to Take a Ride in a Tug" — Pathetic Separa- 
 tion of the Davis Family — Little Jeff Becomes Our 
 Champion — -We See a Gay Shallop Approaching — Two 
 Ladies Appear and Search Us in the Name of the United 
 States Government — A Serio-comic Encounter — And Still 
 Another in Which "Mrs. Clay Lost Her Temper and 
 Counselled Resistance!" — We Undertake to Deceive 
 Lieutenant Hudson, but "Laugh on the Other Side" of 
 Our Faces! ......... 258 
 
 Chapter XXI. Return from Fortress Monroe. 
 
 On Board the Clyde — I Find a Guard at My Door — An 
 Unknown Hands Me the Daily Papers — The News — I 
 Write to Thirteen Distinguished Men — To Joseph Holt — A 
 Friendly Soldier Posts My Letters — We Arrive in Savannah 
 and Make Our Way to the Pulaski House — Savannah's 
 Generous People — Soldiers, Black and White — -The Chain- 
 ing of Mr. Davis — I Write to General Miles — Little 
 Jeff Makes a Friend — "Bully for Jeff" — "Mordecai and 
 Haman" .......... 269 
 
 Chapter XXII. Reconstruction Days Begin. 
 
 I Arrive in Macon After Various Discomforts — My Baggage 
 Is "Examined" by General Baker — A Curious Oversight 
 of the Government's Agents — I Am Rescued from a 
 Dilemma by John A. Wyeth, Knight-Errant — I Recover My 
 Letters from the War Department, but with Difficulty — 
 A Stricken Patriarch and a Spartan Mother — Huntsville 
 Metamorphosed — "Reconstruction" Signs Appear — A 
 Slave Emulates His New Masters — He, too, in Time, Is 
 Metamorphosed — The Freedman's Bureau versus "Ole 
 Missus's" — Southern Ladies and Camomile Flowers . 278 
 
 Chapter XXIII. News from Fortress Monroe. 
 
 We Hear Discouraging News of the Nation's Prisoners — 
 Denunciation of Joseph Holt and His Witnesses by the 
 Reverend Stuart Robinson — He Exposes the "Infamous 
 Perjuries of the Bureau of Military Justice" — Their Con- 
 fession and Flight from the Country — Charles O'Conor 
 Writes Me; Also Ben Wood, Who Offers to Advance the 
 Cost of Mr. .Clay's Defense; Also Judge Black Writes 
 Cheeringly — I Hear Through R. J. Haldeman of the 
 Friendliness of Thaddeus Stevens; and from General 
 
CONTENTS— Continued 
 
 Miles; Also, in Time, from Mr. Clay — His Letter Prophe- 
 sies Future Racial Conditions, and Advises Me How to 
 Escape the Evils to Come — Freed from Espionage, He 
 Describes the "Comforts" of Life in Fortress Monroe— One 
 of the Tortures of the Inquisition Revived . . . .286 
 
 Chapter XXIV. Once More in the Federal 
 Capital. 
 
 Communications Are Reopened with Washington — 
 Duff Green Makes Application to the President on My 
 Behalf — I Hear from Mrs. Davis of Her Misfortunes — I 
 Borrow $100 and Start for the Capital — Scenes on Cars 
 and Boat — I Meet Many Sympathisers — And Arrive at 
 Last at Cincinnati — Yankee Ideas and Yankee Notions — 
 Mrs. Pugh Visits Me — Also Senator and Mrs. Pendleton, 
 Who Take Me Home — Once More en Route for Washing- 
 ton — Within Its Precincts . . . . . .300 
 
 Chapter XXV. Secretary Stanton Denies 
 Responsibility. 
 
 Arrival at Willard's — Expecting Enemies, I Find Many Old 
 Friends — General Ihrie, of Grant's Staff, Calls On Me — 
 Also a Nameless Lady — Judge Hughes and Judge Black 
 Counsel Me — I Visit the White House to Plead with Mr. 
 Johnson — Mrs. Douglas Is My Companion — Mr. Johnson 
 "Lives up to His Reputation" and Tells Me to See Mr. 
 Stanton — Which I Do — The Secretary's Manner — "I 
 am Not Your Husband's Judge, Neither am I His Ac- 
 cuser" — I Call Upon General Grant, Who Writes to 
 President Johnson on Behalf of Mr. Clay . . . 307 
 
 Chapter XXVI. Mr. Holt Reports upon the 
 Case of C. C. Clay, Jr. 
 
 I Send General Grant's Letter to Mr. Johnson — And 
 Beg to Be Allowed to Visit Fortress Monroe — I Begin to Feel 
 the Strength of a Concealed Enemy — I Refuse to Go to 
 Mr. Stanton, and Have a First Pass-at-Arms with the 
 President — Mr. Holt Presents His "Report on the Case 
 of C. C. Clay, Jr. " — His Several Opinions of Mr. Clay in 
 Parallel — Denied an Examination of the Infamous Docu- 
 ment by the War Department, the President's "Official 
 Copy" Is Placed at My Disposal — Some of Its Remarkable 
 Features — The President Promises Me He Will Not 
 Deliver My Husband and Mr. Davis up to the Military 
 Court, and Agrees to Issue on His Own Responsibility a 
 Permit to Visit Fortress Monroe — I Go to New York and 
 Hobnob with "An Old Abolitionist" . . . • 3 J 7 
 
CONTENTS— Continued 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Chapter XXVII. President Johnson Inter- 
 poses. 
 
 President Johnson Issues a Permit on His Own Responsi- 
 bility — I Leave Washington for Fortress Monroe — And 
 Meet with Kindness on the Way — Dr. Craven Admonishes 
 Me to Look for No Favours from His Successor — I Meet 
 General Miles in His Headquarters, Which Have Been 
 Furnished by General Butler — I Experience a Weary Delay 
 — Am Refused Explanation or Use of Telegraph Wires — 
 Dr. Vogell Intercedes — At Nightfall I Am Taken to My 
 Husband's Cell — I Return to the Capital — Death of Mrs. 
 C. C. Clay, Sr. — I Report to the President the Incidents 
 of My Visit to the Fortress — He Assures Me They Shall Not 
 Be Repeated — He Issues Another Permit and Promises to 
 Read a Letter in His Cabinet . . . . . 331 
 
 Chapter XXVIII. The Prison. 
 
 Again at the Fortress — My Husband's Cell and Room in 
 Carroll Hall — Some of the Comforts of Fortress Monroe 
 and of Mr. Clay's Position — I am Told of Some of His 
 Experiences — A Statement of Others — Mr. Davis at the 
 Fortress — An Exchange of Notes — My Husband Turns 
 Caretaker — With a Soft Answer He Turns Away a 
 Soldier's Wrath — I Have a Curious Adventure in Which 
 I Meet a Lamb in Wolf's Clothing . . . -345 
 
 Chapter XXIX. President Johnson Hears 
 What "the People Say." 
 
 President Johnson Is Kind but Vacillating — Straws That 
 Show a Veering of the Wind — Colonel Rhett Talks with 
 Mr. Bennett, and the Herald Grows Curious as to the 
 Mysteriously Detained Prisoners — Thaddeus Stevens 
 Writes to Mr. Johnson on Behalf of Mr. Clay — I Have a 
 Nicodemus-like Visitor — Mr. Wilson, Vice-President of 
 the United States, Writes to the President on Mr. Clay's 
 Behalf — Signs of Political Disquiet — Parties and Partisans 
 — I Receive Some Political Advice and Determine to Act 
 Upon It — I Have a rencontre in the Corridors of the White 
 House — And Tell Mr. Johnson What "the People Say" 354 
 
 Chapter XXX. The Government Yields Its 
 Prisoner. 
 
 Old Friends and New — Mme. Le Vert and Other Famous 
 Personages Return to the Capital — General Lee is Lionised 
 
CONTENTS— Concluded 
 
 PAGE 
 
 — I Secure the Liberty of the Fort for My Husband, and 
 Indulge in a Little Recreation — I Visit the Studio of Vinnie 
 Reames and the Confederate Fair at Baltimore — I Return to 
 Washington and Resume My Pleadings with the President 
 — Mr. Mallory, Admiral Semmes, and Alexander Stephens 
 Are Released — Mr. Mallory and Judge Black Counsel Me 
 to Take Out the Writ of Habeas Corpus — The Release 
 Papers Are Promised — I Visit the Executive Mansion to 
 Claim Them and at Last Receive Them — "You Are 
 Released!" — Congratulations Are Offered — The Context 
 of Some of These — "God Has Decreed That No Lie Shall 
 Live Forever" — We Turn Our Faces Once More to the 
 Purple Mountains of Alabama . . . . . '367 
 
 xx 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Mrs. Clay, of Alabama .... Frontispiece 
 
 Facing Page 
 
 Mrs. Benjamin Fitzpatrick, of Alabama . .26 
 
 Adelina Patti, aged sixteen 38 
 
 Mrs. Roger A. Pryor, of Virginia . . .44 
 
 Mrs. George E. Pugh (Therese Chalfant), of 
 Ohio. " The most beautiful woman in Wash- 
 ington " . . . . . . .46 
 
 Franklin Pierce, President of the United States, 
 
 i853"'57 • 60 
 
 Mrs. William L. Marcy, of New York . . .62 
 Mrs. J. J. Crittenden, of Kentucky . . .84 
 Mrs. Chestnut, of South Carolina . . -94 
 
 Jenny Lind ........ 102 
 
 James Buchanan, President of the United States, 
 
 i857-'6i 108 
 
 Miss Harriet Lane, mistress of the White House, 
 
 i857-'6i . . 114 
 
 Lady Napier and Her Sons . . . .116 
 
 Mrs. Jefferson Davis, of Mississippi . . .134 
 Lord Lyons, British Ambassador to the United 
 
 States 140 
 
 Clement C. Clay, Jr., United States Senator, 
 
 i853-'6i 148 
 
 L. Q. C. Lamar, 1862 164 
 
 Mrs. Philip Phillips, of Washington, D. C. . . 166 
 Senator James H. Hammond, of South Carolina . 212 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS— Continued 
 
 Facing Page 
 
 General Joseph Wheeler, of Alabama . .232 
 
 Dr. Henry C. Vogell, Fortress Monroe, 1866 . 334 
 
 Dr. George Cooper, Fortress Monroe, 1866 . . 350 
 Mrs. A. S. Parker, of Washington, D. C. . . 368 
 Jefferson Davis and Clement C. Clay, Jr. (after 
 release from Fortress Monroe) . . . -374 
 
A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 Childhood, Girlhood, Marriage 
 
 MY infant days were spent in North C aroli na 
 among the kinsmen of my mother. I do not 
 remember her, save that she was young and 
 fair, being but twenty when she died. She was the 
 twenty-fifth child of the family united under her father's 
 roof, which remarkable circumstance may be explained 
 as follows: 
 
 My grandfather, General William Arrington, who won 
 his title in the Revolutionary War, having been left a 
 widower with twelve children, wearying of his solitude, 
 mounted his horse and rode over to visit the comely 
 widow Battle, whose children also numbered twelve. 
 The two plantations lay near together in the old "Tar 
 Heel" State. My gallant ancestor was a successful 
 wooer, and Mrs. Battle, nee Williams, soon became Mrs. 
 Arrington. Thus it happened that the little Anne — my 
 mother — the one daughter of this union, entered the world 
 and simultaneously into the affections of one dozen half- 
 brothers and sisters Arrington, and as many of the 
 Battle blood. This was a fortunate prevision for me, 
 for, though orphaned at the outset of my earthly pil- 
 grimage — I was but thre e years olrl wj nenrny girl-moth er 
 -passed away — I found myself by no means alone, though 
 my dear father, Dr. Peyton Randolph Tunstall, grief- 
 stricken and sorrowful, left my native State at the death 
 
4 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 oof his wife, and I was a half-grown girl ere we met again 
 vO? and learned to know each other. 
 ^ My recollections of those early days are necessarily 
 \> V' few ; yet, were I a painter, I might limn one awful figure 
 k^p'., th a t. lingers in my memory. She was a mulatto, to 
 r\jV ^ ^r\^ whose care for some time I was nightly confided. This 
 y vy jf } x .r crafty maid, Rleasant by name, though 'twas a misnomer, 
 <t\\ x ^< v anxious to join in the diversions of the other domestics 
 ^^n^ Cr i among the outlying cabins on the plantation, would no 
 "" .o-^ \? sooner tuck me into bed than she would begin to unfold 
 
 to me bloodcurdling stories of "sperrits an' glioses," 
 and of "old blue eyes an' bloody bones" who would be 
 sure to come out of the plum orchard and carry me to 
 the graveyard if I did not go quickly to sleep. Fortu- 
 nately, old Major Drake, of whose family I was then a 
 member, chanced one evening to overhear this soothing 
 lullaby, and put an end to her stories ere serious harm 
 had been done ; yet so wonderful is the retentive power 
 of the human mind that though seventy and more 
 momentous years have passed since I, a little fearsome 
 child, huddled under the coverings breathless in my dread 
 of the "bogie man," I still recall my heartless, or perhaps 
 my thoughtless, nurse vividly. 
 
 At the age of six I was carried to Tuscaloosa, then the 
 capital of the. -young--State of Alabama, where I was 
 placed in the care of my aunt, whose husband, Henry 
 W. Collier, then a young lawyer, afterward became 
 Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of his State, and its 
 Governor. That first journey stretches out in my memory 
 as an interminable pilgrimage. Mr. Fort, of Mississippi, 
 his wife, my mother's sister, and their two children, 
 Mary and Martha, accompanied by a large following of 
 Negroes, being en route for their plantation in Mississippi 
 territory, I was given into their care for delivery to my 
 kin in Tuscaloosa. No palace-car of later days has ever 
 eclipsed the wonders of the cavalcade our company 
 
CHILDHOOD, GIRLHOOD, MARRIAGE 5 
 
 made as we passed along through towns and villages 7 r 
 and the occasional Indian settlements that here and j 
 there dotted the untilled lands of those early nineteenth- 
 century days ! 
 
 My uncle drove in his gig at the head of the procession, 
 while my aunt and the children made the journey in a 
 big pudding-shaped carriage in charge of a trusty driver, 
 beside whom my aunt's maid sat. The carriage was 
 built with windows at the sides, and adjustable steps, 
 which were let down when we halted and secured in 
 place by our Negro attendants. These followed behind 
 the vehicles and were at hand to serve us when need 
 arose. 
 
 Our cortege included several "Dearborns," similar in 
 shape to the ambulances of the present, in which the old 
 and ailing Negroes were carried, and numerous wagons 
 containing our household goods and provisions followed 
 behind. At night, tents were pitched, in which my aunt 
 and the children slept, unless by chance a storm arose, 
 when the shelter of some hostelry or farmhouse was 
 sought. The preparations for camping were altogether 
 exciting, the erection of tents, the kindling of fires, the 
 unharnessing and watering and feeding of the stock, and 
 the eager industry of the cooks and their assistants in 
 the midst of the array of shining utensils all combining 
 to stamp the scene upon the mind of an impressionable 
 child. 
 
 However, in the course of time the slow rolling of 
 our carriage became monotonous to the restive children 
 of the caravan, and the novelty of standing at the windows 
 and gazing over the lifting hills soon wore off. My aunt 
 felt the fatigue less, we thought, for she was a famous 
 soliloquist, and often talked to herself as we rode, some- 
 times laughing aloud at her own good company. I 
 think we children regarded her as deranged, if harmless, 
 until one day she proved her sanity to our complete 
 
 \:J ¥ 
 
6 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 satisfaction. In a moment of insupportable tedium we 
 conceived the idea of dropping the little tin cups, with 
 which each was provided, in order to see if the wheels 
 would run over them. One after another the vessels 
 were lowered, and each, to our intense delight, was 
 smashed flat as the proverbial pancake. When my aunt 
 discovered our mischief, being a gentle soul, she merely 
 reprimanded us, and at the next settlement purchased 
 others; but when these and yet others followed the fate 
 of the first, she became less indulgent. Switches were 
 cut from the forest trees, three pairs of pink palms 
 tingled with the punishment then and there administered, 
 and the remembrance thereof restrained my cousins' 
 and my own destructiveness for the remainder of the 
 journey. 
 
 Arrived at Tuscaloosa, I spent four years in the shelter 
 of the motherly affection of my aunt, Mrs. Collier, when, 
 her health failing, I was placed in the home of my mother's 
 brother, Alfred Battle, a wealthy planter, residing a day's 
 journey from the little capital. My recollections of that 
 early Alabama life centre themselves about a great white 
 house set in widening grounds, in the midst of which was 
 a wondrous sloe -tree, white with blooms. Many times 
 I and my cousins played under it by moonlight, watching 
 the shadows of the branches as they trembled on the 
 white-sanded earth below, wondering at them, and not 
 sure whether they were fairies' or angels' or witches' 
 shapes. Around that tree, too, we played "Chickamy, 
 Chickamy, Craney Crow," and, at the climax, "What 
 o'clock, Old Witch?" would scamper wildly to elude the 
 pursuit of the imaginary old witch. Here, a healthy and 
 happy child, I pursued my studies. My uncle's wife, a 
 woman of marked domestic tastes, taught me to sew and 
 knit and to make a buttonhole, and I made progress in 
 books under the guidance of a visiting teacher; but, my 
 task ended, I flew to the meadows and orchards and to 
 
CHILDHOOD, GIRLHOOD, MARRIAGE 7 
 
 the full-flowering clover-field, or to the plantation nursery 
 to see the old mammies feed the babies with "clabber," 
 with bread well crumbed in it, or cush, made of bread 
 soaked in gravy and softly mashed. 
 
 It was during this bucolic period of my life that the 
 stars fell. I did not witness these celestial phenomena, 
 being sound asleep as a child should be; but, for years 
 afterward, time was marked from that great event. I 
 remember perfectly my aunt's description of it. People 
 ran from their houses weeping and falling on their knees, 
 praying for mercy and forgiveness. Everywhere the 
 terrifying belief spread that the Day of Judgment was at 
 hand; and nights were made vocal with the exhortations 
 of the black preachers who now became numerous upon 
 the plantation. To very recent days old Negroes have 
 dated their calendar from "de year when de stars fell." 
 
 Ah, me ! how long ago that time of childhood's terrors 
 and delights in that young open country ! Of all my 
 early playmates, but one, my cousin William Battle, 
 remains, a twin relic of antiquity ! From the first we 
 were cronies ; yet we had a memorable disagreement upon 
 one occasion which caused a slight breach between us. 
 We were both intensely fond of my aunt's piano, but my 
 cousin was compelled to satisfy his affection for music in 
 secret; for Uncle Battle, who heartily encouraged my 
 efforts, was positive in his disapproval of those of my 
 cousin. \He thought piano-playing in a man to be little 
 short of a crime, and was quite resolved his son should not 
 be guilty of it.y My cousin and I, therefore, connived to 
 arrange our practice in such a way as would allow him to 
 finish his practice at the instrument before my uncle's 
 return from the day's duties. 
 
 Upon the fatal occasion of our disagreement, however, 
 I refused, upon my cousin's appearance, to yield my 
 seat, whereupon, losing his temper, he gave me a tap on 
 the cheek. In a moment the struggle was on ! Our 
 
8 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 tussle was at its height, I on top and. pummelling with all 
 my might, when, the door opening suddenly, a 
 startled cousin appeared. 
 
 "La!" she exclaimed in terror, "Cousin Will and 
 Virginia are fighting ! ' ' 
 
 "No, we're not!" I replied stoutly. "We're just 
 playing ; " and I retired with tufts of reddish hair in both 
 hands, but leaving redder spots on the face of my cousinly 
 antagonist. He, thoroughly satisfied to be released, no 
 longer desired to play the piano, nor with me. His head 
 has long been innocent of hair, an hereditary develop- 
 ment, but he has always asserted that his baldness is 
 attributable to " My cousin, Mrs. Clay, who, in our 
 youthful gambols, scalped me." 
 
 During my twelfth year, my uncle removed to Tusca- 
 loosa, where my real school days began. It was the good 
 fortune of the young State at that time to have in the 
 neighbourhood of its capital many excellent teachers, 
 among whom was my instructress at the school in Tusca- 
 loosa to which I now was sent. I cannot refrain from 
 telling a strange incident in her altogether remarkable 
 life. From the beginning it was full of unusual vicissi- 
 tudes. By birth an English gentlewoman, her mother 
 had died while she was yet an infant. In the care of a 
 young aunt, the child was sent to America to be brought 
 up by family connections residing here. On the long 
 sailing voyage the infant sickened and, to all appearances, 
 died. The ship was in midocean, and the young guardian, 
 blaming her own inexperience, wept bitterly as prepara- 
 tions went on for the burial. At last, all else being ready, 
 the captain himself came forward to sew the little body 
 in the sack, which when weighted would sink the hapless 
 baby into the sea. He bent over the little form, arranging 
 it, when by some strange fortune a bottle of whisky, 
 which he carried in his pocket, was spilled and the con- 
 tents began to flow upon the child's face. Before an 
 
CHILDHOOD, GIRLHOOD, MARRIAGE 9 
 
 exclamation could be made the little one opened its eyes 
 and gave so many evidences of life that restoratives were 
 applied promptly. The infant recovered and grew to 
 womanhood. She became, when widowed, the mistress 
 of a school in our little capital, and her descendants, in 
 many instances, have risen to places of distinction in 
 public life. 
 
 An instructress of that period to whom the women of 
 early Alabama owed much was Maria Brewster Brooks, 
 who, as Mrs. Stafford, the wife of Professor Samuel M. 
 Stafford, became celebrated, and fills a page of conspicu- 
 ous value in the educational history of the State. She 
 was born on the banks of the Merrimac and came to 
 Tuscaloosa in her freshest womanhood. First her pupil, 
 and afterward her friend, our mutual affection, begun 
 in the early thirties, continued until her demise in 
 the eighties. Many of her wards became in after years 
 notable figures in the social life of the national capital, 
 among them Mrs. Hilary Herbert. 
 
 In Tuscaloosa there resided, besides my Aunt Collier, 
 few of my father's and mother's kin, and by a 
 natural affinity I fell under the guardianship of my 
 father's brother, Thomas B. Tunstall, Secretary of State 
 of Alabama. He was a bachelor; but all that I lacked 
 in my separation from my father my uncle supplied, 
 feeding the finer sides of my nature, and inspiring in me 
 a love of things literary even at an age when I had 
 scarce handled a book. My uncle's influence began with 
 my earliest days in Alabama. My aunt, Mrs. Collier, 
 was delicate, Mrs. Battle domestic ; Uncle Battle was a 
 famous business man; and Uncle Collier was immersed 
 in law and increasing political interests ; but my memory 
 crowds with pictures of my Uncle Tom, walking slowly 
 up and down, playing his violin, and interspersing his 
 numbers with some wise counsel to the child beside him. 
 He taught me orally of poetry, and music, of letters 
 
io A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 and philosophy, and of the great world's great interests. 
 He early instilled in me a pride of family, while reading 
 to me Scott's fine tribute to Brian Tunstall, "the stain- 
 less knight," or, as he rehearsed stories of Sir Cuthbert 
 Tunstall, Knight of the Garter, and Bishop of London 
 in the time of gentle Queen Anne ; and it was in good 
 uncle Tom's and my father's company that the fascina- 
 tions of the drama were first revealed to me. 
 
 While I was yet a school-girl, and so green that, had I 
 not been protected by these two loving guardians, I would 
 have been eaten up by the cows on the Mobile meadows, I 
 was taken to see "The Gamester," in which Charles Kean 
 and Ellen Tree were pla}ang. It was a remarkable and 
 ever-remembered experience. As the play proceeded, I 
 became so absorbed in the story, so real and so thrillingly 
 portrayed, that from silent weeping I took to sniffling and 
 from sniffling to ill-repressed sobbing. I leaned forward 
 in my seat tensely, keeping my eyes upon the stage, and 
 equally oblivious of my father and uncle and the strangers 
 who were gazing at me on every side. Now and then, as 
 I sopped the briny outflow of my grief, realising in some 
 mechanical manner that my handkerchief was wet, I 
 would take it by two corners and wave it back and forth 
 in an effort to dry it; but all the while the tears gushed 
 from my eyes in rivulets. My guardians saw little of 
 the play that night, for the amusement I afforded these 
 experienced theatre-goers altogether exceeded in interest 
 the mimic tragedy that so enthralled me. 
 
 When the curtain fell upon the death-scene I was 
 exhausted; but another and counteracting experience 
 awaited me, for the after-piece was "Robert Macaire," 
 and now, heartily as I had wept before, I became con- 
 vulsed with laughter as I saw the deft pickpocket 
 (impersonated by Crisp, the comedian) , courtly as a king, 
 bowing in the dance, while removing from the unsuspect- 
 ing ladies and gentlemen about him their brooches and 
 
CHILDHOOD, GIRLHOOD, MARRIAGE n 
 
 jewels ! My absorption in the performance was so great 
 that I scarce heard the admonitions of my father and 
 uncle, who begged me, in whispers, to control myself. 
 Nor did I realise there was another person in the house 
 but the performers on the stage and myself. 
 
 Years afterward, while travelling with my husband, 
 he recognised in a fellow traveller a former friend from 
 southern Alabama, a Mr. Montague, and brought him to 
 me to present him. To my chagrin, he had scarcely 
 taken my hand when he burst into immoderate and in- 
 explicable laughter. 
 
 "Never," said he to Mr. Clay, "shall I forget the time 
 when I first saw your wife ! We went to see Tree ; but, 
 sir, not half the house knew what was going on on the 
 stage for watching the little girl in the auditorium ! 
 Never till then had I imagined the full power of the 
 drama ! Her delight, her tears and laughter, I am sure, 
 were remembered by the Mobilians long after the ' stars ' 
 acting was forgotten." 
 
 That visit to Mobile was my first flight into the beautiful 
 world that lay beyond the horizon of my school life. In 
 the enjoyments devised for me by my father in those few 
 charmed days, I saw, if not clearly, at least prophetically, 
 what of beauty and joy life might hold for me. Upon 
 our arrival in the lovely little Bay city, my father, learning 
 of a ball for which preparations were on foot, determined 
 I should attend it. Guided perhaps in his choice 
 of colour by the tints of health that lay in his little 
 daughter's cheeks, he selected for me a gown of peach- 
 blossom silk, which all my life I have remembered as the 
 most beautiful of dresses, and one which transformed me, 
 heretofore confined to brown holland gowns by my 
 prudent aunt, Mrs. Battle, as truly as Cinderella was 
 changed into a princess. 
 
 Upon the evening of that never-to-be-forgotten Boat 
 Club Ball, blushing and happy, eager, with delightful 
 
i2 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 anticipations, yet timorous, too, for my guardians, the 
 Battles, had disapproved of dancing and had rigorously 
 excluded this and other worldly pleasures from their 
 ward's accomplishments, I was conducted by my father 
 to the ball. In my heart lay the fear that I would be, 
 after all, a mere looker-on, or appear awkward if I should 
 venture to dance as did the others ; but neither of these 
 misgivings proved to have been well founded. 
 
 My father led me at once to Mme. Le Vert, then the 
 reigning queen of every gathering at which she appeared, 
 and in her safe hands every fear vanished. I had heard 
 my elders speak frequently of her beauty, and somehow 
 had imagined her tall. She was less so than I had 
 pictured, but so winning and cordial to me, a timid child, 
 that I at once capitulated before the charm she cast over 
 everyone who came into conversation with her. I 
 thought her face the sweetest I had ever seen. She had 
 a grace and frankness which made everyone with whom 
 she talked feel that he or she alone commanded her 
 attention. I do not recall her making a single bon mot, 
 but she was vivacious and smiling. Her charm, it 
 seemed to me, lay in her lovely manners and person and 
 her permeating intellectuality. 
 
 I remember Mme. Le Vert's appearance on that occasion 
 distinctly, though to describe it now seems garish. To 
 see her then was bewildering, and all her colour was 
 harmony. She wore a gown of golden satin, and on her 
 hair a wreath of coral flowers, which her morocco shoes 
 matched in hue. In the dance she moved like a bird on 
 the wing. I can see her now in her shining robe, as she 
 swayed and glided, holding the shimmering gown aside 
 as she floated through the "ladies' chain." The first 
 dance of my life was a quadrille, viz-a-vis with this 
 renowned beauty, who took me under her protection and 
 encouraged me from time to time. 
 
 "Don't be afraid, my dear," she would sweetly say. 
 
CHILDHOOD, GIRLHOOD, MARRIAGE 13 
 
 "Do just as I do," and I glided after my wonderful in- 
 structress like one enchanted, with never a mishap. 
 
 Mme. Le Vert, who in years to come became internation- 
 ally celebrated, was a kinswoman of Clement Claiborne 
 Clay, and in after times, when I became his wife, I often 
 met her, but throughout my long life I have remembered 
 that first meeting in Mobile, and her charm and grace 
 have remained a prized picture in my memory. It was 
 of this exquisite belle that Washington Irving remarked : 
 " But one such woman is born in the course of an 
 empire." 
 
 It was to my Uncle Tom that I owed the one love sorrow 
 of my life. It was an affair of the greatest intensity 
 while it endured, and was attended by the utmost 
 anguish for some twelve or fourteen hours. During 
 that space of time I endured all the hopes and fears, the 
 yearnings and despairs to which the human heart is victim. 
 
 I was nearing the age of fifteen when my uncle one 
 evening bade me put on my prettiest frock and accom- 
 pany him to the home of a friend, where a dance was to 
 be given. I was dressed with all the alacrity my old 
 mammy was capable of summoning, and was soon 
 ensconced in the carriage and on my way to the hospi- 
 table scene. En route we stopped at the hotel, where my 
 uncle alighted, reappearing in a moment with a very hand- 
 some young man, who entered the carriage with him and 
 drove with us to the house, where he, too, was to be a guest. 
 
 Never had my eyes beheld so pleasing a masculine 
 wonder ! He was the personification of manly beauty ! 
 His head was shapely as Tasso's (in after life I often heard 
 the comparison made), and in his eyes there burned a 
 romantic fire that enslaved me from the moment their 
 gaze rested upon me. At their warmth all the ardour, 
 all the ideals upon which a romantic heart had fed rose 
 in recognition of their realisation in him. During the 
 evening he paid me some pretty compliments, remarking 
 
i 4 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 upon my hazel eyes and the gleam of gold in my hair, 
 and he touched my curls admiringly, as if they were 
 revered by him. 
 
 My head swam ! Lohengrin never dazzled Elsa more 
 completely than did this knight of the poet's head charm 
 the maiden that was I ! We danced together frequently 
 throughout the evening, and my hero rendered me 
 every attention a kind man may offer to the little 
 daughter of a valued friend. When at last we stepped 
 into the carriage and turned homeward, the whole world 
 was changed for me. 
 
 My first apprehension of approaching sorrow came as we 
 neared the hotel. To my surprise, the knight was willing, 
 nay, desired to be set down there. A dark suspicion crept 
 into my mind that perhaps, after all, my hero might be 
 less gallant than I had supposed, else why did he not 
 seek this opportunity of riding home with me? If this 
 wonderful emotion that possessed me also had actuated 
 him — and how could I doubt it after his devotion through- 
 out the evening? — how could he bear to part from me 
 in this way without a single word or look of tenderness ? 
 
 As the door closed behind him I leaned back in the 
 darkest corner of the carriage and thought hard, though 
 not hardly of him. After a little my uncle roused me by 
 saying, "Did my little daughter enjoy this evening?" 
 
 I responded enthusiastically. 
 
 " And was I not kind to provide you with such a gallant 
 cavalier ? Isn't Colonel Jere Clemens a handsome man ? " 
 
 Ah, was he not? My full heart sang out his praises 
 with an unmistakable note. My uncle listened sym- 
 pathetically. Then he continued, "Yes, he's a fine 
 fellow ! A fine fellow, Virginia, and he has a nice little 
 wife and baby !" 
 
 No thunderbolt ever fell more crushingly upon the 
 unsuspecting than did these awful words from the lips 
 of my uncle ! I know not how I reached my room, but 
 
CHILDHOOD, GIRLHOOD, MARRIAGE 15 
 
 once there I wept passionately throughout the night and 
 much of the following morning. Within my own heart 
 I accused my erstwhile hero of the rankest perfidy; of 
 villainy of every imaginable quality; and in this recoil 
 of injured pride perished my first love dream, vanished 
 the heroic wrappings of my quondam knight ! 
 
 Having finished the curriculum of the institute presided 
 over by Miss Brooks, I was sent to the " Female Academy " 
 at Nashville, Tennessee, to perfect my studies in music 
 and literature, whence I returned to Tuscaloosa all but 
 betrothed to Alexander Keith McClung, already a famous 
 duellist. I met him during a visit to my Uncle Fort's 
 home, in Columbus, Mississippi, and the Colonel's devo- 
 tion to me for many months was the talk of two States. He 
 was the gallantest lover that ever knelt at a lady's feet ! 
 Many a winsome girl admired him, and my sweet cousin, 
 Martha Fort, was wont to say she would "rather marry 
 Colonel McClung than any man alive ' ' ; but I — I loved 
 him madly while with him, but feared him when away 
 from him; for he was a man of fitful, uncertain moods 
 and given to periods of the deepest melancholy. At such 
 times he would mount his horse "Rob Roy," wild and 
 untamable as himself, and dash to the cemetery, where 
 he would throw himself down on a convenient grave and 
 stare like a madman into the sky for hours. A man of 
 reckless bravery, in after years he was the first to mount 
 the ramparts of Monterey shouting victory. As he ran, 
 carrying his country's flag in his right hand, a shot 
 whizzing by took off two fingers of his left. 
 
 I was thrown much in the company of Colonel McClung 
 while at my uncle's home, but resisted his pleading for 
 a binding engagement, telling him with a strange courage 
 and frankness, ere I left Columbus, my reason for this 
 persistent indecision. Before leaving for the academy 
 at Nashville, I had met, at my Uncle Collier's, in Tusca- 
 loosa, the young legislator, Clement C. Clay, Jr., and had 
 
i6 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 then had a premonition that if we should meet when I 
 returned from school I would marry him. At that time 
 I was an unformed girl, and he, Mr. Clay, was devoted 
 to a young lady of the capital ; but this, as I knew, was a 
 matter of the past. I would surely meet him again at 
 Uncle Collier's (I told Mr. McClung) , and, if the attraction 
 continued, I felt sure I would marry him. If not, I 
 would marry him, Colonel McClung. So we parted, and, 
 though at that time the Colonel did not doubt but that 
 mine was a dreaming girl's talk, my premonitions were 
 promptly realised. 
 
 Upon my return to our provincial little capital, then 
 
 a community of six thousand souls, I found it thronging 
 
 with gallants from every county in the State. The belles 
 
 of the town, in preparation for the gayety of the legislative 
 
 "season" of two months, were resplendent in fresh and 
 
 fashionable toilettes. Escritoires were stocked with 
 
 stationery suitable for the billet-doux that were sure to be 
 
 I required; and there, too, were the little boxes of glazed 
 
 mottoed wafers, then all the fashion, with which to seal 
 
 the pretty missives. All the swains of that day wrote 
 
 J in verse to the ladies they admired, and each tender 
 
 -rhyme required a suitably presented acknowledgment. I 
 
 remember, though I have preserved none save those my 
 
 husband wrote me, several creditable effusions by Colonel 
 
 McClung, one of which began : 
 
 "Fearful and green your breathless poet stands," etc. 
 
 Shortly after my return from Columbus, I attended a 
 ball where I danced with William L. Yancey, even then 
 recognised for the splendour of his intellectual powers 
 and his eloquence in the forum. I had heard him speak, 
 and thought his address superb, and I told him so. 
 
 "Ah," he answered gayly, "if it had not been for one 
 pair of hazel eyes I should have been submerged in a 
 mere sea of rhetoric ! ' ' 
 
 On the night of my dance with him I wore a white 
 
CHILDHOOD, GIRLHOOD, MARRIAGE 17 
 
 feather in my hair, and on the morrow a messenger 
 from Mr. Yancey bore me some charming verses, ad- 
 dressed "To the lady with the snow-white plume !" 
 
 I have said my strange premonitions regarding Mr. 
 Clay were realised. Ten days after we met we were 
 affianced. There was a hastily gathered trousseau 
 selected in part by Mme. LeVert in Mobile, and hurried 
 on to my aunt's home. A month later, and our mar- 
 riage was celebrated with all the eclat our little city 
 could provide, and the congratulations of a circle of 
 friends that included half the inhabitants. It is sixty 
 years since that wonderful wedding day, and of the 
 maidens who attended me — there were six — and the 
 happy company that thronged Judge Collier's home on 
 that crisp February morning when I crossed the Rubicon 
 of life, all— even the bridegroom — have passed long since 
 into the shadowy company of memory and the dead. 
 
 That marriage feast in the morn of my life was beautiful ; 
 the low, spacious house of primitive architecture was 
 white with hyacinths, and foliage decorated every avail- 
 able space. The legislature came in a body, solons of 
 the State, and young aspirants for fame; the president 
 and faculty of the State University, of which Mr. Clay 
 was a favoured son; Dr. Capers, afterward Bishop of 
 South Carolina, officiated, and, in that glorious company 
 of old Alabamians, my identity as Virginia Tunstall was 
 merged forever with that of the rising young statesman, 
 Clement C. Clay, Jr. 
 
 A week of festivity followed the ceremony, and then my 
 husband took me to my future home, among his people, 
 in the northern part of the State. There being no rail- 
 road connection between Tuscaloosa and Huntsville in 
 those days (the early forties), we made the journey from 
 the capital in a big four-wheeled stage-coach. The 
 stretch of country now comprised in the active city of 
 Birmingham, the southern Pittsburg, was then a rugged 
 
i8 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 place of rocks and boulders over which our vehicle 
 pitched perilously. Stone Mountain reached, we were 
 obliged to descend and pick our way on foot, the roughness 
 of the road making the passage of the coach a very 
 dangerous one. But these difficulties only lent a charm 
 to us, for the whole world was enwrapped in the 
 glamour of our youthful joys. The sunsets, blazing 
 crimson on the horizon, seemed gloriously to proclaim, the 
 sunrise of our life. 
 
 We arrived in Huntsville on the evening of the second 
 day of our journey. Our driver, enthusiastically proud of 
 his part in the home -bringing of the bride, touched up 
 the spirited horses as we crossed the Public Square and 
 blew a bugle blast as we wheeled round the corner; 
 when, fairly dashing down Clinton Street, he pulled up 
 in masterly style in front of "Clay Castle." It was 
 wide and low and spacious, as were all the affluent homes 
 of that day, and now was ablaze with candles to welcome 
 the travellers. All along the streets friendly hands and 
 kerchiefs had waved a welcome to us. Here, within, 
 awaited a great gathering of family and friends eager to 
 see the chosen bride of a well-loved son. This was my 
 home-coming to Huntsville, thereafter to be my haven 
 for all time, though called in a few years by my husband's 
 growing reputation to take my place beside him in 
 Congressional circles at Washington. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 Washington Personages in the Fifties 
 
 When my husband's parents were members of the 
 Congressional circle in Washington — 1829-'35 — the jour- 
 ney to the capital from their home in northern Alabama 
 was no light undertaking. In those early days Congress- 
 man (afterward Governor, and United States Senator) 
 and Mrs. C. C. Clay, Sr., travelled by coach to the Federal 
 City, accompanied by their coloured coachman, Toney 
 (who, because of his expert driving, soon became notable 
 in Washington), and a maid-servant, Milly, who were 
 necessary to their comfort and station. Many days were 
 consumed in these journeys, that lay through Tennessee, 
 the Carolinas and Virginia, during which the travellers 
 were exposed to all the dangers common to a young and 
 often unsettled forest country. The tangled woods of the 
 South land, odorous with the cedar or blossoming with 
 dogwood, mimosa or magnolias, were often Arcadias of 
 beauty. The land of the sky, now the object of pilgrim- 
 ages for the wealthy and become the site of palaces built 
 by kings of commerce, was then still more beautiful 
 with primeval freshness. Far as the eye could see, as 
 hills were scaled and valleys crossed, were verdured slopes 
 and wooded mountain crests. The Palisades of the 
 Tennessee, as yet scarcely penetrated by Northern tour- 
 ists, were then the wonder as they still are the pride of the 
 traveller from the South. 
 
 In 1853, my husband was elected a United States 
 Senator, to take the seat of a former college friend, Jere 
 Clemens, whose term had just expired, and succeeding 
 
 19 
 
2o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 his father C. C. Clay, Sr., after eleven years. In Decem- 
 ber of the same year, we began our trip to the capital 
 under comparatively modern conditions. My several - 
 visits to Vermont and New Jersey Hydropathic Cures, 
 then the fashionable sanitariums, had already inured 
 me to long journeys. By this time steam railways had 
 been established, and, though not so systematically con- 
 nected as to make possible the taking of long trips over 
 great distances without devious and tiresome changes, 
 they had lessened the time spent upon the road between 
 Alabama and Washington very appreciably; but, 
 while in comparison with those in common use to-day, 
 the cars were primitive, nevertheless they were marvels 
 of comfort and speed to the traveller-s^pfthe^ fiftie s. Sleep- 
 ing cars were not yet invented, but the double-action seat- 
 backs of the regular coaches, not then, as now, screwed 
 down inexorably, made it a simple matter to convert two 
 seats into a kind of couch, on which, with the aid of a 
 pillow, one managed very well to secure a half repose as 
 the cars moved soberly along. 
 
 Our train on that first official journey to Washington 
 proved to be a kind of inchoative " Congressional Lim- 
 ited." We found many of our fellow passengers to be 
 native Alabamians, the majority being on government 
 business bent. Among them were my husband's confrere 
 from southern Alabama, Senator Fitzpatrick and his wife, 
 and a friendship was then and there begun among us, 
 which lasted uninterruptedly until death detached some 
 of the parties to it; also Congressman Dowdell, "dear 
 old Dowdell," as my husband and everyone in the House 
 shortly learned to call him, and James L. Orr of South 
 Carolina, who afterward became Speaker of the House 
 of Representatives, and Minister to Russia under Presi- 
 dent Grant. Mr. Orr, late in i860, was one of the three 
 commissioners sent by South Carolina to President 
 Buchanan to arbitrate on the question of the withdrawal 
 
WASHINGTON PERSONAGES IN THE FIFTIES 2 1 
 
 of United States troops from Forts Sumter and Moultrie, 
 in Charleston Harbour. 
 
 Nor should I omit to name the most conspicuous man 
 on that memorable north-bound train, Congressman 
 W. R. W. Cobb, who called himself the "maker of Sena- 
 tors," and whom people called the most successful vote- 
 poller in the State of Alabama. Mr. Cobb resorted to all 
 sorts of tricks to catch the popular votes, such as the 
 rattling of tinware and crockery — he had introduced 
 bills to secure indigent whites from a seizure for debt that 
 would engulf all their possessions, and in them had 
 minutely defined all articles that were to be thus exempt, 
 not scorning to enumerate the smallest items of the 
 kitchen — , and he delighted in the singing of homely songs 
 composed for stump purposes. One of these which he was 
 wont to introduce at the end of a speech, and which 
 always seemed to be especially his own, was called "The 
 Homestead Bill." Of this remarkable composition there 
 were a score of verses, at least, that covered every 
 possible possession which the heart of the poor man 
 might crave, ranging from land and mules to household 
 furniture. The song began, 
 
 " Uncle Sam is rich enough to give us all a farm ! " 
 and Mr. Cobb would sing it in stentorian tones, winking, 
 as he did so, to first one and.then another of his admiring 
 listeners, and punctuating his phrases by chewing, with 
 great gusto, a piece of onion and the coarsest of corn 
 "pone." These evidences of his democracy gave huge 
 delight to the masses, though it aroused in me, a young 
 wife, great indignation, that, in the exigencies of a public 
 career my husband should be compelled to enter a con- 
 test with such a man. To me it was the meeting of a 
 Damascus blade and a meat-axe, and in my soul I 
 resented it. 
 
 In 1849 this stump-favourite had defeated the brilliant 
 Jere Clemens, then a candidate for Congress, but im- 
 
22 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 mediately thereafter Mr. Clemens was named for the 
 higher office of U. S. Senator and elected. In 1853 an 
 exactly similar conjunction of circumstances resulted in 
 the election of Mr. Clay. I accompanied my husband 
 during the canvass in which he was defeated, and thereby 
 became, though altogether innocently, the one obstacle 
 to Mr. Cobb's usually unanimous election. 
 
 It happened that during the campaign Mr. Clay and 
 I stopped at a little hostelry, that lay in the very centre 
 of one of Mr. Cobb's strongest counties. It was little 
 more than a flower-embowered cottage, kept by "Aunt 
 Hannah," a kindly soul, whose greatest treasure was a 
 fresh-faced, pretty daughter, then entering her "teens." 
 I returned to our room after a short absence, just in time 
 to see this village beauty before my mirror, arrayed in 
 all the glory of a beautiful and picturesque hat which 
 I had left upon the bed during my absence. It was a 
 lovely thing of the period, which I had but recently 
 brought back from the North, having purchased it while 
 en route for Doctor Wesselhceft's Hydropathic Institute 
 in Brattleboro, Vermont. 
 
 The little rustic girl of Alabama looked very winsome 
 and blossomy in the pretty gew-gaw, and I asked her 
 impulsively if she liked it. Her confusion was sufficient 
 answer, and I promptly presented it to her, on con- 
 dition that she would give me her sunbonnet in 
 return. 
 
 The exchange was quickly made, and when Mr. Clay 
 and I departed I wore a pea-green cambric bonnet, 
 lined with pink and stiffened with pasteboard slats. I 
 little dreamed that this exchange of millinery, so unpre- 
 meditated, and certainly uncalculating, was a political 
 master-stroke; but, so it proved. It undermined Mr. 
 Cobb's Gibraltar; for at the election that followed, the 
 vote in that county was practically solid for Mr. Clay, 
 where formerly Mr. Cobb had swept it clean. 
 
WASHINGTON PERSONAGES IN THE FIFTIES 23 
 
 When, upon the train en route for the capital in the 
 winter of '53, Senator Fitzpatrick insisted upon presenting 
 the erstwhile triumphant politician, I took the long, 
 flail-like hand he offered me with no accentuated cor- 
 diality ; my reserve, however, seemed not to disturb Mr. 
 Cobb's proverbial complacency. 
 
 "I've got a crow to pick with you, Mrs. Clay," he 
 began, " for that pink bonnet trick at old Aunt Hannah's ! ' ' 
 
 " And I have a buzzard to pick with you ! " I responded 
 promptly, "for defeating my husband !" 
 
 "You ought to feel obliged to me," retorted the Con- 
 gressman, continuing "For I made your husband a 
 Senator !" 
 
 "Well," I rejoined, "I'll promise not to repeat the 
 bonnet business, if you'll give me your word never again 
 to sing against my husband ! That's unfair, for you know 
 he can't sing!" which, amid the laughter of our fellow- 
 passengers, Mr. Cobb promised. 
 
 Our entrance into the Federal City was not without 
 its humorous side. We arrived in the early morning, 
 about two o'clock, driving up to the National Hotel, 
 where, owing to a mistake on the part of the night- 
 clerk, an incident occurred with which for many a day 
 I twitted my husband and our male companions on 
 that eventful occasion. 
 
 At that period it was the almost universal custom for 
 Southern gentlemen to wear soft felt hats, and the fashion 
 was invariable when travelling. In winter, too, long- 
 distance voyagers as commonly wrapped themselves in 
 the blanket shawl, which was thrown around the shoulders 
 in picturesque fashion and was certainly comfortable, if 
 not strictly a la mode. My husband and the other gentle- 
 men of our party were so provided on our journey north- 
 ward, and upon our arrival, it must be admitted, none 
 in that travel-stained and weary company would have 
 been mistaken for a Washington exquisite of the period. 
 
24 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 As our carriage stopped in front of the hotel door, Mr. 
 Dowdell, muffled to the ears, his soft -brimmed hat well 
 down over his face (for the wind was keen), stepped out 
 quickly to arrange for our accommodation. The night 
 was bitterly cold, and the others of our company were 
 glad to remain under cover until our spokesman returned. 
 
 This he did in a moment or two. He appeared crest- 
 fallen, and quite at a loss. 
 
 " Nothing here, Clay ! " he said to my husband. " Man 
 says they have no rooms ! ' ' 
 
 "Nonsense, Dowdell!" was Senator Clay's response. 
 " You must be mistaken. Here, step inside while I 
 inquire!" He, muffled as mysteriously, and in no whit 
 more trust-inspiring than the dejected Mr. Dowdell, strode 
 confidently in. Not many minutes elapsed ere he, too, 
 returned. 
 
 " Well ! " he said. " I don't understand it, but Dowdell's 
 right ! They say they have no rooms for us ! " 
 
 At this we were dismayed, and a chorus of exclama- 
 tions went up from men and women alike. What were 
 we to do ? In a moment, I had resolved. 
 
 " There's some mistake ! I don't believe it," I said. " I'll 
 go and see;" and, notwithstanding my husband's remon- 
 strances, I hurried out of the carriage and into the hotel. 
 Stepping to the desk I said to the clerk in charge: "Is it 
 possible you have no rooms for our party in this large 
 hostelry? Is it possible, Sir, that at this season, when 
 Congress is convening, you have reserved no rooms for 
 Congressional guests ? ' ' He stammered out some con- 
 fused reply, but I hurried on. 
 
 " I am Mrs. Clay, of Alabama. You have refused my 
 husband, Senator Clay, and his friend, Representative 
 Dowdell. What does it mean?" 
 
 " Why, certainly, Madam," he hastened to say, "I have 
 rooms for those." And forthwith ordered the porters to 
 go for our luggage. Then, reaching hurriedly for various 
 
WASHINGTON PERSONAGES IN THE FIFTIES 25 
 
 keys, he added, " I beg your pardon, Madam ! I did not 
 know you were those ! ' ' 
 
 What he did believe us to be, piloted as we were by 
 two such brigand-like gentlemen as Senator Clay and 
 Mr. Dowdell, we never knew; enough that our tired 
 party were soon installed in comfortable apartments. 
 It was by reason of this significant episode that I first 
 realized the potency in Washington of conventional 
 apparel and Congressional titles. 
 
 My husband being duly sworn in on the 14th of Decem- 
 ber, 1853, in a few days our "mess" was established at 
 the home of Mr. Charles Gardner, at Thirteenth and G 
 Streets. Here my first season in Washington was spent. 
 Besides Senator Clay and myself, our party was com- 
 posed of Senator and Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and Representa- 
 tives Dowdell and Orr, and to this little nucleus of con- 
 genial spirits were afterward added in our later resi- 
 dences at historic old Brown's Hotel and the Ebbitt 
 House, many whose names are known to the nation. 
 
 Though a sad winter for me, for in it I bore and buried 
 my only child, yet my recollections of that season, as its 
 echoes reached our quiet parlours, are those of boundless 
 entertainment and bewildering ceremony. The season 
 was made notable in the fashionable world by the great 
 fete champetre given by the British Minister, Mr. Cramp- 
 ton, and the pompous obsequies of Baron Bodisco, for 
 many years resident Minister from Russia; but of these 
 I learned only through my ever kind friend, Mrs. Fitz- 
 patrick, who for months was my one medium of com- 
 munication with the fashionable outside world. She was 
 a beautiful woman, with superb carriage and rare and 
 rich colouring, and possessed, besides, a voice of great 
 sweetness, with which, during that winter of seclusion, she 
 often made our simple evenings a delight. While shortly 
 she became a leader in matters social, Mrs. Fitzpatrick 
 was still more exalted in our own little circle for her 
 
26 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 singing of such charming songs as "Roy's Wife of 
 Aldivalloch," and other quaint Scotch ditties. Nor was 
 Mrs. Fitzpatrick the one musician of our "mess," for 
 Mr. Dowdell had a goodly voice and sang with lusty 
 enjoyment the simpler ballads of the day, to say nothing 
 of many melodious Methodist hymns. 
 
 My experiences as an active member of Washington 
 society, therefore, began in the autumn of 1854 and 
 the succeeding spring, when, notwithstanding an air 
 of gravity and reserve that was perceptible at that 
 social pivot, the White House, the gaiety of the capital 
 was gaining an impetus in what later appeared to me to 
 be a veritable "merry madness." 
 
 It is true that it did not even then require the insight 
 of a keen observer to detect in social, as in political 
 gatherings, the constantly widening division between the 
 Northern and Southern elements gathered in the Govern- 
 ment City. For myself, I knew little of politics, not- 
 withstanding the fact that from my childhood I had 
 called myself "a pronounced Jeffersonian Democrat." 
 Naturally, I was an hereditary believer in States' Rights, 
 the real question, which, in an attempt to settle it, cul- 
 minated in our Civil War ; and I had been bred among the 
 law-makers of the sturdy young State of Alabama, many 
 of whom had served at the State and National capitals 
 with marked distinction; but from my earliest girlhood 
 three lessons had been taught me religiously, viz. : to be 
 proud alike of my name and blood and section; to read 
 my Bible; and, last, to know my "Richmond Enquirer." 
 Often, as an aid to the performance of this last duty, have 
 I read aloud its full contents, from the rates of adver- 
 tisement down, until my dear uncle Tom Tunstall has 
 fallen asleep over my childish efforts. It is not, then, 
 remarkable that, upon my arrival, I was at once cog- 
 nisant of the feeling which was so thinly concealed 
 between the strenuous parties established in the capital. 
 
MRS. BENJAMIN FITZPATRICK 
 of Alabama 
 
WASHINGTON PERSONAGES IN THE FIFTIES 27 
 
 During the first half of the Pierce administration, how- 
 ever, though feeling ran high in the Senate and the 
 House, the surface of social life was smiling and peaceful. 
 The President had every reason to feel kindly toward 
 the people of the South who had so unanimously sup- 
 ported him, and he was as indiscriminating and impartial 
 in his attitude to the opposing parties as even the most 
 critical could desire; but, gradually, by a mutual instinct 
 of repulsion that resolved itself into a general consent, the 
 representatives of the two antagonistic sections seldom 
 met save at promiscuous assemblages to which the 
 exigencies of public life compelled them. To be sure, 
 courtesies were exchanged between the wives of some 
 of the Northern and Southern Senators, and formal calls 
 were paid on Cabinet days, as etiquette demanded, upon 
 the ladies of the Cabinet circle ; but, by a tacit understand- 
 ing, even at the entertainments given at the foreign 
 legations, and at the houses of famous Washington citi- 
 zens, this opposition of parties was carefully considered 
 in the sending out of invitations, in order that no unfortu- 
 nate rencontre might occur between uncongenial guests. 
 
 The White House, as I have said, was scarcely a place 
 of gaiety. Mrs. Pierce's first appearance in public 
 occurred at the Presidential levee, late in 1853. An 
 invalid for several years, she had recently received a 
 shock, which was still a subject of pitying conversation 
 throughout the country. It had left a terrible impress 
 upon Mrs. Pierce's spirits. While travelling from her home 
 in New Hampshire to Washington to witness her hus- 
 band's exaltation as the President of the United States, 
 an accident, occurring at Norwalk, Connecticut, suddenly 
 deprived her of her little son, the last surviving of her 
 several children. At her first public appearance at the 
 White House, clad in black velvet and diamonds, her 
 natural pallor being thereby greatly accentuated, a 
 universal sympathy was awakened for her. To us who 
 
28 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 knew her, the stricken heart was none the less apparent 
 because hidden under such brave and jewelled apparel, 
 which she had donned, the better to go through the 
 ordeal exacted by "the dear people." 
 
 I had made the acquaintance of General and Mrs. 
 Pierce during the preceding year while on a visit to the 
 New England States; my husband's father had been the 
 President's confrere in the Senate early in the forties; 
 and my brother-in-law, Colonel Hugh Lawson Clay, had 
 fought beside the New Hampshire General in the Mexican 
 War. The occupants of the Executive Mansion there- 
 fore were no strangers to us; yet Mrs. Pierce's sweet 
 graciousness and adaptability came freshly to me as I saw 
 her assume her place as the social head of the nation. 
 Her sympathetic nature and very kind heart, qualities 
 not always to be perceived through the formalities of 
 governmental etiquette, were demonstrated to me on 
 many occasions. My own ill-health proved to be a bond 
 between us, and, while custom forbade the paying of 
 calls by the wife of the Chief Magistrate upon the wives of 
 Senators, I was indebted to Mrs. Pierce for many acts 
 of friendliness, not the least of which were occasional 
 drives with her in the Presidential equipage. 
 
 A favourite drive in those days was throughout the 
 length of Pennsylvania Avenue, then but sparsely and 
 irregularly built up. The greatest contrasts in archi- 
 tecture existed, hovels often all but touching the man- 
 sions of the rich. The great boulevard was a perfect 
 romping ground for the winds. Chevy Chase and George- 
 town were popular objective points, and the banks of the 
 Potomac, in shad-seining season, were alive with gay 
 sightseers. The markets of Washington have always 
 excelled, affording every luxury of earth and sea, and that 
 at a price which gives to the owner of even a moderate 
 purse a leaning toward epicureanism. In the houses 
 of the rich the serving of dinners became a fine art. 
 
WASHINGTON PERSONAGES IN THE FIFTIES 29 
 
 On the first occasion of my dining at the President's 
 table, I was struck with the spaciousness of the White 
 House, and the air of simplicity which everywhere 
 pervaded. Very elaborate alterations were made in the 
 mansion for Mr. Pierce's successor, but in the day of 
 President and Mrs. Pierce it remained practically as un- 
 imposing as in the time of President Monroe. 
 
 The most remarkable features in all the mansion, to 
 my then unaccustomed eyes, were the gold spoons which 
 were used invariably at all State dinners. They were 
 said to have been brought from Paris by President 
 Monroe, who had been roundly criticised for introducing 
 into the White House a table accessory so undemocratic ! 
 Besides these extraordinary golden implements, there 
 were as remarkable bouquets, made at the government 
 greenhouses. They were stiff and formal things, as big 
 round as a breakfast plate, and invariably composed of a 
 half-dozen wired japonicas ornamented with a pretentious 
 cape of marvellously wrought lace-paper. At every 
 plate, at every State dinner, lay one of these memorable 
 rigid bouquets. This fashion, originating at the White 
 House, was taken up by all Washington. For an entire 
 season the japonica was the only flower seen at the houses 
 of the fashionable or mixing in the toilettes of the 
 belles. 
 
 But if, for that, my first winter in Washington, the 
 White House itself was sober, the houses of the rich 
 Senators and citizens of Washington, of the brilliant 
 diplomatic corps, and of some of the Cabinet Ministers, 
 made ample amends for it. In the fifties American 
 hospitality acquired a reputation, and that of the capital 
 was synonymous with an unceasing, an augmenting round 
 of dinners and dances, receptions and balls. A hundred 
 hostesses renowned for their beauty and wit and vivacity 
 vied with each other in evolving novel social relaxations. 
 Notable among these were Mrs. Slidell, Mrs. Jacob 
 
3 o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 Thompson, Miss Belle Cass, and the daughters of Secretary 
 Guthrie; Mrs. Senator Toombs and Mrs. Ogle Tayloe, 
 the Riggses, the Countess de Sartiges and Mrs. Cobb, 
 wife of that jolly Falstaff of President Buchanan's 
 Cabinet, Howell Cobb. Mrs. Cobb was of the celebrated 
 Lamar family, so famous for its brilliant and brave men, 
 and lovely women. Highly cultured, modest as a wild 
 wood-violet, inclined, moreover, to reserve, she was 
 nevertheless capable of engrossing the attention of the 
 most cultivated minds in the capital, and a conversation 
 with her was ever a thing to be remembered. No more 
 hospitable home was known in Washington than that of 
 the Cobbs. The Secretary was a bon vivant, and his 
 home the rendezvous of the epicurean as well as the 
 witty and the intellectual. 
 
 Probably the most brilliant of all the embassies, until 
 the coming of Lord and Lady Napier, was that of France. 
 The Countess de Sartiges, who presided over it, was an 
 unsurpassed hostess, besides being a woman of much 
 manner and personal beauty ; and, as did many others of 
 the suite, she entertained on a lavish scale. 
 
 Mrs. Slidell, wife of the Senator from Louisiana, whose 
 daughter Mathilde is now the wife of the Parisian banker, 
 Baron Erlanger, became famous in the fifties for her 
 matinee dances at which all the beauties and beaux of 
 Washington thronged. Previous to her marriage with 
 Senator Slidell she was Mile, des Londes of New Orleans. 
 A leader in all things fashionable, she was also one of the 
 most devout worshippers at St. Aloysius's church. I 
 remember with what astonishment and admiration I 
 watched her devotions one Sunday morning when, as 
 the guest of Senator Mallory, himself a strict Romanist, 
 I attended that church for the purpose of hearing a mass 
 sung. 
 
 I knew Mrs. Slidell as the devotee of fashion, the wearer 
 of unapproachable Parisian gowns, the giver of unsur- 
 
WASHINGTON PERSONAGES IN THE FIFTIES 31 
 
 passed entertainments, the smiling, tireless hostess; but 
 that Sunday morning as I saw her enter a pew just ahead 
 of Senator Mallory and myself, sink upon her knees, and, 
 with her eyes fixed upon the cross, repeating her prayers 
 with a concentration that proved the sincerity of them, 
 I felt as if another and greater side of her nature were 
 being revealed to me. I never met her thereafter without 
 a remembrance of that morning flitting through my mind. 
 
 During the early spring of 1854 I heard much of the 
 imposing ceremonials attending the funeral of Baron 
 Alexandre de Bodisco, Minister from Russia since 1838, 
 the days of Van Buren. His young wife, a native of 
 Georgetown, was one of the first to draw the attention of 
 foreigners to the beauty of American women. The 
 romantic old diplomat had learned to admire his 
 future wife when, as a little girl, upon her daily return 
 from school, he carried her books for her. Her beauty 
 developed with her growth, and, before she was really 
 of an age to appear in society, though already spoken of 
 as the most beautiful woman in Georgetown, Harriet 
 Williams became the Baroness de Bodisco, and was car- 
 ried abroad for presentation at the Russian Court. 
 Her appearance in that critical circle created a furore, 
 echoes of which preceded her return to America. I have 
 heard it said that this young bride was the first woman 
 to whom was given the title, "the American Rose." 
 
 I remember an amusing incident in which this lovely 
 Baroness, unconsciously to herself, played the part of 
 instructress to me. It was at one of my earliest dinners 
 at the White House, ere I had thoroughly familiarised 
 myself with the gastronomic novelties devised by the 
 Gautiers (then the leading restaurateurs and confectioners 
 of the capital) , and the other foreign chefs who vied with 
 them. Scarcely a dinner of consequence but saw some 
 surprise in the way of a heretofore unknown dish. Many 
 a time I have seen some one distinguished for his aplomb 
 
32 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 look about helplessly as the feast progressed, and gaze 
 questioningly at the preparation before him, as if un- 
 certain as to how it should be manipulated. Whenever 
 I was in doubt as to the proper thing to do at these dig- 
 nified dinners, I turned, as was natural, to those whose 
 longer experience in the gay world was calculated to 
 establish them as exemplars to the novice. 
 
 On the evening of which I write, the courses had pro- 
 ceeded without the appearance of unusual or alarm- 
 inspiring dishes until we had neared the end of the menu, 
 when I saw a waiter approaching with a large salver on 
 which were dozens of mysterious parallelograms of paper, 
 each of which was about five inches long and three broad, 
 and appeared to be full of some novel conserve. 
 Beside them lay a silver trowel. The packages were folded 
 daintily, the gilt edges of their wrapping glittering at- 
 tractively. What they contained I could not guess, nor 
 could I imagine what we were supposed to do with them. 
 
 However, while still struggling to read the mystery 
 of the salver, my eye fell upon Mme. de Bodisco, my 
 vis-a-vis. She was a mountain of lace and jewels, of 
 blonde beauty and composure, for even at this early period 
 her proportions were larger than those which by common 
 consent are accredited to the sylph. I could have no 
 better instructress than this lady of international renown. 
 I watched her; saw her take up the little trowel, 
 deftly remove one of the packages from the salver to her 
 plate, and composedly proceed to empty the paper 
 receptacle of its contents — a delicious glace. My sus- 
 pense was at an end. I followed her example, very well 
 satisfied with my good fortune in escaping a pitfall which 
 a moment ago I felt sure yawned before me, for this 
 method of serving creams and ices was the latest 
 of culinary novelties. 
 
 I wondered if there were others at the great board who 
 were equally uncertain as to what to do with the care- 
 
WASHINGTON PERSONAGES IN THE FIFTIES 33 
 
 fully concealed dainties. Looking down to the other 
 side of the table, I saw our friend Mr. Blank, of Virginia, 
 hesitatingly regarding the pile of paper which the waiter 
 was holding toward him. Presently, as if resigned to 
 his fate, he took up the trowel and began to devote 
 considerable energy to an attempt to dig out the con- 
 tents of the package nearest him, when, as I glanced 
 toward him, he looked up, full of self -consciousness, and 
 turned his gaze directly upon me. His expression told 
 plainly of growing consternation. 
 
 I shook my head in withering pseudo-rebuke and 
 swiftly indicated to him "to take a whole one." Fortu- 
 nately, he was quick-witted and caught my meaning, and, 
 taking the hint, took likewise the cream without further 
 mishap. After dinner we retired to the green-room, 
 where, as was the custom, coffee and liqueurs were served. 
 Here Mr. Blank approached, and, shaking my hand most 
 gratefully, he whispered, " God bless my soul, Mrs. Clay ! 
 You're the sweetest woman in the world ! But for 
 your goodness, heaven only knows what would have 
 happened! Perhaps," and he sipped his liqueur con- 
 templatively, "perhaps I might have been struggling 
 with that, that problem yet ! " 
 
 I met Mme. de Bodisco many times during her widow- 
 hood, and was present at old St. John's when her second 
 marriage, with Captain Scott of Her British Majesty's 
 Life Guards, was celebrated. It was early in the Buchanan 
 administration, and the bride was given away by the 
 President. While St. John's, I may add, was often 
 referred to as a fashionable centre, yet much of 
 genuine piety throve there, too. 
 
 Mme. de Bodisco, who, during her widowhood, had 
 continued her belleship and had received, it was said, 
 many offers of marriage from distinguished men, capitu- 
 lated at last to the young guardsman just named. Great 
 therefore was the interest in the second nuptials of so 
 
34 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 popular a beauty. Old St. John's was crowded with the 
 most distinguished personages in the capital. The aisles 
 of the old edifice are narrow, and the march of the bride 
 and the President to the altar was memorable, not only 
 because of the distinction, but also by reason of the im- 
 posing proportions of both principals in it. In fact, the 
 plumpness of the stately bride and the President's ample 
 figure, made the walk, side by side, an almost impossible 
 feat. The difficulty was overcome, however, by the tact- 
 fulness of the President, who led the lady slightly in ad- 
 vance of himself until the chancel was reached. Here 
 the slender young groom, garbed in the scarlet and gold 
 uniform of his rank, stepped forward to claim her, and, 
 though it was seen that he stood upon a hassock in order 
 to lessen the difference in height between himself and his 
 bride, it was everywhere admitted that Captain Scott was 
 a handsome and gallant groom, and worthy the prize he 
 had won. 
 
 This was Mme. de Bodisco's last appearance in Wash- 
 ington. With her husband she went to India, where, 
 it was said, the climate soon made havoc of her health 
 and beauty; but her fame lingered long on the lips of 
 her hosts of admirers in Washington. Nor did the 
 name of de Bodisco disappear from the social list, for, 
 though his sons were sent to Russia, there to be educated, 
 Waldemar de Bodisco, nephew of the late Minister, long 
 continued to be the most popular leader of the German 
 in Washington. 
 
 Throughout the fifties, and indeed for several preceding 
 decades, the foreign representatives and their suites 
 formed a very important element in society in the capital. 
 In some degree their members, the majority of whom were 
 travelled and accomplished, and many representative of 
 the highest culture in Europe, were our critics, if not our 
 mentors. The standard of education was higher in Europe 
 fifty years ago than in our own land, and to be a favourite 
 
WASHINGTON PERSONAGES IN THE FIFTIES 35 
 
 at the foreign legations was equivalent to a certificate 
 of accomplishment and social charms. An acquaintance 
 with the languages necessarily was not the least of these. 
 
 The celebrated Octavia Walton, afterward famous as 
 Mme. Le Vert, won her first social distinction in Wash- 
 ington, where, chaperoned by Mrs. C. C. Clay, Sr., 
 a recognition of her grace and beauty, her 
 intellectuality and charming manner was instantaneous. 
 At a time when a knowledge of the foreign tongues was 
 seldom acquired by American women, Miss Walton, 
 who spoke French, Spanish and Italian with ease, speedily 
 became the favourite of the Legations, and thence began 
 her fame which afterward became international. 
 
 During my early residence in Washington, Addie 
 Cutts (who became first the wife of Stephen A. Douglas 
 and some years after his death married General Williams) 
 was the admired of all foreigners. Miss Cutts was the 
 niece of Mrs. Greenhow, a wealthy and brilliant woman 
 of the capital, and, when she became Mrs. Douglas, held 
 a remarkable sway for years. As a linguist Miss Cutts 
 was reputed to be greatly gifted. If she spoke the many 
 languages of which she was said to be mistress but half 
 so eloquently as she uttered her own when, in 1865, she 
 appealed to President Johnson on behalf of "her loved 
 friend" my husband, the explanation of her remarkable 
 nightly levees of the late fifties is readily found. 
 
 Though never, strictly speaking, a member of our 
 "mess," Mrs. Douglas and I were always firm friends. 
 While she was still Miss Cutts, and feeling keenly the 
 deprivations that fall to the lot of the beautiful daughter 
 of a poor department clerk, * she once complained to me 
 poutingly of the cost of gloves. 
 
 * Apropos of this reference to Mrs. Douglas, Col. Henry Watterson 
 said to me: "Her passport into Washington society was her relation- 
 ship to Mistress Dolly Madison, who was her grandaunt. It is true, 
 Mr. James Madison Cutts, Mrs. Douglas's father, was a department 
 clerk, but he was the nephew of the former mistress of the White 
 
36 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 "Nonsense," I answered. "Were I Addie Cutts, with 
 hands that might have been chiselled by Phidias, I would 
 never disguise them in gloves, whatever the fashion !" 
 
 Miss Cutts entered into the enjoyment of the wealth 
 and position which her marriage with Stephen A. Douglas 
 gave her, with the regal manner of a princess. Her 
 toilettes were of the richest and at all times were models 
 of taste and picturesqueness. The effect she produced 
 upon strangers was invariably one of instant admiration. 
 Writing to me in 1863, my cousin, Mrs. Paul Hammond 
 (who, before her marriage, had spent a winter with me 
 at Washington) , thus recalled her meeting with the noted 
 beauty : 
 
 "Yesterday, with its green leaves and pearl-white 
 flowers, called to my memory how Mrs. Douglas looked 
 when I first saw her. She was receiving at her own house 
 in a crepe dress looped with pearls, and her hair was 
 ornamented with green leaves and lilies. She was a 
 beautiful picture ! ' ' 
 
 I had the pleasure, on one occasion, of bringing to- 
 gether Mrs. Douglas and Miss Betty Beirne, the tallest 
 and the shortest belles of their time. They had long 
 desired to meet, and each viewed the other with astonish- 
 ment and pleasure. Miss Beirne, who afterward became 
 the wife of Porcher Miles of South Carolina, was one of 
 the tiniest of women, as Mrs. Douglas was one of the 
 queenliest, and both were toasted continually in the 
 capital. 
 
 During the incumbency of Mr. Crampton, he being a 
 bachelor, few functions were given at the British Embassy 
 which ladies attended. Not that the Minister and his 
 
 House. Mrs. Douglas was very beautiful," Colonel Watterson con- 
 tinued. "I remember stepping into the Douglas library one morning, 
 and coming upon her unexpectedly as she was dusting some bit of 
 precious bric-a-brac, over which she extended a personal care. She 
 was en negligee, and, as the colour mounted her cheek, upon my unex- 
 pected appearance, I thought I had never seen so beautiful, so rosy a 
 girl. I told Douglas so!" A. S. 
 
WASHINGTON PERSONAGES IN THE FIFTIES 37 
 
 suite were eremites. On the contrary, Mr. Crampton 
 was exceedingly fond of "cutting a figure." His traps 
 were especially conspicuous on the Washington avenues. 
 Always his own reinsman, the Minister's fast tandem 
 driving and the stiffly upright "tiger" behind him, for 
 several years were one of the sights of the city. In social 
 life the British Embassy was admirably represented by 
 Mr. Lumley, Charge d'Aflaires, an affable young man 
 who entered frankly into the life of the city and won the 
 friendly feeling of all who met him. He was one of the 
 four young men who took each the novel part of the ele- 
 phant's leg at a most amusing impromptu affair given 
 by Mrs., George Riggs in honour of the girl prima donna, 
 Adelina Patti. It was, I think, the evening of the latter's 
 debut in "la Traviata." Her appearance was the occa- 
 sion of one of the most brilliant audiences ever seen in 
 Washington. Everyone of note was present, and the 
 glistening of silk and the flash of jewels no doubt con- 
 tributed their quota of stimulus to the youthful star. 
 
 Within a day of the performance, Senator Clay and I 
 received a note from Mrs. Riggs, inviting us informally, 
 not to say secretly, to an after-the-opera supper, to meet 
 the new diva and her supporting artists. We responded 
 cordially and drove to the Riggs residence shortly after 
 the close of the performance. 
 
 There, upon our arrival, we found representatives from 
 all the foreign legations, Patti's entire troupe, and perhaps 
 a dozen others, exclusive of the family of our hostess. 
 The prima donna soon came in, a lovely little maiden in 
 evening dress, with a manner as winsome as was her 
 appearance. The entertainment now began by graceful 
 compliment from all present to the new opera queen, 
 after which Mr. Riggs led her to the dining-room where 
 the sumptuous supper was spread. 
 
 The table was almost as wide as that of the White 
 House. Its dazzling silver and gold and crystal vessels, 
 
38 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 and viands well worthy these receptacles, made a brilliant 
 centre around which the decorated foreigners seemed 
 appropriately to cluster. The little cantatrice's undisguised 
 pleasure was good to see. She had worked hard during 
 the performance of the opera, and her appetite was keen. 
 She did ample justice, therefore, to Mrs. Riggs's good 
 cheer, and goblets were kept brimming for quite two 
 hours. 
 
 This important part of the programme over, a young 
 Englishman, by name Mr. Palmer, who, as the Chevalier 
 Bertinatti (the Sardinian Minister) whispered to me, had 
 been asked "to make some leetle fun for leetle Mees 
 Patti," opened the evening's merriment by an amusing 
 exhibition of legerdemain. Mr. Palmer, at that time a 
 favourite music-teacher, who spent his time between 
 Washington and Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York, 
 having in each city numerous fashionable pupils, after- 
 ward became known to the world as the great prestidigi- 
 tator, Heller. 
 
 On the evening of the Riggses' supper the young ma- 
 gician was in his best form. Handkerchiefs and trinkets 
 disappeared mysteriously, only to come to light again in 
 the most unexpected places, until the company became 
 almost silent with wonder. Mr. Palmer's last trick 
 required a pack of cards, which were promptly forth- 
 coming. Selecting the queen of hearts, he said, looking 
 archly in the direction of the diminutive Patti: "This 
 is also a queen ; but she is a naughty girl and we will not 
 have her!" saying which, with a whiff and a toss, he 
 threw the card into the air, where it vanished ! 
 
 Everyone was mystified; but Baron de Staeckl, the 
 Russian Minister, incontinently broke the spell Mr. 
 Palmer was weaving around us by picking up a card and 
 pronouncing the same formula. Then, as all waited to 
 see what he was about to do, in a most serio-comic 
 manner he deftly and deliberately crammed it down 
 
ADELINA PATTI 
 Aged Sixteen 
 
WASHINGTON PERSONAGES IN THE FIFTIES 39 
 
 Mr. Palmer's collar ! Amid peals of laughter from all 
 present, the young man gave place to other and more 
 general entertainment, in which the most dignified 
 ambassadors indulged with the hilarity of schoolboys. 
 
 From the foregoing incident it will be seen that Baron 
 de Staeckl was the buffo of the evening. He was a large 
 man of inspiring, not to say portly figure, and his lapels 
 glittered with the insignia of honours that had been con- 
 ferred upon him. Like his predecessor, the late Baron 
 de Bodisco, he had allied himself with our country by 
 marrying an American girl, a native of New Haven, 
 whose family name I have now forgotten. She was a 
 lovely and amiable hostess, whose unassuming manner 
 never lost a certain pleasing modesty, notwithstanding 
 the compliments she, too, invariably evoked. Her table 
 was remarkable for its napery — Russian linen for the 
 larger part, with embroidered monograms of unusual 
 size and perfection of workmanship, which were said to 
 be the handiwork of Slav needlewomen. Although I 
 had enjoyed their hospitality and had met the de Staeckles 
 frequently elsewhere, until this evening at the Riggses' 
 home I had never suspected the genial Baron's full 
 capacity for the enjoyment of pure nonsense. 
 
 There were many amateur musicians among the guests, 
 first among them being the Sicilian Minister, Massoni. 
 He was a finished vocalist, with a full operatic repertory 
 at his easy command. His son Lorenzo was as fine a 
 pianist, and accompanied his father with a sympathy 
 that was most rare. That evening the Massonis responded 
 again and again to the eager urgings of the other guests, 
 but at last the Minister, doubtless desiring to "cut it 
 short," broke into the "Anvil Chorus." Instantly he 
 was joined by the entire company. 
 
 At the opening strain, the jolly Baron de Staeckl dis- 
 appeared for a second, but ere we had finished, his 
 glittering form was seen to re-enter the door, with a 
 
4 o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 stride like Vulcan's and an air as mighty. In one hand he 
 held a pair of Mrs. Riggs's glowing brass tongs, in the 
 other a poker, with which, in faultless rhythm, he was 
 beating time to his own deep-bellowing basso. He 
 stalked to the centre of the room with all the pomposity 
 of a genuine king of opera bouffe, a sly twinkle in his 
 eye being the only hint to the beholders that he was 
 conscious of his own ludicrous appearance. 
 
 Meantime, Mile. Patti had mounted a chair, where 
 her liquid notes in alt joined the deep ones of the baron. 
 As he stopped in the centre of the room, however, the 
 little diva's amusement reached a climax. She clapped 
 her hands and fairly shouted with glee. Her mirth was 
 infectious and quite upset the solemnity of the basso. 
 Breaking into a sonorous roar of laughter, he made as 
 hasty an exit as his cumbrous form w T ould allow. I 
 think a walrus would have succeeded as gracefully. 
 
 We were about to withdraw from this gay scene when 
 the Chevalier Bertinatti, with the utmost enthusiasm, 
 begged us to stay. "You must!" he cried. "Ze 
 elephant is coming ! I assure you zere ees not hees equal 
 for ze fun!" A moment more and we fully agreed 
 with him. Even as he spoke, the doors opened and 
 Mr. Palmer bounded in, a gorgeously got-up ring-master. 
 I saw my own crimson opera cloak about his shoulders 
 and a turban formed of many coloured rebozos of other 
 guests twisted together in truly artistic manner. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen!" he began grandiloquently, 
 " I have the honour to present to your astonished eyes 
 the grand elephant, Hannibal, costing to import twenty 
 thousand dollars, and weighing six thousand pounds ! 
 An elephant, ladies and gentlemen, whose average cost 
 is three and one-half dollars a pound ! He is a mar- 
 vellous animal, ladies and gentlemen, warranted to be as 
 intrepid as his namesake ! He has been called a vicious 
 creature, but in the present company I intend to prove 
 
WASHINGTON PERSONAGES IN THE FIFTIES 41 
 
 him as docile as — the ladies themselves ! Advance, 
 Hannibal!" 
 
 He threw himself prone upon the floor as the wide 
 doors opened and "Hannibal " lumbered in, deliberately 
 wagging his trunk from side to side, in a manner that was 
 startlingly lifelike. 
 
 Arrived at the prostrate ring-master, he put out one 
 shapeless leg (at the bottom of which a handsomely shod 
 man's foot appeared) and touched the prostrate one 
 lightly, as if fearful of hurting him; he advanced and 
 retreated several times, wagging his trunk the while; 
 until, at last, at the urgings of the recumbent hero, the 
 animal stepped cleanly over him. Now, with a motion of 
 triumph, Mr. Palmer sprang up and, crossing his arms 
 proudly over his bosom, cried, " Ladies and gentlemen ! 
 I live ! " and awaited the applause which rang out merrily. 
 Then, leaping lightly upon his docile pet's back, the 
 latter galloped madly around the room and made for the 
 door amid screams and shouts of laughter. 
 
 In the mad exit, however, the mystery of the elephant 
 was revealed; for his hide, the rubber cover of Mrs. 
 Riggs's grand piano, slipped from the shoulders of the 
 hilarious young man who supported it, and "Hannibal" 
 disappeared in a confusion of brilliant opera cloaks, 
 black coats, fleeing patent-leathers, and trailing piano 
 cover ! : 
 
 This climax was a fitting close to our evening's fun- 
 making. As our host accompanied us to the door, he 
 said slyly to my husband, "Not a word of this, Clay! 
 To-night must be as secret as a Democratic caucus, or 
 we shall all be tabooed." 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 A Historic Congressional "Mess" 
 
 Our "mess" at Brown's Hotel shortly became so well- 
 known, because of the interest attaching to so many of its 
 members, that the enterprising proprietress of (what 
 afterward became known as) the Ebbitt House, Mrs. 
 Smith, came in person, with tempting terms to lure 
 us to her newer establishment. 
 
 Heretofore our quarters in the historic old hostelry 
 had been altogether satisfactory. It was the rendezvous 
 of Southern Congressmen, and therefore was "very 
 agreeable and advantageous," as my husband wrote of 
 it. For thirty-five years Brown's Hotel had been 
 the gathering-place for distinguished people. So long 
 ago as 1820, Thomas Hart Benton met there the repre- 
 sentatives of the rich fur-trader, John Jacob Astor, who 
 had been sent to the capital to induce Congressional 
 indorsement in perfecting a great scheme that should 
 secure to us the trade of Asia as well as the occupation 
 of the Columbia River. Within its lobbies, many a por- 
 tentous conference had taken place. Indeed, the founda- 
 tions of its good reputation were laid while it was yet the 
 Indian Queen's Tavern, renowned for its juleps and bitters. 
 It was an unimposing structure even for Pennsylvania 
 Avenue, then but a ragged thoroughfare, and, as I have 
 said, notable for the great gaps between houses ; but the 
 cuisine of Brown's Hotel, as, until a few years ago, 
 this famous house continued to be known, was ex- 
 cellent. 
 
 In my days there, the presence of good Mrs. Brown, 
 
 42 
 
A HISTORIC CONGRESSIONAL MESS 43 
 
 the hostess, and her sweet daughter Rose (who married 
 Mr. Wallach, one of Washington's rich citizens, and 
 afterward entertained in the mansion that became 
 famous as the residence of Mrs. Stephen A. Douglas) 
 added much to the attractions of the old house. Never- 
 theless, those of the new also tempted us. Thither we 
 went in a body, and there we spent one or two gay winters ; 
 but, the Ebbitt becoming more and more heterogeneous, 
 and therefore less congenial to our strictly legislative 
 circles, we retraced our ways, our forces still intact, to 
 good old Brown's. 
 
 In the interim, our continually enlarging numbers 
 found the new quarters convenient and in many respects 
 even desirable. "Our 'mess,' so far from being willing 
 to separate," I wrote to my husband's father, late in '57, 
 "has insisted upon becoming enlarged. We are located 
 in a delightful part of the city, on F Street, near the 
 Treasury Buildings, the Court end as well as the conven- 
 ient end; for all the Departments as well as the White 
 House are in a stone's throw. Old Guthrie's is opposite, 
 and we have, within two blocks, some true-line Senators, 
 among them Bell, Slidell, Weller, Brodhead, Thomson, of 
 New Jersey, who are married and housekeeping, to say 
 naught of Butler, Benjamin, Mason and Goode in a 
 'mess' near us. Our 'mess' is a very pleasant one. 
 Orr, Shorter, Dowdell, Sandidge and Taylor, of Louisiana, 
 with the young Senator Pugh and his bride, Governor 
 Fitzpatrick and wife, and ourselves compose the party. 
 Taylor is a true Democrat, and Pugh is as strongly Anti- 
 Free-soil as we. We keep Free-soilers, Black Republi- 
 cans and Bloomers on the other side of the street. They 
 are afraid even to inquire for board at this house." 
 
 To the choice list then recorded were added shortly 
 Congressmen L. Q. C. and Mrs. Lamar, David Clopton, 
 Jabez L. M. Curry and Mrs. Curry, and General and Mrs. 
 Chestnut. Our circle included representatives from 
 
44 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 several States. Messrs. Fitzpatrick, Shorter, Dowdell, 
 David Clopton and Jabez L. M. Curry were fellow- 
 Alabamians, and had been the long-time friends of my 
 husband and his father, ex-Governor Clay, and of my 
 uncle, Governor Collier; Congressmen Lamar and Sand- 
 idge were from Mississippi and Louisiana, respectively; 
 Congressmen Orr and Chestnut represented South Caro- 
 lina, and Senator Pugh was from Ohio. It was a dis- 
 tinguished company. Scarcely a male member of it but 
 had won or was destined to win a conspicuous position 
 in the Nation's affairs; scarcely a woman in the circle 
 who was not acknowledged to be a wit or beauty. 
 
 When Mrs. Pugh joined us, her precedence over the 
 belles of the capital was already established, for, as 
 Therese Chalfant, her reign had begun a year or two 
 previous to her marriage to the brilliant young Senator 
 from Ohio; Miss Cutts, afterward Mrs. Douglas, and 
 Mrs. Pendleton and the beautiful brum, Mrs. Roger A. 
 Pryor, being estimated as next in order of beauty. Like 
 Mrs. Chestnut, also a renowned belle, Mrs. Pugh was 
 something more than a woman of great personal loveli- 
 ness. She was intellectual, and remarked as such even 
 in Washington, where wits gathered. Both of these 
 prized associates remained unspoiled by the adulation 
 which is the common tribute to such unusual feminine 
 comeliness. 
 
 I was not present when the Austrian Minister, the 
 Chevalier Hulseman, paid his great compliment (now a 
 classic in the capital) to Miss Chalfant ; but it was soon 
 thereafter repeated to me. It was at a ball at which 
 pretty women thronged. As the Minister's gaze rested 
 upon Miss Chalfant, his eyes expanded with admiration. 
 Approaching, he knelt suddenly before her, exclaiming, 
 " Madame ! I have from my Empress a piece of precious 
 lace " (and he fumbled, but, alas ! vainly, in his pockets 
 as he spoke) "which her Majesty has commanded me 
 
MRS. ROGER A. PRYOR 
 
 cf Virginia 
 
A HISTORIC CONGRESSIONAL MESS 45 
 
 to present to the most beautiful woman in Washington. 
 You — you are more, the most beautiful in the world ! 
 I have not with me the lace, but I will send it if you will 
 permit me!" And he kept his word. We were glad 
 to welcome to our "mess" so lovely and famous a bride. 
 Mrs. Pugh's beauty was of so exquisite a type, the bodily 
 so permeated by the spiritual, that she shone preeminent 
 wherever she appeared, and this wholly independent of 
 showy attire. Though always presenting an appearance 
 of elegance, Mrs. Pugh's gowns were invariably of the 
 simplest. Our "mess" soon became aware that our 
 beautiful favourite was primarily a lovely woman, and 
 no mere gay butterfly. Her nature was grave rather 
 than vivacious, the maternal in her being exceedingly 
 strong. 
 
 I recall the reply she gave me on the afternoon of a 
 certain Cabinet day. It was the custom on this weekly 
 recurring occasion for several of the ladies of our "mess" 
 to make their calls together, thus obviating the need for 
 more than one carriage. As my parlours were the only 
 ones that boasted a pier-glass, and, besides, had the 
 advantage of being on the drawing-room floor of the 
 hotel, it became a custom for the women composing our 
 circle to come to my rooms before going out, in order to 
 see how their dresses hung. Those were the days of 
 hoop-skirts, and the set of the outer skirt must needs be 
 adjusted before beginning a round of calls. As we 
 gathered there, it was no uncommon thing for one of us 
 to remark: "Here comes Pugh, simply dressed, but 
 superb, as usual. She would eclipse us all were she in 
 calico !" On the occasion alluded to, I commented to 
 Mrs. Pugh upon the beauty and style of her bonnet. 
 
 "My own make," she answered sweetly. "I can't 
 afford French bonnets for every-day use when I have 
 'tockies and shoes to buy for my little fellows ! " 
 
 My friendship for Mrs. Pugh is a dear memory of that 
 
46 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 life of perpetual gaiety ere the face of Washington society 
 was marred by war and scarred by the moral pestilences 
 that followed in its train; nor can I resist the desire to 
 quote her own remembrance of our association as she 
 wrote it in a letter to Senator Clay late in '64, when the 
 glories of those earlier days had passed away, and the 
 faces of erstwhile friends from the North were hidden 
 by the smoke of cannon and a barrier of the slain. 
 
 "Your dear wife," she wrote, "was the first and best 
 friend of my early married life ; and, when I was ushered 
 into a strange and trying world, she at once took me into 
 her heart and counsel and made me a better woman and 
 wife than I would have been alone. No one in this 
 world ever treated me with the same love outside of my 
 own family. When I cease to remember either of you 
 accordingly, it will be when I forget all things !" 
 
 Strangely enough, there comes before my mind a picture 
 of Mrs. Pugh in affliction that overshadows all the mem- 
 ories of the homage I have seen paid to her. It was late 
 in the spring of 1859; Congress had adjourned and many 
 of our "mess" had gone their several ways, to mountain 
 or seashore, bent on rest or recreation, when the little 
 daughter of Senator and Mrs. Pugh was suddenly taken 
 ill. For weeks the distracted mother hovered over the 
 sick-bed of the child, until her haggard appearance was 
 pitiful to see. My husband and I could not bear to 
 leave her, and often I shared her vigils, watching hours 
 beside the dying little Alice. 
 
 On an occasion like this (it was evening), my cousin 
 Miss Hilliard, her cheeks glowing and eyes shining with 
 all the mysterious glow of expectant youth, came into 
 the sick-room for a few moments on her way to some 
 social gathering. She was dressed in a pale green, filmy 
 gown, which lent to her appearance a flower-like sem- 
 blance that was very fresh and lovely. As Miss Hilliard 
 entered, Mrs. Pugh lifted her burning eyes from the 
 
MRS. GEORGE E. PUGH (THERESE CHALFANT) 
 of Ohio 
 
 •'The most beautiful woman in Washington'' 
 
A HISTORIC CONGRESSIONAL MESS 47 
 
 couch where the rapidly declining little one lay, and 
 gazed at her visitor like one in a dream. We were 
 all silent for a moment. Then the worn mother 
 spoke. 
 
 "So radiant! So beautiful!" she said in a voice of 
 indescribable pathos, "And to think you, too, may come 
 to this ! " ... 
 
 I have spoken of Mrs. Pry or, the beautiful wife of the 
 young diplomat, who had won general public approbation 
 for his success in conducting a mission to Greece. Not 
 of our especial mess, Mrs. Pryor frequently mingled with 
 us, being the friend of Mrs. Douglas and Mrs. Pugh. 
 They were, in truth, a very harmonious trio, Mrs. 
 Pugh being a perfect brunette, Mrs. Douglas a blonde, 
 and Mrs. Pryor a lighter brunette with soft-brown hair 
 and eyes. She wore a distinctive coiffure, and carried 
 her head charmingly. Even at that time Mrs. Pryor was 
 notable for the intellectuality which has since uttered 
 itself in several charming books. 
 
 Though not members of our resident circle, my 
 memories of dear old Brown's would scarcely be complete 
 without a mention of little Henry Watterson, with whose 
 parents our "mess" continually exchanged visits for 
 years. Henry, their only child, was then an invalid, 
 debarred from the usual recreations of other boys, by 
 weak eyes that made the light unbearable and reading 
 all but impossible; yet at fifteen the boy was a born 
 politician and eager for every item of news from the 
 Senate or House. 
 
 "What bills were introduced to-day? Who spoke? 
 Please tell me what took place to-day?" were among the 
 questions (in substance) with which the lad was wont to 
 greet the ladies of our "mess," when he knew them to be 
 returning from a few hours spent in the Senate gallery; 
 and, though none foresaw the later distinction which 
 awaited the invalid boy, no one of us was ever so hurried 
 
48 " A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 and impatient that she could not and did not take time 
 to answer his earnest inquiries. 
 
 It is safe to say that no member of our pleasant circle 
 was more generally valued than that most lovable of 
 men, Lucius Q. C. Lamar, "Moody Lamar," as he was 
 sometimes called ; for he was then, as he always continued 
 to be, full of dreams and ideals and big, warm impulses, 
 with a capacity for the most enduring and strongest of 
 friendships, and a tenderness rarely displayed by men 
 so strong as was he.* Mr. Lamar was full of quaint and 
 caressing ways even with his fellow-men, which frank 
 utterance of his own feelings was irresistibly engaging. 
 I have seen him walk softly up behind Mr. Clay, when 
 the latter was deep in thought, touch him lightly on the 
 shoulder, and, as my husband turned quickly to see what 
 was wanted, "Lushe" or "big Lushe," as all called him, 
 would kiss him suddenly and lightly on the forehead. 
 
 Yes ! Mr. Lamar and his sparkling, bright-souled 
 wife, Jennie Longstreet, were beloved members of that 
 memorable "mess" in ante-bellum Washington. 
 
 Next to Congressman Lamar, I suppose it may safely 
 be said no man was more affectionately held than another 
 of our mess-mates, Congressman Dowdell, "old Dowdell," 
 "dear old Dowdell," and sometimes "poor, dear old 
 Dowdell" being among the forms by which he was con- 
 tinually designated. Mr. Dowdell had a large and loose 
 frame, and walked about with a countryman's easy 
 
 * Writing to Mrs. Clay from the Department of the Interior, late in 
 1885, E. V. D. Miller said of Mr. Lamar, then Secretary of the Interior: 
 "Those nearest in his labours only understand and have compassion 
 for him, to try to save him all we can. He would take us all in his 
 arms, and confer the greatest benefits on us if he could; and a more 
 tender, appreciative, industrious, kind-hearted man I have never been 
 associated with, to say nothing of his giant intellect and cultivated 
 brain and taste. I never knew him until I came to this office with him 
 and saw him in all these entangling relations. I used to get angry 
 and avoid him because I thought he neglected my requests and was so 
 indifferent that there seemed to be a lack of respect; but a closer 
 knowledge of the demands upon him have disarmed me entirely, and 
 I fight him no longer. " A. S. 
 
A HISTORIC CONGRESSIONAL MESS 49 
 
 indifference to appearances. A born wag, he some- 
 times took a quiet delight in accentuating this seeming 
 guilelessness. 
 
 One evening he came strolling in to dinner, prepared 
 for a comfortable chat over the table, though all the rest 
 of our little coterie were even then dressing for attend- 
 ance at a grand concert. It was an event of great impor- 
 tance, for Gottschalk, the young Creole musician, of whom 
 all the country was talking, was to be heard in his own 
 compositions. 
 
 "What!" I exclaimed as I saw Mr. Dowdell's every- 
 day attire, " You don't mean to tell me you're not going 
 to the concert ! I can't allow it, brother Dowdell ! Go 
 right out and get your ticket and attend that concert with 
 all the rest of the world, or I'll tell your constituents what 
 sort of a country representative they've sent to the 
 capital !" 
 
 My laughing threat had its effect, and he hurried off 
 in quest of the ticket, which, after some difficulty, was 
 procured. 
 
 The concert was a memorable one. During the eve- 
 ning I saw Mr. Dowdell across the hall, scanning the per- 
 formers with an enigmatical expression. At that time 
 Gottschalk's popularity was at its height. Every con- 
 cert programme contained, and every ambitious amateur 
 included: in her repertory, the young composer's " Last 
 Hope." At his appearance, therefore, slender, agile and 
 Gallic to a degree, enthusiasm ran so high that we forgot 
 to hunt up our friend in the short interval between each 
 brilliant number. 
 
 When Mr. Dowdell appeared at the breakfast table the 
 following morning, I asked him how he had enjoyed the 
 evening. The Congressman's response came less enthusi- 
 astically than I had hoped. 
 
 "Well," he began, drawing his words out slowly and a 
 bit quizzically, "I went out and got my ticket; did the 
 
5o A BELLE OP THE FIFTIES 
 
 right thing and got a seat as near Harriet Lane's box as 
 I could; even invested in new white gloves, so I felt all 
 right ; but I can't say the music struck me exactly ! Mr. 
 Gottschalk played mighty pretty; hopped up on the 
 black keys and then down on the white ones" (and the 
 Congressman illustrated by spanning the table rapidly in 
 a most ludicrous manner). "He played slow and then 
 fast, and never seemed to get his hands tangled up once. 
 But for all that I can't say I was struck by his music ! 
 He played mighty pretty, but he didn't play nary tchune!" 
 
 Two interesting members of our "mess" were General 
 and Mrs. Chestnut. The General, a member from South 
 Carolina, who became afterward one of the staff of Jeffer- 
 son Davis, was among the princes in wealth in the South 
 in the fifties. Approximately one thousand slaves owned 
 by him were manumitted by Mr. Lincoln's proclamation 
 in 1863, when, childless, property-less, our well-loved 
 Mrs. Chestnut suffered a terrible eclipse after her brilliant 
 youth and middle age. She was the only daughter of 
 Governor Miller, of South Carolina, and having been 
 educated abroad, was an accomplished linguist and 
 ranked high among the cultured women of the capital. 
 
 Moreover, Mrs. Chestnut was continually the recipient 
 of toilette elegancies, for which the bazaars of Paris were 
 ransacked, and in this way the curiosity of the emulative 
 stay-at-home fashionables was constantly piqued. Her 
 part in that brilliant world was not a small one, for, in 
 addition to her superior personal charms, Mrs. Chestnut 
 chaperoned the lovely Preston girls of South Carolina, 
 belles, all, and the fashionable Miss Stevens, of Stevens 
 Castle, who married Muscoe Garnett of Virginia. Indeed, 
 the zest for social pleasures among our circle was often 
 increased by the coming of guests from other cities. 
 Among others whom I particularly recall was my cousin 
 Miss Collier, daughter of Governor Collier of Alabama, 
 and who married the nephew of William Rufus King, vice- 
 
A HISTORIC CONGRESSIONAL MESS 51 
 
 President of the United States under Mr. Pierce ; and our 
 cousins Loula Comer, Hattie Withers, and Miss Hilliard. 
 The latter's wedding with Mr. Hamilton Glentworth of 
 New York was one of the social events of the winter 
 of 1859. 
 
 Nor should I forget to mention the presence, at the 
 Ebbitt House and at Brown's Hotel, of another much 
 admired South Carolinian, Mrs. General McQueen, who 
 was a Miss Pickens, of the famous family of that name. 
 My remembrance of Mrs. McQueen is always associated 
 with that of the sudden death of Preston Brooks, our 
 neighbour at Brown's Hotel. At the time of this fatality, 
 Dr. May, the eminent surgeon, was in the building in 
 attendance upon Mrs. McQueen's little boy, who was 
 suffering from some throat trouble. 
 
 Mr. Brooks had been indisposed for several days, and, 
 being absent from his seat in the House, it was the cus- 
 tom for one or the other of his confreres to drop into his 
 room each afternoon, to give him news of the proceedings. 
 On that fatal day, Colonel Orr ("Larry," as his friends 
 affectionately designated him) had called upon the 
 invalid and was in the midst of narrating the day's doings, 
 when Mr. Brooks clutched suddenly at his throat and 
 cried out huskily, "Air ! Orr, air ! " 
 
 Mr. Orr hastily threw open the window and began to fan 
 the sufferer, but became bewildered at the alarming con- 
 tinuation of his struggles. Had the Congressman but 
 known it, even as he tried to relieve his friend, Dr. May 
 passed the door of Mr. Brooks's room, on his way out of 
 the house, his surgical case in hand ; but the suddenness 
 of the attack, and a total absence of suspicion as to its 
 gravity, coupled with the swiftness with which it acted, 
 confused the watcher, and, ere assistance could be 
 obtained, the handsome young Southern member had 
 passed away ! 
 
 Congressman Orr, as has been said, was one of our 
 
52 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 original "mess" in the capital. From the first he was 
 a conspicuous figure, nature having made him so. He 
 was of gigantic stature, weighing then somewhat over 
 two hundred pounds. His voice was of bugle-like clear- 
 ness, and when, in 1857, he became speaker of the House 
 of Representatives, it was a source of remark how won- 
 derfully his words penetrated to the farthermost corner 
 of the hall. He was extremely tender-hearted and 
 devoted to his family, around the members of which his 
 affections were closely bound. 
 
 Just previous to our arrival in the capital, Mr. Orr had 
 lost a little daughter, and often, ere he brought his family 
 to the Federal City, in a quiet hour he would come to our 
 parlours and ask me to sing to him. He dearly loved 
 simple ballads, his favourite song being "Lilly Dale," the 
 singing of which invariably stirred him greatly. Often 
 I have turned from the piano to find his eyes gushing with 
 tears at the memories that pathetic old-fashioned ditty 
 had awakened. Mr. Orr was a famous flatterer, too, 
 who ranked my simple singing as greater than that of 
 the piquant Patti ; and I question the success of any one 
 who would have debated with him the respective merits 
 of that great artiste and my modest self. 
 
 When Mr. Orr became Speaker of the House, Mrs. 
 Orr and his children having joined him, the family 
 resided in the famous Stockton Mansion for a 
 season or two. Here brilliant receptions were held, and 
 Mrs. Orr, a distingu'ee woman, made her entree into 
 Washington society, often being assisted in receiving by 
 the members of the mess of which, for so long, Mr. Orr 
 had formed a part. Mrs. Orr was tall and lithe in figure, 
 of a Spanish type of face. She soon became a 
 great favourite in the capital, where one daughter, now 
 a widow, Mrs. Earle, still lives. 
 
 It was at the Stockton Mansion that Daniel E. and 
 Mrs. Sickles lived when the tragedy of which they formed 
 
A HISTORIC CONGRESSIONAL MESS 53 
 
 two of the principals took place. Here, too, was run 
 the American career of another much-talked-of lady, 
 which, for meteoric brilliancy and brevity, perhaps out- 
 shines any other episode in the chronicles of social life in 
 Washington. 
 
 The lady's husband was a statesman of prominence, 
 celebrated for his scholarly tastes and the fineness of his 
 mental qualities. The arrival of the lady, after a marked 
 absence abroad, during which some curious gossip had 
 reached American ears, was attended by great eclat; 
 and not a little conjecture was current as to how she 
 would be received. For her home-coming, however, 
 the Stockton Mansion was fitted up in hitherto un- 
 dreamed-of magnificence, works of art and of vertu, 
 which were the envy of local connoisseurs, being imported 
 to grace it, regardless of cost. So far, so good ! 
 
 The report of these domiciliary wonders left no doubt 
 but that entertaining on a large scale was being projected. 
 The world was slow in declaring its intentions in its own 
 behalf; for, notwithstanding her rumoured delinquencies, 
 the lady's husband was high in the councils of the nation, 
 and as such was a figure of dignity. Shortly after her 
 arrival our " mess " held a conclave, in which we discussed 
 the propriety of calling upon the new-comer, but a con- 
 clusion seeming impossible (opinions being so widely 
 divergent), it was decided to submit the important 
 question to our husbands. 
 
 This was done duly, and Senator Clay's counsel to me 
 was coincided in generally. 
 
 "By all means, call," said he. "You have nothing to 
 do with the lady's private life, and, as a mark of esteem 
 to a statesman of her husband's prominence, it will be 
 better to call." 
 
 Upon a certain day, therefore, it was agreed that we 
 should pay a "mess" call, going in a body. We drove 
 accordingly, in dignity and in state, and, truth to tell, in 
 
54 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 soberness and ceremony, to the mansion aforenamed. 
 It was the lady's reception day. We entered the drawing- 
 room with great circumspection, tempering our usually 
 cordial manner with a fine prudence ; we paid our devoirs 
 to the hostess and retired. But now a curious retribution 
 overtook us, social faint-hearts that we were ; for, though 
 we heard much gossip of the regality and originality of one 
 or more dinners given to the several diplomatic corps 
 (the lady especially affected the French Legation), I 
 never heard of a gathering of Washingtonians at her 
 home, nor of invitations extended to them, nor, indeed, 
 anything more of her until two months had flown. Then, 
 Arab-like, the lady rose in the night, " silently folded her 
 tent and stole away ' ' (to meet a handsome German officer, 
 it was said), leaving our calls unanswered, save by the 
 sending of her card, and her silver and china and crystal, 
 her paintings, and hangings, and furniture to be auctioned 
 off to the highest bidder ! 
 
 Everyone in Washington now thronged to see the 
 beautiful things, and many purchased specimens from 
 among them, among others Mrs. Davis. By a curious 
 turn of fate, the majority of these treasures were ac- 
 quired by Mrs. Senator Yulee, who was so devoutly 
 religious that her piety caused her friends to speak of her 
 as "the Madonna of the Wickliffe sisters !" The superb 
 furniture of the whilom hostess was carried to " Homo- 
 sassa," the romantic home of the Yulees in Florida, where 
 in later years it was reduced to ashes. 
 
 Of the Wickliffe sisters there were three, all notably 
 good as well as handsome women, with whom I enjoyed 
 a life-time friendship. One became the wife of Judge 
 Merrick, and another, who dearly loved Senator Clay and 
 me, married Joseph Holt, who rose high in Federal 
 honours after the breaking out of the war, having sold 
 his Southern birthright for a mess of Northern pottage. 
 
 For several years before her death, Mrs. Holt was an 
 
A HISTORIC CONGRESSIONAL MESS 55 
 
 invalid and a recluse, yet she was no inconspicuous 
 figure in Washington, where the beauty of the "three 
 graces ' ' (as the sisters of Governor Wickliffe were always 
 designated) was long a criterion by which other belles 
 were judged. Mrs. Mallory, the wife of Senator Yulee's 
 confrere from Florida, was particularly a favourite in the 
 capital. The Mallorys were the owners of great orange 
 groves in that lovely State, and were wont from time to 
 time to distribute among their friends boxes of choicest 
 fruit. 
 
 Of our "mess," Congressman and Mrs. Curry were 
 least frequently to be met with in social gatherings. Mrs. 
 Curry, who was a Miss Bowie, devoted her time wholly 
 to her children, apparently feeling no interest in the gay 
 world about her, being as gentle and retiring as her 
 doughty relative (the inventor of the Bowie knife) was 
 war-like. Mr. Curry was an uncommonly handsome 
 man, who, in the fifties and early sixties, was an ambi- 
 tious and strenuous politician. He died early in 1903, 
 full of years and honours, while still acting as the 
 General Agent of the Peabody fund. 
 
 Nor should I fail to recall the lovely Mrs. Clopton, 
 wife of one of Senator Clay's most trusted friends, Con- 
 gressman David Clopton. She joined our "mess" late 
 in the fifties, and at once added to its fame by her charm 
 and beauty. She was a sister of Governor Ligon of 
 Alabama. One of her daughters married the poet, 
 Clifford Lanier, and another became the wife of Judge 
 William L. Chambers, who for several exciting years 
 represented our Government at Samoa. 
 
 But my oldest and dearest mess-mate during nearly 
 a decade in the capital was, as I have said elsewhere, 
 Mrs. Fitzpatrick, whose husband, Senator Benjamin 
 Fitzpatrick, was President of the Senate for four con- 
 secutive sessions. Senator Fitzpatrick was very mair). 
 years older than his wife, having, indeed, held office in 
 
56 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 1 8 1 8, when Alabama was a territory, and when few of his 
 Alabamian associates in Congress had been ushered upon 
 the stage of life. Between Mrs. Fitzpatrick and me there 
 was an undeviating attachment which was a source of 
 wonder, as it doubtless was rare, among women in 
 fashionable life. As confreres in the Senate, our hus- 
 bands, despite the disparity in their years, were fully 
 in accord ; and a more congenial quartette it would have 
 been hard to find. 
 
 I think of all the harmonious couples I have known, 
 Senator and Mrs. Fitzpatrick easily led, though near to 
 them I must place General and Mrs. McQueen. It was 
 a standing topic in Brown's Hotel, the devotion of the 
 two middle-aged gentlemen — Messrs. Fitzpatrick and 
 McQueen — to their young wives and to their boys, 
 enfants terrible s, both of them of a most emphatic type. 
 "The Heavenly Twins" as a title had not yet been 
 evolved, or these two young autocrats of the hostelry 
 would surely have won it from the sarcastic. 
 
 Benny Fitzpatrick was at once the idol of his parents 
 and the terror of the hotel; and, as Mrs. Fitzpatrick and 
 I were cordially united in other interests of life, so we 
 shared the maternal duties as became two devoted 
 sisters, "Our boy Benny" receiving the motherly over- 
 sight of whichsoever of us happened to be near him when 
 occasion arose for aid or admonition. "Mrs. Fitz" 
 delivered her rebukes with " Oh, Benny dear ! How 
 could you!" but I, his foster-mother, was constrained 
 to resort betimes to a certain old-fashioned punishment 
 usually administered with the broadside of a slipper, or, 
 what shortly became as efficacious, a threat to do so. 
 
 Benny, like George Washington, was the possessor of 
 a little hatchet, with which he worked a dreadful havoc. 
 He chopped at the rosewood furniture of his mother's 
 drawing-room, while his proud parents, amazed at his 
 precocity, not to say prowess, stood by awestruck, and — ■ 
 
A HISTORIC CONGRESSIONAL MESS 57 
 
 paid the bill ! The child was plump and healthy, and 
 boys will be boys ! Thus were we all become his sub- 
 jects; thus he overran Hannah, his coloured nurse, until 
 one day Pat came — , Pat Dolan. 
 
 Pat had been a page at the Senate, and in some for- 
 gotten way he and little Benny had become inseparable 
 friends. Thereafter, Benny was taken by his fond 
 guardian, into whose hands his three anxious parents con- 
 sented to consign him, to see the varying sights and 
 the various quarters of the city. As his experiences 
 multiplied, so his reputation for precocity increased in 
 exact ratio. 
 
 One day Hannah's excitement ran high. " Lor ! 
 Miss 'Relia," she burst out impetuously to Mrs. Fitz- 
 patrick, "Pat Dolan done carried Benny to the Cath'lic 
 church an' got him sprinkled, 'n den he brung him to 
 communion, an' first thing Pat knowed, Benny he 
 drunk up all the holy water an' eat up the whole wafer ! " 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 The Cabinet Circles of the Pierce and Buchanan 
 Administrations 
 
 Writing to my father-in-law, ex-Governor Clay, on 
 Christmas night, 1856, of the deep inward excitement of 
 the times, I said: "We feel a little as Fanny Fern says 
 Eugenie felt when she espoused Louis Napoleon, as if 
 we are ' dancing over a powder magazine ! ' Everything 
 is excitement and confusion. I tell you Fusion reigns 
 in truth, and Southern blood is at boiling temperature 
 all over the city, and with good cause, too. Old Giddings, 
 Thurlow Weed, Sumner, Seward, Chase (who is here for 
 a few days prior to his inauguration*) are daily taunting 
 and insulting all whom they dare. There is no more pros- 
 pect of a Speaker now than there was at first; indeed, 
 less, and our men have despaired of Christmas holidays 
 at home. Desertion of their post would mean death to 
 their party and themselves, and they know and appreciate 
 it, and, so far, stand firm as a Roman phalanx. Should 
 there prove one deserter, the 'game is up,' for there is a 
 Black Republican at every corner of our political fence, 
 and if ever the gap is down we are gone. I wish you 
 could be here to witness the scenes daily enacted in the 
 halls of Congress, to hear the hot taunts of defiance 
 hurled into the very teeth of the Northerners by our 
 goaded but spirited patriots. I expect any day to 
 hear of bloodshed and death, and would not be surprised 
 at any time to witness (repeated here) the Civil War of 
 Kansas ! We still hope for Orr, though he is not sanguine. 
 
 * As Governor of Ohio. 
 
 58 
 
THE CABINET CIRCLES 59 
 
 The President still holds his message, fearing to give it 
 to the press, and it is thought it will go to Congress in 
 manuscript. He, poor fellow, is worn and weary, and 
 his wife in extremely delicate health." 
 
 President Pierce was, in fact, a very harassed man, as 
 none knew better than did Senator Clay. My husband's 
 friendship was unwearying toward all to whom his reserved 
 nature yielded it, and his devotion to Mr. Pierce was 
 unswerving. Though twelve years the President's junior, 
 from the first my husband was known as one of the 
 President's counsellors, and none of those who surrounded 
 the Nation's executive head more sacredly preserved 
 his confidence. Senator Clay believed unequivocally 
 that our President was "not in the roll of common men." 
 
 Bold and dauntless where a principle was involved, 
 Mr. Pierce's message of '55 fell like a bombshell on the 
 Black Republican party. Its bold pro-slaveryism startled 
 even his friends; for, never had a predecessor, while in 
 the Executive Chair, talked so strongly or so harshly to 
 sectionalists and fanatics. To this stand, so bravely 
 taken, his defeat at the next Presidential election was 
 doubtless at least partially attributable. Meantime, the 
 South owed him much, and none of its representatives 
 was more staunchly devoted to President Pierce than 
 was the Senator from northern Alabama. How fully 
 Mr. Pierce relied upon Senator Clay's discretion may 
 be illustrated by an incident which lives still very 
 vividly in my memory. 
 
 My husband and I were seated one evening before a 
 blazing fire in our parlour at the Ebbitt House, in the 
 first enjoyment of an evening at home (a rare luxury to 
 public folk in the capital), when we heard a low and 
 unusual knock at the door. My trim maid, Emily, has- 
 tened to open it, when there entered hastily a tall figure, 
 wrapped in a long storm-cloak on which the snow-flakes 
 still lay thickly. The new-comer was muffled to the 
 
6o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 eyes. He glanced quickly about the rooms, making a 
 motion to us, as he did so, to remain silent. My husband 
 rose inquiringly, failing, as did I, to recognise our mys- 
 terious visitor. In a second more, however, perceiving 
 that we were alone, he threw off his outer coat and soft 
 hat, when, to our astonishment, our unceremonious and 
 unexpected guest stood revealed as the President ! 
 
 "Lock that door, Clay!" he said, almost pathetically, 
 "and don't let a soul know I'm here!" Then, turning, 
 he handed me a small package which he had carried 
 under his coat. 
 
 "For you, Mrs. Clay," he said. "It is my picture. I 
 hope you will care to take it with you to Alabama, and 
 sometimes remember me ! ' ' 
 
 I thanked him delightedly as I untied the package 
 and saw within a handsome photograph superbly framed. 
 Then, as he wearily sat down before our crackling fire, 
 I hastened to assist Emily in her preparation of a friendly 
 egg-nog. 
 
 "Ah, my dear friends!" said Mr. Pierce, leaning 
 forward in his arm-chair and warming his hands as he 
 spoke; "I am so tired of the shackles of Presidential 
 life that I can scarcely endure it ! I long for quiet — 
 for — " and he looked around our restful parlours — "for 
 this ! Oh ! for relaxation and privacy once more, and 
 a chance for home ! ' ' 
 
 His voice and every action betrayed the weary man. 
 We were deeply moved, and my husband uttered such 
 sympathetic words as only a wise man may. The egg- 
 nog prepared, I soon had the pleasure of seeing the 
 President and Mr. Clay in all the comfort of a friendly 
 chat. Primarily, the object of his visit was to discuss an 
 affair of national moment which was to be brought before 
 the Senate the next day; but the outlook of the times 
 which also fell naturally under discussion formed no 
 small part in the topics thus intimately scanned. Both 
 
FRANKLIN PIERCE 
 President of the United States, 1853-57 
 
THE CABINET CIRCLES 61 
 
 were men to whom the horrid sounds of coming combat 
 were audible, and both were patriots seeking how they 
 might do their part to avert it. It was midnight ere 
 Mr. Pierce rose to go. Then, fortified by another of 
 Emily's incomparable egg-nogs, he was again, incognito, 
 on his way to the White House. 
 
 My remembrances of that secret visit have ever re- 
 mained most keen. Often, when I think of the lonely 
 grave on the quiet hillside at Concord, I recall the night 
 when weariness of body and State formalities impelled 
 the President to our cozy fireside, though he beat his way 
 to it through snow and winds, stealing from the trammels 
 of his position for the mere pleasure of walking the streets 
 unimpeded and free as any other citizen. 
 
 President Pierce entered the White House in 1853, 
 full as a youth of leaping life. A year before his inaugu- 
 ration I had seen him bound up the stairs with the 
 elasticity and lightness of a schoolboy. He went out 
 after four years a staid and grave man, on whom the 
 stamp of care and illness was ineradicably impressed. 
 
 I often contrasted the pale, worn, haggard man whose 
 " wine of life was drawn, and the mere lees left i' the vault," 
 ere his term (so coveted by many) was spent, with the 
 buoyant person I first met on the breezy New Hampshire 
 hills ! 
 
 Especially a lovable man in his private character, 
 President Pierce was a man of whom our nation 
 might well be proud to have at its head. Graced 
 with an unusually fine presence, he was most courtly 
 and polished in manner. Fair rather than dark, of 
 graceful carriage,* he was also an eloquent speaker, 
 and, though reserved to a degree, was very winning in 
 manner. He was still in middle life when elected to the 
 
 * "President Pierce was one of the handsomest men I have ever 
 seen !" was the remark of Colonel Watterson to me, while dwelling on 
 those ante-bellum personages. A. S. 
 
62 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 Presidency, being less than forty-nine years of age when 
 inaugurated. 
 
 Taken all in all, the Cabinet circle formed by Mr. 
 Pierce was one of the most interesting bodies that has 
 ever surrounded an American Chief Magistrate. Selected 
 wisely, the ministerial body remained unchanged through- 
 out the entire Administration, and this at a time of 
 unceasing and general contention. But three such 
 instances are recorded in the histories of the twenty-six 
 Presidents of the United States, the others occurring in 
 the terms of J. Q. Adams and James A. Garfield. The 
 tie which bound President Pierce and his Cabinet so 
 inalienably was one of mutual confidence and personal 
 friendship. Perhaps the closest ally of the President's 
 was his Secretary of State, William L. Marcy. That 
 great Secretary was a man whose unusual poise and 
 uniform complacency were often as much a source of envy 
 to his friends as of confusion to his enemies. I com- 
 mented upon it to my husband on one occasion, wondering 
 interrogatively at his composure, whereupon Senator 
 Clay told me the following story : 
 
 Some one as curious as I once asked the Secretary 
 how he preserved his unvarying calmness. "Well," he 
 answered, confidentially, "I'll tell you. I have given my 
 secretary orders that whenever he sees an article eulo- 
 gistic of me, praising my 'astuteness,' my 'far-seeing 
 diplomacy,' my 'incomparable statesmanship,' etc., he 
 is to cut it out and place it conspicuously on my desk 
 where I can see it first thing in the morning; everything 
 to the contrary he is to cut out and up and consign to 
 the waste-basket. By this means, hearing nothing but 
 good of myself, I have come naturally to regard myself 
 as a pretty good fellow ! Who wouldn't be serene under 
 such circumstances?" 
 
 To add to his contentment thus philosophically as- 
 sured, the Secretary's home surroundings were peculiarly 
 
MRS. WILLIAM L. MARCY 
 of New York 
 
THE CABINET CIRCLES 63 
 
 satisfactory to him. Mrs. Marcy was a demure and 
 retiring woman, taking little part in the gayer happenings 
 of the city, but on Cabinet days her welcome was always 
 diplomatically cordial and her full parlours gave evidence 
 of her personal popularity. A charming member of her 
 family, Nellie, daughter of General R. B. Marcy, be- 
 came the wife of General McClellan, whose son, named 
 for that military hero, at this writing is Mayor of 
 America's metropolis. Between President and Mrs. 
 Pierce and Secretary and Mrs. Marcy a firm friendship 
 existed. It was to the home of the Secretary that 
 President and Mrs. Pierce retired while the White 
 House was being rehabilitated for the occupancy of Mr. 
 Buchanan, who had just returned from his residence 
 abroad, where, as Mr. Pierce's appointee, he served as 
 Minister to the Court of St. James. 
 
 On the day of Mr. Buchanan's inauguration a curious 
 oversight occurred which demonstrated in marked 
 manner how eagerly a populace hastens to shout "The 
 king is dead ! Long live the King ! ' ' The procession 
 of carriages had already formed and the moment for 
 beginning the march to the Capitol had almost arrived ere 
 it was observed that the vehicle set apart for President 
 Pierce was unoccupied. Inquiry was hastily instituted, 
 when it was discovered that, owing to some omission on 
 the part of the Master of Ceremonies, his Excellency had 
 not been sent for ! The horses' heads were turned in a 
 trice, and they were driven furiously to the Marcy 
 residence, where the quiet gentleman who was still the 
 President of the United States awaited them. 
 
 Late in the afternoon my husband called upon Mr. 
 Pierce, and, during the conversation that followed, Mr. 
 Clay referred indignantly to the unfortunate affair. 
 
 "Ah, Clay!" said Mr. Pierce, smiling quietly. "Have 
 you lived so long without knowing that all the homage is 
 given to the rising sun, never to the setting, however 
 resplendent its noonday?" 
 
64 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 Of Secretaries Campbell and McClelland, the gay, and 
 especially the Southern world, saw but little; nor did 
 Caleb Cushing, the Attorney-General, for whom every 
 Southerner must ever feel a thrill of admiration for 
 his spirited speech on their behalf in Faneuil Hall, 
 mingle much with the lighter element. He was a silent 
 man, a bachelor, who entertained not at all, though 
 paying dutifully such formal calls as seemed obligatory; 
 and Senator Clay, whose delicate health and naturally 
 studious mind made continual attendance upon society 
 an onerous and often shirked duty, had much in common 
 with and greatly esteemed Mr. Cushing, at that time 
 regarded as one of the most earnest statesmen in the 
 capital. 
 
 In later life, one who had been a conspicuous Senator 
 from Mississippi in ante-bellum days, appraised him 
 differently, for in 1872 he wrote to my husband in this 
 wise : "I had no confidence in Cushing beyond that of a 
 follower to a quicker intellect and a braver heart He 
 could appreciate the gallantry and fidelity of Pierce, so 
 he followed him. Like the chameleon, he was green, 
 or blue, or brown, according to what he rested upon." 
 
 An affable young man, Mr. Spofford, member of Mr. 
 Cushing's household, and serving as that gentleman's 
 secretary, was no inconsiderable figure in Washington. 
 He became a great favourite in all the notable drawing- 
 rooms, especially with young ladies, and the names of a 
 half-dozen belles were given who had fallen in love with 
 him; but he remained invulnerable to the flashing eyes 
 and bright spirits about him, and married a clever 
 . authoress, whose writings, as Harriet Prescott Spofford, 
 ■\ have become familiar to a large class of American readers. 
 .^\ My personal Jayourite___of all the Cabinet Ministers 
 
 ->° N was the Secretary of jhe Navy , J. C. Dobbin. He was a 
 North CarolinianTand the~cnildren of my native State 
 were always dear to me. Being a widower, Mr. Dobbin's 
 
 
THE CABINET CIRCLES 65 
 
 home was also closed from formal entertainment, but 
 the Secretary was seen now and then in society, where he 
 was much sought after (though not always found) by the 
 leading hostesses, whenever he consented to mingle with 
 it. In his parlours, which now and then he opened to 
 his most favoured friends, he kept on exhibition for years, 
 sealed under a glass case, the suit in which Dr. Kane, the 
 Arctic explorer, had lived during his sojourn among the 
 icy seas. 
 
 Secretary Dobbin was a small man; in truth, a duo- 
 decimo edition of his sex, and exquisitely presented — a 
 fact, which was as freely yielded by his confreres as by 
 his gentler admirers. A man of conspicuous intellec- 
 tuality and firmness in the administration of his depart- 
 ment, his heart was also very tender. Of this he once 
 gave me an especially treasured demonstration. 
 
 My friend, Emily Spicer, wife of Lieutenant William 
 F. Spicer, afterward Commander of the Boston Navy 
 Yard, at a very critical time, was suddenly obliged, by the 
 exigencies of the Naval Service, to see her husband prepare 
 for what promised to be a long, and, it might prove, a 
 final separation. Tenderly attached to each other, the 
 young husband at last literally tore himself from his 
 wife, leaving her in an unconscious state, from which she 
 did not recover for many hours. Grave fears were enter- 
 tained as to the disastrous effect the parting would have 
 upon the young matron. 
 
 Having witnessed the sad scene, I went at once to 
 Secretary Dobbin and told him of it. His eyes lighted 
 up most sympathetically, even while he explained to 
 me the necessity for adhering strictly to the rules of the 
 Service, but, even as he marshalled the obstacles to my 
 plea, by intuition I knew his heart was stirred, and when 
 I parted from him, he said, " Comfort her, dear Mrs. Clay, 
 with this assurance : If Spicer is on the high seas he shall 
 be ordered home; if he has arrived in Italy" (for which 
 
66 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 coast the Lieutenant's ship was booked) "he shall remain 
 there and his wife may join him." I went away grateful 
 for his sympathy for my stricken friend, and hastened to 
 soothe her. 
 
 The Secretary kept his word. In a few passing weeks 
 the young couple were reunited on the coast of Italy. 
 "God bless you, my dear Madame," wrote Lieutenant 
 Spicer, thereupon. "I am forever thankfully yours!" 
 And they kept a promise I had exacted, and named the 
 baby, which proved to be a boy, after my dear husband ! 
 Long after his distinguished namesake had vanished from 
 the world's stage, a bearded man of thirty came across the 
 ocean and a continent to greet me, his "second mother," 
 as he had been taught to think of me by my grateful 
 friend, his mother, Mrs. Spicer. 
 
 Once more I called upon Secretary Dobbin, on behalf 
 of a young naval officer, but this time with a less pathetic 
 
 request. Our young friend Lieutenant , having 
 
 returned from a long cruise (which, while it lasted, had 
 seemed to be all but unbearable because of its many 
 social deprivations), upon his arrival was so swiftly 
 enthralled by the attractions of a certain young lady 
 (who shall be as nameless as is he) that in his augmenting 
 fervour he proposed to her at once. 
 
 The lady accepted. She was very young, very beau- 
 tiful, very romantic, and, alas ! very poor ! He was 
 scarcely older, fully as romantic, and also, alas ! was, if 
 anything, poorer than she — a fact of which his swashing 
 and naval display of gold-plated buttons and braid 
 gave no hint. 
 
 The romance lasted about two weeks, with waning 
 enthusiasm on the youth's side, when, in great distress, 
 he came to see me. He made a clean breast of the 
 dilemma into which he had plunged. 
 
 "I beg you will rescue me, Mrs. Clay," he said. "Get 
 me transferred, or sent out anywhere ! I've made a 
 
THE CABINET CIRCLES 67 
 
 fool of myself. I can't marry her," he declared. "I 
 haven't income enough to buy my own clothes, and, as 
 for providing for a girl of her tastes, I don't know whether 
 I shall ever be able to do so." 
 
 " But," I remonstrated, " how can I help you ? You've 
 only just returned, and in the ordinary course of events 
 you would remain on shore at least six weeks. That 
 isn't long. Try to bear it a while ! " 
 
 "Long enough for a marriage in naval life," he de- 
 clared, ruefully. "And I can't break it off without 
 your assistance Help me, Mrs. Clay! If you don't — " 
 He looked sheepish, but dogged. "I'll do what the 
 Irishman did in Charleston ! ' ' 
 
 "What was that?" I asked. 
 
 " Well ! he was in exactly the same pickle I am in, so he 
 hired a man and a wheel-barrow, and lying down, face up 
 in it, had himself rolled past the lady's house at a time 
 when he knew she was at home. Then, as the barrow 
 arrived at this point, he had his man stop for a few 
 moments to wipe the sweat of honest toil from his fore- 
 head, and, incidentally, to give the lookers-on an oppor- 
 tunity for complete identification. . . . Only diffi- 
 culty with that is, how would it affect me in the service ?" 
 And the Lieutenant became dubious and I thoughtful. 
 
 " If I knew on what grounds to approach Secretary 
 Dobbin," I began. 
 
 "There aren't any," the Lieutenant answered eagerly. 
 " But there are two ships just fitting out, and lots of men 
 on them would be glad to get off from a three-years' 
 cruise. I would ship for six years, nine — anything that 
 would get me out of this fix !" 
 
 On this desperate statement I applied to the Secretary. 
 Within ten days my gallant " friend" was on the sea, and 
 one of Washington's beautiful maidens in tears. Glanc- 
 ing over my letters, I see that at the end of ten years the 
 young Naval officer was still unwed, though not alto- 
 

 68 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 gether scarless as to intervening love affairs; but the 
 lady was now the happy wife of a member of one of the 
 oldest and wealthiest families in the United States ! 
 
 Secretary Dobbin was my escort on my first (a most 
 memorable) visit to Fort Monroe. The occasion was a 
 brilliant one, for the President and his Cabinet had come 
 in a body to review the troops. Jefferson Davis, then 
 Secretary of War, and but recently the hero of the battle 
 of Buena Vista, directed the manoeuvres, his spirited 
 figure, superb horsemanship, and warlike bearing attract- 
 ing general attention. An entire day was given up to 
 this holiday-making, and the scene was one of splendid 
 excitement. At night the Fort and the waters beyond 
 were lit up by a pyrotechnic display of great gorgeous- 
 ness, and enthusiasm rose to its highest when, amid the 
 booming of cannon and the plaudits of happy people, an 
 especially ingenious device blazed across the night sky 
 the names of Franklin Pierce and Jefferson Davis ! 
 
 Always a man of distinguished appearance, Secretary 
 Davis at that time was exceedingly slender, but his step 
 was springy, and he carried himself with such an air of 
 conscious strength and ease and purpose as often to cause 
 a stranger to turn and look at him. His voice was very 
 rich and sonorous, his enunciation most pleasing. In 
 public speech he was eloquent and magnetic, but, curiously 
 enough, he was a poor reader, _ often_-_" -mnufhing "_ his 
 phrases in a way that would have aroused Hamlet's scorn. 
 Though spoken of as~~coIcTand haughty, in private his 
 friends found him refreshingly informal and frank. 
 From their first meeting, Secretary Davis was the inti- 
 mate friend of my husband, whose loyalty to Mr. Davis 
 in the momentous closing days of the Confederacy reacted 
 so unfortunately upon his own liberty and welfare. 
 
 Neither the Secretary of War nor his wife appeared 
 frequently in society in the earlier days of his appoint- 
 ment, the attention of Mr. Davis being concentrated 
 
THE CABINET CIRCLES 69 
 
 upon the duties of his office, and a young family engaging 
 that of his wife. I have heard it said that so wonderful 
 was Mr. Davis's oversight of the Department of War 
 while under his charge, that it would have been impos- 
 sible for the Government to have been cheated out of the 
 value of a brass button ! So proud was his adopted State 
 of him, that at the close of Mr. Pierce's administration, 
 Mississippi promptly returned Mr. Davis to Washington 
 as Senator. Almost immediately thereafter he became 
 the victim of a serious illness, which lasted many weeks, 
 and a complication of troubles set in which culminated in 
 the loss of sight in one eye. During that period my hus- 
 band gave up many nights to the nursing of the invalid, 
 who was tortured by neuralgic pains and nervous tension. 
 Senator Clay's solicitude for Mr. Davis was ever of the 
 deepest, as his efforts to sustain and defend him to the 
 last were of the most unselfish. 
 
 Aaron V. Brown, who became Postmaster-General in 
 1857, was at once one of the kindest-hearted and simplest 
 of men, loving his home and being especially indifferent 
 to all things that savoured of the merely fashionable and 
 superficial. He occupied a house which by long associa- 
 tion with distinguished people had become prominently 
 known. Not infrequently the Brown residence was 
 alluded to as the "Cabinet Mansion." Here, among 
 other celebrities, had lived Attorney-General Wirt, and 
 in it Mrs. Wirt had compiled the first " Flora's Diction- 
 ary." The hospitality of Mr. and Mrs. Brown, being 
 boundless, served to accentuate its reputation, for, unlike 
 her husband, Mrs. Brown was socially most industrious, 
 and, being exceedingly well-to-do, was full of enterprise 
 in the invention of novel surprises for her guests. Mrs. 
 Brown, who was the sister of the afterward distinguished 
 Major-General Pillow, of the Confederate Army, was the 
 first hostess in Washington, I think, to introduce orches- 
 tral music at dinner, and her daughter, Narcissa Sanders, 
 
7 o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 with as pronounced a spirit of innovation,* sent out 
 enormous cards of invitation in her own name, inviting 
 the distinguished folk of the capital to the house of the 
 Postmaster-General to meet— herself ! 
 
 I remember a dinner at this luxurious home of Mr. 
 Brown, at which my host, who took me in, amused me 
 immensely at the expense of the elaborate feast before 
 us, and at some of his wife's kindly, if costly, foibles. 
 Behind a barrier of plants a band played softly; around 
 us were the obsequious waiters from Gautier's. 
 
 "All from Gautier's !" sighed the Postmaster-General, 
 in mock despair. "My wife's napery is the best to be 
 had, but she will have Gautier's ! Our silver is — cer- 
 tainly not the plainest in the city, but Mrs. Brown must 
 have Gautier's ! We have an incomparable chef, but 
 nothing will please my wife but these ' ' ; and he scanned 
 the mysterious menu with its tier after tier of unknown 
 French names. Then he turned suddenly and asked me, 
 pointing to a line, "My child, what's this? Don't know, 
 eh? Well, neither do I, but let's try it, anyway. I don't 
 suppose it will kill us," and so on, the good old gentle- 
 man keeping me in a continual bubble of smothered 
 laughter to the end of the dinner. 
 
 A member of Mr. Pierce's Cabinet, whose house was 
 as conspicuous for its large and lavish entertaining as 
 was Mr. Brown's, was the Secretary of the Treasury, 
 Guthrie, the wealthy Kentuckian. Mr. Guthrie was no 
 society lover (it was a time when statesmen had need to 
 be absorbed in weightier things), but he entertained, I 
 always thought, as a part of his public duty. His was a 
 big, square-shouldered and angular figure, and his appear- 
 
 * "I remember," said General Joseph Wheeler, "hearing of those 
 innovations, and that the guests entered the dining-room two by two, 
 and left it in the same order, to the music of the orchestra. They 
 introduced the custom of announcing the arrival of each guest at 
 receptions, by having a functionary call the name, aloud, a novelty 
 against which a good many rebelled." A. S. 
 
THE CABINET CIRCLES 71 
 
 ance, it was obvious, at receptions was perfunctory rathef 
 than a pleasure. A widower, his home was presided over 
 by his two daughters, Mrs. Polk and Mrs. Coke, both 
 also widowed. I often thought Secretary Guthrie's 
 capacious ballroom suggestive, in its proportions, of a 
 public hall. 
 
 Here, one evening, I had my never-to-be-forgotten 
 rencontre with Chevalier Bertinatti, the Sardinian Minis- 
 ter. Dear old Bertinatti ! In all the diplomatic circle 
 of the Pierce and Buchanan administrations there was 
 not to be found a personage at once more dignified and 
 genial. Serious, yet enthusiastic, his naturally kind 
 heart adding warmth to the gallantry for which foreign- 
 ers are famous, the Chevalier was a typical ambassador 
 of the Latin people. He was a learned man, especially 
 in matters American, and knew our Constitution better 
 than did many of our native representatives in Washing- 
 ton. He encountered bravely, though not always suc- 
 cessfully, the difficulties of the English language, and his 
 defeats in this field (such is the irony of fate) have served 
 to keep him longer in the minds of many than have his 
 successes. 
 
 Upon the occasion to which I have referred, a soiree 
 was held at Secretary Guthrie's house, at which half the 
 world was present. I wore that evening a gown of foreign 
 silk, the colour of the pomegranate blossom, and with it 
 a Sardinian head-dress and ornaments which had been 
 sent me by a Consular friend. Seeing me at some dis- 
 tance, the Chevalier failed to recognise me and asked 
 one of the hostesses, with whom he was conversing, 
 "Who is zat lady wis my kontree-woman's ornaments?" 
 
 Upon learning my identity he came forward quickly 
 and, gazing admiringly at me, he threw himself on his 
 knee before me (kissing my hand as he did so, with 
 ardent gallantry) as he exclaimed: "Madame, you are 
 charming wis zat head-dress like my kontree-women ! 
 
72 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 Madame ! I assure you, you have conquest me behind 
 and now you conquest me before!" and he bowed pro- 
 foundly. 
 
 This remarkable compliment was long remembered 
 and recounted wherever the name of the kind-hearted 
 diplomat was mentioned. A great many ties bound 
 Monsieur Bertinatti to Washington society, not the least 
 of which was his marriage to Mrs. Bass of Mississippi, an 
 admired member of the Southern and predominating 
 element in the capital. Her daughter, who returned to 
 die in her native land (she was buried from the Cathedral 
 in Memphis, Tennessee), became the Marquise Incisa di 
 Camerana. 
 
 When, after decades of political strife, the crucial time 
 of separation came between the North and the South, 
 and we of the South were preparing to leave the Federal 
 City, I could not conceal my sorrow; and tears, ever a 
 blessed boon to women, frequently blinded me as I bade 
 first one and then another of our associates what was to 
 be a long good-bye. At such an expression of my grief 
 the Chevalier Bertinatti was much troubled. 
 
 "Don't weep," he said. "Don't weep, my dear Mrs. 
 Clay. You have had sixty years of uninterrupted peace ! 
 This is but a revolution, and all countries must suffer 
 from them at times ! Look at my poor country ! I was 
 born in revolution, and reared in revolution, and I expect 
 to die in revolution !" And with this offering of philosophic 
 consolation we parted. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 SOLONS OF THE CAPITAL 
 
 The classes of Washington society in the fifties were 
 peculiarly distinct. They were not unlike its topography, 
 which is made up of many small circles and triangles, into 
 each of which run tributary streets and avenues. In the 
 social life, each division in the Congressional body was as 
 a magnetic circle, attracting to itself by way of defined 
 radii those whose tastes or political interests were in sym- 
 pathy with it. Not less prominent than the Cabinet 
 circle (outranking it, in fact), and fully as interesting by 
 reason of its undisguised preference for things solid, 
 scientific and intellectual, was the Judiciary or Supreme 
 Court set. The several Justices that composed this august 
 body, together with their wives and daughters, formed 
 a charmed circle into which the merely light-minded 
 would scarcely have ventured. Here one met the wit- 
 tiest and the weightiest minds of the capital, and here, 
 perhaps more than in any other coterie, the newcomer 
 was impressed with what Messrs. Nicolay and Hay 
 describe as "the singular charm of Washington life." 
 In the Supreme Court circle, the conditions attending 
 Congressional life in those strenuous times forced them- 
 selves less boldly upon one. Here one discussed phi- 
 losophies, inventions, history, perhaps, and the arts ; sel- 
 dom the fashions, and as seldom the on dits. 
 
 The Nestor of that circle in the fifties was quaint old 
 Roger B. Taney (pronounced Tawney), who, after various 
 political disappointments, including a refusal by the 
 Senate to confirm his appointment as a member of the 
 
 73 
 
74 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 Cabinet, had received his appointment to the Supreme 
 Court bench in 1836. Upon the death of Chief Justice 
 Marshall, Judge Taney became the head of the Supreme 
 Court body; thus, for more than thirty years, he had 
 been a prominent personage in the country's legal circles 
 and a conspicuous resident in Washington. He was an 
 extremely plain-looking man, with frail body, which once 
 rose tall and erect, but now was so bent that one always 
 thought of him as small, and with a head which made me 
 think of a withered nut. Swarthy of skin, but grey- 
 haired, Judge Taney was a veritable skeleton, "all mind 
 and no body"; yet his opinion settled questions that 
 agitated the nation, and his contemporaries agreed he 
 was the ablest man who had ever sat upon the Supreme 
 Court bench. Judge Taney's daughters, gifted and bril- 
 liant women, were seldom seen in society, but from choice 
 or necessity chose bread-winning careers. They were 
 great draughtswomen and made coloured maps, for 
 which, in those days of expanding territory, there was a 
 great and constant need. 
 
 Of Chief Justice Taney's associates, Judges Catron and 
 John A. Campbell became best known to Senator Clay and 
 myself. These, and other statesmen equally distinguished 
 and later to be mentioned, having been the friends of 
 ex-Governor (then Senator) C. C. Clay, Sr., my husband 
 had been known to them from the days when, as a school- 
 boy, he had visited his parents in the Federal City. Mrs. 
 Judge Catron, whom I met soon after my arrival in Wash- 
 ington, was a woman of great elegance of manner and 
 dress, and always brought to my mind the thought of a 
 dowager Duchess. An associate of my husband's mother, 
 and a native of gay Nashville, Mrs. Catron had been a 
 social queen in Washington in the late thirties, and her 
 position of interest was still preserved in 1855. 
 
 Judge and Mrs. Campbell, being rich beyond many 
 others, their home was widely known for sumptuous 
 
SOLONS OF THE CAPITAL 75 
 
 entertaining as well as for its intellectual atmosphere. 
 Sharing to an extent the public favour, Judge Campbell, 
 Reverdy Johnson, and Robt. J. Walker were the three 
 legal giants of their day. Judge Campbell's clients were 
 among the weathiest in the country, and his fees were said 
 to be enormous. Had not the war ensued, undoubtedly 
 he would have been appointed to the Chief Justiceship, 
 as was commonly predicted for him. He was a man of 
 great penetration and erudition, and was held in high 
 esteem by everyone in the capital. In 1861 he cast his 
 lot with the people of the South, among whom he was 
 born, and went out of the Federal City to meet what- 
 soever fate the future held. Judge Campbell became 
 the earnest adviser of Mr. Davis, and was a Commissioner 
 of the Confederate Government, together with Alexander 
 H. Stephens and R. M. T. Hunter, when the three con- 
 ferred with Mr. Seward, acting as delegate from the 
 Northern President, Lincoln. Nor did the ensuing years 
 diminish the great regard of great men for our beloved 
 Southern scholar.* Writing to Judge Campbell from 
 Washington on December 10, 1884, Thomas F. Bayard 
 thus reveals the exalted regard which the former sus- 
 tained to the close of a long life : 
 
 "Mr. Lamar, now Associate Judge of the Supreme 
 Court, concurs with me," he wrote, "in considering it 
 highly important that your counsel and opinions should 
 be freely given to Mr. Cleveland at this important junc- 
 ture, and respectfully and earnestly I trust you will 
 concur in our judgment in the matter. Mr. Cleveland 
 will resign from his present office early in January, but 
 
 * Wrote *-,he Assistant Attorney-General, William A. Maury, in 
 1885, to Judge Campbell: "I called on the President in company with 
 Judge Gilbert and Mr. Corcoran, and, a most fitting opportunity hav- 
 ing occurred in the course of our talk, I pleased the President greatly 
 by telling him you said he was the biggest man who had been in the 
 White House since you were a child ! Which Mr. Corcoran supple- 
 mented by saying, 'And Judge Campbell is a man who means what 
 he says!'" 
 
76 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 can easily and conveniently receive you for the purpose 
 suggested in the interview. ' ' * 
 
 In those days of Washington's splendour, Mrs. Camp- 
 bell and her daughter Henrietta were no less distin- 
 guished for their culture, intellectuality, and exclusive- 
 ness. Mrs. Campbell was the first Southern woman 
 to adopt the English custom of designating her coloured 
 servant as "my man." At the home of the Campbells 
 one met not only the legal lights of Washington, but 
 scientists and travellers, as if law and the sciences were 
 drawn near to each other by natural selection. Professor 
 Henry, of the Smithsonian Institution, was a frequent 
 visitor at this home, as was also Professor Maury, the 
 grand road-master of the ocean, who, by the distribution 
 of his buoys, made a track in the billows of the Atlantic 
 for the safe passing of ships. 
 
 I remember an amusing visit paid by a party from our 
 mess to the observatory of Professor Maury. It was 
 an occasion of special interest. Jupiter was displaying 
 his brilliancy in a marvellous way. For no particular 
 reason, in so far as I could see, the Professor's great 
 telescope seemed to require adjusting for the benefit of 
 each of the bevy present. I noticed Professor Maury's 
 eye twinkling as he went on with this necessary (?) pre- 
 liminary, asking, betimes : "What do you see? Nothing 
 clearly? Well, permit me!" And after several experi- 
 ments he would secure, at last, the right focus. When 
 all of his guests had been treated to a satisfactory view 
 of the wonders of the sky, Professor Maury delivered 
 himself somewhat as follows: 
 
 "Now, ladies, whilst you have been studying the 
 heavenly bodies, I have been studying you!" and the 
 quizzical expression deepened in his eye. 
 
 "Go on," we assented. 
 
 * Held between Messrs. Cleveland, President-elect, and Bayard in 
 the official residence, which is segregated from the Capitol. 
 
SOLONS OF THE CAPITAL 77 
 
 ''Well," said the Professor, "I have a bill before 
 Congress," (mentioning its nature) "and if you ladies 
 don't influence your husbands to vote for it, I intend 
 to publish the ages of each and every one of you to the whole 
 of Washington!''' 
 
 Remembering the mutability of political life, it was 
 and remains a source of astonishment to me that in the 
 Government circles of the fifties were comprised so 
 many distinguished men who had retained their positions 
 in the political foreground for so many years; years, 
 moreover, in which an expanding territory was causing 
 the envy for office to spread, infecting the ignorant as 
 well as the wise, and causing contestants to multiply in 
 number and their passions to increase in violence at each 
 election. 
 
 When Senator Clay and I took up our residence in 
 the Federal City, there were at least a dozen great 
 statesmen who had dwelt almost continuously in 
 Washington for nearly twoscore years. Writing of these 
 to Governor Clay, in 1858, my husband said "Mr. Bu- 
 chanan looks as ruddy as ever; General Cass as young 
 and vigorous as in 1844, and Mr. Dickens * appears as 
 he did in 1834, when with you I was at his home at an 
 evening party!" Thomas Hart Benton, the great 
 Missourian, who for seven long years struggled against 
 such allied competitors as Senators Henry Clay, Calhoun, 
 and Webster, in his fight against the Bank of the United 
 States, probably out-ranked all others in length of public 
 service ; but, besides Mr. Benton, there were Chief Justice 
 Taney and his associates, Judges Catron, James M. 
 Wayne, and John McLean, of Ohio; Senator Crittenden, 
 of Kentucky, and General George Wallace Jones — all 
 men who had entered political life when the century was 
 young. 
 
 Among my pleasantest memories of Washington are 
 
 * Asbury Dickens, Clerk of the Senate. 
 
78 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 the evenings spent at the home of Mr. Benton. His 
 household, but recently bereft of its mistress, who had 
 been a long-time invalid, was presided over by his daugh- 
 ters, Mrs. General Fremont, Mrs. Thomas Benton Jones, 
 and Mme. Boileau. The last-named shared, with the 
 Misses Bayard and Maury, a reputation for superior 
 elegance among the young women of the capital. The 
 daughters of Mr. Benton had been splendidly educated, 
 it was said, by their distinguished father, and they repaid 
 his care of them by a lifelong adoration. A handsome 
 man in ordinary attire, the great old author and states- 
 man was yet a more striking figure when mounted. He 
 rode with a stately dignity, quite unlike the pace indulged 
 in by some other equestrians of that city and day; a 
 day, it may be said in passing, when equestrianism was 
 common. Mr. Benton's appearance and the slow gait 
 of his horse impressed me as powerful and even majestic, 
 and often (as I remarked to him at dinner one evening) 
 there flashed through my mind, as I saw him, a remem- 
 brance of Byron's Moorish King as he rode benignly 
 through the streets of Granada. He seemed gratified at 
 my comparison. 
 
 "I'm glad you approve of my pace," he said. "I 
 ride slowly because I do not wish to be confounded with 
 post-boys and messengers sent in haste for the surgeon. 
 They may gallop if they will, but not Senators." 
 
 At his own table Mr. Benton was an oracle to whom 
 everyone listened eagerly. I have seen twenty guests 
 held spellbound as he recited, with thrilling realism, 
 a history of the Clay-Randolph duel, with the details 
 of which he was so familiarly acquainted. I never 
 heard him allude to his great fight in the Senate, 
 when, the galleries crowded with men inimical to him, 
 his wife and General Jones sent out for arms to protect 
 the fearless Senator from the onslaught which seemed 
 impending; nor to his nearly thirty years' strife for the 
 
SOLONS OF THE CAPITAL 79 
 
 removal of the onerous Salt Tax ; but the dinners before 
 which his guests sat down were flavoured with the finest 
 of Attic salt, of which he was a connoisseur, which served 
 to sting into increased eagerness our interest in his rich 
 store of recollections. 
 
 Wherever Mr. Benton was seen he was a marked per- 
 sonage. There was something of distinction in the very 
 manner in which he wore his cravat, and when he spoke, 
 men listened instinctively. Of his daughters, Mrs. 
 Fremont was probably the most gifted, and Mme. Boileau 
 the most devoted to fashionable society. Mme. Boileau 
 was the wife of a French attache, and was remarked as 
 she drove about in the streets with a be-ribboned spaniel 
 upon the front seat of her calash. Many years after my 
 acquaintance in Washington with Mr. Benton's family 
 (it was during the Cleveland Administration), I was 
 present at a reception given by Mrs. Endicott when I 
 observed among the guests a very busy little woman, 
 in simple black apparel, whose face was familiar to me, 
 but whom I found myself unable to place ; yet everyone 
 seemed to know her. I heard her address several foreign- 
 ers, in each case employing the language of his country, 
 and, my curiosity increasing, I asked at last, " Who is 
 that small lady in black?" 
 
 To my surprise, she proved to be Mrs. Fremont ! 
 
 I soon made my way to her. She seemed almost 
 impatient as I said, "Mrs. Fremont, I can never 
 forget you, nor the charming evenings at your father's 
 house, though you, I am sure, have forgotten me!" 
 She looked at me searchingly and then spoke, im- 
 petuously : 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! I remember your face perfectly, but 
 your name — Tell me who you are, quick. Don't keep 
 me waiting ! " I promptly gratified her, and in the con- 
 versation that followed, I added some reference to her 
 father's great book, "Thirty Years' View," which, until 
 
8o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 the destruction of my home during the Civil War, had 
 formed two of our most valued volumes. 
 
 "Ah!" cried Mrs. Fremont. "You are a woman of 
 penetration ! I have always said my father's book is the 
 Political Bible of America. I know it will not perish!" 
 
 I have referred to General George Wallace Jones. 
 No memory of ante-bellum Washington and its moving 
 personages would be complete were he, the pet of women 
 and the idol of men, left out. He was born in 1804, 
 when the Union was young ; and adventure and patriotism, 
 then sweeping over our country, were blended in him. 
 As a child he came out of the young West, still a wilder- 
 ness, to be educated in Kentucky. He had been a ser- 
 geant of the body-guard of General Jackson, and to the 
 Marquis de la Fayette upon the latter's last visit to the 
 United States in 1824. Thereafter he figured in the 
 Black Hawk War as aid to General Dodge. His life was 
 a continual panorama of strange events. In the Great 
 Indian War he became a Major-General; then a County 
 Judge; and appeared at the capital as delegate from the 
 Territory of Michigan early in 1835. General Jones's 
 personal activity becoming known to the Government, 
 he was made Surveyor-General of the Northwest. It 
 was about this time that he, being on the Senate floor, 
 sprang to the side of Mr. Benton while the gallery hummed 
 ominously with the angry threats of the friends of the 
 Bank defenders, and personal violence seemed unavoid- 
 able. I never knew how many of the Western States 
 were laid out by General Jones, but they were numerous. 
 In his work of surveying he was accompanied by young 
 military men, many of whom played conspicuous parts 
 in the history of the country, at that time but half of 
 its present size. Among these was Jefferson Davis, then 
 a civil engineer. 
 
 General Jones was indefatigable in his attendance 
 at social gatherings, and continued to out-dance young 
 
SOLONS OF THE CAPITAL 81 
 
 men, even when threescore rich years were his. He had 
 been a great favourite with my husband's parents during 
 their Congressional life, so great indeed that father's 
 message of introduction spoke of him as "My son!" 
 and his fraternal offices to us are among the brightest 
 memories I hold of life at the capital. The General 
 was a small, wiry man, renowned for his long black hair, 
 glossy and well-kept as was any belle's, and which seemed 
 even to a very late period to defy time to change it. In 
 society he was sprightly as a kitten, and at seventy-five 
 would poke his glistening black head at me, declaring 
 as he did so, "I'll give you anything you ask, from a 
 horse to a kiss, if you can find one grey hair among the 
 black!" 
 
 General Jones died in the West, just before the close 
 of the nineteenth century, but to the end he was gay 
 and brave, and elastic in body and mind. So indomitable 
 was his spirit even in those closing days, that he revived 
 a memory of the war days in the following spirited letter 
 written in 1894, just after the celebration of his ninetieth 
 birthday. At this time he was made King of the Carnival, 
 was complimented by the Governor of Iowa, "the 
 two branches of the General Assembly, and "by the 
 Supreme Court, they, too, being Republicans and total 
 strangers to me save one Republican Senator and one 
 Democratic representative from this County," as his gay 
 account of the episode ran. 
 
 "I told several times," he added, "of how you and 
 dear Mrs. Bouligny prevented me from killing Seward. 
 It was the day you stopped me, as you sat in your car- 
 riage in front of Corcoran & Riggs's bank, and I was 
 about to pass you. I would certainly have killed Seward 
 with my sword-cane but that you stopped me. I was 
 about to follow the Secretary as he passed the bank 
 door, between his son Frederick and some other men. I 
 would have run my sword through him and immediately 
 
82 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 have been cut into mince-meat by the hundreds of 
 negro guards who stood all round. Do you recollect 
 that fearful incident? God sent two guardian angels to 
 save my life. How can I feel otherwise than grateful 
 to you for saving me that day ! ' ' 
 
 The recalling of this pioneer-surveyor of the great 
 Western wilderness revives, too, the name of as notable 
 a character in the Southwest, and one who will always 
 be identified with the introduction of cotton in the 
 Southern States, and the land-grants of the territory of 
 Louisiana. I never met Daniel Clarke, but very early 
 in my married life, and some years before I went to the 
 capital to reside, I became acquainted with that re- 
 markable woman, his daughter, Mrs. Myra Clarke Gaines. 
 
 I had accompanied my husband to New Orleans, where 
 we stopped at the St. Charles Hotel, then two steps or 
 more above the ground level, though it settled, as all 
 New Orleans buildings do sooner or later, owing to the 
 moist soil. 
 
 The evening of our arrival we were seated in the 
 dining-room when my attention was attracted by the 
 entrance of a very unusual couple. The man was well- 
 advanced in years, but bore himself with a dignified and 
 military air that made him at once conspicuous. There 
 was a marked disparity between this tall, commanding 
 soldier and the very small young woman who hung 
 upon his arm "like a reticule or a knitting-pocket," as 
 I remarked sotto voce to Mr. Clay. Her hair was 
 bright, glistening chestnut, her colour very fresh and rich, 
 and her golden-hazel eyes glowed like young suns. These 
 orbs were singularly searching, and seemed to gauge every- 
 one at a glance. Mr. Clay, having already an acquaintance 
 with General Gaines, in a few moments I was presented 
 to the (even then) much-talked-of daughter of General 
 Clarke. 
 
 Never did woman exhibit more wifely solicitude. 
 
SOLONS OF THE CAPITAL 83 
 
 From the beginning of that dinner Mrs. Gaines became 
 the General's guardian. She arranged his napkin, 
 tucking it carefully into the V of his waistcoat, read 
 the menu and selected his food, waiting upon him as 
 each course arrived, and herself preparing the dressing 
 for his salad. All was done in so matter-of-fact and 
 quiet a manner that the flow of General Gaines's 
 discourse was not once interrupted. Though I met this 
 interesting woman a number of times in later years, in 
 Washington and elsewhere, that first picture of Mrs. 
 Gaines, probably the bravest woman, morally, of her 
 time, has remained most vividly. When, as a widow, 
 accompanied by her daughter, Mrs. Gaines visited 
 Washington, she was the cynosure of all eyes in 
 every assemblage in which she was seen. Her fearless 
 pleading in the Supreme Court was the theme of con- 
 versation the country over. People thronged to see 
 a woman whose courage was so indomitable, and none 
 but were surprised at the diminutive and modest heroine. 
 Senator Crittenden, of Kentucky, was already a Solon 
 in the counsels of the Nation, when, in 1841, Senator 
 C. C. Clay, Sr., left the Senate. A major in the army 
 in 1 81 2, Air. Crittenden had made his appearance in 
 Congress in 181 7, and thereafter continued prominent in 
 Washington life, as Senator or Cabinet member (in the 
 Cabinets of Presidents Harrison and Fillmore), so that 
 for thirty or more years his name had been associated 
 with the names of our great law-makers, especially with 
 those of the second quarter of the century. When I 
 met Senator Crittenden in the middle fifties, he was a 
 carefully preserved gentleman of courtly and genial 
 manners. Besides the brilliancy that attached to his 
 long career in Congressional life, he was distinguished as 
 the husband of a still charming woman, whose proud 
 boast it was that she was perfectly happy. This declara- 
 tion alone was enough to make any woman in society 
 
84 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 remarkable; yet, to judge from her serene and smiling 
 appearance, Mrs. Crittenden did not exaggerate her 
 felicity. She was a sweet type of the elderly fashionable 
 woman, her face reflecting the utmost kindness, her 
 corsage and silvery hair gleaming with brilliants, her 
 silken petticoats rustling musically, and, over the lustrous 
 folds of her rich and by no means sombre costumes, 
 priceless lace fell prodigally. 
 
 Nor were there lacking notes and even whole gowns of 
 warm colour significant of the lady's persistent cheeriness. 
 I remember my cousin, Miss Comer, a debutante of seven- 
 teen at that time, remarking upon Mrs. Crittenden's 
 dress one evening at a ball. 
 
 " It's exactly like mine, cousin !" she said, not without 
 a pout of disappointment. And so, in truth, it was, both 
 being of bright, cherry corded silk, the only difference 
 between them being that the modest round-necked 
 bodice of my little cousin by no means could compete 
 with the noble decollete of the older lady. But, in justice 
 to the most estimable Mrs. Crittenden, it must be added 
 that her neck and shoulders were superbly moulded, and, 
 even in middle age, excited the envy of her less fortunate 
 sisters. 
 
 "Lady" Crittenden, as she was often called, accounted 
 for her contentment in this wise: " I have been married 
 three times, and in each alliance I have got just what I 
 wanted. My first marriage was for love, and it was 
 mine as fully as I could wish ; my second for money, and 
 Heaven was as good to me in this instance ; my third was 
 for position, and that, too, is mine. What more could 
 I ask?" 
 
 What more, indeed ! 
 
 One met dear old Mrs. Crittenden everywhere. She 
 was of the most social disposition, a fact which sometimes 
 aroused the good-natured irony of her distinguished 
 husband. I remember an instance in which this was 
 
MRS. J. J. CRITTENDEN 
 of Kentucky 
 
SOLONS OF THE CAPITAL 85 
 
 demonstrated, at the White House, which greatly amused 
 me at the time. It was at a dinner party, and Senator 
 Crittenden, who boasted that he had eaten at the White 
 House table with every President since the days of 
 Monroe, assumed the blase air which everyone who knew 
 him recognised as a conscious affectation. 
 
 "Now there's 'Lady' Crittenden," he began, nodding 
 in the direction of that smiling personage, "in all the 
 glory of a new and becoming gown, and perfectly happy 
 in the glamour of this." And he waved his hand about 
 the room with an air of fatigue and, at the same time, a 
 comprehensiveness that swept in every member, grave 
 or giddy, in the large assemblage. "If I had my way," 
 and he sighed as he said it, "nothing would give me 
 greater pleasure than to hie me back to the wilds of 
 dear old Kentucky ! Ah ! to don my buckskins once 
 more, shoulder a rifle, and wander through life a free 
 man, away from all this flummery ! " 
 
 He sighed again (for the tangled woods ?) as he detected 
 a speck upon his faultless sleeve and fastidiously brushed 
 it off ! 
 
 "Pshaw! Stuff and nonsense, Senator!" I retorted, 
 rallying him heartlessly. " Fancy your being condemned 
 to that ! You wouldn't stand it two days, unless an 
 election were in progress and there were country con- 
 stituents to interview. Everyone knows you are as fond of 
 fat plums and plump capons, both real and metaphorical, 
 as any man in the capital ! As for society being dis- 
 agreeable to you, with a good dinner in view and pretty 
 women about you — Fie, Senator ! I don't believe you !" 
 Whereat our Solon laughed guiltily, like one whose pet 
 pretense has been discovered, and entered forthwith into 
 the evening's pleasures as heartily as did his spouse, the 
 perfectly happy "Lady" Crittenden. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 Fashions of the Fifties 
 
 To estimate at anything like their value ante-bellum 
 days at the capital, it must be borne in mind that the 
 period was one of general prosperity and competitive 
 expenditure. While a life-and-death struggle raged 
 between political parties, and oratorical battles of 
 ominous import were fought daily in Senate Chamber 
 and House, a very reckless gaiety was everywhere ap- 
 parent in social circles. Especially was this to be ob- 
 served in the predominant and hospitable Southern 
 division in the capital; for predominant Southern 
 society was, as even such deliberately partisan historians 
 as Messrs. Nicolay and Hay admit; and, what these 
 gentlemen designate as "the blandishments of Southern 
 hospitality," lent a charm to life in the Government 
 circles of that day which lifted the capital to the very 
 apex of its social glory. Writing of these phases of life 
 in the capital, in a letter dated March, 1858, I said to 
 Governor Clay: "People are mad with rivalry and 
 vanity. It is said that Gwin is spending money at the 
 rate of $75,000 a year, and Brown and Thompson quite 
 the same. Mrs. Thompson (of Mississippi) is a great 
 favourite here. Mrs. Toombs, who is sober, and has but 
 one daughter, Sally, who is quite a belle, says they spend 
 $1,800 per month, or $21,000 per annum. " 
 
 The four years' war, which began in '61, changed 
 these social conditions. As the result of that strife 
 poverty spread both North and South. The social 
 world at Washington, which but an administration before 
 
 86 
 
FASHIONS OF THE FIFTIES 87 
 
 had been scarcely less fascinating and brilliant than the 
 Court of Louis Napoleon, underwent a radical change; 
 and the White House itself, within a month after it went 
 into the hands of the new Black Republican party, 
 became degraded to a point where even Northern men 
 recoiled at the sight of the metamorphosed conditions.* 
 
 In the days of Presidents Pierce and Buchanan, 
 Washington was a city of statesmen, and in the fore- 
 ground, relieving the solemnity of their deliberations in 
 that decade which preceded the Nation's great disaster, 
 were fashion and mirth, beauty and wit. It was then, 
 as the government city of a Republic must ever be, a 
 place of continuous novelty, of perpetual changes, of new 
 faces. The fashionable world comes and goes in the 
 Federal City with each Presidential term of four and 
 Senatorial term of six years, and its longer or shorter 
 stays of the army and navy contingent, and always it 
 gathers its personnel from as many points as there are 
 States in the Union, and as many parts of the world as 
 those to which our diplomatic relations extend. 
 
 In the fifties, when the number of States was but two 
 dozen, the list of representatives gathering at the capital 
 was proportionately smaller than in the present day, and 
 society was correspondingly select. Moreover, political 
 distinction and offices not infrequently continued in 
 many families through several generations, sons often 
 succeeding their fathers in Congress, inheriting, in some 
 degree, their ancestors' friends, until a social security 
 had been established which greatly assisted to give 
 
 * In a letter dated New York, April 6, 1861, a correspondent, the 
 intimate associate of James Gordon Bennett, wrote as follows: "I have 
 been in Washington twice since I had the pleasure of seeing you, and I 
 can say truthfully, that . . . the ensemble of the personnel of the 
 White House has sadly changed, more befitting a restaurant than the 
 House of the President. They tell me many droll stories of them, and 
 all are deservedly rich. 'Old Abe' tells stories and Mrs. Lincoln sim- 
 pers. They keep a household of those horrid . . . people with 
 them all the time, mais asscz! " 
 
88 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 charm and prestige to the fashionable coteries of the 
 Federal centre. For example, for forty years previous 
 to my husband's election to the Senate, the two branches 
 of the Clay family had been prominent in the life of the 
 capital. In the late twenties, C. C. Clay, Sr., had been 
 active in the House, while the great Henry Clay was 
 stirring the country through his speeches in the Senate; 
 in the fifties, Mr. James B. Clay, son of the great Ken- 
 tuckian, was a Congressman when the scholarly states- 
 manship of Senator C. C. Clay, Jr., of Alabama, was 
 attracting the admiration and praise of North and South 
 alike. It is a pathetic coincidence that to my husband, 
 during his sojourn in Canada, fell the sad privilege of 
 ministering at the death-bed of Mr. Clay, of Kentucky, 
 who died in that alien land without the solacing presence 
 of wife or children. Shortly before the end came, he 
 presented to Senator Clay the cane which for years 
 had been carried by the great orator, Henry Clay.* 
 
 The fashions of the times were graceful, rich and 
 picturesque. Those of the next decade, conspicuous 
 for huge chignons, false hair, and distorting bustles, rose 
 like an ugly barrier between the lovely costuming of the 
 fifties and the dressing of to-day. A half-century ago, 
 the beauties of the capital wore their hair a la Grecque, 
 with flowers wreathed over it, or a simple golden dagger 
 or arrow to secure it. Their gowns were festooned with 
 blossoms that trailed over bodice and skirt until not 
 seldom they became, by reason of their graceful orna- 
 
 * Some time after Clement C. Clay's return to the Confederate States, 
 this cane was purloined by some unknown person. Years passed; 
 one day Mr. Clay received an inquiry as to whether he had ever owned 
 a cane on which his name appeared below that of the Kentucky Sena- 
 tor's; the writer explained that he wished to know its history and to 
 return the cane to its rightful owner. Eager for the recovery of his 
 valued souvenir, Mr. Clay responded; but his unknown correspondent, 
 having gained the information he sought, lapsed into silence. Said 
 Mrs. Clay, in relating this incident, "And we never heard more of the 
 cane !" A. S. 
 
FASHIONS OF THE FIFTIES 89 
 
 ments, veritable Perditas. These delicate fashions con- 
 tinued until nearly the end of the decade, when they 
 were superseded by more complicated coiffures and a 
 general adoption of heavy materials and styles. 
 
 In 185 8-' 5 9 the hair was arranged on the top of the 
 head in heavy braids wound like a coronet over the head, 
 and the coiffure was varied now and then with a tiara of 
 velvet and pearls, or jet or coral. Ruffled dresses gave 
 place to panelled skirts in which two materials, a plain 
 and embossed or brocaded fabric, were combined, and 
 basques with postillion backs became the order of the 
 day. The low-coiled hair and brow free from frizzes 
 and bangs (a Vidiote, as our satirical friends, the French, 
 describe them) was the style adopted by such pre- 
 eminent beauties as Mrs. Senator Pugh, who was regarded 
 by Baron Hulseman as without a peer, and Mrs. Senator 
 Pendleton, who, in Lord Napier's opinion, had the most 
 classic head he had seen in America. 
 
 Low necks and lace berthas, made fashionable because 
 of their adoption by Miss Lane, were worn almost uni- 
 versally, either with open sleeves revealing inner ones of 
 filmy lace, or sleeves of the shortest possible form, allowing 
 the rounded length of a pretty arm to be seen in its 
 perfection. Evening gloves were half-length only, or 
 as often reaching only half-way to the elbow. They 
 were of kid or silk with backs embroidered in delicate 
 silks, with now and then a jewel sparkling among the 
 colours. Jewels, indeed, were conspicuous even in 
 men's dressing, and gentlemen of fashion were rare who 
 did not have varieties of sparkling studs and cravat-pins 
 to add to the brightness of their vari-coloured vests. 
 The latter not infrequently were of richest satin and 
 velvet, brocaded and embroidered. They lent a de- 
 sirable note of colour, by no means inconspicuous, to the 
 swallow-tailed evening dress of that time, a note, by-the- 
 bye, which was supplemented by a tie of bright soft 
 
9 o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 silk, and of ample proportions. President Buchanan 
 was remarkable for his undeviating choice of pure white 
 cravats. Fashion was not then arbitrary in the matter 
 of gentlemen's neckwear, and high or low collars were 
 worn, as best suited the taste of the individual. 
 
 To the attire of the women of the Government City in 
 that day our home manufacturers contributed but little. 
 In fact, the industries of our country yielded but a 
 common grade of materials designed for wearing apparel, 
 and were altogether unequal to the demands of a capital 
 in which the wealthy vied with their own class in foreign 
 cities in the acquisition of all that goes to make up the 
 moods and character of fashion. Our gloves and fans 
 and handkerchiefs, our bonnets and the larger part of 
 our dress accessories, as well as such beautiful gown 
 patterns as were purchased ready to be made up by a 
 New York or Washington dressmaker, were all imported 
 directly from foreign houses, and the services of our 
 travelling and consular friends were in constant requisition 
 for the selection of fine laces, shawls, flounces, under- 
 sleeves and the other fashionable garnitures. Scarcely 
 a steamer but brought to the capital dainty boxes of 
 Parisian flowers, bonnets and other foreign novelties, 
 despatched by such interested deputies. 
 
 It was astonishing how astute even our bachelor 
 representatives abroad became in the selection of these 
 articles for the wives of their Senatorial indorsers in 
 Washington. I was frequently indebted for such friendly 
 remembrances to my cousin, Tom Tait Tunstall, Consul 
 at Cadiz, and to Mrs. Leese, wife of the Consul at Spezia 
 and sister of Rose Kierulf and Mrs. Spicer. Thanks to 
 the acumen of these thoughtful friends, my laces, es- 
 pecially, and a velvet gown, the material of which was 
 woven to order at Genoa, were the particular envy of my 
 less fortunate "mess-mates." 
 
 I remember with much pleasure the many courtesies 
 
FASHIONS OF THE FIFTIES 91 
 
 of William Thomson, Consul at Southampton, England, 
 who was one of the many from whom the war afterward 
 separated us. From the time of his appointment in 
 1857 his expressions of friendliness were frequent toward 
 Miss Lane, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, myself, and, I doubt not, 
 toward many other fortunate ones of the capital. 
 
 To the first named he sent a remarkable toy-terrier, 
 so small that "it might be put under a quart bowl," as 
 he wrote to me. The little stranger was a nine-days' 
 curiosity at the White House, where it was exhibited to 
 all who were on visiting terms with Miss Lane. That I 
 was not the recipient of a similar midget was due to the 
 death of "Nettle," the animal selected for me. 
 
 "Please ask Miss Lane," he wrote, "to show you her 
 terrier, and you will be sure it is the identical 'Nettle.' 
 I shall succeed in time in finding a good specimen for 
 you!" 
 
 But Mr. Thomson's efforts and discrimination were 
 by no means directed solely toward the selection of 
 canine rarities. In truth, he showed himself in every 
 way fitted to become a most satisfactory Benedick 
 (which I sincerely hope was his fate in the course of time) , 
 for, besides picking up now and then odd and choice 
 bits of quaint jewelry, such as may please a woman's 
 fancy, and many an interesting legend about which to 
 gossip, he discovered a power of discernment in regard 
 to the wearing apparel of my sex, which was as re- 
 freshing in its epistolary revelations as it was rare among 
 his sex. 
 
 " I did think of sending you and Mrs. Fitzpatrick one of 
 the new style petticoats," he wrote in March, 1858, "so 
 novel, it seems, at the seat of government ; but, upon in- 
 quiry for the material, my bachelor wits were quite out- 
 done, for I could not even guess what size might suit both 
 you ladies ! Since sending a few lines to you, I have 
 spent a day at Brighton, which is in my district, and I saw 
 
92 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 quite a new style and decided improvement on the petticoat. 
 A reversible crimson and black striped linsey-wolsey under 
 a white cambric skirt, with five, seven, or nine tucks of 
 handsome work, not less than ten or twelve inches deep. 
 This style of new garment is very distingue to my feeble 
 bachelor eye, and would attract amazingly in Washing- 
 ton just now." 
 
 Among the first to introduce in the capital the fashion 
 of holding up the skirt to show these ravishing petti- 
 coats were the lovely sisters of Thomas F. Bayard, after- 
 ward Secretary of State and Minister to England under 
 President Cleveland, and the Misses Maury, daughters 
 of the ex-Mayor of Washington, all of whom were con- 
 spicuous for their Parisian daintiness. None of this 
 bevy but looked as if she might have stepped directly 
 from the rue St. Germain. 
 
 The bewildering description by Mr. Thomson had 
 scarcely arrived, ere fashion was busy evolving other 
 petticoat novelties and adjuncts. A quaint dress ac- 
 cessory at this time, and one which remained very much 
 in vogue for carriage, walking, and dancing dresses, 
 consisted of several little metal hands, which, depending 
 from fine chains attached at the waist, held up the skirt 
 artistically at a sufficient height to show the flounces 
 beneath. The handkerchiefs of the time, which were 
 appreciably larger than those in use to-day, and very 
 often of costly point-lace, were drawn through a small 
 ring that hung from a six-inch gold or silver chain, on 
 the other end of which was a circlet which just fitted 
 over the little finger. 
 
 I have spoken of our Washington dressmakers; how 
 incomplete would be my memories of the capital did I 
 fail to mention here Mrs. Rich, the favourite mantua- 
 maker of those days, within whose power it lay to trans- 
 form provincial newcomers, often already over-stocked 
 with ill-made costumes and absurdly trimmed bonnets, 
 
FASHIONS OF THE FIFTIES 93 
 
 into women of fashion ! Mrs. Rich was the only Recon- 
 structionist, I think I may safely say, on whom Southern 
 ladies looked with unqualified approval. A Recon- 
 structionist ? She was more; she was a physician who 
 cured many ills for the women of the Congressional 
 circles, ills of a kind that could never be reached by our 
 favourite physician, Dr. Johnston, though he had turned 
 surgeon and competed in a contest of stitches ; for, to the 
 care of the wives of our statesmen each season, came 
 pretty heiresses from far-off States, to see the gay Govern- 
 ment City, under their experienced guardianship, and 
 to meet its celebrities. These, often mere buds of girls, were 
 wont to come to the capital supplied with costly brocade 
 and heavy velvet gowns, fit in quality for the stateliest 
 dame ; with hats weighty with plumes that might only be 
 worn appropriately in the helmet of a prince or a Gains- 
 borough duchess, and with diamonds enough to please 
 the heart of a matron. To strip these slim maidens of 
 such untoward finery, often of antediluvian, not to say 
 outlandish, cut and fashion, and to reapparel them in 
 such soft fabrics as became their youth and station, was 
 no small or easy task for her who had undertaken to 
 chaperone them. 
 
 Nor were these sartorial faux pas confined to the girl 
 novices and their far-off kind, and usually lavish parents. 
 Many a charming matron came to the capital as innocent 
 of any knowledge of the demands of fashionable life as 
 a schoolgirl. There was the wife of a distinguished 
 legislator who afterward presided over an American 
 embassy abroad, a sweet little nun of a woman, who 
 arrived in Washington with a wardrobe that doubtless 
 had caused her country neighbours many a pang of 
 envy. It comprised garments made of the costliest 
 fabrics, but, alas ! which had been cut up so ridiculously 
 by the local seamstress that the innocent wearer's 
 first appearance in the gay world of the capital was the 
 
94 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 signal for irrepressible smiles of amusement and simpers 
 of derision from the more heartless. 
 
 Because of a friendship between our husbands, our 
 little nun fell into my hands, and I promptly convoyed 
 her to the crucible of Mrs. Rich, that dauntless spirit, 
 and my unfailing resource, sure of her ability to work 
 the necessary transmutation. Alas ! as we were about 
 to step out of our carriage, I was startled by the appear- 
 ance, above a shapely enough foot, of a bright, yes ! a 
 brilliant indigo-blue stocking ! Not even Mr. Shillaber's 
 heroine from Beanville could boast a trapping more 
 blatantly blue ! I held my breath in alarm ! What 
 if the eye of any of the more scornful fashionables should 
 detect its mate? I hurried my charge back into the 
 vehicle at once and summoned our good friend Mrs. 
 Rich to the door; and our errand that morning was 
 accomplished by the aid of a trim apprentice, who brought 
 to our calash boxes of samples and fashion-plates for our 
 scanning. 
 
 Many, indeed, were the debtors to Mrs. Rich in those 
 days, for the taste and despatch with which she performed 
 her incomparable miracles. And I would not refrain 
 from acknowledging an act of kindness at her hands in 
 darker days; for, when I returned to Washington in 1865 
 to plead with the President for my husband's release 
 from Fortress Monroe, she generously refused payment 
 for the making of the modest dress I ordered, declaring 
 that she longed to serve one who had directed so many 
 clients to her in former days ! 
 
 But there were occasions when a pressure upon the 
 time of Mrs. Rich necessitated the seeking of other 
 assistance, and a hasty journey was made to Mile. Roun- 
 tree, of Philadelphia, or even to New York, where the 
 fashionable dressmakers were capable of marvellous 
 expedition in filling one's order completely, even to the 
 furnishing of handkerchiefs and hosiery and slippers to 
 
MRS. CHESTNUT 
 "f South Carolina 
 
FASHIONS OF THE FIFTIES 95 
 
 suit a special gown. I remember the arrival of some 
 wonderful "creations" made in the metropolis for 
 Miss Stevens, of Stevens Castle, who was spending the 
 season with my "mess-mate," Mrs. Chestnut, and boxes 
 of gowns as admirable, and from the same source, for the 
 lovely Marian Ramsey, who became Mrs. Brockholst 
 Cutting, of New York. Miss Ramsey, who was an 
 especially admired belle in Washington, was the daughter 
 of that delightfully irascible old Admiral, who, it was 
 said, was such a disciplinarian that he never entered 
 port without having one or more of his crew in irons. 
 
 Brilliant as was the social life in Washington at this 
 time, and remarkable for its numbers of handsome men 
 and lovely women, I remember no exquisites of the 
 Beau Brummel or Disraeli type, though there were 
 many who were distinguished as men of fashion, of 
 social graces and talent. 
 
 Foremost among the popular men of the capital were 
 Philip Barton Key (brother of the classic Mrs. Pendleton, 
 Mrs. Howard of Baltimore, and of Mrs. Blount, who 
 attained a reputation among her contemporaries upon 
 the stage), Preston Brooks, and Laurence Keitt, members 
 of Congress from South Carolina, the last named of 
 whom married the wealthy Miss Sparks. For a long 
 time previous to that alliance, Mr. Keitt and his colleague 
 from North Carolina, Mr. Clingman, were looked upon 
 as rival suitors for the hand of Miss Lane. Mr. Keitt 
 was the friend of Preston Brooks, who was one of the 
 most magnetic and widely admired men in the capital. 
 Were half of the compliments here repeated which 
 the name alone of Mr. Brooks at that time elicited, they 
 must serve to modify the disfavour into which this 
 spirited young legislator from South Carolina fell after 
 his historic assault upon Mr. Sumner in the Senate. 
 When, a few months after that unfortunate affair, the 
 body of Mr. Brooks lay on view in the Federal City, 
 
96 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 mourning for him became general, and his obsequies 
 were remarkable for the crowds that hastened to pay 
 their last tribute to him. 
 
 I recall an amusing incident by which I offended 
 (happily, only momentarily) our good friends Congress- 
 man and Mrs. Keitt, owing to a tendency I possessed 
 to indulge in nonsense whenever furnished with the 
 slightest pretext for it. When the former arrived at the 
 capital, he was commonly addressed and alluded to as 
 "Kitt," a wholly unwarrantable mispronunciation of 
 his name, but one which had become current in the 
 vernacular of his State, and which, from sheer force of 
 habit, continued in use in the Federal City. To the 
 retention of this nickname, however, his bride strongly 
 objected, and so persistently did she correct all who miss- 
 called the name, that the Congressman's old friends, 
 though publicly conforming to the lady's wishes, smiled 
 in private, and among themselves clung fondly to the 
 old pronunciation. 
 
 This little contention was still in operation when an 
 interesting event took place in the Keitt household. On 
 the evening of the happy day, meeting Senator Hammond 
 at dinner, he asked me casually, "What's the news?" 
 
 "Why! haven't you heard?" I replied. "Kitt has 
 a kitten!" 
 
 My poor joke, so unexpected, exploded Senator Ham- 
 mond's gravity immediately. So well did the sally 
 please him, that it speedily became an on dit, alas ! to 
 the passing annoyance of the happy young pair. Mrs. 
 Keitt was one of Washington's most admired young 
 matrons, a graceful hostess, and famous for her social 
 enterprise. It was she who introduced in the capital the 
 fashion of sending out birth-cards to announce the arrival 
 of infants. 
 
 I have spoken of Barton Key. He was a widower 
 during my acquaintance with him, and I recall him as 
 
FASHIONS OF THE FIFTIES 97 
 
 the handsomest man in all Washington society. In 
 appearance an Apollo, he was a prominent figure at all 
 the principal fashionable functions; a graceful dancer, 
 he was a favourite with every hostess of the day. Clever 
 at repartee, a generous and pleasing man, who was even 
 more popular with other men than with women, his 
 death at the hands of Daniel E. Sickles in February, 
 1859, stirred Washington to its centre. 
 
 I remember very vividly how, one Sunday morning, as 
 I was putting the finishing touches to my toilette for 
 attendance at St. John's, Senator Clay burst into the 
 room, his face pale and awe-stricken, exclaiming: "A 
 horrible, horrible thing has happened, Virginia ! Sickles, 
 who for a year or more has forced his wife into Barton's 
 company, has killed Key; killed him most brutally, 
 while he was unarmed ! " 
 
 This untimely death of a man allied to a famous 
 family, and himself so generally admired, caused a 
 remarkable and long depression in society. Yet, so 
 strenuous were the political needs of the time, and so 
 tragic and compelling the demands of national strife 
 now centred in Washington, that the horrible calamity 
 entailed no punishment upon its author. 
 
 Only the Thursday before the tragedy, in company 
 with Mrs. Pugh and Miss Acklin, I called upon the un- 
 fortunate cause of the tragedy. She was so young and 
 fair, at most not more than twenty-two years of age, and 
 so naive, that none of the party of which I was one was 
 willing to harbour a belief in the rumours which were 
 then in circulation. On that, Mrs. Sickles' last "at 
 home," her parlours were thronged, one-half of the 
 hundred or more guests present being men. The girl 
 hostess was even more lovely than usual. Of an Italian 
 type in feature and colouring (she was the daughter of a 
 famous musician, Baggioli, of New York), Mrs. Sickles 
 was dressed in a painted muslin gown, filmy and graceful, 
 
98 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 on which the outlines of the crocus might be traced. A 
 broad sash of brocaded ribbon girdled her slender waist, 
 and in her dark hair were yellow crocus blooms. I never 
 saw her again, but the picture of which she formed the 
 centre was so fair and innocent, it fixed itself perma- 
 nently upon my mind. 
 
 When my husband first entered the United States 
 Senate, in 1853, there were not more than four men in 
 that body who wore moustaches. Indeed, the prejudice 
 against them was great. I remember a moustached 
 gallant who called upon me on one occasion, to whom 
 my aunt greatly objected, for, she said, referring to the 
 growth upon his upper lip, " No one but Tennessee hog- 
 drivers and brigands dress like that ! ' ' When Mr. Clay 
 withdrew from the Senate, in January, 1861, there were 
 scarcely as many without them. Side and chin whiskers 
 were worn, if any, though the front of the chin was 
 seldom covered. Many of the most distinguished states- 
 men wore their faces as smoothly shaven as the Romans 
 of old. Until late in the fifties, men, particularly legis- 
 lators, wore their hair rather long, a fashion which has 
 been followed more or less continuously among statesmen 
 and scholars since wigs were abandoned. 
 
 This decade was also notable as that in which the 
 first radical efforts of women were made toward suffrage, 
 and the "Bloomer" costume became conspicuous in the 
 capital. "Bloomers are 'most as plenty as black- 
 berries,'" I wrote home late in '56, "and generally are 
 followed by a long train of little boys and ditto ' niggers ' ! " 
 
 Nor were there lacking figures among the " stronger " sex 
 as eccentric as those of our women innovators. Of these, 
 none was more remarkable than " old Sam Houston." 
 Whether in the street or in his seat in the Senate, he was 
 sure to arrest the attention of everyone. He wore a 
 leopard-skin vest, with a voluminous scarlet neck-tie, 
 and over his bushy grey locks rested an immense som- 
 
FASHIONS OF THE FIFTIES 99 
 
 brero. This remarkable headgear was made, it was 
 said, from an individual block to which the General 
 reserved the exclusive right. It was of grey felt, with 
 a brim seven or eight inches wide. Wrapped around 
 his broad shoulders he wore a gaily coloured Mexican 
 serape, in which scarlet predominated. So arrayed, his 
 huge form, which, notwithstanding this remarkable garb, 
 was distinguished by a kind of inborn grandeur, towered 
 above the heads of ordinary pedestrians, and the ap- 
 pearance of the old warrior, whether viewed from the 
 front or the rear, was altogether unique. Strangers 
 stared at him, and street urchins covertly grinned, but 
 the Senatorial Hercules received all such attentions 
 from the public with extreme composure, not to say 
 gratification, as a recognition to which he was entitled. 
 
 In the Senate, General Houston was an indefatigable 
 whittler. A seemingly inexhaustible supply of soft wood 
 was always kept in his desk and out of it he whittled stars 
 and hearts and other fanciful shapes, while he cogitated, 
 his brows pleated in deep vertical folds, over the grave 
 arguments of his confreres. A great many conjectures 
 were made as to the ultimate use of these curious devices. 
 I can, however, explain the fate of one. 
 
 As our party entered the gallery of the Senate on one 
 occasion, we caught the eye of the whittling Senator, 
 who, with completest sang-froid, suspended his occupa- 
 tion and blew us a kiss ; then with a plainly perceptible 
 twinkle in his eye, he resumed his usual occupation. A 
 little while afterward one of the Senate pages came up 
 and handed me a most pretentious envelope. It was 
 capacious enough to have contained a package of govern- 
 ment bonds. I began to open the wrappings ; they were 
 mysteriously manifold. When at last I had removed 
 them all, I found within a tiny, shiny, freshly whittled 
 wooden heart, on which the roguish old hero had inscribed, 
 "Lady! I send thee my heart !, Sam Houston." 
 
ioo A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 This remarkable veteran was seldom to be seen at social 
 gatherings, and I do not remember ever to have met him at 
 a dinner, but he called sometimes upon me on my weekly 
 reception days, and always in the remarkable costume I 
 have described. He had acquired, besides the Mexican- 
 Spanish patois, a number of Indian dialects, and nothing 
 amused him more than to reduce to a confused silence 
 those who surrounded him, by suddenly addressing them 
 in all sorts of unknown words in these tongues. My own 
 spirit was not so to be crushed, and, besides, I had a lurk- 
 ing doubt as to the linguistic value of the sounds he 
 uttered. They bore many of the indicia of the newly 
 invented, and I did not hesitate upon one occasion to 
 enter upon a verbal contest of gibberish on my side, and 
 possibly on his, running the gamut of emphasis through- 
 out it ; and, notwithstanding General Houston's depreca- 
 tions (in Indian dialect), sustained my part so seriously 
 that the tall hero at last yielded the floor and, wrapping 
 his scarlet serape about him, made his exit, laughing 
 hilariously at his own defeat. 
 
/ 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 The Relaxations of Congressional Folk 
 
 In that period of social activity it was no uncommon 
 thing for society women to find themselves completely 
 exhausted ere bedtime arrived. Often so tired was I 
 that I have declared I couldn't have wiggled an antennae 
 had I numbered anything so absurd and minute among 
 my members ! For my quicker recuperation, after a day 
 spent in the making of calls, or in entertainment, with, it 
 may be, an hour or two in the Senate gallery, in prepara- 
 tion for the evening's pleasure, my invaluable maid, Emily 
 (for whom my husband paid $1,600), was wont to get out 
 my "shocking-box" (for so she termed the electrical 
 apparatus upon which I often depended), and, to a full 
 charge of the magical current and a half -hour's nap before 
 dinner, I was indebted for many a happy evening. 
 
 Amid the round of dinners, and dances, and receptions, 
 to which Congressional circles are necessarily compelled, 
 the pleasures of the theatre were only occasionally to be 
 enjoyed. Nor were the great artists of that day always 
 to be heard at the capital, and resident theatre and music- 
 lovers not infrequently made excursions to Baltimore, 
 Philadelphia, or New York, in order to hear to advantage 
 some particularly noted star. Before our advent in the 
 capital it had been my good fortune, while travelling in 
 the North, to hear Grisi and Mario, the lovely Bozio, and 
 Jenny Lind, the incomparable Swede, whose concerts at 
 Castle Garden were such epoch-marking events to music- 
 lovers in America. I remember that one estimate of the 
 audience present on the occasion of my hearing the last- 
 
 101 
 
io2 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 named cantatrice was placed at ten thousand. Whether 
 or not this number was approximately correct I do not 
 know, but seats and aisles in the great hall were densely- 
 packed, and gentlemen in evening dress came with camp- 
 stools under their arms, in the hope of finding an oppor- 
 tunity to place them, during a lull in the programme, 
 where they might rest for a moment. 
 
 The wild enthusiasm of the vast crowds, the simplicity 
 of the singer who elicited it, have been recorded by many 
 an abler pen. Suffice to say that none have borne, I 
 think, for a longer time, a clearer remembrance of that 
 triumphant evening. When, at the end of the programme 
 the fair, modest songstress came out, music in hand, to 
 win her crowning triumph in the rendering of a familiar 
 melody, the beauty of her marvellous art rose superior 
 to the amusement which her broken English might have 
 aroused, and men and women wept freely and unashamed 
 as she sang. 
 
 " Mid bleasures and balaces, 
 Do we may roam," etc. 
 
 It was by way of a flight from the capital that Senator 
 Clay and I and a few congenial friends were enabled 
 to hear Parepa Rosa and Forrest; and Julia Dean, in 
 "Ingomar," drew us to the metropolis, as did Agnes 
 Robertson, who set the town wild in the "Siege of Sebas- 
 topol." 
 
 I remember very well my first impression of Broadway, 
 which designation seemed to me a downright misnomer; 
 for its narrowness, after the great width of Pennsylvania 
 Avenue, was at once striking and absurd to the visitor 
 from the capital. Upon one of my visits to New York 
 my attention was caught by a most unusual sight. It 
 was an immense equipage, glowing and gaudy under the 
 sun as one of Mrs. Jarley's vans. It was drawn by six 
 prancing steeds, all gaily caparisoned, while in the huge 
 
JENNY LIND 
 
 From a photograph made about 1851 
 
RELAXATIONS OF CONGRESSIONAL FOLK 103 
 
 structure (a young house, "all but" ) were women in 
 
 gaudy costumes. A band of musicians were concealed 
 within, and these gave out some lively melodies as the 
 vehicle dashed gaily by the Astor House (then the popular 
 up-town hotel) , attracting general attention as it passed. 
 Thinking a circus had come to town, I made inquiry, 
 when I learned to my amusement that the gorgeous caval- 
 cade was but an ingenious advertisement of the new 
 Sewing Machine ! 
 
 Charlotte Cushman, giving her unapproachable " Meg 
 Merrilies" in Washington, stirred the city to its depths. 
 Her histrionism was splendid, and her conversation in 
 private proved no less remarkable and delightful. " I 
 could listen to her all day," wrote a friend in a brief note. 
 " I envy her her genius, and would willingly take her ugli- 
 ness for it ! What is beauty compared with such genius ! ' ' 
 
 A most amusing metrical farce, "Pocahontas," was 
 given during the winter of '57-58, which set all Wash- 
 ington a-laughing. In the cast were Mrs. Gilbert, and 
 Brougham, the comedian and author. Two of the 
 ridiculous couplets come back to me, and, as if it were 
 yesterday, revive the amusing scenes in which they were 
 spoken. 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert's role was that of a Yankee schoolma'am, 
 whose continual effort it was to make her naughty young 
 Indian charges behave themselves. "Young ladies!" 
 she cried, with that inimitable austerity behind which 
 one always feels the actress's consciousness of the "fun of 
 the thing" which she is dissembling, 
 
 " Young Ladies ! Stand with your feet right square ! 
 Miss Pocahontas ! just look at your hair ! " 
 
 and as she wandered off, a top-knot of feathers waving 
 over her head, her wand, with which she had been drilling 
 her dusky maidens, held firmly in hand, she cut a pigeon- 
 
io 4 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 wing that brought forth a perfect shout of laughter from 
 the audience. 
 
 This troupe appeared just after the Brooks-Sumner 
 encounter, of which the capital talked still excitedly, 
 and the comedian did not hesitate to introduce a mild 
 local allusion which was generally understood. Breaking 
 in upon her as Pocahontas wept, between ear-splitting 
 cries of woe at the bier of Captain Smith, he called out 
 impatiently, 
 
 " What's all this noise ? Be done ! Be done ! 
 D'you think you are in Washington?" 
 
 Mr. Thackeray's lecture on poetry was a red-letter 
 occasion, and the simplicity of that great man of letters 
 as he recited "Lord Lovel" and "Barbara Allen" was 
 long afterward a criterion by which others were judged. 
 Notable soloists now and then appeared at the capital, 
 among them Ap Thomas, the great Welsh harpist, and 
 Bochsa, as great a performer, whose concerts gained so 
 much in interest by the singing of the romantic French 
 woman, Mme. Anna Bishop. Her rendering of " On the 
 Banks of the Gaudalquiver " made her a great favourite 
 and gave the song a vogue. That musical prodigy, Blind 
 Tom, also made his appearance in ante-bellum Washing- 
 ton, and I was one of several ladies of the capital invited 
 by Miss Lane to hear him play at the White House. 
 Among the guests on that occasion were Miss Phillips of 
 Alabama and her cousin Miss Cohen of South Carolina, 
 who were brilliant amateur players with a local reputation. 
 They were the daughter and niece, respectively, of Mrs. 
 Eugenia Phillips, who, less than two years afterward, 
 was imprisoned by the Federal authorities for alleged 
 assistance to the newly formed Confederate Government. 
 
 At the invitation of Miss Lane, the Misses Phillips and 
 Cohen took their places at the piano and performed a 
 
RELAXATIONS OF CONGRESSIONAL FOLK 105 
 
 brilliant and intricate duet, during which Blind Tom's 
 face twitched with what, it must be confessed, were hor- 
 rible grimaces. He was evidently greatly excited by the 
 music he was listening to, and was eager to reproduce it. 
 As the piece was concluded, he shuffled about ner- 
 vously. Seeing his excitement, one of the pianistes volun- 
 teered to play with him and took her seat at the instru- 
 ment. Desiring to test him, however, in the second ren- 
 dering, the lady cleverly, as she supposed, elided a page 
 of the composition ; when, drawing himself back angrily, 
 this remarkable idiot exclaimed indignantly, " You cheat 
 me ! You cheat me ! " 
 
 While a visit to the dentist, be he never so famous, may 
 hardly be regarded as among the recreations of Con- 
 gressional folk, yet a trip to Dr. Maynard, the fashionable 
 operator of that day, was certainly among the luxuries of 
 the time ; as costly, for example, as a trip to New York, 
 to hear sweet Jenny Lind. Dr. Maynard was distinctively 
 one of Washington's famous characters. He was not 
 only the expert dentist of his day, being as great an ele- 
 ment in life at the capital as was Dr. Evans in Paris, but 
 he was also the inventor of the world-renowned three- 
 barrelled rifle known as the Maynard. His office was like 
 an arsenal, every inch of wall-space being taken up with 
 glittering arms. 
 
 A peculiarity of Dr. Maynard was his dislike for the 
 odour of the geranium, from which he shrank as from 
 some deadly poison. Upon the occasion of one neces- 
 sary visit to him, unaware of this eccentricity, I wore a 
 sprig of that blossom upon my corsage. As I entered 
 the office the doctor detected it. 
 
 "Pardon me, Mrs. Clay," he said at once, "I must ask 
 you to remove that geranium !" I was astonished, but 
 of course the offending flower was at once detached and 
 discarded; but so sensitive were the olfactories of the 
 doctor, that before he could begin his operating, I was 
 
106 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 obliged to bury the spot on which the blossom had lain 
 under several folds of napkin. 
 
 Dr. Maynard was exceedingly fond of sleight of hand, 
 and on one occasion bought for his children an outfit 
 which Heller had owned. In after years the Czar of 
 Russia made tempting offers to this celebrated dentist, 
 with a view to inducing him to take up his residence in 
 St. Petersburg, but his Imperial allurements were unavail- 
 ing, and Dr. Maynard returned again to his own orbit. 
 
 A feature of weekly recurrence, and one to which all 
 Washington and every visitor thronged, was the concert 
 of the Marine Band, given within the White House 
 grounds on the green slope back of the Executive Mansion 
 overlooking the Potomac. Strolling among the multi- 
 tude, I remember often to have seen Miss Cutts, in the 
 simplest of white muslin gowns, but conspicuous for her 
 beauty wherever she passed. Here military uniforms 
 glistened or glowed, as the case might be, among a crowd 
 of black-coated sight-seers, and one was likely to meet 
 with the President or his Cabinet, mingling democratically 
 with the crowd of smiling citizens. 
 
 At one of these concerts a provincial visitor was observed 
 to linger in the vicinity of the President, whom it was 
 obvious he recognised. Presently, in an accession of 
 sudden courage, he approached Mr. Pierce, and, uncover- 
 ing his head respectfully, said, " Mr. President, can't I go 
 through your fine house? I've heard so much about it 
 that I'd give a great deal to see it." 
 
 "Why, my dear sir ! " responded the President, kindly, 
 "that is not my house. It's the people's house. You 
 shall certainly go through it if you wish ! " and, calling an 
 attendant, he instructed him to take the grateful stranger 
 through the ¥/hite House 
 
 The recounting of that episode revives the recollection 
 of another which took place in the time of President 
 Buchanan, and which was the subject of discussion for 
 
RELAXATIONS OF CONGRESSIONAL FOLK 107 
 
 full many a day after its occurrence. It was on the oc- 
 casion of an annual visit of the redmen, always a rather 
 exciting event in the capital. 
 
 The delegations which came to Washington in the 
 winters of '54-58 numbered several hundred. They 
 camped in a square in the Barracks, where, with almost 
 naked bodies, scalps at belt and tomahawks in hand, 
 they were viewed daily by crowds of curious folk as they 
 beat their monotonous drums, danced, or threw their 
 tomahawks dexterously in air. Here and there one 
 redskin, more fortunate than the rest, was wrapped in a 
 gaudy blanket, and many were decked out with large 
 earrings and huge feather-duster head-dresses. A single 
 chain only separated the savages from the assembled 
 spectators, who were often thrown into somewhat of a 
 panic by the sullen or belligerent behaviour of the former. 
 When in this mood, the surest means of conciliating 
 the Indians was to pass over the barrier (which some 
 spectator was sure to do) some whisky, whereupon their 
 sullenness immediately would give place to an amiable 
 desire to display their prowess by twirling the tomahawk, 
 or in the dance. 
 
 To see the copper-hued sons of the Far West, clad in 
 buckskin and moccasins, paint and feathers, stalking 
 about the East Room of the White House at any time 
 was a spectacle not easily to be forgotten; but, upon the 
 occasion of which I write, and at which I was present, a 
 scene took place, the character of which became so 
 spirited that many of the ladies became frightened and 
 rose hurriedly to withdraw. A number of chiefs were 
 present, accompanied by their interpreter, Mr. Garrett, 
 of Alabama, and many of them had expressed their 
 pleasure at seeing the President. They desired peace 
 and goodwill to be continued; they wished for agricul- 
 tural implements for the advancement of husbandry 
 among their tribes; and grist mills, that their squaws 
 
io8 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 no longer need grind their corn between stones to make 
 "sofky" (and the spokesman illustrated the process by a 
 circular motion of the hand). In fact, they wished to 
 smoke the Calumet pipe of peace with their white brothers. 
 
 Thus far their discourse was most comfortable and 
 pleasing to our white man's amour propre; but, ere the 
 last warrior had ceased his placating speech, the dusky 
 form of a younger redskin sprang from the floor, where, 
 with the others of the delegation, he had been squatting. 
 He was lithe and graceful as Longfellow's dream of 
 Hiawatha. The muscles of his upper body, bare of 
 all drapery, glistened like burnished metal. His gesticu- 
 lations were fierce and imperative, his voice strangely 
 thrilling. 
 
 "These walls and these halls belong to the redmen!" 
 he cried. "The very ground on which they stand is 
 ours ! You have stolen it from us and I am for war, 
 that the wrongs of my people may be righted ! " 
 
 Here his motions became so violent and threatening 
 that many of the ladies, alarmed, rose up instinctively, 
 as I have said, as if they would fly the room ; but our dear 
 old Mr. Buchanan, with admirable diplomacy, replied in 
 most kindly manner, bidding the interpreter assure the 
 spirited young brave that the White House was his pos- 
 session in common with all the people of the Great 
 Spirit, and that he did but welcome his red brothers to 
 their own on behalf of the country. This was the gist 
 of his speech, which calmed the excitement of the savage, 
 and relieved the apprehension of the ladies about. 
 
 A conspicuous member of the delegation of '54-55 
 was the old chief Apothleohola, who was brought to see 
 me by the interpreter Garrett. His accumulated wealth 
 was said to be $80,000, and he had a farm in the West, 
 it was added, which was worked entirely by negroes. 
 Apothleohola was a patriarch of his tribe, some eighty 
 years of age, but erect and powerful still. His face on 
 
JAMES BUCHANAN 
 President of the United States, 1857-61 
 
RELAXATIONS OF CONGRESSIONAL FOLK 109 
 
 the occasion of his afternoon visit to me was gaudy with 
 paint, and he was wrapped in a brilliant red blanket, 
 around which was a black border; but despite his gay- 
 attire there was about him an air of weariness and even 
 sadness. 
 
 While I was still a child I had seen this now aged 
 warrior. At that time, five thousand Cherokees and 
 Choctaws, passing west to their new reservations beyond 
 the Mississippi, had rested in Tuscaloosa, where they 
 camped for several weeks. The occasion was a notable 
 one. All the city turned out to see the Indian 
 youths dash through the streets on their ponies. They 
 were superb horsemen and their animals were as re- 
 markable. Many of the latter, for a consideration, were 
 left in the hands of the emulous white youth of the town. 
 Along the river banks, too, carriages stood, crowded 
 with sight-seers watching the squaws as they tossed 
 their young children into the stream that they might 
 learn to swim. Very picturesque were the roomy 
 vehicles of that day as they grouped themselves along 
 the leafy shore of the Black Warrior, their capacity 
 tested to the fullest by the belles of the little city, arrayed 
 in dainty muslins, and bonneted in the sweet fashions 
 of the time. 
 
 During that encampment a redman was set upon by 
 some quarrelsome rowdies, and in the altercation was 
 killed. Fearing the vengeance of the allied tribes about 
 them, the miscreants disembowelled their victim, and, 
 filling the cavity with rocks, sank the body in the river. 
 The Indians, missing their companion, and suspecting 
 some evil had befallen him, appealed to Governor C. C. 
 Clay, who immediately uttered a proclamation for the 
 recovery of the body. In a few days the crime and its 
 perpetrators were discovered, and justice was meted out 
 to them. By this prompt act Governor Clay, to whose 
 wisdom is accredited by historians the repression of the 
 
no A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 Indian troubles in Alabama in 1835— '37, won the good- 
 will of the savages, among whom was the great warrior, 
 Apothleohola. 
 
 It was at ex-Governor Clay's request I sent for the now 
 aged brave. He gravely inclined his head when I asked 
 him whether he remembered the Governor. I told him 
 my father wished to know whether the chief Nea Mathla 
 still lived and if the brave Apothleohola was happy in his 
 western home. His sadness deepened as he answered, 
 slowly, "Me happy, some !" 
 
 Before the close of his visit, Mr. Garrett, the inter- 
 preter, asked me if I would not talk Indian to his charge. 
 "You must know some!" he urged, "having been 
 brought up in an Indian country ! ' ' 
 
 I knew three or four words, as it happened, and these I 
 pronounced, to the great chief's amusement ; for, pointing 
 his finger at me he said, with a half -smile, " She talk 
 Creek!" 
 
 A few days after this memorable call, I happened into 
 the house of Harper & Mitchell, then a famous dry- 
 goods emporium in the capital, just as the old warrior 
 was beginning to bargain, and I had the pleasure and 
 entertainment of assisting him to select two crepe shawls 
 which he purchased for his daughters at one hundred 
 dollars apiece ! 
 
 It was my good fortune to witness the arrival of the 
 Japanese Embassy, which was the outcome of Commodore 
 Perry's expedition to the Orient. The horticulturist of 
 the party, Dr. Morrow, of South Carolina, was a frequent 
 visitor to my parlours, and upon his return from the 
 East regaled me with many amusing stories of his Eastern 
 experiences. A special object of his visit to Japan was to 
 obtain, if possible, some specimens of the world-famous 
 rice of that country, with which to experiment in the 
 United States. Until that period our native rice was 
 inferior; but, despite every effort made and inducement 
 
RELAXATIONS OF CONGRESSIONAL FOLK 
 
 in 
 
 offered, our Government had been unable to obtain even 
 a kernel of the unhusked rice which would germinate. 
 
 During his stay in the Orient, Dr. Morrow made 
 numberless futile attempts to supply himself with even a 
 stealthy pocketful of the precious grain, and in one 
 instance, he told us, remembering how Professor Henry 
 had introduced millet seed by planting so little as a single 
 seed that fell from the wrappings of a mummy,* he had 
 offered a purse of gold to a native for a single grain; 
 but the Japanese only shook his head, declining the 
 proposition, and drew his finger significantly across his 
 throat to indicate his probable fate if he were to become 
 party to such commerce. 
 
 On the arrival of the Japanese embassy in Washington, 
 to the doctor's delight, it was found that among the 
 presents sent by the picturesque Emperor of Japan to 
 the President of the United States was a hogshead of 
 rice. Alas ! the doctor's hopes were again dashed when 
 the case was opened, for the wily donors had carefully 
 sifted their gift, and, though minutely examined, there 
 was not in all the myriad grains a single kernel in which 
 the germinal vesicle was still intact ! 
 
 The arrival of the browned Asiatics was made a gala 
 occasion in the capital. Half the town repaired to the 
 Barracks to witness the debarkation of the strange and 
 gorgeously apparelled voyagers from the gaily decorated 
 vessel. Their usually yellow skins, now, after a long 
 sea-trip, were burned to the colour of copper; and not 
 stranger to our eyes would have been the sight of Paul du 
 Chaillu's newly discovered gorillas, than were these 
 Orientals as they descended the flag-bedecked gang- 
 planks and passed out through a corridor formed of 
 eager people, crowding curiously to gaze at them. Some 
 
 * This story, though quite commonly repeated, has been rather 
 effectually disproved by scientists. It obtained currency for many 
 years, however. A. S. 
 
ii2 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 of the Japanese had acquired a little English during the 
 journey to America, and, as friendly shouts of "Welcome 
 to America" greeted them, they nodded cordially to the 
 people, shaking hands here and there as they passed 
 along, and saying, to our great amusement, "How de: " 
 
 Dr. Morrow had brought a gift to me from the East, a 
 scarf of crepe, delicate as the blossom of the mountain 
 laurel, the texture being very similar to that of the 
 petals of that bloom, and, to do honour to the occasion, 
 I wore it conspicuously draped over my corsage. Ob- 
 serving this drapery, one of the strangers, his oily face 
 wreathed in smiles, his well-pomatumed top knot mean- 
 time giving out under the heat of a scorching sun a 
 peculiar and never-to-be-forgotten odour, advanced to- 
 ward me as our party called their welcome, and, pointing 
 to my beautiful trophy, said, "Me lakee ! me lakee!" 
 Then, parting his silken robe over his breast, he pulled 
 out a bit of an undergarment (the character of which it 
 required no shrewdness to surmise) which proved identical 
 in weave with my lovely scarf ! Holding the bit of 
 crepe out toward us, the Oriental smiled complacently, 
 as if in this discovery we had established a kind of pre- 
 liminary international entente cordiale I 
 
 This same pomatum upon which I have remarked 
 was a source of great chagrin to the proprietor of Willard's 
 Hotel, who, after the departure of his Oriental visitors, 
 found several coats of paint and a general repapering to 
 be necessary ere the pristine purity of atmosphere which 
 had characterised that hostelry could again be depended 
 upon not to offend the delicate olfactories of American 
 guests. 
 
 During the stay of this embassy, its members attracted 
 universal attention as they strolled about the streets or 
 drawing-rooms which opened for their entertainment. 
 Their garments were marvellously rich and massed with 
 elaborate ornamentation in glistening silks and gold 
 
RELAXATIONS OF CONGRESSIONAL FOLK 1 13 
 
 thread. They carried innumerable paper handkerchiefs 
 tucked away somewhere in their capacious sleeves, the 
 chief purpose of these filmy things seeming to be the 
 removal of superfluous oil from the foreheads of their 
 yellow owners. A happy circumstance ; for, having once so 
 served, the little squares were dropped forthwith wherever 
 the Oriental happened to be standing, whether in street 
 or parlour, and the Asiatic dignitary passed on innocently, 
 ignorant alike of his social and hygienic shortcoming. 
 
 It was no uncommon thing during the sojourn of these 
 strangers at the capital, to see some distinguished 
 Senator or Cabinet Minister stoop at the sight of one of 
 these gauzy trifles (looking quite like the mouchoir of 
 some fastidious woman) and pick it up, only to throw it 
 from him in disgust a moment later. He was fortunate 
 when his error passed unseen by his confreres; for the 
 Japanese handkerchief joke went the round of the 
 capital, and the victim of such misplaced gallantry was 
 sure to be the laughing-stock of his fellows if caught in 
 the act. 
 
 The most popular member of this notable commission 
 was an Oriental who was nicknamed "Tommy." He 
 had scarce arrived when he capitulated to the charms of 
 the American lady; in fact, he became so devoted to 
 them that, it was said, he had no sooner returned to 
 Japan than he paid the price of his devotion by the 
 forfeit of his head in a basket ! 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 The Brilliant Buchanan Administration 
 
 The advent of Lord arid Lady Napier was practically 
 coincident with the installation of Miss Harriet Lane 
 at the White House, and, in each instance, the entree of 
 Miss Lane and Lady Napier had its share in quickening 
 the pace at which society was so merrily going, and in 
 accentuating its allurements. Miss Lane's reign at the 
 White House was one of completest charm. Nature, 
 education and experience were combined in the President's 
 niece in such manner as eminently to qualify her to meet 
 the responsibilities that for four years were to be hers. 
 Miss Lane possessed great tact, and a perfect knowledge 
 of Mr. Buchanan's wishes. Her education had been 
 largely directed and her mind formed under his careful 
 guardianship ; she had presided for several years over her 
 uncle's household while Mr. Buchanan served as Minister 
 to England. The charms of young womanhood still 
 lingered about her, but to these was added an aplomb 
 rare in a woman of fifty, so that, during her residence 
 in it, White House functions rose to their highest degree 
 of elegance; to a standard, indeed, that has not since 
 been approached save during the occupancy of the 
 beautiful bride of President Cleveland. 
 
 Miss Lane's entrance into life at the American capital, 
 at a trying time, served to keep the surface of society in 
 Washington serene and smiling, though the fires of a 
 volcano raged in the under-political world, and the 
 vibrations of Congressional strife spread to the further- 
 most ends of the country the knowledge that the Govern- 
 
 114 
 
MISS HARRIET LANE 
 Mistress of the White House, 1857-61 
 
THE BUCHANAN ADMINISTRATION 115 
 
 ment was tottering. The young Lady of the White 
 House came to her new honours with the prestige of 
 Queen Victoria's favour. In her conquest of statesmen, 
 and, it was added, even in feature, she was said to re- 
 semble the Queen in her younger days. Miss Lane was 
 a little above the medium height, and both in colour and 
 physique was of an English rather than an American 
 type — a characteristic which was also marked in the 
 President. The latter's complexion was of the rosiest 
 and freshest, and his presence exceedingly fine, notwith- 
 standing a slight infirmity which caused him to hold 
 his head to one side, and gave him a quizzical expression 
 that was, however, pleasing rather than the contrary. 
 
 In figure, Miss Lane was full ; her complexion was clear 
 and brilliant. In her cheeks there was always a rich, 
 pretty colour, and her hair, a bright chestnut, had a 
 glow approaching gold upon it. She had a columnar, 
 full neck, upon which her head was set superbly. I 
 thought her not beautiful so much as handsome and 
 healthful and good to look upon. I told her once she 
 was like a poet's ideal of an English dairymaid, who fed 
 upon blush roses and the milk of her charges; but a 
 lifting of the head and a heightening of the pretty 
 colour in her cheeks told me my bucolic simile had 
 not pleased her. 
 
 Of the Napiers it may be said that no ministerial 
 representatives from a foreign power ever more com- 
 pletely won the hearts of Washingtonians than did that 
 delightful Scotch couple. In appearance, Lady Napier 
 was fair and distinctly a patrician. She was perhaps 
 thirty years of age when she began her two-years' residence 
 in the American capital. Her manner was unaffected 
 and simple ; her retinue small. During the Napiers' occu- 
 pancy, the British Embassy was conspicuous for its 
 complete absence of ostentation and its generous hos- 
 pitality. Their equipages were of the handsomest, 
 
n6 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 but in no instance showy, and this at a period when 
 Washington streets thronged with the conspicuous 
 vehicles affected by the foreign Legations. Indeed, at 
 that time the foreigner was as distinguished for his 
 elaborate carriages as was the Southerner for his blooded 
 horses.* 
 
 Lady Napier's avoidance of display extended to her 
 gowning, which was of the quietest, except when some 
 great public function demanded more elaborate prepara- 
 tion. On such occasions her laces — heirlooms for centuries 
 — were called into requisition, and coiffure and corsage 
 blazed with diamonds and emeralds. Her cozy at-homes 
 were remarkable for their informality and the ease 
 which seemed to emanate from the hostess and com- 
 municate itself to her guests. A quartette of handsome 
 boys comprised the Napier family, and often these 
 princely little fellows, clad in velvet costumes, assisted 
 their mother at her afternoons, competing with each 
 other for the privilege of passing refreshments. At such 
 times it was no infrequent thing to hear Lady Napier 
 compared with "Cornelia and her Jewels." 
 
 Lord Napier was especially fond of music, and I recall 
 an evening dinner given at this embassy to Miss Emily 
 Schaumberg, of Philadelphia, in which that lady's 
 singing roused the host to a high pitch of enthusiasm. 
 Miss Schaumberg was a great beauty, as well as a finished 
 singer, and was most admired in the capital, though she 
 stayed but a very short time there. 
 
 A ball or formal dinner at the British Embassy (and 
 
 * A notable vehicle of this sort was purchased in Philadelphia by 
 Mrs. Clay, at a cost of $1,600, and was carried to Alabama, where, 
 among the foliaged avenues of beautiful Huntsville, it attracted uni- 
 versal attention. It was a capacious and splendid equipage, lined 
 with amber satin, and was drawn by the high-bred horses, "Polk" 
 and "Dallas." From Mrs. Clay's possession this gorgeous landau 
 passed into that of Governor Reuben Chapman, and, in the course of 
 years, by various transfers, into the hands of a station hackman, of 
 colour ! A. S. 
 
LADY NAPIER AND HER SONS 
 
THE BUCHANAN ADMINISTRATION 117 
 
 these were not infrequent) was always a memorable 
 event. One met there the talented and distinguished; 
 heard good music ; listened to the flow of wholesome wit ; 
 and enjoyed delectable repasts. Early in 1859 the 
 Napiers gave a large ball to the young Lords Cavendish 
 and Ashley, to which all the resident and visiting belles 
 were invited; and, I doubt not, both lords and ladies 
 were mutually delighted. Miss Corinne Acklin, who 
 was under my wing that season (she was a true beauty 
 and thoroughly enjoyed her belleship), was escorted to 
 supper by Lord Cavendish, and, indeed, had the lion's 
 share of the attentions of both of the visiting noblemen, 
 until our dear, ubiquitous Mrs. Crittenden appeared. 
 That good lady was arrayed, as usual, with remarkable 
 splendour and frankly decollete gown. She approached 
 Miss Acklin as the latter, glowing with her triumphs, 
 stood chatting vivaciously with her lordly admirers. 
 "Lady" Crittenden smilingly interrupted the trio by 
 whispering in the young lady's ear, though by no means 
 sotto voce: " Present me to Lord Ashley, my dear. Ashley 
 was my second husband's name, you know, and maybe 
 they were kin !" 
 
 "I thought her so silly," said the pouting beauty 
 afterward. "She must be almost sixty!" But Mrs. 
 Crittenden's kindly inquiry was not an unnatural one, 
 for, as the rich widow Ashley, whose husband's family 
 connections in some branches were known to be foreign, 
 she had been renowned from Florida to Maine for years 
 before she became Mrs. Crittenden. 
 
 At the home of the Napiers one frequently met Mr. 
 Bayard, between whom and the English Ambassador 
 there existed a close intimacy. Mr. Bayard was the 
 most unobtrusive of men, modesty being his dominant 
 social characteristic. When I visited England in 1885, 
 I had a signal testimony to Lord Napier's long-continued 
 regard for the great Delaware statesman. During my 
 
n8 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 stay in London, the former Minister constituted himself 
 cicerone to our party, and, upon one memorable afternoon, 
 he insisted upon drinking a toast with us. 
 
 " Oh, no!" I demurred. " Toasts are obsolete ! " 
 
 "Very well, then," Lord Napier declared. "If you 
 won't, I will. Here's to your President, Mr. Cleveland ! 
 But," he continued with a suddenly added depth, "Were 
 it your Chevalier Bayard, I would drink it on my knee ! " 
 
 Upon my return to America I had the pleasure of 
 shouting to Mr. Bayard, then Secretary of State, a 
 recital of this great tribute. He had now grown very 
 deaf, but my words reached him at last, and he smiled 
 in a most happy way as he asked, almost shyly, but 
 with a warm glance in the eye, despite his effort to remain 
 composed, " Did Napier really say that ? " 
 
 A feeling of universal regret spread over the capital 
 when it became known that the Napiers were to return 
 to England; and the admiration of the citizens for the 
 popular diplomat expressed itself in the getting-up of a 
 farewell ball, which, in point of size, was one of the most 
 prodigious entertainments ever given in Washington. 
 One group of that great assemblage is vividly before me. 
 In it the young James Gordon Bennett, whom I had seen 
 in earlier days at a fashionable water-cure (and whose 
 general naughtiness as a little boy defies description by 
 my feeble pen), danced vis-a-vis, a handsome, courtly 
 youth, with his mother and Daniel E. Sickles. 
 
 During the Pierce administration the old-fashioned 
 quadrilles and cotillions, with an occasional waltz number, 
 were danced to the exclusion of all other Terpsichorean 
 forms ; but in the term of his successor, the German was 
 introduced, when Miss Josephine Ward, of New York, 
 afterward Mrs. John R. Thomson, of New Jersey, 
 \ became prominent as a leader. 
 
 When I review those brilliant scenes in which passed 
 and smiled, and danced and chatted, the vast multitude 
 
THE BUCHANAN ADMINISTRATION 119 
 
 of those who called me "friend," the army of those now 
 numbered with the dead — I am lost in wonder ! My 
 memory seems a Herculaneum, in which, let but a spade 
 of thought be sunk, and some long-hidden treasure is 
 unearthed. I have referred to the citizens of Washington. 
 The term unrolls a scroll in which are listed men and 
 women renowned in those days as hostesses and enter- 
 tainers. They were a rich and exclusive, and, at the 
 same time, a numerous class, that gave body to the 
 social life of the Federal City. Conspicuous among these 
 were Mrs. A. S. Parker and Mrs. Ogle Tayloe. The 
 home of the former was especially the rendezvous of the 
 young. In the late fifties and sixties it was a palatial 
 residence, famous for its fine conservatories, its spacious 
 parlours, and glistening dancing floors. To-day, so 
 greatly has the city changed, that what is left of that once 
 luxurious home has been converted into small tenements 
 which are rented out for a trifle to the very poor. At 
 the marriage of Mrs. Parker's daughter, Mary E., in 
 i860, to Congressman J. E. Bouligny, of Louisiana, 
 crowds thronged in these now forgotten parlours. The 
 President himself was present to give the pretty bride 
 away, and half of Congress came to wish Godspeed to 
 their fellow-member. 
 
 The home of Mr. and Mrs. Ogle Tayloe was a museum 
 of things rare and beautiful, vying in this respect with 
 the Corcoran Mansion and the homes of the several mem- 
 bers of the Riggs family. One of its treasured mementos 
 was a cane that had been used by Napoleon Bonaparte. 
 Mrs. Tayloe belonged to a New York family; the Tayloes 
 to Virginia. She was a woman of fine taste and broad 
 views, a very gracious hostess, who shrank from the 
 coarse or vulgar wherever she detected it. When 
 Washington became metamorphosed by the strangers 
 who poured into its precincts following the inauguration 
 of Mr. Lincoln in 1861, the Tayloe Mansion was shrouded, 
 
i2o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 its pictures were covered, and its chandeliers wound with 
 protective wrappings. Entertaining there ceased for 
 years. "Nor have I," said Mrs. Tayloe to me in 1866, 
 "crossed the threshold of the White House since Harriet 
 Lane went out." 
 
 At the Tayloe home I often exchanged a smile and a 
 greeting with Lilly Price, my hostess's niece, who, when 
 she reached womanhood, was distinguished first as Mrs. 
 Hamersley, and afterward as Lillian, Duchess of Marl- 
 borough. At that time she was a fairy-like little slip of 
 a schoolgirl, who, in the intervals between Fridays and 
 Mondays, was permitted to have a peep at the gay 
 gatherings in her aunt's home. Many years afterward, 
 being a passenger on an outgoing steamer, I learned that 
 Mrs. Hamersley, too, was on board; but before I could 
 make my presence known to her, as had been my inten- 
 tion, she had discovered me and came seeking her "old 
 friend, Mrs. Clay," and I found that there lingered in 
 the manner of the brilliant society leader, Mrs. Hamersley, 
 much of the same bright charm that had distinguished 
 the little Lilly Price as she smiled down at me from her 
 coign of vantage at the top of the stairway of the Tayloe 
 residence. 
 
 But the prince of entertainers, whether citizen or official, 
 who was also a prince among men, the father of unnum- 
 bered benefactions and patron of the arts, was dear Mr. 
 Corcoran. When my thoughts turn back to him they 
 invariably resolve themselves into 
 
 " And, lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest " 
 
 Throughout our long acquaintance Mr. Corcoran proved 
 himself to be what he wrote himself down, "one of the 
 dearest friends of my dear husband." He was already 
 a widower when, shortly after our arrival in Washington, 
 I met him; and, though many a well-known beauty 
 would have been willing to assume his distinguished 
 name, my own conviction is that Mr. Corcoran never 
 
THE BUCHANAN ADMINISTRATION 121 
 
 thought of marriage with any woman after he committed 
 to the grave the body of his well-beloved wife, Louise 
 Morris, daughter of the brave Commodore. 
 
 Mr. Corcoran was a tall and handsome man, even in 
 his old age. In his younger days his expression was the 
 most benignant I have ever seen, though in repose it was 
 tinged with a peculiar mournfulness. The banker's 
 weekly dinners were an institution in Washington life. 
 During each session he dined half of Congress, to say 
 nothing of the foreign representatives and the families of 
 his fellow-citizens. 
 
 Evening dances were also of frequent occurrence at the 
 Corcoran Mansion, the giving of which always seemed 
 to me proof of the host's large and great nature; for 
 Louise Corcoran, his daughter, afterward Mrs. Eustis, 
 was a delicate girl, who, owing to some weakness of 
 the heart, was debarred from taking part in the 
 pleasures of the dance. Nevertheless, Mr. Corcoran 
 opened his home to the young daughters of other men, 
 and took pleasure in the happiness he thus gave them. 
 The "Greek Slave," now a principal object of interest 
 in the Corcoran Art Gallery, was then an ornament to 
 the banker's home, and stood in an alcove allotted to it, 
 protected by a gilded chain. 
 
 The hospitality of Mr. Corcoran 's home, which Senator 
 Clay and I often enjoyed, was a synonym for "good 
 cheer" of the most generous and epicurean sort. I 
 remember an amusing meeting which my husband and 
 I had one evening with Secretary Cobb. It took place 
 on the Treasury pavement. Recognising us as we ap- 
 proached, the bland good humour which was habitual to 
 the Secretary deepened into a broad smile. 
 
 "Ah, Clay !" he said to my husband, pulling down his 
 vest with a look of completest satisfaction, " Been to 
 Corcoran's. Johannisberg and torrepin, sir! I wish," 
 and he gave his waistcoat another pull, glancing up 
 
i22 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 significantly at the tall stone pile before us, " I wish the 
 Treasury were as full as I ! " 
 
 Mr. Corcoran was famous for his Johannisberg, and I 
 recall a dinner at his home when, being escorted to the 
 table by the Danish Minister, who had somewhat the 
 reputation of a connoisseur, our host and my companion 
 immediately began a discussion on the merits of this 
 favourite wine, which the Minister declared was of prime 
 quality, and which, if I remember rightly, Mr. Corcoran 
 said was all made on the estate of the Prince de Metter- 
 nich. When the Minister announced his approval, our 
 host turned quietly to me and said, sotto voce, " I hoped 
 it was pure. I paid fifteen dollars for it ! " 
 
 I wish it might be said that all the lavish hospitality 
 of that incomparable gentleman had been appreciated 
 with never a record to the contrary to mar the pleasure 
 he gave ; but it must be confessed that the host at the 
 capital whose reputation for liberality extends so widely 
 as did Mr. Corcoran's runs the risk of entertaining some 
 others than angels unaware. The receptions at the 
 Corcoran residence, as at the White House and other 
 famous homes, were occasionally, necessarily, somewhat 
 promiscuous. During the sessions of Congress the city 
 thronged with visitors, many of them constituents of 
 Senators and Congressmen, who came to Washington 
 expecting to receive, as they usually did receive, social 
 courtesies at the hands of their Representatives. Many 
 kindly hosts, aware of these continually arising emergen- 
 cies, gave latitude to Congressional folk in their invitations 
 sufficient to meet them. 
 
 At the Corcoran receptions, a feature of the decorations 
 was the elaborate festooning and grouping of growing 
 plants, which were distributed in profusion about the 
 banker's great parlours. Upon one occasion, in addition 
 to these natural flowers, there was displayed a handsome 
 epergne, in which was placed a most realistic bunch of 
 
THE BUCHANAN ADMINISTRATION 123 
 
 artificial blooms. These proved irresistibly tempting 
 to an unidentified woman visitor; for, in the course of 
 the afternoon, Mr. Corcoran, moving quietly among his 
 guests, saw the stranger take hold of a bunch of these 
 curious ornaments and twist it violently in an effort to 
 detach it from the rest. At this surprising sight Mr. 
 Corcoran stepped to the lady's side, and said with a 
 gentle dignity: "I would not do that, Madam. Please 
 desist. The blossoms are not real. They are rare, 
 however, and have been brought from Europe only by 
 the exercise of the greatest care !" 
 
 " Well ! If they have ? What's that to you ? " snapped 
 the lady defiantly. 
 
 " Nothing, Madam ! " he responded, quietly. "Except 
 that I am Mr. Corcoran ! ' ' 
 
 Fortunately, not all strangers who were so entertained 
 were of this unpleasant sort. Sometimes the amusement 
 the more provincial afforded quite out-balanced the 
 trouble their entertainment cost our resident repre- 
 sentatives. I remember an occasion on which I, acting 
 for my husband, was called upon to show a young woman 
 the sights of the capital. She was the daughter of an 
 important constituent. One morning, as I was about to 
 step into the calash of a friend who had called to take 
 me for a drive, a note was handed to me. It read: 
 "My dear Mrs. Clay: I hope you will recall my name 
 and, in your generosity of heart, will do me a favour. 
 My daughter is passing through Washington and will be 
 
 at the Hotel for one day," naming that very day ! 
 
 "She is very unsophisticated and will be most grateful 
 for anything you can do toward showing her the sights 
 of the capital," etc., etc. 
 
 As I knew I might command the services of my escort 
 for the morning (he was a Mr. Parrish, recently from the 
 mines of Africa, and in Washington for the purpose of 
 securing our Government's aid in pressing certain of his 
 
i2 4 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 claims against a foreign power), I proposed that we 
 
 proceed at once to the Hotel and take the young 
 
 woman with us on our drive. To this a kind consent 
 was given, and in a short time I had sent my card to the 
 3^oung stranger. I found her a typical, somewhat 
 callow schoolgirl, over-dressed and self-conscious, who 
 answered every question in the most agitated manner, 
 and who volunteered nothing in the way of a remark 
 upon any subject whatsoever, though she assented 
 gaspingly to all my questions, and went with a nervous 
 alacrity to put on her hat when I invited her to ac- 
 company us upon our drive. 
 
 We began our tour by taking her directly to the 
 Capitol. We mounted to the dome to view the wonderful 
 plan of the Government City; thence to the House and 
 the Senate Chamber, and into such rooms of state as we 
 might enter; and on to the Government greenhouses, 
 with their horticultural wonders. We paused from time 
 to time in our walk to give the young lady an opportunity 
 to admire and to consider the rare things before her — to 
 remark upon them, if she would ; but all our inviting en- 
 thusiasm was received in dull silence. 
 
 Failing to arouse her interest in the gardens, we next 
 directed our steps to the Smithsonian Institution, where 
 corridor after corridor was explored, in which were 
 specimens from the obscurest corners of the earth, mon- 
 sters of the deep, and tiny denizens of the air, purchased 
 at fabulous sums of money, but now spread freely before 
 the gaze of whomsoever might desire to look upon them. 
 The Smithsonian Institution, at that time still a novelty 
 even to Washingtonians, has ever been to me a marvellous 
 example of man's humanity to man. I hoped it would 
 so reveal itself to my whilom protegee. 
 
 Alas for my hopes ! Her apathy seemed to increase. 
 We arrived presently at the Ornithological Department. 
 A multitude of specimens of the feathered tribes were 
 
THE BUCHANAN ADMINISTRATION 125 
 
 here, together with their nests and eggs; still nothing 
 appeared to interest my guest or lessen what I was 
 rapidly beginning to regard as a case of hebetude, pure 
 and simple. I was perplexed ; Mr. Parrish, it was plain, 
 was bored when, arriving almost at the end of the cases, 
 to my relief the girl's attention seemed arrested. More, 
 she stood literally transfixed before the nest of the great 
 Auk, and uttered her first comment of the day : 
 
 "Lor' !" she said, in a tone of awestruck amazement, 
 "What a big eggV 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 A Celebrated Social Event 
 
 Early in the season of 1857— '58, our friend Mrs. 
 Senator Gwin announced her intention of giving a ball 
 which should eclipse every gathering of the kind that 
 had ever been seen in Washington. Just what its char- 
 acter was to be was not yet decided ; but, after numerous 
 conferences with her friends in which many and various 
 suggestions were weighed, the advocates for the fancy 
 ball prevailed over those in favour of a masquerade, to 
 which, indeed, Senator Gwin himself was averse, and 
 these carried the day. 
 
 Surely no hostess ever more happily realised her am- 
 bitions ! When the function was formally announced, all 
 Washington was agog. For the ensuing weeks men as 
 well as women were busy consulting costumers, ransack- 
 ing the private collections in the capital, and conning 
 precious volumes of coloured engravings in a zealous 
 search for original and accurate costuming. Only the 
 Senators who were to be present were exempt from this 
 anticipatory excitement, for Senator Gwin, declaring 
 that nothing was more dignified for members of this body 
 than their usual garb, refused to appear in an assumed 
 one, and so set the example for his colleagues. 
 
 As the time approached, expectation ran high. Those 
 who were to attend were busy rehearsing their characters 
 and urging the dressmakers and costumers to the perfect 
 completion of their tasks, while those who were debarred 
 deplored their misfortune. I recall a pathetic lament 
 from my friend Lieutenant Henry Myers, who was 
 
 126 
 
A CELEBRATED SOCIAL EVENT 127 
 
 obliged to leave on the United States ship Marion on 
 the fourth of April (the ball was to occur on the ninth) , in 
 which he bemoaned the deprivations of a naval officer's 
 life, and especially his inability to attend the coming 
 entertainment. 
 
 When the evening of the ball arrived there was a 
 flutter in every boudoir in Washington, in which prepara- 
 tion for the great event was accelerated by the pleasurable 
 nervousness of maid and mistress. Mrs. Gwin's costume, 
 and those of other leading Washingtonians, it was known, 
 had been selected in New York, and rumours were rife on 
 the elegant surprises that were to be sprung upon the 
 eventful occasion. 
 
 With Senator Clay and me that winter were three 
 charming cousins, the Misses Comer, Hilliard and Withers. 
 They impersonated, respectively, a gypsy fortune-teller, 
 a Constantinople girl, and "Titania"; and, to begin at 
 the last (as a woman may do if she will), a wonderful 
 "Titania" the tiny Miss Withers was, robed in innume- 
 rable spangled tulle petticoats that floated as she 
 danced, her gauze wings quivering like those of a butter- 
 fly, and her unusually small feet glistening no less bril- 
 liantly with spangles. 
 
 "Miss Withers, yon tiny fairy," wrote Major de Havil- 
 land, who in his "Metrical Glance at the Fancy Ball" 
 immortalised the evening, "as 'Titania' caused many 
 a Midsummer Night's Dream." Miss Hilliard, whose 
 beauty was well set off in a costly and picturesque cos- 
 tume of the East, owed her triumph of the evening to 
 the kindness of Mrs. Joseph Holt, who had bought the 
 costume (which she generously placed at my cousin's 
 disposal) during a tour of the Orient. So attractive 
 was my cousin's charming array, and so correct in all 
 its details, that as she entered Mrs. Gwin's ballroom, a 
 party of Turkish onlookers, seeing the familiar garb, 
 broke into applause. 
 
i 2 8 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 Miss Comer, in a brilliant gown that was plentifully 
 covered with playing-cards, carried also a convenient 
 pack of the same, with which she told fortunes in a 
 mystifying manner, for I had coached her carefully in 
 all the secrets of the day. I must admit she proved a 
 clever pupil, for she used her knowledge well whenever 
 an opportunity presented, to the confusion of many 
 whose private weaknesses she most tormentingly exposed. 
 
 My chosen character was an unusual one, being none 
 other than that remarkable figure created by Mr. Shillaber, 
 Aunt Ruthy Partington. It was the one character 
 assumed during that memorable evening, by one of my 
 sex, in which age and personal attractions were sacrificed 
 ruthlessly for its more complete delineation. 
 
 I was not the only one anxious to impersonate the quaint 
 lady from Beanville, over whose grammatical faux pas 
 all America was amusing itself. Ben Perley Poore no 
 sooner heard of my selection of this character than he 
 begged me to yield to him, but I was not to be deterred, 
 having committed to heart the whole of Mrs. Partington's 
 homely wit. Moreover, I had already, the previous 
 summer, experimented with the character while at 
 Red Sweet Springs, where a fancy ball had been given 
 with much success, and I was resolved to repeat the 
 amusing experience at Mrs. Gwin's ball. 
 
 Finding me inexorable, Mr. Poore at last desisted and 
 chose another character, that of Major Jack Downing. 
 He made a dashing figure, too, and we an amusing pair, 
 as, at the "heel of the morning," w T e galoped wildly over 
 Mrs. Gwin's wonderfully waxed floors. The galop, I 
 may add in passing, was but just introduced in Washing- 
 ton, and its popularity was wonderful. 
 
 If I dwell on that evening with particular satisfaction, 
 the onus of such egotism must be laid at the door of my 
 flattering friends; for even now, when nearly twoscore 
 years and ten have passed, those who remain of that 
 
A CELEBRATED SOCIAL EVENT 129 
 
 merry assemblage of long ago recall it with a smile and 
 a tender recollection. " I can see you now, in my mind's 
 eye," wrote General George Wallace Jones, in 1894; 
 "how you vexed and tortured dear old President 
 Buchanan at Doctor and Mrs. Gwin's famous fancy party ! 
 You were that night the observed of all observers!" 
 And still more recently another, recalling the scene, said, 
 "The orchestra stopped, for the dancers lagged, laughing 
 convulsively at dear Aunt Ruthy ! ' ' 
 
 Nor would I seem to undervalue by omitting the 
 tribute in verse paid me by the musical Major de Havil- 
 land: 
 
 "Mark how the grace that gilds an honoured name, 
 Gives a strange zest to that loquacious dame 
 Whose ready tongue and easy blundering wit 
 Provoke fresh uproar at each happy hit ! 
 Note how her humour into strange grimace 
 Tempts the smooth meekness of yon Quaker's face.* 
 
 But — denser grows the crowd round Partington; 
 'T'were vain to try to name them one by one." f 
 
 It was not without some trepidation of spirit that I 
 surrendered myself into the hands of a professional 
 maker-up of theatrical folk and saw him lay in the 
 shadows and wrinkles necessary to the character, and 
 adjust my front-piece of grey hair into position ; and, as 
 my conception of the quaint Mrs. Partington was that 
 
 * A reference to Mrs. Emory, a notably attractive member of Wash- 
 ington society. 
 
 | Nevertheless, the chronicler named in rapid succession as among 
 Mrs. Clay's attendants, Lord Napier, Sir William Gore Ouseley, K.C.B., 
 and many prominent figures in the capital. "Mrs. Senator Clay," he 
 added in prose, "with knitting in hand, snuff-box in pocket, and 'Ike 
 the Inevitable' by her side, acted out her difficult character so as to 
 win the unanimous verdict that her personation of the loquacious mal- 
 apropos dame was the leading feature of the evening's entertainment. 
 Go where she would through the spacious halls, a crowd of eager listen- 
 ers followed her footsteps, drinking in her instant repartees, which 
 were really superior in wit and appositeness, and, indeed, in the vein 
 of the famous dame's cacoethes, even to the original contribution of 
 Shillaber to the nonsensical literature of the day." A. S. 
 
i 3 o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 of a kindly soul, I counselled the attendant — a Hungarian 
 attache of the local theatre — to make good-natured 
 vertical wrinkles over my brow, and not horizontal ones, 
 which indicate the cynical and harsh character. 
 
 My disguise was soon so perfect that my friend Mrs. 
 L. Q. C. Lamar, who came in shortly after the ordeal of 
 making-up was over, utterly failed to recognise me in 
 the country woman before her. She looked about the 
 room with a slight reserve aroused by finding herself 
 thus in the presence of a stranger, and asked of Emily, 
 "Where is Mrs. Clay?" At this my cousins burst into 
 merry laughter, in which Mrs. Lamar joined when assured 
 of my identity. 
 
 Thus convinced of the success of my costume, I was 
 glad to comply with a request that came by messenger 
 from Miss Lane, for our party to go to the White House 
 on our way to Mrs. Gwin's, to show her our "pretty 
 dresses," a point of etiquette intervening to prevent the 
 Lady of the White House from attending the great ball 
 of a private citizen. Forthwith we drove to the Executive 
 Mansion, where we were carried sans ceremonie to Miss 
 Lane's apartments. Here Mrs. Partington found herself 
 in the presence of her first audience. Miss Lane and 
 the President apparently were much amused at her 
 verdancy, and, after a few initiative malapropisms, 
 some pirouettes by "Titania" and our maid from the 
 Orient, done to the shuffling of our little fortune-teller's 
 cards, we departed, our zest stimulated, for the Gwin 
 residence. 
 
 My very first conquest as Mrs. Partington, as I recall 
 it now, was of Mrs. Representative Pendleton, whom I 
 met on the stairs. She was radiantly beautiful as the 
 "Star-Spangled Banner," symbolising the poem by 
 which her father, Francis Scott Key, immortalised him- 
 self. As we met, her face broke into a smile of delicious 
 surprise. 
 
A CELEBRATED SOCIAL EVENT 131 
 
 "How inimitable!" she cried. "Who is it? No! 
 you shan't pass till you tell me!" And when I laugh- 
 ingly informed her in Aunt Ruthy's own vernacular, 
 she exclaimed: "What! Mrs. Clay? Why! there isn't 
 a vestige of my friend left ! ' ' 
 
 My costume was ingeniously devised. It consisted 
 of a plain black alpaca dress and black satin apron; 
 stockings as blue as a certain pair of indigos I have 
 previously described, and large, loose-fitting buskin 
 shoes. Over my soft grey front piece I wore a high- 
 crowned cap, which, finished with a prim ruff, set closely 
 around the face. On the top was a diminutive bow of 
 narrowest ribbon, while ties of similarly economical 
 width secured it under the chin. My disguise was further 
 completed by a pair of stone-cutter's glasses with nickel 
 rims, which entirely concealed my eyes. A white ker- 
 chief was drawn primly over my shoulders, and was 
 secured by a huge medallion pin, in which was encased 
 the likeness, as large as the palm of my hand, of "my 
 poor Paul." 
 
 On my arm I carried a reticule in which were various 
 herbs, elecampane and catnip, and other homely remedies, 
 and a handkerchief in brilliant colours on which was 
 printed with fearless and emphatic type the Declaration 
 of Independence. This bit of "stage property" was 
 used ostentatiously betimes, especially when Aunt Ruthy's 
 tears were called forth by some sad allusion to her lost 
 "Paul." In my apron pocket was an antique snuff-box 
 which had been presented to me, as I afterward told 
 Senator Seward, by the Governor of Rhode Island, "a 
 lover of the Kawnstitution, Sir." 
 
 But, that nothing might be lacking, behind me trotted 
 my boy "Ike," dear little "Jimmy" Sandidge (son of 
 the member from Louisiana), aged ten, who for days, in 
 the secrecy of my parlour, I had drilled in the aid he was 
 to lend me. He was a wonderful little second, and the 
 
i 3 2 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 fidelity to truth in his make-up was so amusing that I 
 came near to losing him at the very outset. His osten- 
 tatiously darned stockings and patched breeches, long 
 since outgrown, were a surprising sight in the great 
 parlours of our host, and Senator Gwin, seeing the little 
 urchin who,, he thought, had strayed in from the street, 
 took him by the shoulder and was about to lead him out 
 when some one called to him, "Look out, Senator! 
 You'll be getting yourself into trouble ! That's Aunt 
 Ruthy's boy, Ike!" 
 
 Mrs. Partington was not the only Yankee character 
 among that throng of princes and queens, and dames 
 of high degree, for Mr. Eugene Baylor, of Louisiana, 
 impersonated a figure as amusing — that of " Hezekiah 
 Swipes," of Vermont. He entered into his part with a 
 zest as great as my own, and kept " a-whittlin' and 
 a-whittlin' jes' as if he was ter hum!" For myself, I 
 enjoyed a peculiar exhilaration in the thought that, 
 despite my amusing dress, the belles of the capital 
 (and many were radiant beauties, too) gave way before 
 Aunt Ruthy and her nonsense. As I observed this my 
 zeal increased, and not even Senator Clay, who feared 
 my gay spirits would react and cause me to become 
 exhausted, could prevail upon me to yield a serious word 
 or one out of my character throughout the festal night. 
 If I paid for it, as I did, by several days' retirement, I 
 did not regret it, since the evening itself went off so 
 happily. 
 
 Mrs. Gwin, as the Queen of Louis Quatorze, a regal 
 lady, stood receiving her guests with President Buchanan 
 beside her as Aunt Ruthy entered, knitting industriously, 
 but stopping ever and anon to pick up a stitch which the 
 glory of her surroundings caused her to drop. Approach- 
 ing my hostess and her companion, I first made my 
 greetings to Mrs. Gwin, with comments on her "invite," 
 and wondered, looking up at the windows, if she "had 
 
A CELEBRATED SOCIAL EVENT 133 
 
 enough venerators to take off the execrations of that 
 large assemblage"; but, when she presented Mrs. Part- 
 ington to the President, "Lor!" exclaimed that lady, 
 "Air you ralely 'Old Buck'? I've often heern tell o' 
 Old Buck up in Beanville, but I don't see no horns !" 
 
 "No, Madam," gravely responded the President, 
 assuming for the nonce the cynic, "I'm not a married 
 man ! ' ' 
 
 It was at this memorable function that Lord Napier 
 (who appeared in the character of Mr. Hammond, the 
 first British Minister to the United States) paid his great 
 tribute to Mrs. Pendleton. Her appearance on that 
 occasion was lovely. She was robed in a white satin 
 gown made dancing length, over which were rare lace 
 flounces. A golden eagle with wings outstretched covered 
 her corsage, and from her left shoulder floated a long tri- 
 colour sash on which, in silver letters, were the words 
 "E Pluribus Unum." A crown of thirteen flashing 
 stars was set upon her well-poised head, and a more 
 charming interpretation in dress of the national emblem 
 could scarcely have been devised. 
 
 Ah ! but that was a remarkable throng ! My memory, 
 as I recall that night, seems like a long chain, of which, 
 if I strike but a single link, the entire length rattles ! 
 Beautiful Therese Chalfant Pugh as "Night" — what a 
 vision she was, and what a companion picture Mrs. 
 Douglas, who, as "Aurora," was radiant in the pale 
 tints of the morning ! There were mimic Marchionesses, 
 and Kings of England and France and Prussia; White 
 Ladies of Avenel and Dukes of Buckingham, Maids of 
 Athens and Saragossa, gypsies and fairies, milkmaids, 
 and even a buxom barmaid ; Antipholus himself and the 
 Priestess Norma, Pierrots and Follies, peasants and 
 Highland chiefs moving in heterogeneous fashion in the 
 great ballrooms. 
 
 Barton Key, as an English hunter, clad in white satin 
 
i 3 4 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 breeks, cherry-velvet jacket, and jaunty cap, with lemon- 
 coloured high-top boots, and a silver bugle (upon which 
 he blew from time to time) hung across his breast, was a 
 conspicuous figure in that splendid happy assemblage, 
 and Mile, de Montillon was a picture in the Polish character 
 costume in which her mother had appeared when she 
 danced in a Polonaise before the Empress at the Tuilleries. 
 
 Sir William Gore Ouseley, the " Knight of the Mys- 
 terious Mission," attracted general attention in his 
 character of Knight Commander of the Bath. The 
 Baroness de Staeckl and Miss Cass were models of elegance 
 as French Court beauties, and Mrs. Jefferson Davis as 
 Mme. de Stael dealt in caustic repartee as became her 
 part, delivered now in French and again in broken 
 English, to the annihilation of all who had the temerity 
 to cross swords with her. 
 
 Among the guests "our furrin relations" were numer- 
 ously represented, and I remember well the burst of 
 laughter which greeted Mrs. Partington when she asked 
 Lady Napier, with a confidential and sympathetic air, 
 "whether the Queen had got safely over her last en- 
 croachment." Incidentally she added some good advice 
 on the bringing up of children, illustrating its efficacy by 
 pointing to Ike, whom she "was teaching religiously both 
 the lethargy and the cataplasm ! ' ' 
 
 My memories of Mrs. Gwin's ball would be incomplete 
 did I not mention two or more of Aunt Ruthy's escapades 
 during the evening. The rumour of my intended im- 
 personation had aroused in the breast of a certain Balti- 
 morean youth the determination to disturb, "to break 
 up Mrs. Clay's composure." I heard of the young 
 man's intention through some friend early in the evening, 
 and my mother-wit, keyed as it was to a pitch of alertness, 
 promptly aided me to the overthrow of the venturesome 
 hero. He came garbed as a newsboy, and, nature having 
 provided him with lusty lungs, he made amusing an- 
 
MRS. JEFFERSON DAVIS 
 of Mississippi 
 
A CELEBRATED SOCIAL EVENT 135 
 
 nouncements as to the attractions of his wares, at the 
 most unexpected moments. Under his arm he carried a 
 bundle of papers which he hawked about in a most 
 professional manner. At an unfortunate moment he 
 walked hurriedly by as if on his rounds, and stopping 
 beside me he called out confidently, "Baltimore Sun! 
 Have a 'Sun,' Madam?" 
 
 "Tut, tut! Man!" said Mrs. Partington, horrified. 
 " How dare you ask such a question of a virtuous female 
 widow woman ? ' ' Then bursting into sobs and covering 
 her eyes with the broad text of the "Declaration of 
 Independence," she cried, "What would my poor Paul 
 think of that?" To the hilarious laughter of those who 
 had gathered about us, the routed hero retreated hastily, 
 and, for the remainder of the evening, restrained by a 
 wholesome caution, he gave Aunt Ruthy a wide berth. 
 
 Such kind greetings as came to this unsophisticated 
 visitor to the ball ! " You're the sweetest-looking old 
 thing!" exclaimed "Lushe" Lamar before he had pene- 
 trated my disguise. "I'd just like to buss you!" 
 
 I had an amusing recontre with Senator Seward that 
 evening. That this pronounced Northerner had made 
 numerous efforts in the past to meet me I was well aware ; 
 but my Southern sentiments were wholly disapproving 
 of him, and I had resisted even my kinder-hearted 
 husband's plea, and had steadily refused to permit him 
 to be introduced to me. "Not even to save the Nation 
 could I be induced to eat his bread, to drink his wine, to 
 enter his domicile, to speak to him ! " I once impetuously 
 declared, when the question came up in private of at- 
 tending some function which the Northern Senator was 
 projecting. 
 
 At Mrs. Gwin's ball, however, I noticed Mr. Seward 
 hovering in my neighbourhood, and I was not surprised 
 when he, "who could scrape any angle to attain an end," 
 as my cousin Miss Comer said so aptly, finding none 
 
i 3 6 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 brave enough to present him, took advantage of my 
 temporary merging into Mr. Shillaber's character, and 
 presented himself to "Mrs. Partington." He was very- 
 courteous, if a little uncertain of his welcome, as he 
 approached me, and said, "Aunt Ruthy, can't I, too, 
 have the pleasure of welcoming you to the Federal City ? 
 May I have a pinch of snuff with you ? " It was here that 
 Mrs. Partington reminded him that the donor of her 
 snuff-box "loved the Kawnstitewtion." I gave him the 
 snuff and with it a number of Partingtonian shots about 
 his opinions concerning "Slave Oligawky," which were 
 fearless even if "funny," as the Senator seemed to find 
 them, and I passed on. This was my first and only meet- 
 ing with Mr. Seward.* 
 
 I was so exhilarated at the success of my role that I 
 had scarce seen our cousins during the evening (I am 
 sure they thought me an ideal chaperone), though I 
 caught an occasional glimpse of the gauzy-winged 
 "Titania," and once I saw the equally tiny Miss Comer 
 go whirling down the room in a wild galop with the tall 
 Lieutenant Scarlett, of Her Majesty's Guards, who was 
 conspicuous in a uniform as rubescent as his patronymic. 
 And I recall seeing an amusing little bit of human nature 
 in connection with our hostess, which showed how even 
 the giving of this superb entertainment could not disturb 
 Mrs. Gwin's perfect oversight of her household. 
 
 The "wee sma' hours" had come, and I had just 
 finished complimenting my hostess on her "cold hash 
 and cider," when the butler stepped up to her and, in 
 discreet pantomime, announced that the wine had given 
 out. 
 
 * While this playful exchange of ideas was going on, Senator Clay 
 stood near his Northern confrere, with whom his relations were always 
 courteous and kindly. At Mrs. Clay's parting sally, Senator Seward 
 turned to the lady's husband and remarked, "Clay, she's superb!" 
 "Yes." replied Senator Clay; "when she married me America lost 
 its Siddons !" A. S. 
 
A CELEBRATED SOCIAL EVENT 137 
 
 Then she, Queen for the nonce of the most magnificent 
 of the Bourbons, did step aside and, lifting her stiff moire 
 skirt and its costly train of cherry satin (quilled with 
 white, it was), did extract from some secret pocket the 
 key to the wine cellar, and pass it right royally to her 
 menial. This functionary shortly afterward returned 
 and rendered it again to her, when, by the same deft 
 manipulation of her rich petticoats, the implement was 
 replaced in its repository, and the Queen once more 
 emerged to look upon her merrymakers. 
 
 For years Mrs. Gwin's fancy ball has remained one of 
 the most brilliant episodes in the annals of ante-bellum 
 days in the capital. For weeks after its occurrence the 
 local photograph and daguerreotype galleries were 
 thronged with patrons who wished to be portrayed in 
 the costumes they had worn upon the great occasion; 
 and a few days after the ball, supposing I would be 
 among that number, Mr. Shillaber sent me a request for 
 my likeness, adding that he "would immortalise me." 
 But, flushed with my own success, and grown daring by 
 reason of it, I replied that, being hors de combat, I could 
 not respond as he wished. I thanked him for his proffer, 
 however, and reminded him that the public had antici- 
 pated him, and that by their verdict I had already 
 immortalised myself ! 
 

 CHAPTER X 
 
 Exodus of Southern Society from the Federal 
 
 City 
 
 In the winter of '59 and '60 it became obvious to 
 everyone that gaiety at the capital was waning. Aside 
 from public receptions, now become palpably perfunctory, 
 only an occasional wedding served to give social zest 
 to the rapidly sobering Congressional circles. Ordinary 
 "at-homes" were slighted. Women went daily to the 
 Senate gallery to listen to the angry debates on the 
 floor below. When belles met they no longer discussed 
 furbelows and flounces, but talked of forts and fusillades. 
 The weddings of my cousin, Miss Hilliard, in 1859, and 
 of Miss Parker, in i860, already described, were the 
 most notable matrimonial events of those closing days of 
 Washington's splendour. 
 
 To Miss Hilliard 's marriage to Mr. Hamilton Glent- 
 worth, of New York, which occurred at mid-day at old 
 St. John's, and to the reception that followed, came many 
 of the Senatorial body and dignitaries of the capital. A 
 procession of carriages drawn by white horses accompanied 
 the bridal party to the church, where the celebrated 
 Bishop Doane, of New Jersey, performed the ceremony. 
 The bride's gown and that of one of the bridesmaids were 
 "gophered," this being the first appearance of the new 
 French style of trimming in the capital. One of the 
 bridesmaids, I remember, was gowned in pink crepe, 
 which was looped back with coral, then a most fashionable 
 garniture; the costume of another was of embroidered 
 tulle caught up with bunches of grapes; and each of the 
 
 138 
 
EXODUS OF SOUTHERN SOCIETY 139 
 
 accompanying ushers — such were the fashions of the 
 day — wore inner vests of satin, embroidered in colour 
 to match the gown of the bridesmaid alloted to his 
 charge. 
 
 Notable artists appeared in the capital, among them 
 Charlotte Cushman, and there were stately, not to say 
 stiff and formal, dinners at the British Embassy, now 
 presided over by Lord Lyons. This Minister's arrival 
 was looked upon as a great event. Much gossip had 
 preceded it, and all the world was agog to know if it 
 were true that feminine-kind was debarred from his 
 menage. It was said that his personally chartered 
 vessel had conveyed to our shores not only the personages 
 comprising his household, but also his domestics and 
 skilful gardeners, and even the growing plants for his 
 conservatory. It was whispered that when his Lordship 
 entertained ladies his dinner-service was to be of solid 
 gold; that when gentlemen were his guests they were to 
 dine from the costliest of silver plate. Moreover, the 
 gossips at once set about predicting that the newcomer 
 would capitulate to the charms of some American woman, 
 and speculation was already rife as to who would be the 
 probable bride. 
 
 Lord Lyons began his American career by entertaining 
 at dinner the Diplomatic Corps, and afterward the 
 officials of our country, in the established order of pre- 
 cedence, the Supreme Court, the Cabinet, and Senate 
 circles leading, according to custom. His Lordship's 
 invitations being sent out alphabetically, Senator Clay 
 and I received a foreign and formidable card to the 
 first Senatorial dinner given by the newly arrived diplo- 
 mat. My husband's appearance at this function, I 
 remember, was particularly distinguished. He was clad 
 in conventional black, and wore with it a cream-coloured 
 vest of brocaded velvet ; yet, notwithstanding my wifely 
 pride in him, we had what almost amounted to a dis- 
 
i 4 o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 agreement on our way to the famous feast. We drove to 
 Lord Lyons 's domicile with Senator and Mrs. Crittenden, 
 and my perturbation furnished them with much amuse- 
 ment. For some reason or for lack of one I was obsessed 
 by a suspicion that the new Minister, probably being 
 unaware of the state of feeling which continually mani- 
 fested itself between Northern and Southern people in 
 the capital, might assign to me, as my escort to table, 
 some pronounced Republican. 
 
 "What would you do in that event?" asked Senator 
 Clay. 
 
 "Do?" I asked, hotly and promptly. "I would 
 refuse to accept him ! ' ' 
 
 My husband's voice was grave as he said, " I hope 
 there will be no need ! ' ' 
 
 Arriving at the Embassy, I soon discovered that, as 
 had been rumoured, the maid ordinarily at hand to assist 
 women guests had been replaced by a fair young English 
 serving-man, who took charge of my wraps, and knelt to 
 remove my overshoes with all the deftness of a practised 
 femme de chambre. These preliminaries over, I rejoined 
 my husband in the corridor, and together we proceeded 
 to our host, and, having greeted him, turned aside to 
 speak to other friends. 
 
 Presently Senator Brown, Mr. Davis's confrere from 
 Mississippi, made his way to me. Senator Brown was 
 one of the brightest men in Congress. As he approached, 
 my misgivings vanished and I smiled as I said, " Ah ! 
 you are to be my gallant this evening ! " 
 
 " Not so," replied he. " I'm to go in with Mme. , 
 
 and shall be compelled to smell 'camphired' cleaned 
 gloves for hours ! ' ' 
 
 He left my side. Presently he was replaced by Mr. 
 Eames, ex-Minister to Venezuela. Again I conjectured 
 him to be the man who was destined to escort me; but, 
 after the exchange of a few words, he, too, excused 
 
LORD LYONS 
 
 British Ambassador to the United States 
 
EXODUS OF SOUTHERN SOCIETY 141 
 
 himself, and I saw him take his place at the side of his 
 rightful partner. In this way several others came and 
 went, and still I stood alone. I wondered what it all 
 meant, and gave a despairing look at my husband, who, I 
 knew, was rapidly becoming as perturbed as was I. 
 Presently the massive doors slid apart, and a voice pro- 
 claimed, "Dinner, my Lord!" Now my consternation 
 gave way to overwhelming surprise and confusion, for 
 our host, glancing inquiringly around the circle, stepped 
 to my side, and, bowing profoundly, offered his arm with, 
 "I have the honour, Madam!" Once at the table, I 
 quickly regained my composure, assisted, perhaps, to 
 this desirable state, by a feeling of triumph as I caught 
 from across the table the amused glance of my erstwhile 
 companion, Mrs. Crittenden. 
 
 Lord Lyons 's manner was so unconstrained and easy 
 that I soon became emboldened to the point of suggesting 
 to him the possibility of some lovely American consenting 
 to become "Lyonised." His Lordship's prompt re- 
 joinder and quizzical look quite abashed me, and brought 
 me swiftly to the conclusion that I would best let this old 
 lion alone; for he said, "Ah, Madam! do you remember 
 what Uncle Toby said to his nephew when he informed 
 him of his intended marriage?" Then, without waiting 
 for my assent, he added, "Alas ! alas ! quoth my Uncle 
 Toby, you will never sleep slantindicularly in your bed 
 more !" 
 
 I had an adventure at a ball in 1859, which, though 
 unimportant in itself, turns a pleasing side-light upon one 
 of the more courteous of our political opponents. A dance 
 had been announced, the music had begun, and the dancers 
 had already taken their places, when my partner was called 
 aside suddenly. Something occurred to detain him longer 
 than he had expected, and the time for us to lead having 
 arrived, there was a call for the missing gallant, who 
 was nowhere to be seen. I looked about helplessly, 
 
i 4 2 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 wondering what I was to do, when Anson Burlingame, 
 who was standing near, seeing my dilemma, stepped 
 promptly forward, and, taking my hand in most courtly 
 manner, he said, "Pardon me, Madam!" and led me, 
 bewildered, through the first steps of the dance ! 
 
 Lost in amazement at his courtesy, I had no time to 
 demur, and, when we returned to my place, the delinquent 
 had reappeared. Bowing politely, Mr. Burlingame with- 
 drew. The circumstance caused quite a ripple among 
 those who witnessed it. Those who knew me best were 
 amused at my docility in allowing myself thus to be led 
 through the dance by a rank Abolitionist; but many 
 were the comments made upon "Mr. Burlingame's 
 audacity in daring to speak to Mrs. Clement Clay !" 
 
 Such were the scenes, both grave and gay, that pre- 
 ceded what was surely the saddest day of my life — 
 January 21, 1861 — when, after years of augmenting 
 dissension between the Sections, I saw my husband take 
 his portfolio under his arm and leave the United States 
 Senate Chamber in company with other no less earnest 
 Southern Senators. For weeks the pretense of amity 
 between parties had ceased, and social formalities no 
 longer concealed the gaping chasm that divided them. 
 When the members of each met, save for a glare of de- 
 fiance or contempt, each ignored the other, or, if they 
 spoke, it was by way of a taunt or a challenge. Every 
 sentence uttered in Senate or House was full of hot 
 feeling born of many wrongs and long-sustained struggle. 
 For weeks, men would not leave their seats by day or 
 by night, lest they might lose their votes on the vital 
 questions of the times. At the elbows of Senators, drowsy 
 with long vigils, pages stood, ready to waken them at 
 the calling of the roll. 
 
 Not a Southern woman but felt, with her husband, the 
 stress of that session, the sting of the wrongs the Southern 
 faction of that great body was struggling to right. For 
 
EXODUS OF SOUTHERN SOCIETY 143 
 
 forty years the North and the South had striven for the 
 balance of power, and the admission of each new State 
 was become the subject of bitter contention. There 
 was, on the part of the North, a palpable envy of the 
 hold the South had retained so long upon the Federal City, 
 whether in politics or society, and the resolution to quell 
 us, by physical force, was everywhere obvious. The 
 face of the city was lowering, and some of the North 
 agreed with us of the South that a nation's suicide 
 was about to be precipitated. 
 
 Senator Clay, than whom the South has borne no more 
 self-sacrificing son, nor the Nation a truer patriot, was 
 an ill man as that "winter of national agony and shame" 
 (vide the Northern witness, Judge Hoar) progressed. 
 The incertitude of President Buchanan was alarming; 
 but the courage of our people to enter upon what they 
 knew must be a defense of everything they held dear in 
 State and family institution rose higher and higher to 
 meet each advancing danger. The seizure by South 
 Carolina of United States forts that lay, a menace, 
 within her very doorway, acted like a spur upon the 
 courage of the South. 
 
 " We have been hard at work all day," wrote a defender 
 of our cause from Morris Island, January 17, 1861, 
 "helping to make, with our own hands, a battery, and 
 moving into place some of the biggest guns you ever saw, 
 and all immediately under the guns of old Anderson.* 
 He fired a shell down the Bay this afternoon to let us 
 know what he could do. But he had a little idea what 
 we can do from his observation of our firing the other 
 morning.f at the 'Star of the West,' all of which he saw, 
 and he thought we had ruined the ship, as Lieutenant 
 Hall represented in the city that morning. . . . We 
 learn to-day that in Washington they are trying to 
 
 * Major Anderson, in command at Fort Sumter, 
 f January 9, 1861. 
 
i 44 A BELLE OP THE FIFTIES 
 
 procrastinate. That does not stop our most earnest 
 preparation, for we are going to work all night to receive 
 from the steamboat three more enormous guns and 
 place them ready to batter down Fort Sumter, and we 
 can do it. We hope the other points are as forward in 
 their preparations as we are. If so, we can smoke him 
 out in a week. We are nearest to him, and he may fire 
 on us to-night, but if he were to kill everybody in the 
 State, and only one woman was left, and she should 
 bear a child, that child would be a secessionist. Our 
 women are even more spirited than we are, though, bless 
 the dear creatures, I have not seen one in a long time." 
 
 Yet, despite these buoyant preparations for defense, 
 there was a lingering sentiment among us that caused 
 us to deplore the necessity that urged our men to arms. 
 My husband was exceedingly depressed at the futility of 
 the Peace Commission, for he foresaw that the impending 
 conflict would be bloody and ruinous. One incident that 
 followed the dissolution of that body impressed itself 
 ineradicably upon my mind. Just after its close ex- 
 President Tyler came to our home. He was now an old 
 man and very attenuated. He was completely undone 
 at the failure of the Peace men, and tears trickled down 
 his cheeks as he said to Senator Clay, with indescribable 
 sadness, "Clay, the end has come !" 
 
 In those days men eyed each other warily and spoke 
 guardedly, save to the most tried and proved friend. 
 One evening early in 1861, Commander Semmes, U. S. N., 
 called upon us, and happened to arrive just as another 
 naval officer, whose name I have now forgotten, was 
 announced. The surprise that spread over the faces of 
 our visitors when they beheld each other was great, but 
 Senator Clay's and my own was greater, as hour after 
 hour was consumed in obvious constraint. Neither of 
 the officers appeared to be at ease, yet for hours neither 
 seemed to desire to relieve the situation by taking his 
 
EXODUS OF SOUTHERN SOCIETY 145 
 
 departure. Midnight had arrived ere our now forgotten 
 guest rose and bade us "good night." Then Commander 
 Semmes hastened to unbosom himself. He had re- 
 solved to out-sit the other gentleman if it took all night. 
 
 "As my Senator, Mr. Clay," he said, " I want to report 
 to you my decision on an important matter. I have 
 resolved to hand in my resignation to the United States 
 Government, and tender my services to that of the 
 Confederate States. I don't know what the intention 
 of my brother officer is, but I could take no risk with him," 
 he added. Many a scene as secret, as grave, and as 
 "treasonable," took place in those last lowering weeks. 
 
 I have often mused upon the impression held by the 
 younger generation of those who were adverse to the 
 South, viz.: that she "was prepared for the war" into 
 which we were precipitated practically by the admission 
 of Kansas ; that our men, with treasonable foresight, had 
 armed themselves individually and collectively for 
 resistance to our guileless and unsuspicious oppressors. 
 Had this been true, the result of that terrible civil strife 
 would surely have been two nations where now we have 
 one. To the last, alas ! too few of our people realised 
 that war was inevitable. Even our provisional Secretary 
 of War for the Confederate States,* early in '61, publicly 
 prophesied that, should fighting actually begin, it would 
 be over in three months ! It must be apparent to 
 thinkers that such gay dreamers do not form deep or 
 "deadly plots." 
 
 Personally I knew of but one man whose ferocity led him 
 to collect and secrete weapons of warfare. He was 
 Edmund Ruffin, of Virginia, with whom I entered into 
 collusion. For months my parlour was made an arsenal 
 for the storing of a dozen lengthy spears. They were 
 handsome weapons, made, I suspect, for some decorative 
 purpose, but I never knew their origin nor learned of 
 
 * General L. Pope Walker. 
 
i 4 6 A BELLE OP THE FIFTIES 
 
 their destination. On them were engraved these revolu- 
 tionary words: 
 
 "Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck the flower of 
 safety." 
 
 As Senator Clay's unequivocal position as a Southern 
 man was everywhere understood, our parlours were fre- 
 quently the gathering-place of statesmen from our own 
 section and such others as were friendly to our people and 
 believed in our right to defend the principles we had main- 
 tained since the administration of the first President of 
 the United States. Among the last mentioned were 
 Senators Pendleton and Pugh, and the ardent member 
 of Congress from Ohio, Mr. Vallandigham. Often the 
 "dread arms" deposited by Mr. Rufrin proved a subject 
 of conjecture and mirth, with which closed some weightier 
 conversation. As the day drew near, however, for the 
 agreed upon withdrawal of our Senators, the tension 
 under which all laboured made jests impossible, and 
 keyed every heart to the utmost solemnity. Monday, 
 January 21st, was the day privately agreed upon 
 by a number of Senators for their public declaration of 
 secession; but, as an example of the uncertainty which 
 hobbled our men, until within a day or two of the ap- 
 pointed time several still awaited the instructions from 
 their States by which their final act must be governed. 
 Early on Sunday morning, January 20th, my husband 
 received from a distinguished colleague the following 
 letter : 
 
 " Washington, Saturday night, January 19, 1861. 
 "My Dear Clay: By telegraph I am informed that the 
 copy of the ordinance of secession of my State was sent by 
 mail to-day, one to each of two branches of representation, 
 
 and that my immediate presence at is required. It thus 
 
 appears that was expected to present the paper in the 
 
 Senate and some one of the members to do so in the House. 
 All have gone save me, I, alone, and I am called away. We 
 have piped and they would not dance, and now the devil may care. 
 
EXODUS OF SOUTHERN SOCIETY 147 
 
 " I am grieved to hear that you are sick, the more so that 
 I cannot go to you. God grant your attack may be slight." 
 
 And now the morning dawned of what all knew would 
 be a day of awful import. I accompanied my husband 
 to the Senate, and everywhere the greeting or gaze 
 of absorbed, unrecognising men and women was serious 
 and full of trouble. The galleries of the Senate, which 
 hold, it is estimated, one thousand people, were packed 
 densely, principally with women, who, trembling with 
 excitement, awaited the denouement of the day. As, 
 one by one, Senators David Yulee, Stephen K. Mallory, 
 Clement C. Clay, Benjamin Fitzpatrick, and Jefferson 
 Davis rose, the emotion of their brother Senators and of 
 us in the galleries increased ; and, when I heard the voice 
 of my husband, steady and clear, notwithstanding his ill- 
 ness, declare in that Council Chamber: 
 
 "Mr. President, I rise to announce that the people of 
 Alabama have adopted an ordinance whereby they with- 
 draw from the Union, formed under a compact styled the 
 United States, resume the powers delegated to it, and 
 assume their separate station as a sovereign and inde- 
 pendent people," it seemed as if the blood within me con- 
 gealed. 
 
 As each Senator, speaking for his State, concluded his 
 solemn renunciation of allegiance to the United States, 
 women grew hysterical and waved their handkerchiefs, 
 encouraging them with cries of sympathy and admira- 
 tion. Men wept and embraced each other mournfully. 
 At times the murmurs among the onlookers grew so deep 
 that the Sergeant-at-Arms was ordered to clear the gal- 
 leries; and, as each speaker took up his portfolio and 
 gravely left the Senate Chamber, sympathetic shouts 
 rang from the assemblage above. Scarcely a member of 
 that Senatorial body but was pale with the terrible sig- 
 nificance of the hour. There was everywhere a feeling 
 of suspense, as if, visibly, the pillars of the temple were 
 
i 4 8 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 being withdrawn and the great Government structure 
 was tottering ; nor was there a patriot on either side who 
 did not deplore and whiten before the evil that brooded 
 so low over the nation, 
 
 When Senator Clay concluded his speech, many of his 
 colleagues, among them several from Republican ranks, 
 came forward to shake hands with him. For months his 
 illness had been a theme of public regret and apprehension 
 among our friends. "A painful rumour reached me this 
 morning," wrote Joseph Holt to me late in i860, "in rela- 
 tion to the health of your excellent husband. . . . 
 While I hope sincerely this is an exaggeration, yet the 
 apprehensions awakened are so distressing, that I cannot 
 resist the impulse of my heart to write you in the trust 
 that your reply will relieve me from all anxiety. It is my 
 earnest prayer that a life adorned by so many graces may 
 be long spared to yourself, so worthy of its devotion, and 
 to our country, whose councils so need its genius and 
 patriotism. . . . Believe me most sincerely your 
 friend, Joseph Holt." 
 
 In fact, the news of Senator Clay's physical sufferings 
 had been telegraphed far and near, and, merged with the 
 fear for our country, there was, in my own heart, great 
 anxiety and sadness for him. Our mail was full of 
 inquiries as to his welfare, many from kindly strangers 
 and even from States that were bitterly inimical to our 
 cause. One of these came from the far North, from one 
 who signed himself, "A plain New Hampshire minister, 
 Henry E. Parker." Nor can I refrain from quoting a 
 portion of his letter, which bears the never-to-be-forgotten 
 date of January 21st, 1861. He wrote as follows: 
 
 " I am utterly appalled at this projected dissolution of 
 our Government. To lose, to throw away our place and 
 name among the nations of the earth, seems not merely 
 like the madness of suicide, but the very blackness of anni- 
 hilation. If this thing shall be accomplished, it will be, to 
 

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 CLEMENT C. CLAY, JR. 
 United States Senator, 1853-61 
 
EXODUS OF SOUTHERN SOCIETY 1 49 
 
 my view, the crime of the nineteenth century ; the parti- 
 tion of Poland will be nothing in comparison. 
 
 " Born and educated as we are at the North, sensible 
 men at the South cannot wonder at the views we entertain, 
 nor do sensible men at the North think it strange that, 
 born and educated as the Southerner is, he should feel 
 very differently from the Northerner in some things ; but 
 why should not all these difficulties sink before our com- 
 mon love for our common country?" 
 
 Why, indeed! Yet the cry of "disunion" had been 
 heard for forty years* and still our Southern men had for- 
 borne, until the party belligerents, whose encroachments 
 had now, at last, become unbearable, had begun to look 
 upon our protests as it were a mere cry of "wolf." Of 
 those crucial times, and of that dramatic scene in the 
 United States Senate, no Southern pen has written in per- 
 manent words; and such Northern historians as Messrs. 
 Nicolay and Hay elide, as if their purpose were to obscure, 
 the deliberate and public withdrawal of those representa- 
 tives, our martyrs to their convictions, their institutions 
 and their children's heritages; and would so bury them 
 under the sweeping charges of "conspiracy" and "trea- 
 son" that the casual reader of the future is not likely to 
 realise with what candour to their opponents, with what 
 dignity to themselves, out of what loyalty to their States, 
 and yet again with what grief for the nation and sacrifice 
 of life-time associations, the various seceding Senators 
 went out at last from that august body ! 
 
 For months the struggle of decades had been swiftly 
 approximating to its bloody culmination. Our physical 
 prosperity, no less than the social security we enjoyed, 
 had caused us to become objects of envy to the rough ele- 
 
 * " Talk of disunion, threats of disunion, accusations of intentions of 
 disunion lie scattered plentifully through the political literature of the 
 country from the very formation of the Government," say Messrs. 
 Nicolay and Hay. See vol. II, page 296, of "Abraham Lincoln." Also, 
 "Benton's Thirty Years' View." Vol. II, page 786. 
 
150 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 ments in the new settlements, especially of the North- 
 west.* So inimical was the North to us that though the 
 South was the treasury of the nation; though she had 
 contributed from her territory the very land upon which 
 the Federal City was built; though her sons ranked 
 among the most brilliant of whom the young Republic 
 could boast — it was impossible for the South to get an 
 appropriation of even a few hundred thousand dollars, to 
 provide for the building of a lighthouse on that most 
 dangerous portion of the Atlantic coast, the shore of 
 North Carolina ! 
 
 An era of discovery and expansion preceded the out- 
 break of the war. By means of costly embassies to the 
 Eastern countries, new avenues of commerce had been 
 opened. The acquisition of Cuba and of the Mexican 
 States became an ambition on the part of Mr. Buchanan, 
 who was anxious to repeat during his Administration the 
 successes of his predecessors, Presidents Fillmore and 
 Pierce. So long ago as '55, the question of the purchase 
 of the island of St. Thomas from the Danish Government 
 was a subject that called for earnest diplomacy on the 
 part of Mr. Raasloff, the Danish Minister; and the gold 
 fever which made Northern adventurers mad carried 
 many to rifle the distant Pacific coast of its treasures. By 
 this time the cotton gin had demonstrated its great worth, 
 and the greed of acquisition saw in our cotton fields a new 
 source of envy, for we had no need to dig or to delve — we 
 shook our cotton plants and golden dollars dropped from 
 them. Had the gathering of riches been our object in 
 life, men of the South had it in their power to have rivalled 
 the wealth of the fabled Midas ; but, as was early observed 
 by a statesman who never was partisan, the " Southern 
 statesmen went for the honours and the Northern for the 
 benefits." In consequence, wrote Mr. Benton (1839), 
 
 * This fact is emphasised by Messrs. Nicolay and Hay. See vol. I, 
 page 142, "Abraham Lincoln." 
 
EXODUS OF SOUTHERN SOCIETY 1 5 1 
 
 "the North has become rich upon the benefits of the Gov- 
 ernment ; the South has grown lean upon its honours." 
 
 From the hour of this exodus of Senators from the 
 official body, all Washington seemed to change. Imagina- 
 tion can scarcely conjure up an atmosphere at once so 
 ominous and so sad. Each step preparatory to our 
 departure was a pang. Carriages and messengers dashed 
 through the streets excitedly. Farewells were to be 
 spoken, and many, we knew, would be final. Vehicles 
 lumbered on their way to wharf or station filled with the 
 baggage of departing Senators and Members. The brows 
 of hotel-keepers darkened with misgivings, for the disap- 
 pearance from the Federal City of the families of Con- 
 gressional representatives from the fifteen slave-holding 
 States made a terrible thinning out of its population; 
 and, in the strange persons of the politicians, already 
 beginning to press into the capital, there was little indi- 
 cation that these might prove satisfactory substitutes for 
 us who were withdrawing. 
 
 "How shall I commence my letter to you?" wrote the 
 wife of Colonel Philip Phillips to me a month or two after 
 we had left Washington. "What can I tell you, but of 
 despair, of broken hearts, of ruined fortunes, the sobs of 
 women, and sighs of men ! . . . I am still in this 
 horrible city . . . but, distracted as I am at the idea 
 of being forced to remain, we feel the hard necessity of 
 keeping quiet. . . . For days I saw nothing but 
 despairing women leaving [Washington] suddenly, their 
 husbands having resigned and sacrificed their all for their 
 beloved States. You would not know this God-forsaken 
 city, our beautiful capital, with all its artistic wealth, 
 desecrated, disgraced with Lincoln's low soldiery. The 
 respectable part [of the soldiers] view it also in the same 
 spirit, for one of the Seventh Regiment told me that never 
 in his life had he seen such ruin going on as is now enacted 
 in the halls of our once honoured Capitol ! I cannot but 
 
152 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 think that the presentiment that the South would wish 
 to keep Washington must have induced this desecration 
 of all that should have been respected by the mob in 
 power. . . . The Gwins are the only ones left of our 
 
 intimates, and Mrs. G is packed up ready to leave. 
 
 Poor thing ! her eyes are never without tears. . . . 
 There are 30,000 troops here. Think of it ! They go 
 about the avenue insulting women and taking property 
 without paying for it. . . . Such are the men waged 
 to subjugate us of the South. . . . We hear con- 
 stantly from Montgomery. Everything betokens a deep, 
 abiding faith in the cause. 
 
 " I was told that those giant intellects, the Blairs, 
 who are acting under the idea of being second Jacksons, 
 wishing to get a good officer to do some of their dirty 
 work ' (destroying public property) , wished Colonel Lee 
 sent for. ' Why, he has resigned ! ' ' Then tell Magruder ! ' 
 'He has resigned, too.' 'General Joe Johnston, then!' — 
 ' He, too, has gone out ! ' ' Smith Lee ? ' Ditto ! 
 
 " ' Good God !' said Blair. ' Have all our good officers 
 left us?' 
 
 " I hear these Blairs are at the bottom of all this war 
 policy. Old Blair's country place was threatened, and 
 his family, including the fanatical Mrs. Lee, had to fly 
 into the city. This lady was the one who said to me 
 that ' she wished the North to be deluged with the blood 
 of the South ere Lincoln should yield one iota ! ' 
 
 " Do not believe all you hear about the Northern 
 sympathy for Lincoln. The Democrats still feel for the 
 South. If Congress does not denounce Lincoln for his 
 unlawful and unconstitutional proceedings, I shall begin 
 to think we have no country ! ' ' 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 War Is Proclaimed 
 
 Upon leaving the Federal capital we proceeded to the 
 home of Senator Clay's cousin, Doctor Thomas Withers, 
 at Petersburg, Va. My husband's health, already feeble, 
 had suffered greatly from the months of strife which 
 culminated in the scenes through which we had just 
 passed, and we had scarcely arrived in Petersburg when 
 a serious collapse occurred. Mr. Clay now became so 
 weakened that fears were reiterated by all who saw him 
 that he could not survive. I was urged to take him at 
 once to Minnesota, the attending physicians all agreeing 
 that this was the one experiment in which lay a chance 
 for prolonging his life. In those days the air of that far 
 western State was supposed to have a phenomenally 
 curative effect upon the victims of asthma, from which 
 for years Mr. Clay had suffered an almost "daily death." 
 In the present acute attack, his body sick and his heart 
 sore from our late ordeals, fearful of the danger of delay, 
 I at once put into execution plans for the northward 
 trip in which lay even a slender hope for his recovery. 
 No one who had witnessed my husband's dignified with- 
 drawal from the Senate, who had heard his firm utterance 
 of what was at once a challenge to arms and a warning 
 that Alabama would defend her decision to stand alone, 
 would have recognised the invalid now struggling for his 
 life against the dread disease. He was extremely emaci- 
 ated. 
 
 "When I last saw you," wrote John T. Morgan * from 
 
 * Now United States Senator from Alabama. 
 
 153 
 
i 5 4 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 camp, some months later, "your health scarcely justified 
 the hope that you would become one of the first Senators 
 in a new Confederacy. I was grieved that when we came 
 to meet the great struggle in Alabama you were not per- 
 mitted to aid us further than by your counsels and 
 recorded opinions. I rejoice that you are again our 
 representative in a Senate where the South is not to be 
 defended against foes within her own bosom, but to reap 
 the advantage of the wisdom and experience of her own 
 statesmen." 
 
 My brother-in-law, Hugh Lawson Clay, afterward 
 Colonel on the staff of our friend, General E. Kirby 
 Smith, hurried, therefore, from Alabama to accompany 
 us upon the slow journey made necessary by Mr. Clay's 
 extreme weakness. 
 
 In due time we arrived at the International Hotel, 
 St. Paul. Here, though our stay was short, we had an 
 unpleasant experience, a single one, due to sectional 
 feeling. Having safely bestowed Mr. Clay in his room, 
 our brother made his way to the drug-store, which, as we 
 entered, we had observed was below the hotel, to purchase 
 a necessary restorative for my husband. While waiting 
 there for the wrapping of the medicine, two young men 
 entering met, and one exclaimed to the other : 
 
 " Here's a good chance ! Clay, the fire-eating Senator 
 from Alabama, is in this house. Let's mob him ! " 
 
 My brother, both indignant and surprised, was also 
 fearful lest they should carry out their threat and thereby 
 work incalculable evil to our invalid. He turned promptly 
 and addressed them: 
 
 "Mr. Clay, of whom you speak," he said, "is my 
 brother, and, it may be, a hopeless invalid. He is here 
 seeking health. You can molest him only through me ! " 
 
 But now a second surprise met him, for the two youths 
 began a very duet of apology, declaring they "had only 
 been joking." They meant no offense, they said, and, 
 
WAR IS PROCLAIMED 155 
 
 in fact, themselves were democrats. Feeling, they con- 
 tinued, was at high tide, and it was the fashion of the 
 times to denounce the South. Upon this frank acknowl- 
 edgment the trio shook hands and parted, nor did 
 Senator Clay and I hear of the altercation until the next 
 day, when it was repeated to us by a kind friend, Mr. 
 George Culver, at whose home, in St. Paul, we lingered for 
 several weeks. Here the wonderful climate appreciably 
 restored the invalid, and Mr. Clay was soon able to move 
 about, and added to his weight almost visibly. 
 
 In the meantime, the news of the gathering together 
 of armies, both North and South, came more and more 
 frequently. Everywhere around us preparations were 
 making for conflict. The news from the seceding States 
 was inspiring. My husband's impatience to return 
 to Alabama increased daily, stimulated, as it was, by 
 the ardour of our many correspondents from Montgomery 
 and Huntsville, civil and military. 
 
 "I was improving continuously and rapidly," he wrote 
 to our friend E. D. Tracy, "when Lincoln's proclama- 
 tion and that of the Governor of Minnesota reached me, 
 and I think I should have been entirely restored to health 
 in a month or two had I remained there with an easy 
 conscience and a quiet mind. But after those bulletins, 
 the demonstrations against the "Rebels" were so offen- 
 sive as to become intolerable. So we left on the 2 2d 
 [April], much to the regret of the few real friends we found 
 or made. Many, with exceeding frankness, expressed 
 their deep sorrow at our departure, since I was improv- 
 ing so rapidly; but, while appreciating their solicitude 
 for me, I told them I preferred dying in my own country 
 to living among her enemies." 
 
 Shortly after the breaking up of the ice in Lake Minne- 
 tonka, we bade farewell to the good Samaritans at St. 
 Paul and took passage on the Grey Eagle. She was a 
 celebrated boat of that day, and annually took the prize 
 
1 56 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 for being the first to cut through the frozen waters. I 
 have never forgotten the wonders and beauties of that 
 trip, beginning in the still partially ice -locked lake, and 
 progressing gradually until the emerald glories of late 
 April met us in the South ! It was on this journey that we 
 caught the first real echoes of the booming guns of Fort 
 Sumter. The passengers on board the Grey Eagle dis- 
 cussed the outlook with gravity. To a friendly lady, 
 whose sympathies were aroused on behalf of my husband, 
 still pale and obviously an invalid, I remember express- 
 ing my sorrows and fears. I think I wept, for it was a 
 time to start the tears; but her reply checked my com- 
 plainings. 
 
 "Ah, Mrs. Clay!" she said, "think how my heart is 
 riven ! I was born in New Orleans and live in New York. 
 One of my sons is in the Seventh New York Regiment, 
 and another in the New Orleans Zouaves !" 
 
 At Cairo, already a great centre of military activity 
 for the Federals, we caught a first gleam of the muskets 
 of United States soldiery. A company was drawn up in 
 line on the river bank, for what purpose we did not 
 know, but we heard a rumour that it had to do with the 
 presence on the boat of the Southern Senator Clay, and 
 I remember I was requested by an officer of the Grey 
 Eagle to place in my trunk my husband's fine Maynard 
 rifle, which had been much admired by our fellow pas- 
 sengers, and which once had been shot off during the 
 trip, to show its wonderful carrying power. Needless 
 to say, the possibly offending firearm was promptly put 
 away. After a short colloquy between the captain 
 of the vessel and the military officer, who appeared to 
 catechise him, the Grey Eagle again swung out on the 
 broad, muddy river, and turned her nose toward Memphis. 
 Now, as we proceeded down the important water-course, 
 at many a point were multiplying evidences that the 
 fratricidal war had begun. 
 
WAR IS PROCLAIMED 157 
 
 Memphis, at which we soon arrived, and which was 
 destined within a year to be taken and held by our 
 enemy, was now beautiful with blossoms. Spirea and 
 bridal wreaths whitened the bushes, and roses every- 
 where shaking their fragrance to the breezes made the 
 world appear to smile. My heart was filled with gratitude 
 and joy to find myself once more among the witchery 
 and wonders of my " ain countree " ; where again I might 
 hear the delightful mockery of that " Yorick of the 
 Glade," whose bubbling melody is only to be heard in 
 the South land ! It was a wonderful home-coming for 
 our invalid, too eager by much to assume his share of 
 the responsibilities that now rested upon the shoulders 
 of our men of the South. A period of complete physical 
 weakness followed our arrival in Mr. Clay's native city, 
 a busy political and military centre in those early days. 
 
 We spent our summer in "Cosy Cot," our mountain 
 home, set upon the crest of Monte Sano, which over- 
 looks the town of Huntsville below, distant about three 
 miles; nor, save in the making of comparatively short 
 trips, did we again leave this vicinity until Mr. Clay, 
 his health improved, was called to take his seat in the 
 Senate of the new Confederate Government, at Richmond, 
 late in the following autumn. In the meantime Senator 
 Clay had declined the office of Secretary of War in Mr. 
 Davis's Cabinet, privately proffered, believing his phys- 
 ical condition to be such as to render his assumption of 
 the duties of that department an impossibility. In his 
 stead he had urged the appointment of Leroy Pope 
 Walker, our fellow-townsman and long-time friend, 
 though often a legal and political opponent of my husband. 
 
 Now, at the time of our return, Secretary Walker was 
 at the side of our Executive head, deep in the problems 
 of the military control of our forces. Communications 
 between Huntsville and Montgomery, where the pro- 
 visional Government temporarily was established, were 
 
158 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 frequent. A special session of Congress was sitting, and 
 every one identified with our newly formed Legislature 
 at the little capital was alert and eager in perfecting our 
 plans for defense. We were given a side glimpse of our 
 President's personal activity in the following letter 
 received a few days after our return to Alabama: 
 
 "Montgomery, Alabama, May 10, 1861. 
 
 ". . . Mr. Davis seems just now only conscious of 
 things left undone, and to ignore the much which has been 
 achieved. Consequently, his time seems all taken up with 
 the Cabinet, planning (I presume) future operations. 
 Sometimes the Cabinet depart surreptitiously, one at a time, 
 and Mr. Davis, while making things as plain as did the 
 preacher the virtues of the baptismal, finds his demonstra- 
 tions made to one weak, weary man, who has no vim to 
 contend. To make a long story short, he overworks himself 
 and all the rest of mankind, but is so far quite well, though 
 not fleshily inclined. 
 
 " There is a good deal of talk here of his going to Richmond 
 as commander of the forces. I hope it may be done, for to 
 him military command is a perfect system of hygiene. 
 There have been some here who thought, with a view to the 
 sanitary condition, that the Government had better be moved 
 to Richmond, and also that it would strengthen the weak- 
 fleshed but willing-spirited border States. . . . This is 
 a very pretty place, and, were not the climate as warm as 
 is the temperament of the people, it would be pleasant; but 
 nearly all my patriotism oozes out, not unlike Bob Acres' 
 courage, at the pores, and I have come to the conclusion that 
 Roman matrons performed their patriotism and such like 
 duties in the winter. I wish your health would suffice for you 
 to come and see the Congress. They are the finest-looking set 
 of men I have ever seen collected together — grave, quiet and 
 thoughtful-looking men, with an air of refinement which 
 makes my mind's picture gallery a gratifying pendant to 
 Hamlin, Durkee, Doolittle, Chandler, etc. 
 
 "The market is forlorn, but then we give our best and a 
 warm welcome. If you are able to come and make us a visit, 
 we will have the concordances of Washington and Mont- 
 gomery. . . . Mrs. Mallory is in town on a short visit, 
 Mrs. Fitzpatrick and the Governor, Mrs. Memminger, Consti- 
 
WAR IS PROCLAIMED 159 
 
 tution Brown and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Toombs (the latter 
 is the only person who has a house). I could gossip on ad 
 infinitum. 
 
 In Huntsville a feeling of diligence in preparation was 
 everywhere evident. Our historic little town was not 
 only in the direct line of travel between larger cities, and 
 therefore a natural stopping place for travellers ; but, by 
 reason of the many legal and political lights residing 
 there, and because of its being the county seat of one 
 of the most affluent counties in northern Alabama, was, 
 and is, a town of general interest throughout the State. 
 Almost in an unbroken line, the United States Senators 
 of northern Alabama have been citizens of my husband's 
 native town. 
 
 Situate among the low hills that separate the higher 
 points of the Cumberland range, Huntsville smiles up at 
 the sky from a rare amphitheatre, hollowed in the cedar- 
 covered mountains. It is in the heart of one of the most 
 fertile portions of the Tennessee Valley. Within an 
 hour's swift ride, the Tennessee flood rolls on its romantic 
 way, and as near in another direction is the forked 
 Flint River, every bend along its leafy edges a place of 
 beauty. Up hill and down dale, ride wherever one will, 
 may be seen the hazy tops of mountains, disappearing in 
 the blue ether, and intervening valleys yellow with corn 
 or white with cotton, or green with the just risen grain. 
 In the summer the sweetness of magnolia and jasmine, of 
 honeysuckle and mimosa, scents the shady avenues 
 along which are seen, beyond gardens and magnolia 
 trees, the commodious town houses of the prosperous 
 planters. Among these affluent surroundings a high 
 public spirit had been nourished. Here the first State 
 Legislature of Alabama was convened and that body 
 met which formed the State Constitution. The simple 
 structure in which those early statesmen gathered 
 (being, in general, representatives from the families of 
 
i6o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 Virginia and the Carolinas) stood yet intact in the early 
 part of 1903. The first newspaper printed in Alabama, 
 yclept the Madison Gazette, was published in Huntsville, 
 and Green Academy (taking its name from the rich 
 sward that surrounded it), a renowned institution of 
 learning, was long a famous feature of Twickenham 
 Town, by which name Huntsville was once known. 
 
 In the early days of the township's existence, a hot 
 contest continued for years to wage between the followers 
 of two of its richest settlers as to the future appellation of 
 the pretty place. The friends of Colonel Pope, who had 
 contributed from the very centre of his plantation the 
 square upon which was built the County Court House, for a 
 time overbore the opposing parties and named the town in 
 honour of the birthplace of the immortal poet ; but, though 
 this choice was ratified by legislative act, the adherents of 
 the pioneer, John Hunt, refused to yield their wishes. 
 Mr. Hunt had discovered the site of the town while still 
 the valley was part of the Territory of Mississippi. Lured 
 by the deer he was stalking, he had come upon the big 
 spring, gushing with limpid waters. Here he pitched 
 his tent, and, gathering others about him, he fostered 
 the building of the town which, until the contest that 
 arose with the aristocratic Colonel Pope, was known 
 as Huntsville. For two years, until the original name 
 was restored by a second act of Legislature, the little 
 city was known as "Twickingham Town," and to many 
 of its old families this name remains so dear that among 
 themselves it still continues to be affectionately applied. 
 
 Half the youth of Alabama in that early day delved 
 in the classics under the guidance of the studious pro- 
 fessors of Green Academy. It was situated in a large plot 
 of ground which commanded a view of the mountain. 
 Its site was given to the town by Judge William Smith 
 (the warm friend of Andrew Jackson) on the condition 
 that it should be used only for a building for educational 
 
WAR IS PROCLAIMED 161 
 
 purposes forever. This distinguished judge was, I 
 think, the only man until Roscoe Conkling to refuse a 
 seat on the Supreme Court Bench of the United States.* 
 The charms and fascinations and general winsomeness 
 of the girls of the lovely vale, even in that early period, 
 in a measure may be imagined from the references to 
 them in the following letter, written to Clement C. Clay, 
 Jr., by this time entered at the State University at 
 Tuscaloosa : 
 
 "February 2, 1833. 
 "My Dear Clement: Richard Peete, Jere Clemens, Richard 
 Perkins, Withers Clay, John E. Mooref and myself are in a 
 class reading Horace and Graeca Majora. Clio is nearly 
 broken up, and I fear it will never be revived, as the members 
 do nothing but walk with the girls, nor do they appear to 
 think of anything else. The girls in this town are the most 
 jealous little vixens that ever breathed. I would advise you 
 as a friend (for I have gone through the fiery ordeal, and 
 should know something of the character of woman) to keep 
 a respectful distance from the fair ones; for, if you mingle 
 with them at all, you will be persuaded to mingle with them 
 more and more. How much I would give if they would 
 never harass me more!" 
 
 The roll of Huntsville's prominent men includes a 
 peculiarly large number of names that have been potent 
 in State and National capitals, in civil and in military 
 life. Scarcely a stone in its picturesque "God's Acre" 
 but bears a name familiar to the Southern ear. From 
 under the low hill on which the columned Court House 
 and historic National Bank building stand, the Big 
 Spring gushes, which has had its part in swelling the city's 
 
 * Judge Smith was the grandfather of Mrs. Meredith Calhoun, who, 
 with her husband, played a brilliant part in Paris society when Eugenie's 
 triumphs were at their height. A. S. 
 
 t John E. Moore became celebrated on the bench. He declined the 
 office of territorial judge, offered him by President Pierce, but was 
 serving as judge in a military court when he died, in 1S64. He was a 
 brother of Colonel Sydenham Moore, who fell at the battle of Seven 
 Pines. A. S. 
 
i62 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 fame. Where its source lies none can say, though 
 myths are plenty that tell of subterranean caves through 
 which it passes, and which gleam with stalactite glories. 
 Trickling freely from the sides of the mountain beyond 
 are numerous medicinal springs, and silver streams 
 thread their way among the valleys ; but nowhere within 
 the Tennessee region exists a flow that at all may 
 be compared with Huntsville's " Big Spring." If Hygeia 
 still exercises her functions, her modern home is surely 
 here. The flow of clear limestone water as it issues from 
 the rocks is wonderfully full and seemingly boundless. 
 Since the founding of the town the spring has supplied 
 all the needs of the residents, and that of armies camped 
 about it. So late as 1898 its splendid daily yield of 
 twenty-four million gallons influenced the present Govern- 
 ment to locate in and about the pretty city, while 
 awaiting the development of the Cuban War, an army 
 of twenty thousand men. 
 
 In the sixties the spring was already famous. From 
 time immemorial the pool below it had served the same 
 purpose for the negroes about as did the River Jordan 
 for the earlier Christians, and a baptism at the Big 
 Spring, both impressive and ludicrous, was a sight never 
 to be forgotten. The negroes came down the hill, 
 marching with solemn steps to weird strains of their own 
 composing, until they reached the edge of the stream 
 that forms below the spring. Here the eager candidates 
 for immersion were led into the water, when, doused for 
 a moment, they would come up again shrieking shrilly 
 a fervent Hallelujah ! As a rule, two companions were 
 stationed near to seize the person of the baptised 
 one as it rose, lest in a paroxysm of religious fervour he 
 should harm himself or others. As the baptisms, always 
 numerous, continued, the ardour of the crowd of partici- 
 pants and onlookers was sure to augment, until a mani- 
 acal mingling of voices followed, that verged toward 
 
WAR IS PROCLAIMED 163 
 
 pandemonium. The ceremony was as strange and blood- 
 curdling as any rite that might be imagined in the interior 
 of the Dark Continent. 
 
 Once, upon the occasion of a visit of two New York 
 friends, one candidate for baptism, a black man, a 
 veritable Goliath, broke loose from those who tried to 
 hold him and ran up the hill in his ecstasy, bellowing 
 like a wounded buffalo. The sounds were enough to 
 excite unmixed horror in the unaccustomed listener, but 
 the appearance of the enthusiast to me was more comical 
 than terrifying; for, being in his stockings, and these 
 conspicuous by reason of their enormous holes, his heels, 
 revealed at every step, appeared as they flashed up the 
 acclivity like the spots on a bull-bat's wings. When 
 this sable son of Anak took the field, the spectators 
 scattering right and left, my friends turned toward me as 
 if panic-stricken. They paused but a brief moment, then, 
 "standing not upon the order of their going," they, too, 
 fled from the possible charge of the half -crazed enthusiast. 
 It was no uncommon thing at such baptisms for the 
 candidates to suffer from an attack of "Jerks," a kind of 
 spasm which resulted from their excited imaginations. 
 I have seen the strength of four stout men tested to its 
 utmost to hold down one seemingly delicate negress, who, 
 fired by the "glory in her soul," was now become its 
 victim, jerking and screaming in a manner altogether 
 horrible to witness. 
 
 Above the spring and about the picturesque Square 
 and Court House, in the spring and early summer of '61, 
 the gay-hearted youth of Madison County, thronging to 
 the county seat, met in companies to drill and prepare 
 themselves for service in the war now upon us. Already, 
 by the early part of June, Alabama had "contributed 
 to the Confederacy about 20,000 muskets and rifles," 
 though she retained of these, "for her own immediate 
 protection and defense, only four thousand! I hope," 
 
i6 4 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 wrote Governor A. B. Moore, in sending this information 
 to Mr. Clay, "that volunteer companies throughout the 
 State will put the rifles and double-barrelled shot-guns in 
 order, and drill them until called into actual service." 
 
 The youths and men of Madison County needed small 
 urging. They were heart and soul for the conflict that 
 at last must be waged to preserve the homes of their 
 fathers, the heritages that were to be theirs, and their 
 right to independent government. These were the 
 incentives of our soldiers, allied to each other, regiment 
 by regiment, by blood and long association. There 
 was no need for alien hirelings to swell our ranks. The 
 questions at issue were vital, and every Southern man 
 who could bear arms sprang eagerly to assume them. 
 
 Upon our arrival in Huntsville we found the city 
 alive with preparations for defense, our mail heavy 
 with reports from every quarter of the South, of friends 
 and kinsmen who had entered the army, and many 
 exhilarated by the battles already won. An idea may 
 be gathered of the confluent interests that bound together 
 our Southern army, by a mention, as an example, by no 
 means unique, of the ramifications of the two families 
 represented by Senator Clay and myself. My husband's 
 uncle, General Withers, was already in command at 
 Mobile; his brother, Hugh Lawson Clay, was in Lynch- 
 burg, recruiting; his cousin, Eli S. Shorter, was enrolled as 
 Colonel in the C. S. A., besides whom there were enlisted 
 numerous cousins of the Withers, Comer, and Clayton 
 families. Thirty-nine cousins of my own, bearing the 
 name of Williams, were in the field at one time, and 
 innumerable Arlingtons, Drakes and Boddies, Hilliards, 
 Tunstalls and Battles served the beloved cause in various 
 capacities in civil and military life. 
 
 These conditions knit neighbourhoods as well as 
 regiments very closely together, and largely go to furnish 
 an explanation of our long struggle against the numerically 
 
L. Q. C. LAMAR 
 1862 
 
WAR IS PROCLAIMED 165 
 
 superior armies of our invaders. Our victories in those 
 early days were great, though the blood spilled to gain 
 them was precious; but the sound of mourning was 
 stilled before the greater need for encouragement to the 
 living. "Beauregard and Johnston have given the 
 fanatics something to meditate upon," wrote a cousin 
 in July of '61. "A despatch says that our loss was 
 three thousand, theirs seven thousand. Steady Beaure- 
 gard and brave Johnston ! We owe them our gratitude ! ' ' 
 
 Yes ! we owed them gratitude and we gave it to them 
 and to every man in the ranks. The women at home 
 knitted and sewed, sacrificed and prayed, and wept, too, 
 especially the aged, as they packed away the socks and 
 underwear and such comforts for the young men in the 
 field as might be pressed into a soldier's knapsack. " I 
 met Mr. Lamar's mother," wrote my sister from Macon, 
 late in May, "and spoke to her of her son's having gone 
 to Montgomery. She had not heard of it before and 
 burst into tears ! This is her fourth and last son gone 
 to the war ! ' ' 
 
 From Huntsville had gone out the gallant E. D. Tracy, 
 who, now at Harper's Ferry, wrote back most thrilling 
 accounts of military proceedings in that important 
 section of our Confederate States : 
 
 "I continue entirely well," began a letter dated from 
 Camp, near Harper's Ferry, June 8, 1861 : "And, while I 
 perfectly agree with, since conversing with, General Smith, 
 in regard to our situation, am in good spirits. I trust I 
 am ready to die when my hour comes, as becomes a 
 Christian soldier and gentleman; until that hour, I am 
 proof against shell and shot. If the enemy attacks us 
 ' we'll memorise another Golgotha ' and achieve a victory, 
 or martyrdom. Our men believe the post to be im- 
 pregnable and are anxious for fight ; if they were better 
 informed, I have no idea that their courage would be 
 in the least abated. 
 
166 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 "From the arrival of troops during the last few days, 
 I conclude that it is the purpose of Government to hold 
 Harper's Ferry. At one time I think that point was 
 undecided, and am glad to believe that it is now settled 
 as stated. The moral effect of an evacuation of a place 
 believed to be a Gibraltar would be terribly disastrous 
 to our cause; it would encourage our enemies, depress 
 our troops, and disappoint the expectation of the world. 
 Better that we perish in making a gallant defense than 
 that such consequences should be risked." 
 
 My sister, Mrs. Hugh Lawson Clay, who had joined her 
 husband in Lynchburg, wrote buoyantly, yet gravely, 
 from that troubled centre: "I wrote you a long, long 
 letter last Saturday," begins one epistle from her, "but 
 Mr. Clay would not let me send it, because, he said, I 
 told too much. He was afraid it might be read by other 
 eyes than yours. ... I look hourly to hear the 
 result of an awful battle. I cannot but fear, for we 
 cannot hope to gain such victories often as the one at 
 Bethel Church. . . . Here we hear everything, for 
 there are persons passing all the time to and from Win- 
 chester and Manassas Junction. So many men from 
 this place are stationed there that mothers and sisters 
 manage to hear every day. Mr. Tracy wrote in his last 
 that he fully expected to be in a big battle. His men 
 were eager for the fight, and he would be sure to write 
 as to the result, if it did not result in a termination of 
 his life's candle !" 
 
 As the time drew near for the opening of Congress in 
 Richmond, Mr. Clay's health, spurred to a better state 
 by an eager patriotism, eager to express itself in the 
 forum if debarred from the field, became appreciably 
 restored, and preparations were begun for an absence 
 of a few months from Hunts ville. Anxious as everyone 
 was throughout the South, and feeling the strain even of 
 victory, now flowing toward us and again ebbing to our 
 
MRS. PHILIP PHILLIPS 
 of Washington, D. C. 
 
WAR IS PROCLAIMED 167 
 
 enemies, my husband and I had few misgivings concerning 
 the safety of the home we were leaving. A hundred 
 greater dangers surrounded Richmond (as it was thought) , 
 that lay so near to the Federal lines and was the prize 
 above all others which we looked to see grappled for. 
 Yet our field lay there, and, in anticipation, it seemed 
 a pleasant and an active one, for already it was peopled 
 with throngs of our former friends. 
 
 "I almost imagined myself in Washington," wrote 
 Mrs. Philip Phillips, now returning from the Federal 
 capital, where for months she had been a prisoner. 
 "There are so many dear, old friends [in Richmond] — 
 Mrs. Mallory, Mrs. Joe Johnston, and others — awaited 
 us at the Spottswood Hotel. I spent an evening with 
 Mrs. Davis, who received me with great feeling. . . . 
 We have a terrible struggle before us. The resources of 
 Lincoln's army are great, and a defensive war will prove 
 our greatest safeguard, but, it is presumption in speaking 
 thus; only, having come so recently from the seat of 
 war, my ideas, founded upon practical knowledge of 
 what is going on at the North, may derive some value. 
 I brought on from Washington, sewed in my corsets, a 
 programme of the war sent to me by a Federal officer, 
 many of whom are disaffected. The capitalists of the 
 North demand a decisive blow, else they will not back 
 the Government." 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 Richmond as a National Capital 
 
 Richmond, as seen from the hill, with the James 
 River flowing by, its broad, level streets, full foliaged 
 trees, and spacious homes, is a beautiful city. Rich in 
 historic association, never did it appear more attractive 
 to Southern eyes than when, arriving in the late autumn 
 of '6 1, we found our Confederate Government established 
 there, and the air full of activity. To accommodate the 
 influx of Congressional and military folk, the houses of 
 the patriotic residents were thrown open, until the 
 capacity of every residence, hotel and lodging-house was 
 tested to the fullest. By the time Senator Clay and I 
 arrived, there was scarcely an extra bed to be had in 
 the city, and though everywhere it was apparent that an 
 unsettled feeling existed, there was nothing either inde- 
 terminate or volatile in the zeal with which the dense 
 community was fired. As the new-comers, for the 
 greater part, represented families which a season before 
 had been conspicuous in Washington, society was in the 
 most buoyant of spirits. Our courage was high, for 
 our army had won glorious battles against remarkable 
 odds, and, though gallant men had fallen, as occasion 
 demanded them, new heroes sprang to meet it. 
 
 For a few months we revelled in canvas-backs and 
 green-backs, undisturbed by forewarnings of coming 
 draw-backs. To furnish the tables of Richmond nearly 
 all the ducks in Chesapeake Bay fell victims. We 
 feasted on oysters and terrapin of the finest, and un- 
 measured hospitality was the order of the day on every 
 
 168 
 
RICHMOND AS A NATIONAL CAPITAL 169 
 
 side. Never had I looked upon so great an activity, 
 whether military, political, or social. I had demurred 
 when, as we were about to start for the capital, my 
 maid packed an evening dress or two. 
 
 "We are going to war, Emily," I said; "we shall have 
 no need for velvet or jewels. We are going to nurse the 
 sick; not to dress and dance." But Emily's ardour on 
 my behalf led her to rebel. 
 
 "There's bound to be somethin' goin' on, Miss ' Ginie,' " 
 she declared, "an' I ain't goin' to let my Mistis be out- 
 shined by Mis' an' dem other ladies!" And, de- 
 spite my protests, the gowns were duly packed. There 
 were many occasions afterward when I blessed the 
 thoughtfulness of my little gingerbread-tinted maid; 
 for there were heroes to dine and to cheer in Richmond, 
 both civil and military, and sombre garments are a sorry 
 garb in which to greet or brighten the thoughts of men 
 tired with the strain of building or fighting for a govern- 
 ment. 
 
 A sororal spirit actuated our women, and while our 
 greatest entertainment missed some of the mere display 
 which had marked the social events in the Federal City, 
 they were happier gatherings, for we were a people united 
 in interest and in heart. Some of the brightest memories 
 I carry of that first session are of informal evenings 
 where neighbours gathered sans ceremonie. I recall one 
 such spent at the home of the Mallorys, the occasion 
 being a dinner given to Brigadier General John H. 
 Morgan, who did the Confederacy such gallant service, 
 and was rewarded while in Richmond by the hand of one 
 of its prettiest daughters, Miss Reedy, who had been 
 a favourite in Washington society. A daughter of 
 Mr. Reedy, M.C., from Tennessee, she was the first girl 
 of her day in Washington to wear a curl upon her fore- 
 head, which coquettish item of coiffure was soon imitated 
 by a hundred others. 
 
170 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 The family of Mr. Mallory was a model one, every 
 member seeming to have his or her share in rounding out 
 the general attractiveness. An informal meal taken 
 with that family was an experience long to be remembered, 
 for the little children took each his turn in asking the 
 blessing, which was never omitted, and which was 
 especially impressive in those days, in which the shadows 
 of growing privations soon grew to be recognised if not 
 openly discussed or admitted. Our Secretary of the 
 Navy, Mr. Mallory, was the merriest of hosts, with a 
 wit as sudden and as brilliant as sheet-lightning, and 
 a power of summing up, when he chose to exert it, both 
 events and people, in the most amusing manner. A 
 picture remains clearly in my mind of the evening devoted 
 to General Morgan. Ruby Mallory, then about thirteen 
 years of age, recited for us Holmes's "The Punch-bowl," 
 while our host, in hearty enjoyment of the verses, 
 
 "Stirred the posset with his ladle," 
 
 to the rhythm of his little daughter's speech. 
 
 During our first winter in Richmond my husband and 
 I made our home with Mrs. Du Val, near to the Exchange 
 Hotel, a terrifically over-crowded hostelry at all Con- 
 federate times, and within a short walk of the Seddon 
 home, now the Executive Mansion. It was a com- 
 modious and stately structure, in which our President, 
 now domiciled, lived with an admirable disdain of display. 
 Statesmen passing through the halls on their way to the 
 discussion of weighty things were likely to hear the 
 ringing laughter of the care-free and happy Davis children 
 issuing from somewhere above stairs or the gardens. 
 The circle at Mrs. Du Val's, our headquarters, as it came 
 and went for three eventful years, comprised some of our 
 former Washington mess-mates, and others newly called 
 into public service. Among the favourites was General 
 J. E. B. Stuart, a rollicking fellow, who loved music, and 
 
RICHMOND AS A NATIONAL CAPITAL 171 
 
 himself could sing a most pleasing ballad. He was 
 wont to dash up to the gate on his horse, his plumes 
 waving, and he appearing to our hopeful eyes a veritable 
 Murat. He was a gallant soldier, what might be termed 
 delightful company, and one of the most daring cavalry 
 officers our service boasted. Twice, with comparatively 
 but a handful of men, he circled McClellan's big, un- 
 wieldly force as it lay massed, for months at a time, 
 contemplating the possibility of closing in upon our 
 capital. It may be said that upon his return to Rich- 
 mond after his first brilliant feat, General Stuart was 
 the idol of the hour. When the exigencies of the 
 service brought him again and again to the capital, 
 he entered heartily into its social relaxations. Two 
 years passed. He was conspicuous one night in charades, 
 and the next they brought him in, dying from a ghastly 
 wound received upon the battle-field. 
 
 I have said we were in gay spirits during that first 
 session of the Confederate Congress; but this condition 
 was resolved upon rather than the spontaneous expression 
 of our real mood, though hope was strong and we were 
 armed with a conviction of right upon our side, and with 
 the assurance of the courage of our soldiers, which filled 
 us with a fine feminine scorn of the mere might of our 
 assailants. Our editors, filled with patriotism and alert, 
 kept us informed of the stirring events of the field and of 
 the great victories which, until the loss of Fort Donelson 
 and the fall of Nashville, so often stood to our credit. 
 Scarcely a triumph, nevertheless, in which was not borne 
 down some friend who was dear to us, so that all news 
 of victory gained might be matched with the story of 
 fearful loss. However, such was our loyalty to the 
 cause, that the stimulus of our victories overbore the 
 sorrow for our losses, sustaining our courage on every 
 side. Before that first session of Congress adjourned, 
 we had buried an army of brave men, among them Generals 
 
172 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 Zollicoffer and Albert Sidney Johnston. Our coast was 
 closed by the blockading fleets of the Federal Govern- 
 ment. We had lost New Orleans, and the Tennessee 
 Valley was slipping from us. Hunts ville, which lay 
 directly in the path of the invading army, itself threat- 
 ened, was now become a hospital for the wounded from 
 abandoned Nashville. By the early spring the news 
 from our family was ominous of deeper disaster to our 
 beloved town. 
 
 "The public stores have been sent on from Nashville," 
 wrote mother, early in March of '62, from Huntsville, 
 "and from four to ten thousand men are said to be 
 here or expected. . . . Yesterday the excitement 
 was greater than I have known. Men were seen 
 walking or riding quickly, and martial music told the 
 tale of danger. . . . There are said to be a thou- 
 sand sick and wounded here. They have no bedding 
 but a blanket, and are placed in houses through 
 which the wind blows. Rain spurts over the sick men's 
 couches, cooling their fever and making their blood 
 congeal, so that death interposes for their relief ! It is 
 rumoured that the President will be here to-night. 
 People were up (last night) till two o'clock, waiting to 
 see him. . . 
 
 General Pillow is at the hotel, but told Dr. Slaugh- 
 ter he would not bring Mrs. Pillow here, as General 
 Buell intends to make this place his headquarters ! 
 . . . I have no time to speculate on the future, 
 but try to encourage others to have courage and faith, 
 and not to discourage our soldiers by permitting their 
 fears to be known; but to stimulate them by letting 
 them see the firmness and calm trustfulness with which 
 we commit more than our lives to their keeping ! ' ' 
 
 The news of Huntsville's danger was our private 
 anxiety in Richmond, where each Senator and Congress- 
 man carried the burden of apprehension for his own kin 
 
RICHMOND AS A NATIONAL CAPITAL 173 
 
 and family possessions well concealed ; for at the capital 
 the nation's losses and gains loomed large and obscured 
 the lesser ones of individuals. Moreover, always before us 
 was the stimulus of the presence of fearless men and the 
 unceasing energy of our President. 
 
 I remember on one occasion seeing President Davis 
 passing down the street, beside him, on the left, General 
 Buckner; on the right, General Breckenridge — three 
 stalwart and gallant men as ever walked abreast; 
 and as I watched them the thought came involun- 
 tarily, "Can a cause fail with such men at the 
 head?" 
 
 Throughout the life of Richmond as a capital, the 
 streets were peopled with soldiers on their way to or from 
 the several headquarters. There was an unintermitting 
 beating of drums, too often muffled, and the singing of 
 merry bugles. With the knowledge that we were in the 
 city which, more than any other, invited and defied the 
 attacks of the enemy, a sense of danger spurred our spirits. 
 Though the boom of guns was often not a distant sound, 
 and the solemn carrying in of our wounded became 
 increasingly frequent, few gave way to apprehensions or 
 doubts; for, as I have said, there were heroes in 
 Richmond to cheer, and our women, putting away from 
 their minds the remembrance of the wounds they had 
 dressed in the morning visit to the hospitals, smiled and 
 devised entertainments well calculated to lift the burden 
 of responsibility, at least for the time being, from the 
 minds and hearts of our leaders, legislative and military. 
 Among the most active hostesses were Mrs. Randolph, 
 wife of one of the members of President Davis's Cabinet, 
 and Mrs. Ives, who put on some charming private theat- 
 ricals in their parlours; there were the Lees and Harri- 
 mans; the Ritchies and Pegrams and Welfords; the 
 Masons and Warwicks, MacFarlanes, Seldens, Leighs 
 (near relatives, these, of Patrick Henry) ; besides the 
 
i74 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 Branders, West Robinsons, Walkers, Scotts, Coxes, 
 Cabells, Semmes, Ives, and other hostesses of renown and 
 long pedigree, whose homes dispensed the friendliest hos- 
 pitality. 
 
 " Do you not remember?" wrote Mrs. Semmes, of New 
 Orleans, to whom I put some queries concerning an episode 
 of that life in Richmond, " do you not remember Mrs. 
 Stannard, who had such a charming house and gave such 
 delicious teas, alluring such men as Soule, Commodore 
 Barrow, Henry Marshall, of Louisiana, Butler King, and 
 last, though not least, our dear old Vice-President 
 Stephens ? She boasted that she never read a book, and 
 yet all these distinguished gentlemen gathered around 
 her board and ate those hot muffins and broiled chicken 
 with gusto ! " 
 IS* These, and unnumbered other faces, rise before me as 
 I recall the great amateur performance of "The Rivals," 
 which made that first winter in Richmond memorable 
 and our hostess, Mrs. Ives, famous. In that performance 
 Constance Cary, a beauty of the Fairfax family, captured 
 all hearts as the languishing Lydia, among them that of 
 our President's Secretary, Colonel Burton Harrison, whose 
 wife she afterward became. 
 
 Recalling that interesting evening, Mrs. Harrison 
 wrote very recently, "It seems an aeon since that 
 time, but I have a very vivid recollection of the fun 
 we had and of how prettily Mrs. Ives did everything, 
 spite of grim-visaged war ! Flow I wish I could do any- 
 thing now with the same zest and rapture with which 
 I put on Lydia's paduasoy and patches ! Brother Clar- 
 ence, then a very youthful midshipman, was the Fag, and 
 my hero, Captain Absolute, was Mr. Lee Tucker, who has 
 vanished, for me, into the mists of time ! I have not heard 
 his name in years ! ' ' 
 
 The fame of that entertainment, the excitement which 
 the preparation for it caused, spread far beyond the picket 
 
RICHMOND AS A NATIONAL CAPITAL 175 
 
 lines, and we heard afterward that a daring officer of 
 McClellan's army hadplanned to don the Confederate uni- 
 form and cross the lines to take a peep at the much- 
 talked-of performance. "There was a galaxy of talent 
 and beauty in that fairest city of the South," writes my 
 friend, Mrs. Ives, recalling, in 1903, those scenes of the 
 early sixties, "from which I was able to select a strong 
 cast which pre-assured us a brilliant performance. 
 Miss Cary was bewitching, her fair beauty accentuated by 
 the rich costumes she donned for the occasion and which 
 had been worn by her distinguished ancestors in the days 
 of the Old Dominion's glory ! Your sister-in-law, Mrs. 
 H. L. Clay, was so fascinating as Lucy that she captivated 
 her husband anew, as he afterward told me ; and then, 
 besides, there was pretty Miss Herndon, who tortured her 
 Falkland into jealousy."* 
 
 As that historic evening's pleasures crown all other 
 recollections of social life in the Confederate capital, 
 so soon to be in the eclipse of sorrow and undreamed-of 
 privations, I cannot refrain from recording some 
 incidents of it. Those who took part in the performance 
 (or their descendants) are now scattered in every State 
 of the Union, and it is only by the cooperation 
 of some who remember, among them Mrs. Cora Semmes 
 Ives, of Alexandria, Va., Mrs. Myra Knox Semmes, 
 of New Orleans, and Mrs. Burton Harrison, of New 
 York, that I am enabled to gather together again 
 the names of the cast which charmed Richmond's three 
 hundred during the first session of the C. S. A. Congress. 
 They were: 
 
 * Of Mrs. Clay herself, renowned for her histrionic talent, Mrs. Ives 
 wrote : "It was the hope of having you take the part of Mrs. Malaprop 
 that encouraged me to undertake the amateur production of Sheridan s 
 play. I felt sure that if all others failed, your acting would redeem all 
 deficiencies. You carried the audience by storm. ... I can see 
 you yet, in imagination, in your rich brocaded gown, antique laces and 
 jewels, high puffed and curled hair, with nodding plumes which seemed 
 to add expression to your amusing utterances!" A. S. 
 
1 76 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 Sir Anthony Absolute .... Mr. Randolph, of Richmond 
 
 Captain Absolute Mr. Lee Tucker 
 
 Sir Lucius O 'Trigger (and he had an unapproachable brogue) 
 
 Robert W. Brown, N. Carolina 
 
 Fag Midshipman Clarence Cary 
 
 David Mr. Robinson, of i Richmond 
 
 Lydia Languish Miss Constance Cary, Virginia 
 
 Julia Miss Herndon, Virginia 
 
 Lucy, maid to Lydia Mrs. Hugh Lawson Clay, Alabama 
 
 Mrs. Malaprop Mrs. Clement C. Clay, Alabama 
 
 Harpist, Mrs. Semmes Fitzgerald 
 
 Pianist, Miss Robinson. 
 
 For this great occasion no efforts were spared in the 
 rehearsing of our cast, nor in the preparation of our ward- 
 robe. Mrs. Drew, being at that time engaged in playing 
 a precarious engagement at the local theatre (the price of 
 seats not exceeding seventy-five cents, as befitted the 
 times) , was invited to a private consultation and criticism 
 of the parts, and it gives me some pleasure, even at this 
 day, to remember her approval of my interpretation of 
 the difficult role I had had the hardihood to assume. 
 Our Sir Lucius acquired for the occasion a brogue so rich 
 that almost as much time (and trouble) were necessary 
 to eradicate it from his speech in the weeks that followed 
 as had been spent in attaining it. 
 
 The defection of one of the cast for the after-piece 
 (Bombastes Furioso) caused our hostess to display a 
 genuine ability for stage management. Unacquainted 
 with the part she was herself compelled to assume, Mrs. 
 Ives resolved to bring her audience to a state of leniency 
 for any possible shortcomings by dazzling them with the 
 beauty of her apparel. A picture hat from Paris had just 
 run the blockade and arrived safely to the hands of little 
 Miss Ruby Mallory, for whom it had been destined. It 
 was a Leghorn, trimmed with azure velvet and plumes of 
 the same shade. It was an especially appropriate head- 
 gear for a character given to dreaming "that all the pots 
 
RICHMOND AS A NATIONAL CAPITAL 177 
 
 and pans had turned to gold," and an appeal made to the 
 owner brought it swiftly into the possession of Mrs. Ives. 
 Her success was instantaneous. "I declare," she said 
 when the play was over, "nothing but that Paris hat 
 saved me from an attack of stage fright !" 
 
 The home of Lieutenant Ives on this occasion was 
 crowded to its utmost capacity, the guests comprising 
 President and Mrs. Davis, the Cabinet and Congressional 
 members, together with prominent generals, numbering 
 in all three hundred. The stage, erected under the super- 
 vision of our host, an expert engineer, was a wonderful 
 demonstration of his ingenuity. Placed at one end of 
 the long Colonial parlours, it commanded the eye of every 
 visitor. The performance gave the utmost delight to 
 our audience, and Secretary Mallory, who had seen " The 
 Rivals" (so he told me) in every large city of the United 
 States, and on the boards at Drury Lane, declared it had 
 never been given by a cast at once so brilliant and so able ! 
 Be that as it may, the remembrance of that performance 
 for forty years has remained as the most ambitious social 
 event in the Confederate States' capital. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 Glimpses of Our Beleaguered South Land 
 
 While few, I think, perceived it clearly at that early- 
 day, yet in the spring of '62 the fortunes of the Confederacy 
 were declining. Many of our wisest men were already 
 doubtful of the issue even where belief in the justice of 
 our cause never wavered. Looking back upon the 
 prophecies of ultimate defeat that were uttered in those 
 days, by men accustomed to sound the security of govern- 
 ments, I am thrilled at the flood of patriotic feeling on 
 which our men and women were borne to continue in 
 arms against such overwhelming forces and conditions as 
 were brought against them. For months before that 
 first Congress adjourned, from every part of our federated 
 States, eager petitioning, complaints and ominous news 
 reached us. Gold, that universal talisman, was scarce, 
 and Confederate currency began to be looked upon with a 
 doubtful eye. So far-seeing a man as Judge John A. Camp- 
 bell, writing to Mrs. Campbell from New Orleans early in 
 April, 1862, said : " In the event of the restoration of North- 
 ern rule, Confederate money may be worthless. I pro- 
 ceed on that assumption. It will certainly depreciate 
 more and more. Hence, your expenditures should be 
 Confederate money, and, in any event, the bank-notes of 
 Georgia, Virginia and Louisiana are preferable to Con- 
 federate bills. If the war should last another year, the 
 embarrassments of everyone will be increased tenfold ! " 
 
 Within a few months the face of our capital had 
 changed. McClellan's ever-swelling army in the penin- 
 sula became more and more menacing. The shadow of 
 
 178 
 
GLIMPSES OF OUR BELEAGUERED SOUTH 179 
 
 coming battles fell over the city, and timid ones hastened 
 away to points that promised more security. Some went 
 to the mountain resorts " to escape the hot term " in Rich- 
 mond, but many of the wives and daughters of non- 
 householders, even among those known to possess a cool 
 courage, moved on to the Carolinas or returned to their 
 native States. As the close of the Congressional session 
 drew near, there was a continual round of good-byes and 
 hand-shakings, and even an attempt now and then at a 
 gaiety which no one actually felt. 
 
 Our markets grew suddenly poor, and following quickly 
 upon the heels of a seeming prosperity, a stringency in 
 every department of life in the city was felt. The cost of 
 living was doubled, and if, indeed, any epicures remained, 
 they were glad to put aside their fastidiousness. Within 
 a year our vermicelli, when we had it at all, would have 
 warranted an anglicising of its first two syllables, and 
 our rice, beans, and peas, as well as our store of grains 
 and meal, began to discover a lively interest in their war- 
 time surroundings. We heard tales of a sudden demand 
 for green persimmons, since a soldier, feeding upon one of 
 these, could feel his stomach draw up and at once forget 
 that he was "hawngry." I remember hearing the story 
 of a certain superficial lady who spoke disdainfully, in the 
 hearing of Mrs. Roger A. Pry or, of a barrel of sorghum 
 which some friend had sent her from a distance. Full of 
 contempt, she ordered the offending gift to be taken away. 
 "Horrid stuff!" she said. 
 
 " Horrid ?" asked Mrs. Pry or, gently. " Why ! in these 
 days, with our country in peril, I am grateful when I am 
 able to get a pitcher of sorghum, and I teach my children 
 to thank God for it ! " 
 
 Our mail, from many quarters, was now become a 
 Pandora's box, from which escaped, as we opened it, 
 myriad apprehensions, dissatisfactions or distresses. 
 " Pray," wrote a friend from New Orleans, " when you see 
 
180 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 the President, beg him to give some attention to the dis- 
 loyal element in the cities, and particularly in this city, 
 which is filled with strangers who appear and disappear 
 in the most mysterious manner, go to private boarding- 
 houses, examine the defenses, etc., etc." 
 
 "I am thus far on my way home," wrote William L. 
 Yancey, from the same city, in a letter dated March 14, 
 1862, "having left Havana on the 26th ultimo on a 
 small schooner, and arrived at Sabine Pass on the 6th. 
 Two of Lincoln's vessels had been anchored in the channel 
 of that harbour for a week and only left twenty-four 
 hours before my arrival. . . . This city is almost 
 in a state of revolution," he added. "Fifteen hundred 
 of its weathiest and most respectable citizens and good 
 Southerners have organised an association and resolved 
 to assume executive and judicial functions to arrest, 
 try, imprison, banish or hang ! . There is un- 
 
 doubtedly a deep-seated feeling of wrong done them 
 and of anxiety for the city's safety at the bottom of all 
 this, and this association should not be treated as a 
 mere lawless mob. Their success, however, would be 
 the knell of our cause in England, and perhaps on the 
 Continent. I am doing all I can to throw oil on the 
 troubled waters, and I hope with some effect." 
 
 Shortly after his arrival in Richmond, Mr. Yancey, 
 whom my husband greatly admired, spent a morning in 
 our chamber — space was too costly at this time to admit 
 of our having a private parlour — in conference with 
 Mr. Clay, and a more hopeless and unhappy statesman 
 I never saw. The people in England, he declared, were 
 for, but Parliament opposed to us, and his mission, 
 therefore, had been fruitless. Every action and each 
 word he uttered demonstrated that he knew and felt 
 the ultimate downfall of the Confederacy. 
 
 By a singular coincidence, almost under the same 
 circumstances but some months later, a similar con- 
 
GLIMPSES OF OUR BELEAGUERED SOUTH 181 
 
 ference took place in our rooms, but Mr. Lamar was now 
 the returned diplomat. But recently home from an 
 unfinished mission to Russia, our long-time friend talked, 
 as had Mr. Yancey, with a conviction that our cause was 
 hopeless. Mr. Lamar had proceeded only so far as Lon- 
 don and Paris, when, observing the drift of public feeling 
 abroad, he took ship again, arriving, as did many of our 
 returned foreign emissaries, on the top of a friendly 
 wave. The sea was peculiarly inimical to the cause of 
 the Confederate States, sinking many of the merchant 
 ships we succeeded in sending through the blockading 
 fleets that beset our coast, and wrecking our ambassadors 
 wherever it could grapple them, even on our very shores. 
 
 By the time Congress closed in the spring of '62, the 
 news from the Tennessee Valley was distracting. The 
 enemy had succeeded in reaching our home, and Hunts- 
 ville was now become the headquarters of General O. M. 
 Mitchell. If that gentleman had taken delight in any- 
 thing besides the vigorous exercise of an unwelcome 
 authority, he might have found there an ideal spot for 
 the prosecution of his astronomical researches. The 
 span that rests upon the opposite apices of Monte Sano 
 and Lookout Mountain is one of gorgeous beauty. Upon 
 a clear night the planets glow benignly upon the valley, 
 the little stars laugh and leap and go shooting down 
 great distances in a manner unparalleled in more northerly 
 latitudes. Though generally loyal to the cause of the 
 Confederacy, the people of Huntsville were not indis- 
 posed to look upon the author-soldier with considerate 
 eyes, had that General adopted a humane course toward 
 them. Unfortunately, his career in our valley from 
 beginning to end was that of a martinet bent upon the 
 subjugation of the old and helpless and the very young, 
 our youths and strong men being away in the field. 
 
 The accounts that reached us by letter and by eye- 
 witnesses of the scenes in the Clay home were alarming. 
 
182 
 
 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 Everything belonging to the Clays, it was rumoured, was 
 to be confiscated. "Judge Scruggs told Stanley," wrote 
 mother, " that the Clays are to be stript of all." Father's 
 negroes, and most of our own, were conducting them- 
 selves in an insolent manner, taking to the mountains 
 when there was work to be done, or wandering in the 
 train of straggling Union soldiers, but returning when 
 hungry to feed upon their master's rapidly diminishing 
 stores. In some instances, relying upon the protection 
 of the soldiers, the negroes of the town would take pos- 
 session of the home of an absent master, revelling in an 
 opportunity to sleep in his bed or to eat from the family 
 silver and china. 
 
 A dozen times a day, and at unreasonable hours, if the 
 invading soldiery saw fit, they entered the houses of the 
 citizens in what was often merely a pretended search for 
 some concealed Confederate, or to demand food or drink 
 or horses. They were constantly on the lookout for the 
 possible visits, to their families, of the distinguished 
 citizens in temporary banishment from Huntsville. 
 The presence of General Pope Walker being suspected 
 (though no longer Secretary of War, he would have been 
 a desirable prize to take, since he had issued orders for 
 the firing of the first gun at Fort Sumter), for months 
 the home of our friend ex-Governor Chapman, in which 
 the family of General Walker had taken refuge, was 
 searched dairy, the vigilants being so scrupulous in their 
 investigations that even the leaves of a dictionary were 
 parted, lest the wily late Secretary should spirit himself 
 away between its covers.* 
 
 "The enemy came demanding food or horses," wrote 
 
 * I asked Mrs. Milton Humes, daughter of ex-Governor Chapman, 
 concerning these war-time search-parties. "I remember distinctly," 
 she answered, "seeing them look into preserve jars and cut-glass decali- 
 ters, until my mother's risibles no longer could be repressed. 'You 
 don't expect to find General Walker in that brandy bottle, do you?' 
 she asked." A. S. 
 
GLIMPSES OF OUR BELEAGUERED SOUTH 18 
 
 o 
 
 mother, "taking all they could of breadstuff s, meat 
 stock, and all the able-bodied negroes, whether willing or 
 not. Our men hid, but they took the horses and mules, 
 and promised to return in a week and take every- 
 thing!" 
 
 Alas, poor little mother ! Those were but the beginning 
 of bitterer days and yet sterner deprivations ! For 
 months the only hope of our beleagured neighbours in 
 Huntsville lay in the prayed-for advance of General 
 Bragg, though their prayers, too, were interdicted when 
 made in the church; and, upon the investment of the 
 town, our pastor, Doctor Bannister, * was quickly 
 instructed as to the limited petitions with which he 
 might address his God on behalf of his people. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the courage of our citizens was kept 
 alive by General Roddy, who lay over the crest of Monte 
 Sano. The forays of his men were a perpetual worry to 
 the Federals in the valley. So audacious, indeed, did 
 they become that the Federal general razed the houses 
 on "The Hill" and threw up breastworks, behind which 
 he built a stout fort, the better to resist the possible 
 attacks from the mountain side by brave General Roddy 
 and his merry men. 
 
 During General Mitchell's investment of Huntsville he 
 was accompanied by his daughters, who, in the ransacking 
 of our home, fell heiresses to certain coveted and "con- 
 fiscated" articles of my own, but the possession of which 
 could scarcely have been an unmixed pleasure. I heard 
 of my losses first through a letter written late in August. 
 "Mr. Hammond," began the epistle, "says in Atlanta he 
 saw a lady just from Nashville who told him that Miss 
 Mitchell rode out in your green habit on your mare! This 
 part of the story," continued my witty sister, "may be 
 true, but there is another: that the other Miss Mitchell 
 
 t Dr. J. M. Bannister, at the ripe age of eighty-six, still continues in 
 active pastoral charge of the Church of the Nativity in Huntsville. A. S. 
 
i8 4 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 rode in my habit on my mare ! I'm glad I had no mare, 
 
 and am sorry for poor ' Jenny Lind ' ! " 
 
 Months afterward I heard (and any who asks may still 
 hear the story in the town, for it has become one of Hunts- 
 ville's war-time annals) an account of Miss Mitchell's 
 outings in my now celebrated green habit. Her path, it 
 seems, as she trotted my pretty mare about the streets, 
 was not strewn with roses; for, though absent from our 
 beloved little city, I was not forgotten. One day the 
 horsewoman, passing proudly on her way, saw, looking 
 over the garden gate of a pretty cottage, the laughing face 
 of sweet Alice Spence, a right loyal admirer of my unde- 
 serving self. Alice looked up at the passing apparition, 
 and, full of daring, half mischievously, half indignantly, 
 cried out after it, " Hey ! Git off 'Ginie Clay's mare ! 
 Git — off — 'Ginie Clay's ma — are !" 
 
 At the sound of these words Miss Mitchell galloped 
 away in great anger. While Alice was still regaling her 
 mother with a jubilant account of her championship of 
 my property, a proof reached her of General Mitchell's 
 implacability. That afternoon her brother was ordered 
 into arrest, and for months thereafter was kept in custody 
 as a guarantee for his sister's good behaviour ! 
 
 When, later, Mr. Clay and I were enabled to visit 
 Huntsville (the Federals having been beaten back for a 
 time) , I heard of an amusing encounter which took place 
 at the home of the Spences between Mrs. Spence and John 
 A. Logan. A swarthy stripling in appearance, the young 
 ofhcer stood carelessly about, whilst several soldiers of 
 his command were engaged in a search of the premises. 
 As Mrs. Spence entered the room in which the ofhcer 
 stood, she eyed him with genuine curiosity. 
 
 " Whose boy are you ?" she asked at last. Her daugh- 
 ter, who was beside her, caught her mother's arm in 
 alarm. 
 
 Why, ma !" she gasped. " That's General Logan !" 
 
GLIMPSES OF OUR BELEAGUERED SOUTH 185 
 
 "General Logan!" repeated her mother, contemptu- 
 ously. " I tell you he's nothing of the kind ! He's 
 black!" 
 
 It was already early summer when we left the troubled 
 capital, where everyone was keyed to a high pitch of 
 excitement by the manceuvrings of the enemy, now so 
 near that the reverberating sound of distant cannon was 
 plainly audible. Our way was southward. Though 
 withdrawing, as I supposed, for a change of scene during 
 the Congressional recess only, in reality my refugee days 
 had now begun; for, notwithstanding I made several 
 later stays of varying duration at Richmond, the greater 
 part of the two succeeding years was spent at the homes 
 of hospitable kin far away from that centre of anxiety and 
 deprivation. Upon leaving Richmond, in May of '62, 
 Senator Clay and I, stopping en route at the home of my 
 uncle, Buxton Williams, in Warrenton, North Carolina, 
 proceeded by easy stages to Augusta, Macon and Colum- 
 bus, where many of our kinfolks and friends resided, and 
 to which cities I often returned, when, from time to time, 
 the exigencies of the war compelled my husband and 
 me to separate. Georgia, save when Sherman's men 
 marched through it, two years later, was the safest and 
 most affluent State in the Confederacy ; but in the sum- 
 mer of '62 there were few localities which did not retain, 
 here and there at least, an affluent estate or two. Until 
 almost the end of hostilities the home of my uncle Williams 
 in Warrenton continued to be with us in Richmond the 
 synonym for plenty. When I had starved in the capital, 
 I dropped down to " Buxton Place," whence I was sure to 
 return laden with hampers of sweets and meats and bread 
 made of the finest "Number One" flour, which proved a 
 fine relief to the "seconds" to which the bread-eaters of 
 the Confederate capital were now reduced. In the course 
 of a year molasses and "seconds" (brown flour with the 
 bran still in it) came to be regarded as luxuries by many 
 
186 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 who but a short time ago had feasted capriciously upon 
 the dainties of a limitless market. 
 
 My uncle Williams was an astute man, and when he 
 was assured that war had become a settled fact, instead 
 of hoarding his means for the benefit of invading soldiers, 
 he retired to his country home, bought out the contents 
 of a local store, which he transferred to his own cup- 
 boards and pantry, and made "Buxton Place" to "kith 
 and kin" the most generous and hospitable of asylums. 
 It was a peaceful, happy place, set among ample grounds, 
 with noble trees rising about, in which birds carolled as 
 they coquetted among the foliage and squirrels gambolled 
 at their will through the long, lazy days. No chicory and 
 sugar, adopting the alias of coffee, found place on that 
 sumptuous board in those first years, but only the bona 
 fide stuff ! We had sugar in abundance, and pyramids of 
 the richest butter, bowls of thick cream, and a marvellous 
 plenitude of incomparable "clabber." 
 
 Once, during our wandering that autumn, we slipped 
 over to " Millbrook," the home of my cousins the Hilliards, 
 and thence to Shocco Springs, long a famous North 
 Carolina resort, where, to the music of a negro band, 
 the feet of a merry little company went flying over the 
 polished floor as if the world were still a happy place, 
 despite its wars and wounds and graves and weeping 
 women. 
 
 Life at dear old "Millbrook," rich with a thousand 
 associations of my childhood and family, still ran serenely 
 on. The loudest sound one heard was the hum of the bee 
 on the wing as it rushed to riot in the amber honey sacs 
 of the flowers. But whether at "Millbrook" or "Bux- 
 ton Place," whether we outwardly smiled or joined in the 
 mirth about us, inwardly my husband and I were tor- 
 tured with fears born of an intimate knowledge of our 
 national situation. We watched eagerly for our de- 
 spatches, and, when they came, trembled as we opened 
 
GLIMPSES OF OUR BELEAGUERED SOUTH 187 
 
 them. Some of our communications rang with triumph, 
 others with an overwhelming sadness. 
 
 A thrilling letter from Richmond reached us after the 
 terrible "Battle of Seven Pines." A mere mention of 
 that deadly conflict for years was enough to start the 
 tears in Southern eyes, and sons and daughters, as they 
 grew up, were taken back to look upon the bloody field 
 as to a sacred mausoleum. The letter was written by 
 Robert Brown, our erstwhile Sir Lucius, of Mrs. Ives's 
 famous performance, and now serving as aide-de-camp to 
 General Winder. 
 
 "I have been beholding scenes of carnage," he wrote 
 on the 10th of June. " On the afternoon of the 31st ult. 
 Winder and myself rode down to the battle-field. The 
 reports of the cannon were distinctly heard here, and as 
 we approached the field, the firing became terrific ! We 
 met wounded and dying men, borne upon litters and sup- 
 ported by solicitous friends. The scene was revolting to 
 me, but, singular to say, in a very short time I became 
 accustomed to this sight of horror, and the nearer we 
 approached the line of battle, the nearer we wished to get ; 
 but we were quite satisfied to get so near the line (proper) 
 as the headquarters of General Longstreet, which was 
 under a fine old oak tree on a slight elevation. The Gen- 
 eral was there, sitting most complacently upon a fine 
 horse, surrounded by his staff, who were riding away at 
 intervals bearing his orders to the line and returning. We 
 were about a quarter of a mile from the engagement, and 
 we could distinctly hear the shouts of victory of our 
 gallant troops, literally driving the enemy before them. 
 Entrenchment and battery after battery were wrested 
 from the Yankees by our splendid troops, old North 
 Carolina leading them ! 
 
 " Imagine the powder burnt ! I tell you, the firing was 
 awful, but glorious ! Near the headquarters of Long- 
 street were regiments of splendid, eager troops drawn up 
 
1 88 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 in line as a reserve. Amid the heavy firing, the glorious 
 cheering of our troops, squad after squad of Yankee 
 prisoners were brought up to Longstreet under guards 
 buoyant with victory; and, as each reached headquar- 
 ters, I tell you that the reserve force would send up a yell 
 of delight that split the air and made old earth tremble ! 
 One little brave band of fifty-five South Carolinians 
 brought in one hundred and sixty-six live Yankees and a 
 Captain whom they had taken! The excitement was 
 intense ! The firing ceased at seven o'clock. I remained 
 in the field until the last gun was fired. Our troops 
 occupied the enemy's camp that night and all the next 
 day ; and Monday our military talent thought it prudent 
 and best to fall back and give the enemy the vantage 
 ground we had gained ! 
 
 "General Johnston was wounded, but not seriously, it is 
 said. Smith's horse was shot in two places, on the shoul- 
 der and just back of the saddle; the General's coat-tail, 
 they say, was seriously injured. Lieutenant-Colonel 
 Sydenham Moore was wounded ; the ball struck his watch, 
 literally shattering it ! General Pettigrew was not killed, 
 but seriously wounded, and fell into the hands of the 
 enemy. They, thank God, lost two brigadier generals 
 and one seriously wounded. Our total loss, killed and 
 wounded, was thirty-five hundred. The enemy acknowl- 
 edge eight hundred killed and four thousand wounded. 
 It was a fearful fight ! 
 
 " We have good news every day from Jackson ! To-day 
 brings us the news of his having ' completely routed the 
 enemy, taking six pieces of artillery ! ' Old Stonewall is 
 certainly the Hero of the War, and unless our Generals 
 Beauregard and Johnston look sharp, he will entirely 
 take the wind out of their sails and leave them in the 
 Lee- ward !" 
 
 "The city is filled with the wounded and dead," echoed 
 our cousin John Withers. " It is fortunate you are away 
 
GLIMPSES OF OUR BELEAGUERED SOUTH 189 
 
 and saved the necessity of beholding the horrible sights 
 which are now so common here ! Great numbers of 
 Alabamians are killed and wounded. . . ." And he 
 added in a letter, written in an interval of the awful 
 Seven Days Battles: "For four days I have been 
 awaiting some decisive move on the part of our forces, 
 but nothing has been done yet to settle affairs. 
 McClellan has not been routed, but his army is, 
 no doubt, demoralised to such an extent as to render 
 any other demonstration against Richmond out of the 
 question for many weeks. . . . The President 
 has come up from the battle-field, and I hear that a 
 courier from the French and British Consuls is to leave 
 here for Washington to-night or in the morning. We 
 will secure between thirty and forty thousand small arms 
 by our late operations; many of them much injured by 
 being bent. The enemy have a position now which we 
 cannot well assail successfully. They are under their 
 gunboats and have gotten reinforcements. . . . There 
 is a report to-night that Magruder has captured eight 
 hundred Yankees to-day, but I place no reliance upon 
 any rumour until it is confirmed as truth. General Beau- 
 regard has made a most successful retreat to Baldwin, 
 thirty-five miles south of Corinth, on the Mobile and Ohio 
 Railroad. The move was necessary, and I have no doubt 
 will be a great blow to the enemy. He carried all his 
 heavy guns, tents, and so on. General Lee is in com- 
 mand of the army hereabouts, and I am sure we will whip 
 McClellan 's army when the grand contest shall take place. 
 The rain of last night will forbid any movement for two 
 or three days. When the fight opens again, we will have 
 thousands upon thousands of wounded here!" 
 
 Such were the accruing records of woe and of personal 
 and national loss which followed Senator Clay and me 
 throughout those autumn months of '62. The inroad 
 made upon the gallant regiments of our own State were 
 
i 9 o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 frightful. The ranks of the splendid Fourth Alabama Regi- 
 ment, picked men of our finest blood, the flower of our 
 hopes, as handsome a body as a State might muster, were 
 terribly thinned. Wherever a call came our Alabamians 
 were found in the front, the envy and admiration of the 
 army, quickening the courage and firing the imaginations 
 of every company that beheld them. But oh ! our men 
 had need of a mighty courage, for soon the very seed- 
 corn of our race became a sacrifice. The picture rises 
 before me of a youthful cousin * who fell at Malvern Hill, 
 shot down as he bore aloft the banner which he fondly 
 hoped would lead to victory. His blood-stained cap, 
 marked by a bullet hole, was all that returned of our 
 fair young soldier boy. Another youth, f on whom the 
 love and hope of a dear circle was settled, fell with his 
 heart pierced, and so swift was the passing of his soul 
 that he felt no pain nor sorrow. They say an eager 
 smile was on his face when they found him. For years 
 his loved ones, gazing upon it with weeping eyes, treas- 
 ured the blood-stained, bullet-torn handkerchief that 
 had lain over the wounded heart of the boy ! 
 
 The tears start afresh when, looking into my memory, 
 there passes before me that army of the dead and gone. 
 Oh ! the sorrow that overcame all who knew him (and 
 the circle was wide as half the South itself) when the 
 news came of the death of Colonel Sydenham. Moore, who 
 fell at Seven Pines; and even the enemy spoke solemnly 
 at the passing of our beloved General Tracy, who died 
 so courageously fighting in the battle of Port Gibson, 
 within three-quarters of a year ! "I have little active 
 service at this post," he complained from Vicksburg, in 
 March of '63, "and the very fact incapacitates me for 
 the discharge of duties of other kinds. In fact, I am 
 ennuied past description!" So, chafing impatiently to 
 
 * Harry, son of Buxton Williams. 
 
 f James Camp Turner, of Alabama, died at Manassas. 
 
GLIMPSES OF OUR BELEAGUERED SOUTH 191 
 
 write his name in brave deeds across some page of the 
 Confederate States' history, he sprang to meet the call 
 when it came, and fell, crowned with immortal glory in 
 the hearts of a loving people. 
 
 General Tracy's young wife was awaiting him, an 
 infant at her bosom, when we returned late in November 
 of '62 for a brief stay at Huntsville, from which, for a 
 time, the Union soldiers had been beaten back. By 
 this time our valley seemed so safe that families from 
 other threatened districts came to take refuge in it. 
 Colonel Basil Duke, among others, brought his wife to 
 Huntsville. Numerous absentee householders came 
 back; and interest in local enterprises was resumed. 
 When, in December, my husband returned to his duties 
 in the Senate, there was small reason to apprehend an 
 early reappearance, in Huntsville, of the Federals. 
 "North Alabama," General Bragg assured my husband, 
 "is as secure now as it was when I held Murfreesboro !" 
 And on this assurance our spirits rose and we departed 
 again, promising ourselves and our parents we would 
 return within a few months at most. 
 
 Mr. Clay proceeded at once to Richmond, beset now 
 with deadly enemies within as well as without. Small- 
 pox and scarlet fever raged there, as in many of our 
 larger cities, and I pleaded in vain to be allowed to 
 accompany him. I turned my way, therefore, in com- 
 pany with others of our kin, toward Macon, where was 
 sojourning our sweet sister, Mrs. Hugh Lawson Clay, at 
 the home of Major Anderson Comer, her father. Thence 
 it was proposed I should proceed with her later to Rich- 
 mond under the escort of Colonel Clay. 
 
 That winter the weather was peculiarly cold, so 
 much so that on the plantations where wheat had 
 been sown, a fear was general lest the grain be 
 killed in the ground. The journey to Macon, there- 
 fore, was anything but comfortable, but it had 
 
i92 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 its amusing sides nevertheless. We were a party of 
 women. 
 
 "We arrived safely (self, Kate, Alice and servants)," I 
 wrote in a kaleidoscopic account which I gave my husband 
 of the indications of the times as seen en route. " We rode 
 from Stevenson to Chattanooga on the freight train, the 
 baggage-cars on the passenger-train being unable to 
 receive a single trunk. Arriving at Chattanooga, we 
 would have been forced to go to the small-pox hotel or 
 remain in the streets but for the gallantry of an ac- 
 quaintance of ours, an army officer of Washington 
 memory, who gave up his room to us, and furnished some 
 wagons to have our baggage hauled to the depot. At 
 Atlanta there was a scatteration of our forces. 
 When night came" (being fearful of robbery, for hotels 
 were unsafe) " I stuffed in one stocking all my mone}^, 
 and in the other, mine and Alice's watches, chains, pins, 
 and charms. I felt not unlike Miss Kilmansegg, of the 
 precious Leg. We fumigated the room, had a bed 
 brought in for Emily, and retired. At breakfast Colonel 
 Garner told me that Uncle Jones [Withers] was in the 
 house, and in a few minutes he presented himself. He 
 got in at three that morning, en route for Mobile with 
 thirty days' leave; looked worn, and was sad, I thought. 
 Colonel George Johnson, of Marion, also called, and we 
 had them all and Dr. W., of Macon, to accompany us to 
 the cars. The guard at the gate said ' Passport, Madam,' 
 but I replied, ' Look at my squad ; General Withers, 
 Colonel Garner of Bragg's staff, and a Colonel and Lieu- 
 tenant in the Confederate service. I think I'll pass!'" 
 And I passed! 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 Refugee Days in Georgia 
 
 Our stay in Macon, where it had been my intention 
 to remain but a few weeks, lengthened into months; for, 
 upon his arrival in Richmond, Senator Clay found the 
 conditions such as to render my joining him, if not 
 impracticable, at least inadvisable. The evils of a 
 year agone had multiplied tenfold. Food was growing 
 scarcer; the city's capacity was tested to the uttermost, 
 and lodgings difficult to obtain. The price of board 
 for my husband alone now amounted to more than his 
 income. Feeling in legislative circles was tense, the 
 times engendering a troublesome discontent and strife 
 among eager and anxious politicians. Complaints from 
 the army poured in. Our soldiers were suffering the 
 harshest deprivations. Wearing apparel was scarce. 
 Many of our men marched in ragged and weather-stained 
 garments and tattered shoes, and even these were luxuries 
 that threatened soon to be unattainable. Our treasury 
 was terribly depleted, and our food supply for the army 
 was diminishing at a lamentable rate. 
 
 "You will be surprised to know," wrote General 
 Tracy from Vicksburg, in March, 1863, "that in this 
 garrisoned town, upon which the hopes of a whole people 
 are set, and which is liable at any time to be cut off from 
 its interior lines of communication, there is not now 
 subsistence for one week. The meat ration has already 
 been virtually discontinued, the quality being such that 
 the. men utterly refuse to eat it, though the contract 
 
 193 
 
i 9 4 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 
 continues to be worth between one thousand and fifteen 
 hundred dollars per diem." 
 
 "A general gloom prevails here because of the scarcity 
 and high price of food," ran a letter from my husband, 
 written in the same month from Richmond. "Our 
 soldiers are on half rations of meat, one-quarter pound 
 of salt, and one-half pound of fresh meat, without vege- 
 tables, or fruit, or coffee or sugar ! Don't mention this, 
 as it will do harm to let it get abroad. Really there is 
 serious apprehension of having to disband part of the army 
 for want of food. In this city the poor clerks and sub- 
 altern military officers are threatened with starvation, 
 as they cannot get board on their pay. God only knows 
 what is to become of us, if we do not soon drive the 
 enemy from Tennessee and Kentucky and get food from 
 their granaries. ... I dined with the President 
 yesterday at six p. m., en famille, on beef soup, beef stew, 
 meat pie, potatoes, coffee and bread. I approved his 
 simple fare and expressed the wish that the army in the 
 field had more to eat and that out of the field less ! " 
 
 The receipt of this news stirred me to the core. Spring 
 was in its freshest beauty in Macon. Its gardens glowed 
 with brilliant blossoms. A thousand fragrant odours 
 mingled in the air ; the voices of myriad birds sang about 
 the foliaged avenues. I thought Aunt Comer's home a 
 terrestrial Paradise. The contrast between the comfort 
 in this pretty city of lower Georgia, a city of beautiful 
 homes and plentiful tables, and our poverty-stricken 
 capital and meagre starving camps, was terrible to 
 picture. I wrote impulsively (and, alas ! impotently) 
 in reply to my husband's letter: 
 
 "Why does not the President or some proper authority 
 order on from here and other wealthy towns, and im- 
 mediately at that, the thousands of provisions that fill 
 the land? Monopolists and misers hold enough meat 
 and grain in their clutches to feed our army and Lincoln's ! 
 
REFUGEE DAYS IN GEORGIA 195 
 
 Put down the screws and make them release it ! Talk 
 of disbanding an army at a time like this ? No ! empty 
 the coffers and graneries and meat houses of every 
 civilian in the land first !" 
 
 Many an eager and impatient hour my sister and I 
 spent in those months of waiting for the call from our 
 husbands to join them in the capital. Her sprightly wit 
 and unfailing courage made her a most enjoyable com- 
 panion, and a great favourite with all who knew her. 
 "Give my love to your sunbeam of a sister," Secretary 
 Mallory wrote me during those dark days. " If not one 
 of the lost Pleiads, at least she is a heavenly body!" 
 And when I quoted this to dear "Lushe" Lamar, he 
 answered from the fulness of his heart: " Mallory 's 
 compliments grow languid in their impotence to do 
 justice to that beautiful embodiment of bright thoughts 
 and ideal graces, your sister, Celeste." I found her 
 all this and more in that spring we spent together in 
 Macon, as we daily sat and planned and compared our 
 news of the battle-fields, or discussed the movements of 
 the army. We did a prodigious amount of sewing and 
 knitting for our absent husbands, to whom we sent 
 packages of home-made wearing apparel by whomsoever 
 we could find to carry them. I remember one such which 
 gave us considerable anxiety; for, proving too large to 
 impose upon General Alf . Colquitt, who had undertaken to 
 deliver another to Senator Clay, we sent the bundle by 
 express. The robe which General Colquitt carried was 
 soon in the hands of its future wearer, but not so the 
 express package, which contained a pair of much-needed 
 boots for Colonel Clay. It lingered provokingly along the 
 road until we were filled with apprehension for its safety. 
 
 "Won't it break us if all those things are stolen?" I 
 wrote my husband. "A thousand dollars would not 
 buy them now ! ' ' And I said truly, for the prices of the 
 commonest materials were enormous. "Men's boots 
 
196 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 here are from sixty to eighty dollars," wrote Mr. Clay 
 from Richmond ; and in Macon all goods were a hundred 
 per cent, higher than they had been in Huntsville. 
 Ordinary fifteen-cent muslin now sold in Georgia at two 
 and a half dollars per yard, and "sold like hot-cakes" at 
 that. My sister and I bought what we could and made 
 our husbands' shirts — knitting the heavier ones — and 
 hemmed their handkerchiefs; and we rose to such a 
 proficiency with the needle that we did not hesitate to 
 undertake the manufacture of vests and trousers of 
 washable stuffs. I made a pair of the last-named for my 
 husband's little god-son, Joe Davis, and sent them to 
 Richmond by Colonel Lamar; but I think the dear 
 child did not live to don them. He died tragically at the 
 Executive home within a year, the waves of the war 
 quickly obscuring from the world about the remembrance 
 of the sweet baby face. 
 
 April had arrived when, journeying from Macon to 
 Richmond, I had my first real experience of war-time 
 travel. By this time people were hurrying from place 
 to place in every direction, some to seek refuge, and 
 some to find or to bring back their dead. The country 
 beyond the Georgia boundary was alert, apprehending 
 the approach of the steadily advancing Federals. 
 Throughout the spring the feeling had been rife that a 
 crucial period was approaching. My husband wrote 
 cautioning me to prepare to meet it. " During the 
 months of April and May," he said, in a letter dated 
 March 23d, "the result of the war will be decided by at 
 least four of the greatest battles the world has ever 
 witnessed, near Charleston or Savannah, Fredericksburg, 
 Murfreesboro, and Vicksburg or Port Hudson. If they 
 triumph on the Mississippi, the war will continue for 
 years ; if they fail there, I cannot think it will last longer 
 than Lincoln's administration, or till March of 1865.* I 
 
 * It ended in April, 1865. 
 
REFUGEE DAYS IN GEORGIA 197 
 
 regard events there as the most important, because the 
 Northwest will not aid the war much longer if the Missis- 
 sippi is not opened to their trade. The result of the 
 grand battle to come off at the first opportunity between 
 Bragg and Rosecrans will determine our movements 
 during the recess of Congress, and, it may be, our destiny 
 for life. If we whip the enemy, our home will again be 
 open to us ; if he whips us, it will fall under his dominion 
 for many months to come, and nothing will be left to us 
 that he can use or destroy." Almost as Mr. Clay wrote, 
 Huntsville was again invested by Federal soldiery, and 
 we could not, if we had wished, have returned to it. 
 
 When my sister and I departed from Georgia, passenger- 
 cars generally were impressed for the use of soldiers, 
 sick or wounded, or for those who were hurrying to the 
 front. I heard of instances in which travellers, unable 
 to find room in the regular cars, and eager to get to some 
 given point, begged for the privilege of squeezing into 
 the car in which express packages were carried. 
 
 Having held ourselves for some months in readiness 
 for the journey, we had kept informed as to the presence 
 of possible escorts in Macon. Once we planned to travel 
 under the protection of Captain Harry Flash, a poet who 
 had won some distinction for his affecting lines on the 
 death of General Zollicoffer, and his stirring verses on 
 the Confederate Flag. It fell to our lot, however, to 
 travel with two poets, who in days to come were to be 
 known to a wider world. They were Sidney and Clifford 
 Lanier, young soldiers, then, on their way to Virginia. 
 Sidney's sweetheart lived in the town, and the brothers 
 had stopped at Macon to make their adieux. Upon 
 learning of the objective destination of the young men, 
 my sister and I held out the bribe to them, if they would 
 undertake to escort us, of a fine luncheon en route; 
 " broiled partridges, sho' nuf ' sugar and sho' nuf ' butter, 
 and spring chickens, 'quality size,'" to which allure- 
 
198 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 merits, I am glad to say, the youthful poets succumbed 
 with grace and gallantry, and we began our journey. 
 
 The aisles of the cars were crowded. At many stations, 
 as we came through North Carolina, women entered the 
 car with baskets of "big blues," the luscious native 
 huckleberries, with full, deep bloom upon them; these 
 and other tempting edibles were brought aboard at almost 
 every station along the way. When our pleasant party 
 separated at Lynchburg, and the youths sat alone in 
 their tents, they recalled in pages truly characteristic 
 the memories of that long journey, in which, like tired 
 children, they had sometimes fallen asleep, Clifford's 
 head upon my sister's shoulder, and Sid's upon mine. 
 
 " I will wait no longer," wrote Clifford,* from the camp 
 near Suffolk (Virginia), on April 17th, "but at once, 
 and without cer'emonie, write the little love letter I have 
 promised, disarming (if men, as some one says of flowers, 
 'be jealous things') the jealousy of your Lieges, by 
 addressing it to my Two Dear Friends and quondam 
 fellow-travellers. What a transition is this — from the 
 spring and peace of Macon, to this muddy and war- 
 distracted country ! Going to sleep in the moonlight 
 and soft air of Italy, I seem to have waked imbedded 
 in Lapland snow. Yet, as I would not be an Antony, 
 with a genius bold, and confident in Egypt, but a trembler 
 and white-livered, in presence of Octavius at Rome, I 
 summon all my heroism, doff that which became me 
 when environed by flowers, poetry, music and blooming 
 maidens, and don shield and mail (that's figurative for 
 Kersey), prepared to resist ruder shocks than those of 
 love's arrows. Par parenthese, how the Yankees would 
 suffer, if we could do our devoirs as bravely and as heartily 
 in the heat and dust and smoke of battle, as in the 
 charmed air of ladies ! 
 
 * Then in the Mounted Signal Service, Milligan's Battalion, from 
 Georgia, and on the staff of General S. D. French, now of Florida. A.S. 
 
REFUGEE DAYS IN GEORGIA 199 
 
 " Enough about us. I wonder what this will find our 
 friends doing? My dear Mrs. Celeste? Embroidering 
 the Senatorial laticlave or musing on sweet Macon, 
 sweeter Huntsville? Mrs. Virginia? In whatever mood 
 or occupation, it is agreed you have this advantage of 
 us: you carry your sunshine with you; we men, being 
 but opaque and lunatic bodies, can give light only by 
 reflection. Imagine, then, in what ' Cimmerian dark- 
 ness ' we revolve here. If you would throw a ray through 
 this darkness, show us one glimpse of the blue sky through 
 all this battle-smoke, write to us, directing care General 
 French, Franklin, Virginia. I shall regard, most affec- 
 tionately, the carrier who brings such intelligence from 
 that office to these headquarters. The huge shell that 
 has just shrieked across the intervening distance from 
 the enemy's trenches to our pickets, and exploding, is 
 not yet done reverberating, reminds me that I might 
 tell you a little of our situation here. 
 
 "The reticence of our General forbids all knowledge 
 of his plans and ultimate designs. I can only say that 
 our army, embracing three divisions, closely invests 
 Suffolk on three sides, its water and railroad com- 
 munications into Norfolk being still complete, except 
 that General French, having possession of one bank of 
 the river, is working hard to get into position guns of 
 sufficient calibre to destroy their gun-boats. That, in 
 the meantime, large foraging parties and immense wagon- 
 trains have been sent out for provisions. So that this 
 of forage may be the grand design after all, and instead 
 of living that we may fight, are fighting that we may 
 live, the latter being a very desperate situation, but the 
 more laudable endeavour of the two, perilling our lives, 
 not only for the vitality of our principles as patriots, but 
 for the very sustenance of our lives as men, seeking corn 
 and bacon as well as the 'bubble reputation at the can- 
 non's mouth.' But I began a love-letter; I fear I am 
 
2oo A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 ending most unetherially. Starting to wing a flight across 
 the sea, Icarus-like, my wings have proved to be of wax, 
 melting with a too near approach to the sun, and I find 
 myself floundering, and clearing my nose and eyes and 
 mouth of the enveloping salt water. Being not even a 
 swimmer, I escape drowning by ending (Icarus found 
 nereids and yellow-haired nymphs to assist him), with 
 much love to your husbands, and an infinite quantity to 
 yourselves, Yours, 
 
 "Cliff Lanier." 
 
 "God bless you both. Write to us!" said Sid., our 
 dear Orpheus of the South. " Have you ever, my Two 
 Good Friends, wandered, in an all-night's dream, through 
 exquisite flowery mosses, through labyrinthine grottoes, 
 'full of all sparkling and sparry loveliness,' over moun- 
 tains of unknown height, by abysses of unfathomable 
 depth, all beneath skies of an infinite brightness caused 
 by no sun; strangest of all, wandered about in wonder, 
 as if you had lived an eternity in the familiar contem- 
 plation of such things ? 
 
 "And when, at morning, you have waked from such 
 a dream and gone about your commonplace round 
 of life, have you never stopped suddenly to gaze 
 at the sun and exclaimed to yourself, 'what a singular 
 thing it is up there; and these houses, bless me, what 
 funny institutions, not at all like my grottoes and 
 bowers, in which I have lived for all eternity; and those 
 men and women walking about there, uttering strange 
 gibberish, and cramming horrid messes of stuff in their 
 mouths, what dear, odd creatures ! What does it all 
 mean, anyhow, and who did it, and how is one to act, 
 under the circumstances?' 
 
 " If you have dreamed, thought and felt so, you can 
 realise the imbecile stare with which I gaze on all this 
 life that goes on around me here. Macon was my two- 
 
REFUGEE DAYS IN GEORGIA 201 
 
 weeks' dream. I wake from that into Petersburg, an 
 indefinitely long, real life. . . . 
 
 "Sid Lanier." 
 
 Of the after months of '63, the story of my life is one 
 of continuous change. I migrated between Richmond 
 and our kin at Petersburg, paying an occasional visit to 
 Warrenton, North Carolina, so long as the roads were 
 open, or sometimes visiting our friends, the McDaniels, 
 at Danville; sometimes, accompanied by our sister, I 
 made a visit to the near-by camps, or to the multiplying 
 colonies of the sick and wounded. He was a fortunate 
 soldier in those terrible days, who fell into the hands of 
 private nurses. Patients in the hospitals suffered, even 
 for necessary medicines. Sugar was sold at fifty Con- 
 federate dollars a pound. Vegetables and small fruits 
 were exceedingly scarce. My visits to the hospital wards 
 were by no means so constant as those of many of my 
 friends, yet I remember one poor little Arkansas boy in 
 whom I became interested, and went frequently to see, 
 wending my way to his cot through endless wards, 
 where an army of sick men lay, minus an arm, or leg, 
 or with bandaged heads that told of fearful encounters. 
 The drip — drip of the water upon their wounds to prevent 
 the development of a greater evil is one of the most 
 horrible remembrances I carry of those days. I went 
 through the aisles of the sick one morning, to see my little 
 patient, a lad of seventeen, not more. Above the pillow 
 his hat was hung, and a sheet was drawn over the cot 
 — and the tale was told. 
 
 In Richmond, Miss Emily Mason (sister of John Y. 
 and James M. Mason), and Mrs. General Lee were inde- 
 fatigable in their hospital work; and Mrs. Phoebe Pember, 
 sister of Mrs. Philip Phillips, was a prominent member of a 
 regularly organised Hospital Committee, who, afterward, 
 recorded her experiences in an interesting volume, reflect- 
 
202 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 ing the gay as well as the grave scenes through which she 
 had passed ; for, happily, in the experiences of these 
 self-sacrificing nurses there was often a mingling of the 
 comical with the serious which had its part in relieving 
 the nerve-tension of our noble women. On every side the 
 inevitable was plainly creeping toward us. The turmoil 
 in the governmental body augmented constantly. The 
 more patriotic recognised that only in increased taxation 
 lay the prolonging of our national life ; but, at the mention 
 of such measure, protests poured in from many sides. 
 Our poor, wearied citizens could ill sustain a further 
 drain upon them. To the credit of my sex, however, we 
 never complained. No Roman matron, no Spartan 
 mother, ever thrilled more to the task of supporting 
 her warriors, than did we women of the South land ! 
 To the end we held it to be a proud privilege to sacrifice 
 where by so doing we might hold up the hands of our 
 heroes in field or forum. 
 
 " I pity those who have no country to love or to fight 
 for!" wrote Mrs. Yulee, the "Madonna of the Wickliffe 
 sisters," from her home in Florida. "It is this very 
 country of yours and mine that induces me to write 
 this letter. I want you to use your influence (you have 
 much) to induce those law-makers to come up to our 
 necessities. Tax ! tax ! tax our people to half we have, 
 if necessary, but let the world know we are paying ! 
 Ten victories will not give the Yankees such a blow as 
 this fact. Now, Mrs. Clay, God has given you many 
 friends. Stir them up to their duty ! . . . Bragg's 
 defeat fills us all with gloom, yet we are not discouraged. 
 I have never felt a doubt of my country, but dark and 
 painful trials are yet before us, perhaps ! " 
 
 Alas ! Alas ! 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 C. C. Clay, Jr., Departs for Canada 
 
 I was in Richmond at my husband's side when Dahl- 
 gren's raid was made. Early one morning the cry of 
 danger came. We were still at breakfast, when Senator 
 Henry, of Tennessee, hurried in. "No Senate to-day, 
 Clay ! " he cried. " A big force of the enemy is at Lyons's, 
 and every man in the city is needed ! Arm yourself, 
 and come on ! " and he hastened on his way to warn 
 others. Members of Congress shouldered guns, where 
 they could get them, and mounted guard around the 
 capital. They were an untrained mass, but they came 
 back victors and deliverers of the city. 
 
 The armies having gone into winter quarters, as the 
 close of Mr. Clay's Senatorial career in Richmond drew 
 near, he seriously contemplated a period of needed rest 
 from public duties. Bent upon this, he declined a 
 judgeship in the Military Court, which had been pressed 
 upon him by Mr. Davis. We dallied with enticing invi- 
 tations that reached us from Florida, and planned what 
 was to be a veritable vacation at last, together. 
 
 "Mr. Yulee is delighted with the hope of seeing you ! " 
 wrote the lovely chatelaine of "Homosassa." "He 
 will fish with Mr. Clay, and we will do the same ! Just 
 think how good oysters will be in these sad times ! Do 
 come, dear Mr. and Mrs. Clay, just as soon as Congress 
 adjourns ! My dear sister, Mrs. Holt, had a tender and 
 sincere affection for you. ... " 
 
 The prospect of a visit to that lovely retreat, built 
 upon an island, deep in the green glades of Florida and 
 
 203 
 
2o 4 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 far away from the political and martial strife of the inter- 
 vening States, was very tempting to my wearied husband, 
 a true lover of woods and trees and the sweet solitudes 
 of a bucolic life ; but we were destined not to enjoy it. 
 Early in the spring of '64, Mr. Clay felt it his duty to 
 accept the high responsibility of a diplomatic mission to 
 Canada, with a view to arousing in the public mind of 
 this near-by British territory a sympathy for our cause 
 and country that should induce a suspension of hostilities. 
 Despite the failure of our representatives in European 
 countries to rouse apathetic kings and dilly-dallying 
 emperors to come to our aid, it was hard for us to believe 
 that our courage would not be rewarded at length by 
 some powerful succour, or yielding. 
 
 "I send you my speech," wrote dear Lamar to me 
 from his sick-bed in Oxford, Georgia, so late as June, '64. 
 " The views presented in reference to Louis Napoleon may 
 strike you as at variance with some of the acts, in which 
 his Imperial Highness has done some very uncivil things 
 in a very civil way. But his sympathy is with us. It 
 is his policy to frighten the Yankees into acquiescence in 
 his Mexican enterprise, and he no doubt would be glad to 
 give French neutrality in American affairs for Yankee 
 neutrality in Mexican affairs. In this he will fail, and 
 he will sooner or later find his policy and inclinations 
 jump together. After all, the British people are more 
 friendly to us than all the world besides, outside of the 
 [question of] Southern Confederacy. This friendship, 
 like most national friendships, is mixed up with a large 
 part of alloy, fear of the Yankees forming the base. But 
 respect for the South and admiration of her position 
 is the pure metal, and there is enough of it to make their 
 good-will valuable to us." 
 
 So thought many of our noblest statesmen, when, early 
 in the Spring, Mr. Clay started on his way through our 
 blockaded coast for Canada. "I earnestly desire that 
 
C. C. CLAY, JR., DEPARTS FOR CANADA 205 
 
 his services may prove effectual in securing a permanent 
 peace to our bleeding country; that his efforts may be 
 recorded as one of the brightest pages in its history," 
 wrote one; and from every quarter Mr. Clay and his 
 companions were followed by the prayers of a people, 
 wrung from hearts agonised by our long, exhausting 
 strife. When the parting came, the shadow of impending 
 evil fell so blackly upon my soul, I hastened away from 
 disturbed Petersburg, accompanied by my faithful maid, 
 Emily, and her child, determined to act upon Mr. Clay's 
 suggestion and seek my kin in Georgia. Petersburg was 
 in the greatest confusion, guns resounding in every direc- 
 tion. Our dear Aunt Dollie Walker, the saint, whose 
 faith (her Bishop said) had kept Episcopalianism alive 
 in Virginia through those troublous times, told us in after 
 days of having been literally chased up the streets by 
 cannon balls. It was one of the best cities in the Con- 
 federacy at that period to get away from. 
 
 I began my journey southward, pausing a day or two 
 at Danville; but, fearing each moment to hear news of 
 the appearance of impeding armies, blocking my way 
 through the Carolinas, I hastened on. The news from 
 the capital which reached us while in Petersburg had 
 been of the worst. 
 
 "You have no idea of the intense excitement," wrote 
 my sister. " I am so nervous I know not what to write ! 
 No one goes to bed here at night. For several nights 
 past no one could have slept for the confusion and noise. 
 The city has been in a perfect uproar for a week. We 
 have heard firing in two directions all the morning, on 
 the Brook Turnpike and at Drewry's Bluff. The wounded 
 are being brought into the city in great numbers. General 
 Walker is wounded ! Poor General Stafford's death cast 
 a gloom over the city. I went with Mr. Davis to his 
 funeral, and carried flowers ! . General Benning 
 
 is wounded, and Colonel Lamar, our dear L. Q. C.'s 
 
2o6 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 brother, also. ... At the wedding" [of Miss Lyons] 
 "you never saw such disorder in God's house before in 
 your life. Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Mallory and Mrs. Most- 
 everybody-else, stood up in the pews, and you could not 
 hear one word of the service for the noise. Mr. Davis 
 was there — Mrs. Chestnut sat with me. She is going home 
 very soon, so the Colonel told me. He said it was impos- 
 sible for her to remain in Richmond with nothing to eat ! " 
 
 To my sister's panorama of horrors, our brother, who 
 was stationed in Richmond, added a masculine picture. 
 
 "The enemy press us sorely with powerful forces of 
 cavalry and infantry," he wrote. "The former cut off 
 our communications everywhere, hoping to reduce Lee 
 to starvation, and the presence of the latter keeps from 
 him reinforcements that otherwise would be promptly 
 sent. We have lost severely around the city. General 
 Stuart was shot by a Yankee soldier who fired upon him 
 at ten paces as he galloped past him. He died last night, 
 about twenty-eight hours after he received the wound. 
 Brigadier General Gordon, also of the cavalry, had his 
 arm shattered yesterday above the elbow, and 'tis said 
 will probably have to suffer amputation. Mr. Randolph, 
 the 'Sir Anthony Absolute' of your play, was wounded 
 yesterday in the shoulder and thigh, and will lose the 
 limb to-day. All the clerks of the office are in the 
 intrenchments and no work goes on!" 
 
 Upon learning of my determination to push on to 
 Georgia, our sister put away her anxiety and grew 
 facetious at my expense. " I am inclined to think you 
 are a great coward," she wrote. "Why did you run 
 from Petersburg? ... I am almost ashamed of 
 you ! You never catch me running from Yankees ! 
 Georgia is certainly a safe place. . . . When we 
 have killed all the Yankees and the city is perfectly quiet, 
 I invite you to come on and see us. . . . I am weary 
 from walking (not running) to see the wounded!" 
 
C. C. CLAY, JR., DEPARTS FOR CANADA 207 
 
 A month or so later and my sweet sister, speeding to 
 overtake me, joined me at Macon, in time to accompany 
 me to the home of our friend, Mrs. Winter, in Columbus. 
 Here, to compensate for the tribulations of the past 
 months, we were promised the most care-free of summers. 
 Refugees were flocking to that land of safety and plenty 
 just then, and whether in Macon or Columbus, our time 
 was spent in welcoming late-comers, in visiting and 
 exchanging news or comment of the times, or making 
 little excursions to near-by towns. Once we formed a 
 party and visited the "White Farm" of Augusta Evans, 
 then unmarried. It was a unique place and celebrated 
 for the unsullied whiteness of every bird and beast on 
 the place. 
 
 Upon our arrival at our friend's home in Columbus, 
 we found a very active field awaiting us. It was 
 now mid-summer of '64, somewhat after the bloody 
 battle of Atlanta. In anticipation of our coming, 
 Mrs. Winter had prepared her largest and coolest rooms 
 for us. All was ready and we about due to arrive, when 
 an unforeseen incident frustrated our hostess's plans in 
 regard of our intended pleasuring, and put us all to more 
 serious work. It was in the late afternoon when our 
 friend, driving in her calash along the boundaries of the 
 town, came upon a pitiful sight. Near a group of tents 
 a sick man, a soldier, lay writhing upon the ground in a 
 delirium, while near by and watching him stood his 
 alarmed and helpless coloured servant. Mrs. Winter, 
 aroused to pity by the sight, immediately gave orders 
 that the sufferer be carried to her home, where he was 
 placed in the room that had been prepared for me. 
 
 When my sister and I arrived, a few hours afterward, 
 our sympathies, too, were at once enlisted for the un- 
 fortunate man. He proved to be Captain Octave 
 Vallette, a Creole, who, previous to his enlistment, with 
 his brother, had been a ship-builder at Algiers, Louisiana. 
 
2o8 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 A physician was already in attendance when my 
 sister and I arrived, and an examination of the invalid's 
 wounds was making. 
 
 A week had elapsed since the first hasty dressing of 
 the wound, and the blackened flesh now suggested the 
 approach of the dreaded gangrene. 
 
 The cleansing of the dreadful wound was a terrible 
 ordeal. For days the patient raved, and to us, just 
 from the camps and hospitals of Virginia, his frenzied 
 words conveyed most vivid pictures of the experiences 
 our men were meeting in the deadly fray. 
 
 " God ! What a hole for soldiers to be in ! " he would 
 cry ; and then would mumble on incoherently until, in an 
 accession of fevered strength, he would burst out, "Give 
 them hell, boys !" while his negro man stood by, blinded 
 by tears. 
 
 Finally, however, our care was rewarded, and our in- 
 valid began slowly to recover. The first day he was 
 able to ebdure it, we took the Captain to drive in Mrs. 
 Winter's calash. He was still weak, and very melan- 
 choly; the injured arm was stiff and all but a useless 
 member. We tried to cheer him by merry talk. 
 "Surely," we said at last, as we drove by a new-made 
 cemetery, with its bare little whitewashed head-boards, 
 "weak as you are, isn't this a great deal better than 
 lying out there with a board at your head marked 
 ' O. V. ' ? " At this he smiled, but grimly. 
 
 The ensuing months to me were a time of indecision. 
 My sister departed to rejoin her husband in Richmond, 
 and I, feeling quite cut off from those nearest to me, 
 formed numerous plans for leaving the Confederate 
 States. I wished to go to Mr. Clay in Canada, or to 
 England, where so many dear friends were already 
 installed ; and so earnestly did this desire fix itself in my 
 mind that wheels were set in motion for the securing of 
 a passport. My friends in Richmond and in Georgia 
 
C. C. CLAY, JR., DEPARTS FOR CANADA 209 
 
 urged me to reconsider. Mr. Clay might even then be on 
 his way home ; would I not come to the capital and wait ? 
 But I declined, and kind Secretary Mallory acceded to 
 my wishes, though cautioning me against our enemies on 
 the seas. " I only wish I could send you abroad in a 
 public vessel," he wrote, as he inclosed Mr. Seddon's pass- 
 port, "but I have not a blockade runner under my 
 control. 
 
 "You will, of course, avoid Bermuda and Nassau. 
 The yellow-fever still rages and embraces new-comers at 
 the very beach; and knowing that nothing on earth 
 would ever fail to embrace you that had the power of 
 doing so, and having a painful experience of his warm 
 and glowing nature, I am anxious that you shall keep 
 out of his way. . . . Angela and Ruby send their 
 love. They regret, with me, that your promised visit to 
 us is not to be paid." 
 
 Yet, after all these preparations I remained; for, as 
 the weeks passed, it seemed clear Mr. Clay was likely to 
 arrive at any time. His associate, Professor Holcombe, 
 had already returned, though wrecked off the coast of 
 Wilmington. Whole ship-loads of cotton, which had 
 succeeded in running the blockade and which we fondly 
 hoped would replenish our pocket-books, had gone to 
 the bottom. On the whole, travel by sea grew less and 
 less attractive. I concluded to remain on terra firma, 
 but to go on toward Augusta and Beech Island, South 
 Carolina, that I might be nearer the coast when Mr. 
 Clay should arrive. Ere I left Columbus I had a ludi- 
 crous adventure. Upon coming downstairs one morn- 
 ing, I saw, approaching the outer, wide-open door, 
 a large, portly figure clad in Macon Mills muslin. 
 Beyond him, in the street, a wagon stood, or was 
 passing. It was loaded with watermelons. As I 
 noted them and the figure approaching, I connected the 
 two at once, and called back to my hostess, with all the 
 
2io A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 enthusiasm for which I was ever famous at the near 
 prospect of a "million," "Cousin Victoria! Don't you 
 want some melons? Here's a watermelon man!" To 
 my surprise, as I neared the door a hearty laugh rang 
 out; a cordial hand was extended to me, and I recognised 
 before me genial, jovial General Howell Cobb, who had 
 left his military duties for the moment, in order to 
 welcome me to Georgia. His long beard, which he 
 declared he never would shave until our cause was won, 
 together with the copperas and unbleached suit of muslin, 
 had quite disguised him for the moment. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 The Departed Glories of the South Land 
 
 My memories would be incomplete were I to fail to 
 include in them a description of plantation life that may 
 be taken as a type of the beautiful homes of the South 
 in that long ago before the Civil War. From Maryland 
 to Louisiana there had reigned, since colonial times, an 
 undisturbed, peaceful, prosperous democracy, based upon 
 an institution beneficial alike to master and servant. It 
 was implanted in the South by the English settlers, ap- 
 proved by the English rulers, and fostered by thrifty 
 merchants of New England, glad to traffic in black men 
 so long as there were black men upon the African coasts 
 who might be had in exchange for a barrel of rum. 
 Generations living under these conditions had evolved a 
 domestic discipline in Southern homes which was of an 
 ideal order. Nothing resembling it had existed in 
 modern times. To paraphrase the nursery rhyme, the 
 planter was in his counting-house counting out his 
 money; his wife was in the parlour eating bread and 
 honey; the man servant was by his master's side, the 
 maid with her mistress, the meat-cook at his spit and 
 the bread-cook at the marble block where the delicious 
 beaten biscuit were made in plenty. The laundress 
 was in the laundry (Chinamen then in China) , and in the 
 nursery lived, ever at her post, the sable sentinel of 
 cribs and cradles, the skilful manufacturer of possets and 
 potions. None but a Southerner to the manner born 
 can appreciate or imagine the tie that bound us of that 
 old-time South to our dear black mammy, in whose 
 
 211 
 
2i2 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 capacious lap the little ones confided to her care cuddled 
 in innocent slumber. 
 
 Fruitful vineyards and gardens furnished our luxuries, 
 and talent and faithful public service were the criterion 
 of social standing. Of those bygone days, Mr. E. Spann 
 Hammond * recently wrote, "To me it seems as if I had 
 been in two worlds, and two existences, the old and the 
 new, and to those knowing only the latter, the old will 
 appear almost like mythology and romance, so thorough 
 has been the upheaval and obliteration of the methods 
 and surroundings of the past." 
 
 Yes ! the old glories have passed away, but even those 
 who destroyed them, looking back to that time and that 
 Southern civilisation, recognise to-day how enviable were 
 our solidarity as a people, our prosperity and the moral 
 qualities that are characteristic of the South. " I have 
 learned not only to respect, but to love the great qual- 
 ities which belong to my fellow citizens of the South- 
 ern States," said Senator Hoar, recently. "Their love 
 of home, their chivalrous respect for women, their cour- 
 age, their delicate sense of honour, their constancy, 
 which can abide by an appearance or a purpose or an 
 interest for their States through adversity, and through 
 prosperity, through years and through generations, are 
 things by which the more mercurial people of the North 
 may take a lesson. And there is another thing," he 
 added, "the low temptation of money has not found any 
 place in our Southern politics." 
 
 It was my good fortune during the late autumn and 
 winter of 1864 to be invited to take refuge in a spacious 
 and representative plantation home in South Carolina, 
 where the conditions that obtained were so typically 
 those of the Southern home that I could choose no better 
 example for description, were I to scan here the 
 numberless instances of a similar character, known to 
 
 * Son of Senator Hammond, of South Carolina. 
 

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 SENATOR JAMES H. HAMMOND 
 of South Carolina 
 
DEPARTED GLORIES OF THE SOUTH LAND 213 
 
 me before those unquiet days. "Redcliffe," the home 
 of Senator Hammond, is still a point of interest to travel- 
 lers, and a beautiful feature of the landscape in which it 
 is set. It is built upon a high knoll on Beech Island, 
 South Carolina, and is visible to the naked eye at a distance 
 of thirty-five miles. It lies within view of Sand Hill, 
 where the famous Madame Le Vert spent her declining 
 years, and is pointed out to the visitor by the residents 
 of Augusta, Georgia, and the smaller towns about, as an 
 object of local admiration and pride. In the decades 
 preceding the war it was owned by Governor, afterward 
 Senator, James H. Hammond, a wealthy man in his own 
 right, whose possessions were greatly increased by his 
 marriage to Miss Catherine Fitzsimmons. Miss Fitz- 
 simmons was a daughter of one of South Carolina's 
 richest citizens, and brought to Governor Hammond a 
 splendid dowry. Her sister became the wife of Colonel 
 Wade Hampton, who had been on General Jackson's 
 staff at the battle of New Orleans, and whose son, 
 General and Senator Wade Hampton, served in the same 
 Congress with Senator Hammond. While in Washington, 
 the latter, distinguished alike for his reserve and scholarli- 
 ness, became known as the "Napoleon of the Senate." 
 He was no lover of public life, however, and the senatorial 
 office was literally thrust upon him. Especially as the 
 strenuousness in Congress increased, his desire deepened 
 to remain among his people and to develop what was, in 
 fact, one of the most productive plantations in South 
 Carolina. The estate of " Redcliffe " was stocked with the 
 finest of Southdowns, with sleek, blooded kine, and 
 horses, and a full flock of Angora goats. The prolific 
 " Redcliffe " vineyards yielded unusual varieties of grapes, 
 planted and cared for by white labourers. Four hundred 
 slaves or more were owned by Senator Hammond, but 
 these were set to less skill-demanding duties. For the 
 planting of this vineyard, forty acres of land, sub-soiled 
 
2i 4 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 to a depth of three feet, were set apart, and the clear, 
 straw-coloured wine for which the Senator's cellar was 
 famous came from his own wine-presses. 
 
 On the plantation was a large grist-mill, from which 
 every human creature in that vast family was fed. It 
 was a big, heavy timbered building, grey even then with 
 age, and run by water. Here the corn was crushed 
 between the upper and the nether mill-stones, and so 
 skilful was the miller that each could have his hominy 
 ground as coarse or as fine as his fancy dictated, and 
 all the sweetness of the corn left in it besides. The 
 miller could neither read nor write, but he needed no aid 
 to his memory. For years he had known whose meal- 
 bag it was that had the red patch in the corner. He 
 knew each different knot as well as he knew the negros' 
 faces, and if any of the bags presented had holes in it the 
 miller would surely make its owner wait till the last. 
 
 Lower down on the same water-course was the saw- 
 mill, which had turned out all the lumber used in the 
 building of "Redcliffe." On one occasion it happened 
 that this mill, needing some repairs, a great difficulty was 
 encountered in the adjustment of the mud-sills, upon 
 which the solidity of the whole superstructure depended. 
 The obstacles to be removed were great, and it cost 
 much time and money to overcome them. While Mr. 
 Hammond was Senator, and in the official chamber was 
 grappling with the problem of labour and capital, his 
 experience with the mud-sills was opportunely recalled, 
 and his application of that name to certain of the labour- 
 ing classes at once added to his reputation for ready 
 wit. 
 
 On the "Redcliffe" plantation the blacksmith was to 
 be found at his forge, the wheelwright in his shop, and 
 the stock-minder guarding the welfare of his charges. 
 Measured by the standard that a man has not lived in 
 vain who makes two blades of grass to grow where but 
 
DEPARTED GLORIES OF THE SOUTH LAND 215 
 
 one grew before, Senator Hammond might have been 
 crowned King of agricultural enterprise, for his highest 
 producing corn-lands before he rescued them had been 
 impassible swamp-lands. Drained and put under culti- 
 vation, their yield was enormous, no less than eighty 
 bushels of corn being the average quantity to the acre. 
 There was scarcely a corner of the old " stake-and-rider 
 fences ' ' in which Mr. Hammond did not cause to be 
 planted a peach or apple or other fruit tree. 
 
 Our cousin Miss Comer, who late in the fifties married 
 the son of Senator Hammond, and made her home at 
 "Redcliffe," though accustomed to affluent plantation 
 life, was at once impressed by the splendid system that 
 directed the colony of slaves at Beech Island. Each 
 marriage and birth and death that took place among 
 them was registered with great exactness. The Senator's 
 business ability was remarkable. He knew his every 
 possession to the most minute particular. The Hammond 
 slaves formed an exclusive colony, which was conducted 
 with all the strictness of a little republic. They were a 
 happy, orderly, cleanly, and carefree lot, and Mr. Ham- 
 mond was wont to say that if the doctrine of transmi- 
 gration of souls was true, he would like to have his soul 
 come back and inhabit one of his "darkies." 
 
 I have said they were an exclusive colony. My 
 pretty little cousin realised this upon her arrival at 
 "Glen Loula," a charming residence named for her, and 
 set apart for the young couple by the owner of "Red- 
 cliffe." 
 
 "The Hammond negro, as I have found him," she 
 wrote, " has a decided personal vanity, and nothing will 
 offend him more than to have you forget his name. 
 For a long time after coming I felt I was not exactly 
 admitted by the different servants as ' one ob de f ambly. ' 
 In fact, it was plain I was on trial, being 'weighed in 
 the balance ! ' How I wished I knew all about diplomacy ! 
 
216 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 I never saw a more august appearance than Daddy 
 'Henry,' an old African, who remembers the slave ship 
 on which he was brought over, his foreign name, and, 
 perhaps, many things which he never tells about. He 
 cleans the silver, polishes the floors and windows and 
 the brasses in the fireplaces, and, besides this, claims the 
 boys' guns as his by some divine right. 
 
 " In order to hasten an expression of their good-will, I 
 thought one day of making a Sterling exchange with the 
 aid of some Washington finery; and, with a black silk 
 dress to one servant and a morning-robe to another, I 
 have pulled through famously, even with Marm Jane, the 
 cook, who is supreme in her kitchen. I have heard 
 her turn my husband out. But the silk dress brought 
 me a carte blanche. ' Come on, Missy, jes w'en you feels 
 like it ! ' is the way she greets me now. 
 
 " I cannot help seeing the wise arrangement of every 
 part of this extensive plantation, especially for the 
 negroes. The house of the overseer is in the midst of a 
 grove of live oaks, and in each street are a certain number 
 of cabins, each in the midst of a little garden with space 
 in which to raise chickens. The hospital is well arranged, 
 and there is a separate house where the children, espe- 
 cially the babies, are left to be fed and cared for while 
 their mothers are at work. 
 
 " My poor memory for faces would be my undoing 
 but for Paul, who always tells me as we come upon any 
 of the negroes, ' Now this is Jethro ! Be sure to call 
 him distinctly.' I fall in with this righteous deception 
 -and it works like a charm. They admire what they 
 think wit, and especially love to memorise some easy 
 little rhyme. Every one makes the same atrocious 
 wish to me: 
 
 'God blass you, ma Missie. I wishes you joy 
 An' every year a gal or a boy.' 
 
 " I thought I would die when I heard it first, but I've 
 
DEPARTED GLORIES OF THE SOUTH LAND 217 
 
 gotten over it now. Senator Hammond gives a barbecue 
 to the slaves every Fourth of July and Christmas, and 
 the dances of the negroes are very amusing. There is a 
 tall black man, called Robin, on this plantation, who has 
 originated a dance which he calls the turkey-buzzard 
 dance. He holds his hands under his coat-tails, which 
 he flirts out as he jumps, first to one side, and then to 
 the other, and looks exactly like the ugly bird he imi- 
 tates." 
 
 In the uncertain days of the war, Huntsville being un- 
 approachable, and we having no fixed abode in the 
 intervals between Congressional sessions at Richmond, 
 Senator Clay and I made several enjo}^able visits to the 
 sheltered home of Mr. Hammond, even while battles 
 raged and every heart was burdened with apprehension. 
 The hospitality of the owner of "Redclifle" was well 
 known. It was his custom in those uncertain days, 
 whether guests were known to be coming or not, to send 
 his carriage daily to Augusta to meet the afternoon 
 train, and the unexpected or chance arrival who might 
 be seeking a conference or a refuge at "Redclifle"; and 
 once a year, like a great feudal landlord, he gave a fete 
 or grand dinner to all the country people about, at which 
 he always contrived to have some distinguished guest 
 present. Senator Clay and I had the good fortune to be 
 visiting Mr. Hammond on such an occasion, when every 
 neighbour, poor or rich, for miles about was present. 
 They made a memorable picture; for the majority were 
 stiff and prim and of the -quaint, simple, religious class 
 often to be found in back districts. They seemed ill at ease, 
 if not consciously out of place, in Senator Hammond's 
 parlours, filled as those great rooms were with evidences 
 of a cosmopolitan culture, with paintings and statuary, 
 bronze and marble groups.* 
 
 * Many of these possessions are still retained by Messrs. Spann and 
 Harry Hammond, 
 
2i 8 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 In their efforts to entertain their guests, our host and 
 hostess's ingenuity had been tested to its utmost, when 
 suddenly Senator Hammond's eye twinkled, and he 
 turned to Senator Clay. 
 
 " I remember once seeing you dance at our home in 
 Washington, Mr. Clay," he began, and then proceeded 
 to recall an amusing evening, where, strictly en famille, 
 Senator Butler, of South Carolina, together with Secre- 
 tary and Mrs. Cobb, Senator Clay and myself, had dined, 
 finishing up the hours together by singing our favourite 
 ballads. Upon my playing a merry tune, Secretary 
 Cobb, rotund and jolly, suddenly seized my husband, 
 slender and sedate, and together they whirled madly 
 about the room to the music of the piano, and the great 
 amusement of dear old Senator Butler, who laughed until 
 the tears rolled down his cheeks. 
 
 When Mr. Hammond at "Redcliffe" proposed that Mr. 
 Clay repeat his terpsichorean success for the pleasure of 
 the Beach Islanders there gathered, my husband at first 
 (emulating the distinguished artist wherever he is encoun- 
 tered) demurred. He "could not dance without music," 
 he said. 
 
 "Well," said our host, "Mrs. Clay can play !" 
 
 "But I need a partner!" my husband persisted. At 
 last, however, he yielded to Senator Hammond's persua- 
 sion and danced an impromptu Highland fling, abandon- 
 ing himself completely to the fun of the moment. As the 
 music went on and his spirit of frolic rose, the faces of 
 some of the spectators around us grew longer and longer, 
 and, I am sure, those good people felt themselves to be a 
 little nearer to the burning pit than they had ever been 
 before. Their prim glances at my husband's capers 
 increased the natural sedateness of our hostess, who, see- 
 ing the expressions of alarm, plainly was relieved when at 
 last the terrible Bacchanalian outburst was over ! I felt 
 sure it would be a difficult task to try to convince my hus- 
 
DEPARTED GLORIES OF THE SOUTH LAND 219 
 
 band's audience that his own religious feelings and con- 
 victions were of the deepest and most spiritual quality. 
 
 For his black dependents, Senator Hammond had built 
 several churches ; the favourite one, called St. Catherine's 
 (named for Mrs. Hammond), being nearest the " Red- 
 cliff e" residence and most frequently visited by the fam- 
 ily. Once a month a white preacher came, and all the 
 slaves gathered to listen to the monthly sermon. Sena- 
 tor Hammond's views for the civilising of the negroes led 
 him to forbid the presence of exciting negro preachers, for 
 the religion of the black man, left to himself, is generally a 
 mixture of hysteria and superstition. The conversion 
 of the negroes under their own spiritual guides was a 
 blood-curdling process in those days, for they screamed to 
 Heaven as if the Indians with their tomahawks were after 
 them, or danced, twisting their bodies in most remark- 
 able manner.* As their emotion increased, as they "got 
 feelin'," and the moment of conversion approached, as a 
 rule they fell all in a heap, though in thus "coming 
 through " the wenches were altogether likely to fall into 
 the arms of the best-looking young brother who happened 
 to be near. By reason of Senator Hammond's wise disci- 
 pline, such religious excesses were impossible at " Red- 
 cliffe," and I can recall no church service at once more 
 thrilling and reverential than that I attended, with Sena- 
 tor Clay, at quaint St. Catherine's on the "Redcliffe" 
 plantation shortly before my husband's departure for 
 Canada. 
 
 The negroes, clean, thrifty, strong, all dressed in their 
 best, vied with each other in their deference to Mars' 
 
 * To overcome these conditions, the Right-Reverend William Capers, 
 distinguished in the Methodist Church, organised a wide system of 
 missionary work among the plantation negroes, whereby preaching and 
 catechising by white ministers took place once a month. Many of the 
 great planters assisted in this good work, Senator R. Barnwell Rhett.Sr., 
 being prominently associated with Bishop Capers. Senator Rhetti 
 built a large church, which was attended by the negroes from five 
 plantations, and regularly by his own family. A. S. 
 
220 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 Paul's guests, as we entered the church. They listened 
 quietly to the sermon as the service proceeded. 
 
 It was a solemn and impressive scene. There was the 
 little company of white people, the flower of centuries of 
 civilisation, among hundreds of blacks, but yesterday in 
 the age of the world, wandering in savagery, now 
 peaceful, contented, respectful and comprehending the 
 worship of God. Within a day's ride, cannon roared, 
 and a hunter, laying his ear to the ground, might have 
 heard the tread of armies, bent upon the blotting out of 
 just such scenes as these. Only God might record our 
 thoughts that morning, as the preacher alluded in prayer 
 and sermon to the issues of the times. At the close of the 
 morning, the hymn "There is rest for the weary" was 
 given out, and when the slaves about us had wailed out 
 the lines 
 
 "On the other side of Jordan 
 
 Where the tree of life is blooming 
 There is rest for you !" 
 
 my husband, at the signal for prayer, fell upon his knees, 
 relieving his pent-up feelings in tears which he could not 
 restrain. My own commingling emotions were indescrib- 
 ably strange and sad. Would abolitionists, I thought, 
 could they look upon that scene, fail to admit the bless- 
 ings American " slavery " had brought to the savage black 
 men, thus, within a few generations at most, become at 
 home in a condition of civilisation. 
 
 There were many fine voices on the plantation at " Red- 
 cliffe," and as they followed their leader down the row 
 "chopping out" cotton, or, when later they worked in 
 gangs at picking it, it was their custom, seeming to act 
 from instinct in the matter, to sing. One voice usually 
 began the song, then another would join him, and then 
 another, until dozens of voices blended in weird and 
 melodious harmonies that floated from the distant cotton 
 
DEPARTED GLORIES OF THE SOUTH LAND 221 
 
 fields to the house of the master, and the music of the 
 unseen choristers, a natural and rhythmic song, was of a 
 kind we shall not hear again in these later practical times. 
 Sometimes, one by one, all would drop out of the song, 
 until only the leader's high voice was heard ; then, gradu- 
 ally, they would join in again, and often, when all 
 seemed finished, a challenge would come from some dis- 
 tant gang, and a fuller and freer anti phonal song would 
 be heard, answering from field to field. 
 
 When I remember that throng of well-fed, plump and 
 happy coloured people, and compare it with the ragged 
 and destitute communities common among the freedmen 
 of to-day, the contrast is a sad one. " What's de reason ?" 
 asked an old darky of me during Reconstruction days, 
 "dat de Yankees caint make linsey-wolsey like ole Mistis 
 did in de ole time ? 'N dose days one par breeches las me 
 mos a year ! I could cut trees, roll logs, burn bresh- 
 heaps an' cut briers an' I couldn't wear dem breeches out ! 
 Now when I buys dis shoddy stuff de Yankees done bro't 
 an' sets down on de lawg ter eat ma grub, bress Gawd ! 
 when I gits up, I leaves de seat o' my breeches on de lawg ! 
 I done got down on my knees an' prayed for God ter send 
 me linsey-wolsey clothes so I won't have rheumatiz an' 
 aint none come. Where's dat mule an' forty acres? 
 When is dey a comin', dat's what I wants ter know !" 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 Conditions in i863-'64 
 
 By the autumn of 1864 the Southern States found them- 
 selves ravaged of everything either edible or wearable. 
 Food was enormously high in cities and in locations 
 which proved tempting to foragers. Delicately bred 
 women were grateful when they were able to secure a pair 
 of rough brogan shoes at one hundred dollars a pair, and 
 coarse cotton cloth from the Macon Mills served to make 
 our gowns. For nearly three years the blockade of our 
 ports and frontier had made the purchase of anything 
 really needful, impracticable. Nor could we utilise the 
 stores in Southern cities once these had fallen into the 
 enemies' clutches. A correspondent, Mrs. Captain du 
 Barry,* who in December, 1863, was permitted to visit 
 Memphis, now in the enemy's possession, wrote, " I deeply 
 regretted not being able to fill your commissions. I put 
 them on my list that I sent in to General Hurlburt, when 
 I requested a passport, but they were refused. All the 
 principal stores were closed and their contents confis- 
 cated. There is a perfect reign of terror in Memphis. 
 Not even a spool of cotton can be purchased without regis- 
 tering your name and address, and " swearing it is for per- 
 sonal or family use, and no number of articles can be 
 taken from the store without, after selection, going with a 
 list of them in your hand, to the " Board of Trade," accom- 
 panied by the clerk of the store, and there swearing on the 
 Bible that the articles mentioned are for family use and 
 not to be taken out of the United States. So many neces- 
 
 * Mother of the unfortunate Mrs. Maybrick. 
 
 222 
 
CONDITIONS IN i86 3 -'6 4 223 
 
 sary articles are pronounced contraband by the United 
 States authorities, that one is in momentary chance of 
 being arrested, by ignorantly inquiring for them. The 
 place is swarming with detectives who make a trade of 
 arresting unfortunate people. They are paid by the 
 United States Government two hundred and fifty dollars 
 for detecting and arresting a person, and that person pays 
 the Provost Marshal fifteen hundred to two thousand 
 dollars to get off, that being the way matters are con- 
 ducted in Memphis !" 
 
 All over the South old spinning wheels and handlooms 
 were brought out from dusty corners, and the whirr of 
 the wheel became a very real song to us. Every scrap of 
 old leather from furniture, trunk, belt or saddle was saved 
 for the manufacture of rough shoes, often made by the 
 mother who had been fortunate enough to have hoarded 
 them, for herself and children. I, myself, saw my aunt, 
 Eloisa, wife of General Jones M. Withers, putting soles on 
 the tops of once cast-off shoes of her children's, and she, 
 who had known so well the luxuries of life, was compelled 
 to perform her task by the meagre light of a precious tal- 
 low candle. Complaints, however, were few, from our 
 Spartan-spirited women. Writing to my husband, in 
 November, 1864, I said, "A lady told me' yesterday that 
 she fattened daily on Confederate fare — for, since she 
 could obtain no useless luxuries, her health, heretofore 
 poor, has become perfect." 
 
 The country was stripped not alone of the simpler refine- 
 ments of life, but of even so necessary a commodity as salt. 
 Scarcely a smoke-house in the South having an earthen 
 floor, which had received the drippings from the hams or 
 bacon sides of earlier days, but underwent a scraping and 
 sifting in an effort to secure the precious grains deposited 
 there. It happened that my host at "Redcliffe," just 
 previous to the breaking out of hostilities, had ordered a 
 boat-load of salt, to use upon certain unsatisfactory land, 
 
224 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 and realising that a blockaded coast would result in a salt 
 famine, he hoarded his supply until the time of need should 
 come. When it became known that Senator Hammond's 
 salt supply was available, every one from far and near 
 came asking for it. It was like going down into Egypt 
 for corn, and the precious crystals were distributed to all 
 who came, according to the number in each family. 
 
 Compared with those of many of my friends in other 
 parts of the South, our surroundings and fare at Beech 
 Island were sumptuous. Save at my Uncle Williams's 
 home, I had nowhere seen such an abundance of good 
 things as "Redcliffe" yielded. Meats and vegetables 
 were plenty ; the river nearby was full of shad which were 
 caught readily in seines; and canvas-backs and teal, 
 English ducks and game birds, especially partridges, 
 abounded. "Indian summer is here in all its glory," I 
 wrote to my husband late in '64. " The hues of the forests 
 are gorgeous, the roses wonderful ! Millions of violets 
 scent the air, and everything is so peaceful and lovely on 
 this island it is hard to realise War is in the land. Splen- 
 did crops prevail, and the spirit of the people is un- 
 daunted !" 
 
 As times grew more and more stringent, tea and coffee 
 proved to be our greatest lack, and here, as we had 
 done in the last days at Warrenton, we were glad to drink 
 potato coffee and peanut chocolate. The skin of the 
 raw potato was scraped off — to pare it might have been 
 to waste it — and the potato cut into slices or discs as thin 
 as paper. It was then carefully dried, toasted and 
 ground, and made into what proved to be a really delicious 
 beverage.* Our chocolate was made in this wise : Pea- 
 nuts, or pinders, or goobers, as they were variously called, 
 were roasted and the skin slipped off. They were next 
 
 * A recent writer attributes to those experiences, the coffee substi- 
 tutes which now, forty years later, have "ruined the American 
 coffee trade." A. S. 
 
CONDITIONS IN i86 3 -'64 225 
 
 pounded in a mortar; when, blended with boiled milk 
 and a little sugar (a sparing use of this most costly luxury 
 was also necessary) , the drink was ready for serving, and 
 we found it delightful to our palates. 
 
 There were spinners and weavers on Beech Island, too, 
 and unceasing industry was necessary to prepare and 
 weave cloth, both cotton and wool, sufficient for the 
 clothing of the army of slaves and the family on the great 
 plantation. One of the island residents, Mrs. Redd, was 
 a wonderful worker, and wove me a cotton gown of many 
 colours which had all the beauty of a fine Scotch plaid. 
 She spun her own cotton and made her own dyes, gather- 
 ing her colours from the mysterious laboratories of the 
 woods, and great was the fame her handiwork attained 
 wherever it was seen. Calico of the commonest in those 
 days was sold at twenty -five dollars a yard; and we 
 women of the Confederacy cultivated such an outward 
 indifference to Paris fashions as would have astonished 
 our former competitors in the Federal capital. Nor did 
 our appearance, I am constrained to think, suffer appreci- 
 ably more than our spirits ; for the glories of an unbleached 
 Macon Mills muslin gown, trimmed with gourd-seed but- 
 tons, dyed crimson, in which I appeared at Richmond in 
 the spring of '64, so impressed the mind of an English 
 newspaper correspondent there, that he straightway 
 wrote and forwarded an account of it to London, whence 
 our friends who had taken refuge there sent it back to us, 
 cut from a morning journal. 
 
 Not that our love for pretty things was dead; a let- 
 ter preserved by Mr. Clay is fine testimony to the fact 
 that mine was "scotched, and not killed." It was dated 
 Beech Island, November 18, 1864, and was addressed to 
 Mr. Clay, now on the eve of departure from Canada. 
 
 " Bring me at least two silk dresses of black and purple. 
 I prefer the purple to be moire antique, if it is fashionable. 
 If French importations are to be had, bring me a spring 
 
226 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 bonnet and a walking hat, for the benefit of all my lady 
 friends as well as myself, and do bring some books of 
 fashions — September, October, and November numbers 
 
 (Ruling passion strong in war), and bring ." The list 
 
 grew unconscionably. In after years I found a copy of it 
 carefully made out in my husband's handwriting, and 
 showing marks of having been carried in his pocket 
 until each article I had indicated for myself or others 
 had been selected, Here it is : 
 
 i. At least, 2 silk dresses, black and purple (for'Ginie). 
 
 2. French spring bonnet. 
 
 3. Walking hat. 
 
 4. Some books of fashion. 
 
 5. Corsets — 4 — 6, 22 inches in waist. 
 
 6. Slippers with heels, No. 3 1-2. 
 
 7. Gloves — 1 doz. light coloured, 1 doz. dark. 
 
 8. Handkerchiefs, extra fine. 
 
 9. Two handsome black silk dresses for Lestia. 
 
 10. Flannel, white and red. 
 
 11. A set of fine, dark furs, not exceeding $25. 
 
 12. Set of Hudson Bay Sables, at any price, for Victoria, 
 
 large cape, cuffs and muff. 
 
 13. Two Black Hernanis or Tissue dresses, one tissue 
 
 dress to be brochetted for 'Ginie. 
 
 14. 3 or 4 pieces of black velvet ribbon, different widths. 
 
 15. Bolt of white bonnet ribbon; ditto pink, green and 
 
 magenta. 
 
 16. French flowers for bonnet. 
 
 17. Shell Tuck comb for 'Ginie. 
 
 18. Present for little Jeff Davis, Claude and J. Winter. 
 
 19. Needles, pins, hairpins, tooth-brushes, coarse combs, 
 
 cosmetics, hair oil, cologne. 
 
 20. Domestic, linen, muslin, nainsook, swiss, jaconet, 
 
 mull muslin, each a full piece. 
 
 21. Dresses of brilliantine. 
 
 22. Black silk spring wrapping. 
 
 23. Chlorine tooth wash and Rowland's Kalydor. 
 
 24. A cut coral necklace. 
 
 25. Lace collars, large and pointed now worn. 
 
 Alas ! my husband's zeal in fulfilling my commissions 
 
CONDITIONS IN 1863-' 64. 227 
 
 all went for naught, for the boxes containing them (save 
 two, which were deposited with Mrs. Chestnut, at Colum- 
 bia, and later fell prey to the Federals or to the flames, we 
 never knew which) were swallowed by the sea, and only 
 he himself came home with the Government papers he had 
 guarded, as the sole baggage he was able to save from the 
 wreck of the Rattlesnake of all he had carried. And yet 
 not all, for a long-lost pet which he had been enabled to 
 reclaim for General Lee * was also brought safely to shore. 
 
 "Tell him," wrote my sister, from Richmond, that 
 "General Lee's dog arrived safely. Poor dog! I'm 
 sorry for him, for he will find the Confederacy a poor place 
 to come to to get anything to eat ! I trust for the coun- 
 try's sake, he knows how to live without eating !" 
 
 For the making of our toilette we discovered the value 
 of certain gourds, when used as wash cloths. Their wear- 
 ing qualities were wonderful ; the more one used them the 
 softer they became. Needles were becoming precious as 
 heirlooms; pins were the rarest of luxuries; for the 
 greater part of the time locust thorns served us instead. 
 Writing paper was scarcely to be had, and the letters of 
 that period which were sent out by private persons were 
 often unique testimony to the ingenuity of the senders. 
 Wall-paper, perhaps, was most frequently resorted to, and 
 we made our crude envelopes of anything we could find. 
 We made our own writing fluids, our commonest resource 
 being the oak ball, a parasite, which, next to the walnut 
 burr, is the blackest thing in the vegetable world. Or, 
 this failing us, soot was scooped from the chimney, and, 
 after a careful sifting, was mixed with water and " fixed " 
 with a few drops of vinegar. Sometimes we used poke- 
 
 * Shortly after his arrival in Canada, Mr. Clay heard of General Lee's 
 lost favourite. The animal, a fine Newfoundland, had been taken from 
 the Lee home at Arlington by a Federal soldier, who sold it to a Captain 
 Anderson (commanding an English vessel) for one hundred dollars. 
 After some months of inquiry and negotiation, Mr. Clay secured the 
 dog, and personally brought him back to the Confederate States. A. S. 
 
228 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 berries, manufacturing a kind of red ink, or, made thin 
 with water, some bit of miraculously saved shoe polish 
 provided us with an adhesive black fluid. 
 
 Our difficulties were as great in the matter of transmit- 
 ting our letters, when once they were written. We might 
 intrust them to the mails, but these particularly were prey 
 to our invaders ; or we might charge with the care of them 
 some traveller who was known to be making his way to 
 the city for which the letters were addressed. Stray news- 
 papers reached us at "Redclifle" occasionally, from even 
 so distant a point as our capital, and efforts were made 
 by local editors to purvey the news of battles and the 
 movements of the armies, but the supply of paper neces- 
 sary for the issuing of a daily journal and even a weekly 
 edition was difficult to obtain. What at first had appeared 
 as morning papers were changed to evening editions, as the 
 cost of candles, by which the compositors must work, had 
 risen in '63 to three and one-half dollars a pound. Our 
 brother, J. Withers Clay, who owned and edited the Con- 
 federate, turned peripatetic, and issued his paper where 
 he could, being obliged to keep shifting, printing para- 
 phernalia and all, with the movements of the army in 
 the Tennessee region. Writing us from Chattanooga, on 
 August 16, 1863, he thus described his life: "I am living 
 in camp style. I mess with my office boys and our fare 
 is frugal. My bed is a piece of carpet, laid on a door, with 
 one end elevated on two bricks and the other resting on 
 the floor. I lay my blue blanket on this, and my bones 
 on that, with my head supported by my overcoat and 
 carpet sack, and cover myself with a Mexican scarf when 
 it is cool ! " 
 
 On the whole, our condition was almost like that of the 
 ancients who depended on passing travellers for gossip or 
 news of the welfare or whereabouts of friends or kin. 
 Thus my sister (by every tie of affection), writing from 
 Richmond in the spring of '64, said: "Have no idea 
 
CONDITIONS IN i86 3 -'6 4 229 
 
 where you are, but send this letter by General Sparrow to 
 Macon, care of Mrs. Whittle. The last intelligence I had 
 of you was through Colonel Phillips. He told me he saw 
 you between Augusta and Macon somewhere." 
 
 Nor dared we avail ourselves of our telegraph wires, so 
 costly had the sending of a few lines become. For the 
 briefest message sent C. O. D. from Macon to Richmond, 
 my sister paid sixteen dollars and implored me to send 
 no more ! The chief resource of the people was the arrival 
 of the local train, at which time the railway stations 
 swarmed with inquirers on foot, hedged in by others as 
 eager, who had driven long distances in such vehicles as 
 were at their command. 
 
 My life was one of continual suspense, notwithstanding 
 the arrival of special couriers who came from time to time 
 from Richmond bearing tidings of my absent husband. 
 All lives that lie in close parallels to governments carry 
 heavy anxieties. Mine, in those days of strife and ter- 
 ror, was no exception to this general rule. As negotiator 
 at Niagara Falls with Professor Holcombe and others, the 
 eyes of the North as well as those of the South for months 
 had been fixed upon Mr. Clay, his interviews with Horace 
 Greeley and the messengers sent to him by Mr. Lincoln 
 having excited varying comments and criticisms that 
 were anything but reassuring. Our friends in Richmond, 
 however, wrote cheeringly: 
 
 . . . I hear occasionally of Mr. Clay," ran a letter from 
 the Executive Mansion, dated August 31st, '64, "but for some 
 time past nothing has been received from him. The company 
 he keeps * as reported by the newspapers cannot render you 
 apprehensive of his being too happy to wish to return, though 
 your desire to be with him may have increased his probable want 
 of more congenial communion when the day's work is done. I 
 am assured that his health has improved by Canadian air, and 
 we may hope that he will bring back increased ability to labour 
 in the cause of the Confederacy, if it should not be his portion 
 * Horace Greeley. 
 
230 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 to relieve us of the need for further toil such as now is im- 
 posed. The carping spirit which prompted the criticism * on 
 his course would have found sufficient cause whatever he 
 might have done; or, if nothing had been done, that would 
 have served equally. No one can hope to please everybody. 
 You would not wish your husband to escape the reviling of 
 those who envy such as they cannot rival, and strive to drag 
 others down from the heights to which they cannot rise?" 
 
 Messages were numerous, urging my return to Rich- 
 mond, which our President and the Mallorys assured me 
 was the safest of places. 
 
 "Now that Sherman's barbarians are in unpleasant 
 proximity to you," wrote Secretary Mallory, "why not 
 come to the front where security, sympathy, mint juleps, 
 an admiring audience, the freshest gossip and the most 
 unselfish regard, all combine with the boom and flash of 
 guns to welcome your coming? The correspondence 
 between your lord and master and Holcombe on one side, 
 and Greeley on the other, is doing good service. The 
 parties, fragments, cliques and individuals in the United 
 States who desire peace, but differ upon the modus 
 operandi of getting it, will now learn that with Lincoln at 
 the head of affairs, no peace is possible ; while our weak 
 brothers in North Carolina and Georgia who have clam- 
 oured so loudly that peace propositions should be made to 
 us, cannot fail to see that, at present, peace with Lincoln 
 means degradation. I am very glad Mr. Clay went, for I 
 see that his presence must be beneficial to our cause." 
 
 These, and other letters as urgent and as desirous of 
 quieting my apprehensions, came frequently. Neverthe- 
 less, my husband's stay in the severe climate of Canada 
 caused me constant apprehension. For months my only 
 direct news of him was through " personals," variously dis- 
 guised, in the Richmond papers, which Colonel Clay was 
 prompt to forward to me. Occasionally, however, one of 
 
 * Printed in Richmond Enquirer, and quoted liberally throughout the 
 North. 
 
CONDITIONS IN i86 3 -'64 231 
 
 the numerous letters each endeavoured to send to the 
 other successfully reached its destination. " It gives me 
 great pain," I wrote on November 18, '64, "to learn from 
 yours just received that none of my numerous letters 
 have reached you since the 30th June ! I have sent you 
 dozens, my dearest, filled with all the news of the day, of 
 every character, and more love than ever filled my heart 
 before ! . . . My last intelligence of you was sent me 
 from Richmond through the bearer of despatches, I pre- 
 sume, and bore the date of September fifteenth, more than 
 two months ago ! " 
 
 In this letter, which was dated from Beech Island, I 
 conveyed intelligence to Mr. Clay of Senator Hammond's 
 death, he being, at the time, a few days less than fifty- 
 seven years of age. It occurred while all the affluent 
 colourings of the autumn were tingeing his world at " Red- 
 cliffe." The circumstances attending his decease and 
 burial were unique, and to be likened only to those which, 
 in mediaeval days, surrounded the passing away of some 
 Gothic baron or feudal lord. Mr. Hammond had been 
 failing in health for some time, when, feeling his end 
 drawing near, he asked for a carriage that he might drive 
 out and select his last resting-place. He chose, at last, 
 a high knoll, from which a fine view was to be had of 
 Augusta and the Sand Hills ; and, having done this, be- 
 ing opposed to private burial grounds, he bequeathed the 
 surrounding acres to the town in the precincts of which 
 his estate lay, on consideration that they turn the plot 
 into a public cemetery. First, however, he laid an in- 
 junction upon his wife and sons, that if the Yankee army 
 penetrated there (the end of the war was not yet, nor came 
 for six months thereafter), they should have his grave 
 ploughed over that none of the hated enemy should see it. 
 
 Again and again in the remaining days he reiterated 
 his wish. Fears were spreading of the approach of Sher- 
 man's devastating army, and the destruction of "Red- 
 
23 2 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 cliffe," conspicuous as it was to all the surrounding coun- 
 try, seemed inevitable. Marvellous to relate, however, 
 when at last the spoiler came, his legions marched in a 
 straight line to the sea, some fourteen miles away from the 
 Hammond plantation, leaving it untouched by shell or 
 the irreverent hand of the invader. 
 
 The funeral of Mr. Hammond was solemn and made 
 especially impressive by the procession of two hundred of 
 the older slaves, who marched, two by two, into the 
 baronial parlors, to look for the last time upon their mas- 
 ter's face. Save for this retinue, "Redcliffe" was now 
 practically without a defender, Mr. Paul Hammond being 
 absent much of the time, detailed upon home guard duty. 
 In his absence, my maid, Emily, and I kept the armory 
 of the household, now grown more and more fearful of 
 invasion with its train of insult and the destruction of 
 property. There were many nights when, all the rest in 
 slumber and a dead hush without, I waited, breathless, 
 until I caught the sound of Paul Hammond's returning 
 steps. 
 
 Just before the close of my refugee days on Beach 
 Island, a young kinsman, George Tunstall, who filled the 
 sublime post of corporal in Wheeler's Brigade in camp a 
 few hundred miles away, learning of my presence there, 
 obtained leave of absence and made his way, accompanied 
 by another youth, to Mrs. Hammond's to see me. The 
 two soldiers were full of tales of thrilling interest, of hair- 
 breadth escapes and camp happenings, both grave and 
 gay ; and, rumours of Sherman's advance being rife, our 
 young heroes urged my cousin to take time by the fore- 
 lock and bury the family silver. "Redcliffe" being 
 almost in direct line of the Yankee general's march, the 
 advice seemed good, and preparations at once began to 
 put it into operation. Though there was little doubt of 
 the loyalty of the majority of the Hammond slaves, yet 
 it seemed but prudent to surround our operations with 
 
GENERAL JOSEPH WHEELER 
 
 of Alabama 
 From a war-time photograph 
 
CONDITIONS IN i86 3 -'64 2^ 
 
 all possible secrecy. We therefore collected the silver, 
 piece by piece, secreting it in "crocus" bags, which, when 
 all was ready, we deposited in a capacious carry-all, into 
 which we crowded. It was at early dusk when lurking 
 figures easily might be descried in corn-field or behind a 
 wayside tree by our alert eyes. Declaring to those of the 
 servants who stood about as we entered the carriage, that 
 we were taking some provisions to Mrs. Redd, much to 
 Lot's* surprise, we dispensed with a coachman, and drove 
 off. We had many a laugh as we proceeded through the 
 woods, at our absurdity in concealing our errand from 
 the family servants and in confiding our precious secret 
 to two of Wheeler's men. They had a terrible reputation 
 for chicken stealing. \ 
 
 When we had driven a mile or more, Mr. Tunstall pro- 
 duced a hatchet and began to blaze the trees. " There !" 
 he said, after instructing us as to the signs he had made, 
 " when you come to where the blaze stops, you'll find your 
 valuables !" and under his directions the silver was silently 
 sunk in the ground and the earth replaced. J 
 
 Apropos of General Sherman, when a month or two 
 later I was in Macon, I heard a very excellent story. A 
 party of his men one day dashed up to the house of a Mrs. 
 Whitehead, a fine old lady (a sister of my informant), and 
 demanded dinner at once. The lady long since had 
 learned that resistance to such imperative demands would 
 be in vain, and preparations were at once begun for the 
 meal. Notwithstanding her obliging and prompt com- 
 
 * The family coachman. t 
 
 f A gentleman in the War Department — to whom I spoke of a violent 
 protest uttered against General Wheeler's confiscations, by one Betts 
 (who sent his complaint, long as a Presidential message, to Senator 
 Clay, in Richmond) — smiled a little. "Well," he said, "Wheeler always 
 would feed his men, you know !" A. S. 
 
 X Speaking of that episode, Mrs. Hammond said to me: "It was 
 months before we succeeded in finding the silver again. Though we 
 dug the ground over and over in every direction where we thought it 
 was, we couldn't even find the blazes for a long time." A. S. 
 
234 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 pliance, the men immediately started a forage in the 
 poultry yard and the outhouses beyond. One of the 
 officers penetrated the servants' quarters, and entered a 
 cabin in which a young black woman lay sick. 
 
 " What's the matter, Sis ?" he asked, in a tone that was 
 meant to convey sympathy. 
 
 "Ain't no Sis of yourn !" was the sullen reply. "God 
 knows I ain't no kin to no Yankee !" At that moment 
 an infant's cry was heard. 
 
 "Hello!" said the officer. "Got a little pickaninny, 
 hey? Boy or girl?" 
 
 "Boy chile! What's that ter you?" snapped the 
 woman. 
 
 "What's his name?" persisted the soldier. 
 
 "Name's Wheeler, dat's what 'tis!" answered the 
 invalid triumphantly, and the colloquy ended abruptly. 
 
 As the soldiers sat down to the table, some one, going to 
 the door, saw Wheeler's men come tearing down the road 
 flat on their horses. Instantly he shouted back to his 
 companions, "Wheeler!" but they, believing the cry to 
 be a ruse, continued to eat. The sounds of the galloping 
 steeds soon became audible, however, and a stampede that 
 was highly amusing to the now relieved household took 
 place through doors and windows. When General 
 Wheeler arrived, he found a steaming repast already 
 prepared, and a cordial welcome from Mrs. Whitehead 
 and her family, including "Sis." 
 
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 Con- 
 federate money was depreciated to such an extent as 
 to make it practically useless.* Our army was thin- 
 ning daily, and even the news from Richmond, save 
 from Mr. Davis himself, seemed to carry an undertone 
 prophetic of coming collapse. "The enemy, yesterday 
 and to-day," wrote Mr. Mallory, from the capital, late in 
 October," is, in the graphic gorillaisms, 'pegging away' 
 close at us ; and the flash of his guns is visible and their roar 
 was audible from my piazza yesterday. His approaches 
 have been very slow, to be sure, but nevertheless, he has 
 taken no step backward, but is 'inching ' upon Richmond 
 surely and methodically in a way that seems as gopher- 
 like as it is certain ; and he will keep up this system unless 
 we can, by hard fighting, push him back." 
 
 Supported by the hope of Mr. Clay's return, and know- 
 ing 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 Rich- 
 
 * 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. 
 
 235 
 
336 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 mond, which city, the President was confident, would con- 
 tinue 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-Gov- 
 ernor, 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 spread- 
 ing. " If Mr. Davis does not restore General Johnston to 
 
THE DEATH OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 237 
 
 the army of the Tennessee," wrote J. Withers Clay, "his 
 friends generally out here believe that he will never 
 recover his lost popularity, or be able to get back the 
 thousands of soldiers (now) absent without leave. I wish 
 you would tell the President this. You have no idea of 
 the extent of demoralisation 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 de- 
 tached from all. I was homeless, husbandless, childless, 
 debarred from contributing to the comfort of my hus- 
 band'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, cooperating 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." 
 
238 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 "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. Ben- 
 jamin 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 direct 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 Wilming- 
 ton is not yet increased to the degree intended ; and dur- 
 ing 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 sug- 
 gestion 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 w T rite 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 sus- 
 tained 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 : 
 
THE DEATH OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 239 
 
 " Don't come to Richmond ! Don't send the President 
 letters or telegrams. He is in a sea of trouble, and has 
 no time or thought for anything except the safety of the 
 country. I fear the Congress is turning madly against 
 him. It is the old story of the sick lion whom even the 
 jackass can kick without fear. It is a very struggle for 
 life with him. I do not know that he has any reliable 
 friends in Congress, who will sustain him upon principle, 
 fearlessly and ably. He has less and less power to 
 intimidate his enemies, and they grow more numerous 
 every day. ... If he were preeminently 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 Savan- 
 nah 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 not look into the future, after Hood's 
 
24 o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 head- 
 quarters at Macon. He replied with the gallant cor- 
 diality 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 
 
THE DEATH OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 241 
 
 is no telling at what hour I may receive the order. To make 
 it certain, however, that I can give you timely notice, you 
 ought to be in Augusta. I am ready to receive the acceptable 
 trust and devote my best efforts to your comfort and happi- 
 ness. Very truly your friend, 
 
 " Howell Cobb." 
 
 Early in February I arrived in Macon without mis- 
 adventure, 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 impos- 
 sible 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 under- 
 gone, 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 
 
242 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 accom- 
 plished, it was his intention to proceed at once to Rich- 
 mond, 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 under the escort of General Cobb. By the ioth, 
 when Mr. Clay arrived at last in Macon, he had informed 
 himself of the grave plight of our armies, and of the 
 lamentable political differences existing in the capital, 
 to which Colonel Clay, in his letter to me, had alluded. 
 A few hurried conferences with General Cobb and others, 
 and together we took our departure for Richmond. 
 Everything which might become an impediment to the 
 rough travel that lay before us was dispensed with, even 
 my invaluable maid, Emily, being left behind at the home 
 of Major Whittle. We proceeded first to Washington, 
 Georgia, going, upon our arrival, to the home of General 
 Toombs, where was sojourning Mr. Stephens, our Vice- 
 President. The hearts of all were heavy as the gentle- 
 men conferred together 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. 
 
THE DEATH OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 243 
 
 "On every side," wrote our sister, "the city rings with 
 the cries of Rachels weeping for their children ! " 
 
 " Don't come to Richmond ! " urged Colonel Clay, " [or] 
 if you think it necessary to come on, do so at once; 
 don't delay. Leave sister; don't undertake to bring her 
 in the present uncertain condition of the railroad con- 
 nections between here 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 ob- 
 servance of everything which in his eyes appeared a duty, 
 Mr. Clay was not to be deterred by even such grave 
 news from carrying out his intention to deliver in person, 
 to the President and Mr. Benjamin, an account of his 
 stewardship in Canada. Late in February, therefore, 
 he resumed his journey, mounted upon General Toomb's 
 grey mare, and accompanied by the General's man, 
 Wallace. He had not proceeded far, however, when, 
 
244 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 Rich- 
 mond, the city which was 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 neces- 
 sary. 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 o f^Mt?. Da vis. In after, days I often 
 heard him describe the scene which there met him. He 
 
THE DEATH OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 245 
 
 found the President engaged in hastily packing a valise, , 
 his clothing and papers scattered in -little heaps about. I t/ 
 
 think he assisted his hapless friend in these preparations. 
 An hour or two later and Mr. Clay was en route for Dan- 
 ville, 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 par- 
 ticulars. 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 !" 
 
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 testi- 
 mony 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 where- 
 abouts 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 
 
 246 
 
C. C. CLAY, JR., SURRENDERS 247 
 
 our host, who knew the topography of his State by heart, 
 paused as he marked the spot, "no one can take him!" 
 
 Not a member of that circle but was tense in his or 
 her desire that our chief should be spared the ignominy 
 and pain of capture. The magnanimity of Senator 
 Wigfall, whose antagonism to President Davis had 
 caused a profound concern in Richmond in this hour of 
 the Confederacy's downfall, was especially marked. 
 
 To the present, none of those assembled at the hos- 
 pitable 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 La- 
 grange and strike for the Mississippi. It was my ex- 
 pectation, thereupon, to return to our parents' home in 
 Hunts ville. The day agreed upon for my departure ap- 
 proached. 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 
 
248 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 proclama- 
 tion 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 T Colonel Philip Phillips, at this 
 time a resident of Lagrange, coming toward us. In his 
 hands he held a journal. Quickly reaching the carriage, 
 he handed me the paper, and, pointing to the despatch, 
 which contained the proclamation, he said, " Go home 
 quickly and give this to Mr. Clay ! ' ' 
 
 Scarcely aware of what I did, I ordered the coachman 
 to drive back at once, forgetting in the excitement of the 
 moment to invite the Colonel to accompany me. Arriv- 
 ing at the Hill residence, I met my hostess almost at the 
 door. 
 
 "Please ask the gentlemen to come to us!" I said 
 
 * The actual amount offered for Mr. Clay's apprehension was 
 $25,000; but, in the dissemination of the proclamation through the 
 press, the larger sum was repeatedly given as the amount offered — ■ 
 being so quoted by General Wilson and others. See Records of the 
 Rebellion, series I, vol. XLIX, page 733. 
 
C. C. CLAY, JR., SURRENDERS 249 
 
 faintly, "I have important news !" and I hastened 
 upstairs. 
 
 I found Mr. Clay sitting quietly, deep in the conning of 
 a thick volume. It was Burton's "Anatomy of Melan- 
 choly," 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, absent- 
 mindedly. 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 ex- 
 citedly. 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." 
 
250 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 plead- 
 ings. 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, ac- 
 companied by Colonel Phillips. The world appeared 
 
C. C. CLAY, JR., SURRENDERS 251 
 
 very strange and worthless to me as the train hastened on 
 to Atlanta, where a change of cars was necessary. We 
 found that city a pandemonium; soldiers patrolling the 
 streets, drums beating, and vans, loaded with furniture, 
 moving up and down the avenues. In our desire to 
 proceed as rapidly as possible we accosted a soldier. 
 
 "Where is Colonel Eggleston?" Colonel Phillips asked. 
 
 "There he is, within ten feet of you!" was the reply. 
 The Colonel thereupon approached the officer in com- 
 mand 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 magna- 
 nimity, 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, 
 
252 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 "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 Keek'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 after- 
 ward 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?" 
 
C. C. CLAY, JR., SURRENDERS 253 
 
 "No !" was his response, "Mr. Davis ! He is now at 
 the Lanier House, in Macon!" The loosening of the 
 tension to which I first had been keyed was so great that 
 I was scarcely able to utter a comment, nor had I re- 
 covered 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 con- 
 fusion 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 him- 
 self 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 South- 
 ern 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 Revolu- 
 tion as they sat in the tumbrels that bore them to the 
 guillotine. 
 
254 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 We drove at once to the residence of our friends, 
 Colonel and Mrs. Whittle, whence Colonel Phillips pro- 
 ceeded 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 announce- 
 ment, 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 
 
C. C. CLAY, JR., SURRENDERS 255 
 
 those of others to whom he was dear should see this 
 acknowledgment they will know I did not speak lightly. 
 
 General Wilson's request was scrupulously observed 
 by us, and though friends came in numbers to sympathise 
 with us and encourage us, we were silent on the forbidden 
 topic of my husband's surrender. A day or two later, 
 word came that we must hold ourselves in readiness to 
 leave Macon. Meantime, I had addressed a note to 
 General Wilson, begging that I might be allowed to 
 accompany my husband on his journey to his desti- 
 nation, 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 announce- 
 
256 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 ment 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 sight- 
 seers 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 activ- 
 ity 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 cor- 
 tege, 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 
 
C. C. CLAY, JR., SURRENDERS 257 
 
 once to the cars. The interest of everyone for the 
 moment being centred on the party of the late President, 
 my excitement grew. Wild thoughts filled my mind. I 
 could not restrain them. " Oh ! if they would only forget 
 you ! " I said impetuously, to my husband. Alas ! scarcely 
 had I uttered the words when two guards approached. 
 "This is Mr. Clay, I presume?" and with a hasty farewell 
 to our kind friends, the Whittles, we were soon aboard the 
 cars. ■ v 
 
 As we entered, Mr. Davis rose and embraced me. t Vv d^ 
 
 "This is a sad meeting, Jennie !" he said, as he offered j& ^. . v^ 
 
 me a seat beside him, for Mrs. Davis and my husband, ^ * ^■•' f ^ 
 already deep in conversation, had established themselves ^ v . ft "' ft 
 nearby. As I seated myself I became aware that the car Vj, <■ 
 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 ! 
 
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 chil- 
 dren 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 Lub- 
 bock, 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 hus- 
 band 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 
 
 258 
 
PRISONERS OF THE UNITED STATES 259 
 
 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, notwith- 
 standing 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 con- 
 versation 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 Wil- 
 son 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 in- 
 tensely during the trip from pain in his eye (for years a 
 
 S 
 
260 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 chronic disability), two valises were- stacked one on top of 
 the other, being the nearest approach to a seat it was possi- 
 ble to improvise. On these he rested during much of the 
 journey, Mrs. Davi s,, Miss Howell or myself in turn acting 
 as support in lieu of a chair-back. From time to time we 
 bathed his temples with cologne in vain attempts to 
 lessen his tortures. 
 
 Our journey from Savannah may best be pictured by 
 reference to my pocket-diary, carried throughout those 
 momentous weeks. We boarded the William P. Clyde on 
 the fifteenth of May, our destination still unknown to us, 
 as we steamed out into the Atlantic. These are some of 
 the brief records I made of ship and passengers : 
 
 "May 1 6, 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 
 
PRISONERS OF THE UNITED STATES 261 
 
 fear they will land my darling at this fort. God forbid ! In 
 sight are many vessels, some bearing the English and some 
 the French flags. The fort presents the same appearance 
 as years ago, when I went to visit the spot. One week this 
 day since we bade adieu to friends. Two days have we 
 been anchored. General Halleck said to be on Tuscarora." 
 
 "May 21. Last night at dark a tug was hailed. She 
 replied, "General Halleck!" She was alongside in a few 
 moments with orders which were quickly known. Governor 
 Lubbock, Colonel Johnston and General Wheeler and staff 
 left at six this a. m. for Delaware. At ten, Mr. Stephens and 
 Judge Reagan were put aboard the Tuscarora for Fort Warren. 
 Mr. Stephen's servant detained. We are still in doubt, but 
 Monroe is probably our destination." 
 
 "May 22. Mr. Davis, Mr. Clay and Burton Harrison are 
 all left ! Preparations are going on at Fortress Monroe for 
 them, 'tis said. Colonel Pritchard says I will not be allowed 
 to land or go to Washington or Baltimore or abroad ! ! ! 
 Terrible firing from a man-of-war ! " 
 
 "May 23. Wrote letter to Judge Holt, and note to General 
 Miles. At ten we were boarded by Major Church, and two 
 Yankee women and four guards, and all hands, luggage, 
 berths and persons thoroughly searched. A 'comico- 
 serio-tragico ' scene ! Sailors our friends. Both nurses leave. 
 Mrs. Davis's [man] Robert only left." 
 
 Our journey on the Clyde, though sorrowful, apprehen- 
 sive 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 steam- 
 ers of to-day, but few of us were in a mood to take note of 
 culinary deficiencies. 
 
262 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 On the morning of May 2 2d a sultry, drizzling rain 
 fell. It was a day exactly calculated to induce melan- 
 choly 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 
 
PRISONERS OF THE UNITED STATES 263 
 
 making for the Clyde. When I observed this, I called Mrs. 
 Davis's attention to the approaching party, saying, 
 " Thank God ! Here, I do believe, are two Virginia ladies 
 come to give us some comfort." 
 
 In a few moments one of our unknown visitors was at 
 my cabin door. In my eagerness to meet a friendly face, 
 I had almost extended my hand, when something in the 
 appearance of the person before me struck me as peculiar. 
 My surprise and curiosity was soon relieved, for rny 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 Gov- 
 ernment 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 valua- 
 ble papers here f 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 bed- 
 ding; then opened my valise and as minutely examined 
 every article of borrowed finery therein. She commented 
 
264 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 unwel- 
 
PRISONERS OF THE UNITED STATES 265 
 
 come 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, wend- 
 ing its way through layers of cosmetics, had quite de- 
 stroyed 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 
 
266 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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, threat- 
 eningly, " 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. 
 
PRISONERS OF THE UNITED STATES 267 
 
 To our amazement he took them both. Then, as the old 
 saying puts it, we "laughed on the other side of our 
 faces." For, by the aid of one of Mrs. Davis's former 
 maids, Lieutenant Hudson was enabled to identify Mrs. 
 Davis's shawl, which he retained, returning mine. The 
 first, for many years, was preserved among the curios of 
 the Smithsonian Institution. 
 
 During the morning of the day made memorable by 
 the visit of the Government's searching party, General 
 Miles and his staff boarded the Clyde. It was my first 
 meeting with the handsome young officer who was 
 destined to incur so much odium in the near future for 
 his treatment of the unfortunate ex-President of the 
 Confederate States. I can recall no particulars 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 in- 
 supportable suspense!" To this he kindly agreed. 
 
 In the interim, I had sent to my husband his valise, 
 containing some gold and my Bible, which, being set in 
 a specially large type, I knew he would be glad to have. 
 These were brought back to me shortly after General 
 Miles 's visit, by an officer who found us still at the mess 
 table. My Bible was returned to me because of the fol- 
 lowing "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." 
 
268 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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. 
 
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 prin- 
 cipally upon the probable fate of the prisoners, ques- 
 tionable 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 
 
 269 
 
270 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 my 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 state- 
 room, 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 news- 
 papers w r e 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 
 
RETURN FROM FORTRESS MONROE 271 
 
 was who gave the papers to me, though I was more 
 fortunate in regard to the author of another kindness 
 which, happily, was less reactionary upon me. 
 
 Immediately upon my husband's incarceration I had 
 busied myself in writing letters to a list of distinguished 
 public men which had been prepared for my use by Mr. 
 Clay. It included the name of Joseph Holt, who, once 
 our friend, had deplored the possible loss to the nation 
 of my husband's counsels. My list comprised thirteen 
 names, the number that has been accounted unlucky 
 since thirteen sat at the table of our Lord and one be- 
 trayed 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 volun- 
 tary 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 hus- 
 band 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 
 
272 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 corre- 
 spondent 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 re- 
 passing 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 
 
RETURN FROM FORTRESS MONROE 273 
 
 the little parcel into his hands. That afternoon I heard 
 a careless whistler pass my door and the bit of gold was 
 tossed into my stateroom, and with excellent aim, too, 
 for it fell directly upon my berth. The friendly stranger 
 had refused to retain sufficient coin to pay for the postage. 
 Before leaving the Clyde I ascertained his name. He 
 was Charles McKim, of Philadelphia. 
 
 Such kindly aid unexpectedly extended to us by a 
 stranger now and then had its own part in stimulating 
 and encouraging us during a voyage in which a thousand 
 hopes and fears and memories tortured us. The very 
 coast-line, there in the distance, seemed to write on the 
 horizon the story of our disasters. We passed on our 
 way within one hundred yards of desolate, historic 
 Sumter, over which the Union flag floated, and the 
 solitary sentinel pacing his rounds was visible to us. 
 Deyond 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 
 
274 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 S 
 
 We had nearly reached the hotel, when a party of 
 gentlemen, seeing us, stopped in the midst of a conversa- 
 tion 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 
 
RETURN FROM FORTRESS MONROE 275 
 
 could wish; but, to my Southern mind, no sight was so 
 sad, and none presented so awful a travesty on the sup- 
 posed 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 appre- 
 hensions 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 com- 
 municate 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 
 
276 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 communica- 
 tion with friends in various quarters, I now began to shape 
 rny plans for a return to Hunts ville, 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 suc- 
 cessfully 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, 
 
RETURN FROM FORTRESS MONROE 277 
 
 when, into the woof of the thoughts of those strenuous 
 days, there is thrust a thread of comedy. Just before 
 leaving the hospitable coast city, I was the guest of Mrs. 
 Levy, mother of the brilliant Mrs. Philip Phillips, of 
 Washington, of Mrs. Pember, and of Miss Martha Levy, 
 one of the readiest wits I have ever known. 
 
 During the evening first referred to, many guests were 
 introduced, among them some of Savannah's prominent 
 Hebrews. For an hour Miss Martha had been busy 
 presenting her friends, both Christian and Jew, when, 
 one after another, came Mr. Cohen, Mr. Salomon, Dr. 
 Lazarus and Dr. Mordecai. At this remarkable pro- 
 cession 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. 
 
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 
 Hunts ville. 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 con- 
 jectured 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 
 
 278 
 
RECONSTRUCTION DAYS BEGIN 279 
 
 protest and appeals to allow my baggage to be put 
 aboard. I begged them not to detain me, saying I had 
 General Croxton's passport with me ; but their only answer 
 was a gruff rebuke. " You have passed his jurisdiction, 
 Madam," said one of the military near by. 
 
 It was a black night, and but few of those about me 
 carried lanterns. The scene was fear-inspiring to a 
 lonely woman. My alarm at the thought of a detention 
 had reached its height, when, by the fitful lights about, 
 I saw a tall young man break through the crowd. 
 
 "By what right do you detain this lady?" he cried, 
 angrily. Then, turning to the black figures around us, 
 he commanded, " Put that trunk on board the car !" and 
 almost before I realised it my difficulties were over, and 
 I had myself stepped aboard the waiting train, rescued 
 from my unfortunate dilemma by John A. Wyeth, since 
 become a surgeon of national distinction. Mr. Wyeth 
 had come to the station for the purpose of boarding this 
 train, which proved a happy circumstance, for it gave 
 me his protection to Stevenson, a few hours distant 
 from Huntsville. His father had been the long-time 
 friend of my husband; moreover, Dr. Allen, grandfather 
 of the young knight-errant, had been one of Senator 
 Clay's earliest instructors. Thus, the circumstance of 
 our meeting was a source of double gratification to me. 
 
 While a guest at the home of Colonel Lewis M. Whittle, 
 being unceasing in my efforts to secure all possible aid for 
 and to arouse our friends in behalf of my husband, I made 
 several trips of a day or so to other homes in the vicinity. 
 During such an absence, the Whittle home was invaded 
 by a party of soldiers, headed by one General Baker, who 
 made what was meant to be a very thorough search of 
 all my belongings, despite the protests of my gentle 
 hostess. But for her quick presence of mind in sending 
 for a locksmith, the locks of my trunks would have been 
 broken open by the ungallant invaders. I returned to 
 
2 8o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 ex- 
 amination 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 desig- 
 nated 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 
 
RECONSTRUCTION DAYS BEGIN 281 
 
 just where it had been thrown, in the middle of the 
 floor, while hung around it was a wreath of once gorgeous 
 pomegranate flowers, which I recognised as those I had 
 worn at one of the last functions I had attended in the 
 Federal City. 
 
 Many months passed, in which repeated demands were 
 made for the letters carried away by these emissaries of 
 the Government, ere they were returned to me. Though 
 taken thus forcibly from me for Governmental examina- 
 tion, I have no reason to conclude that those in authority 
 at the War Department detained them for so serious a 
 reason or purpose. On the contrary, I have ground for 
 believing that my letters and other possessions lay open 
 for seven or eight months to the gaze of the more curious 
 friends of the department authorities; for, my friend, 
 Mrs. Bouligny,* early in '66, wrote warning me in regard 
 to them, "I heard a lady say the other day that she 
 knew of a person who had read your journal at the War 
 Department !" By this time I was again in the North, 
 pleading with President Johnson for the release of my 
 husband and the return of my papers. When, at last, I 
 received them, they were delivered to me at the home of 
 Mrs. A. S. Parker, at 4.4 and C Streets, Washington, by a 
 Federal officer, who came in a United States Mail wagon 
 with his burden ! 
 
 My home-coming after the eventful trip to Fortress 
 Monroe was a sore trial. Ex-Governor Clay, now an old 
 man of seventy-five years, and Mrs. Clay, almost as aged 
 (and nearer, by six months, to the grave, as events soon 
 proved), were both very much broken. For more than 
 three years they had waited and wept and prayed for 
 the loved cause which, in its fall, had borne down their 
 first-born. The Clay home, every stone of which was 
 hallowed to them, was now occupied by Captain Peabody 
 
 * Then widow of Congressman Bouligny, of Louisiana, and now Mrs. 
 George Collins Levey, of London, England. 
 
282 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 practised 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. Con- 
 fusion 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 
 
RECONSTRUCTION DAYS BEGIN 283 
 
 sauntered along, compelling their former masters and 
 mistresses who happened to be approaching to take the 
 street; or, if not sufficiently numerous or courageous to 
 do this, would push their way by them, bumping into 
 them with a distinct challenge to the outraged one to 
 resent it. As if to encourage this spirit of " independence, ' ' 
 the agents of the conquering Government were there to 
 protect their proteges 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 incar- 
 ceration, 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. Indig- 
 nities, petty and great, multiplied each day at the 
 hands of often wholly inexperienced Federal representa- 
 tives, 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 " Recon- 
 struction 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, 
 
284 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 — the galleries and portico of which were now the gathering 
 place for proteges 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 Jessa- 
 mine 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 thorough- 
 fare. 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 disappoint- 
 ment 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. 
 
RECONSTRUCTION DAYS BEGIN 285 
 
 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, asso- 
 ciated, 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 admin- 
 ister to our wounded spirits a true " oil and wine," my sis- 
 ter one morning gathered a bunch of fragrant camomile 
 blossoms, and, calling her ebony femme 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. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 News from Fortress Monroe 
 
 To minister to my husband's aged parents dulled in some 
 degree my own alarms, yet the wildest rumours continued 
 to multiply as to the probably early trial and certainly 
 awful fate of Mr. Davis and Mr. Clay. Controversies 
 were waging in the press, both condemning and approving 
 the actions of the Military Commission in Washington; 
 yet, even in those still early days of his imprisonment, 
 voices were raised in many localities to declare Mr. Clay's 
 incapability of the crimes imputed to him.* 
 
 Meantime, reputable men in Canada, who adduced in- 
 dubitable proof of the truth of the accusations they made, 
 had already assailed the characters of the witnesses upon 
 whom the Bureau of Military Justice so openly relied to 
 convict its distinguished prisoners — witnesses by whose 
 testimony some had already perished on the gallows. How 
 true these accusations were was proved a year later, when, 
 his misdoings exposed on the floor of the House of Repre- 
 sentatives, a self-confessed perjurer, Conover, the chief 
 reliance of the Bureau of Military Justice, the chief accuser 
 of my husband, fled the country. At this denouement, 
 Representative Rogers openly averred his belief that the 
 flight of Conover, one of the most audacious of modern 
 criminals, had been assisted by some one high in author- 
 ity, in order to make impossible an investigation into the 
 disgraceful culpability of the high unknown ! 
 
 * "It were as easy," wrote one editor, "to suspect General Lee of 
 duplicity, or General Butler of magnanimity, as to think Mr. Clay 
 guilty of the crimes imputed to him !" 
 
 286 
 
NEWS FROM FORTRESS MONROE 287 
 
 So early as June 10, 1865, a pamphlet had been printed 
 and circulated throughout the country by the Rev. Stuart 
 Robinson, exposing seriatim the " Infamous Perjuries of 
 the Bureau of the Military Justice." It took the form of a 
 letter to the Hon. H. H. Emmons, United States District- 
 Attorney at Detroit, and was quoted, when not printed 
 in full, by many leading newspapers. Throughout the 
 closely printed pages the paper presented an expose of the 
 unworthy character of the most prominent witnesses on 
 whose testimony the hapless Mrs. Surratt and her com- 
 panions had been condemned to the gallows; witnesses, 
 moreover, who were known to be the accusers of Mr. Davis 
 and Mr. Clay, who, it was announced, were soon to be tried 
 for complicity in the murder of the late Federal President. 
 In his pamphlet, Mr. Robinson did not content himself 
 with refuting the statements made by the miscreant wit- 
 nesses. He went further and accused Mr. Holt (by 
 name), head of the Bureau of Military Justice, of being 
 particeps criminis with the evil men whose testimony he 
 so credulously or maliciously employed. 
 
 "If any one supposes," wrote Mr. Robinson, "I have 
 judged Mr. Holt uncharitably in making him particeps 
 criminis with this villain" — a notorious witness — "whom 
 he parades and assists in the work of lying himself out of 
 his previous perjuries by still more preposterous lies, let 
 him carefully ponder this letter. . . . This is the man 
 whom Judge Advocate Holt, after his perjuries have been 
 exposed, brings back to the stand and assists in his 
 attempts to force his lies down the throat of the American 
 people. Who now," Mr. Robinson continued, "is the 
 base criminal — Judge Holt, or the men whom he seeks by 
 such base and impudent perjuries, under the garb of sworn 
 testimony, to defame?" 
 
 Such a brave challenge might well have been expected 
 to give the Government pause. To the increased agony 
 of our minds, its agents took no cognisance of Mr. Robin- 
 
288 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 son's fearless exposure, but ignored the protest with its 
 startling array of charges, which easily might have been 
 verified, and continued to rely upon its strange allies to 
 assist in the persecution of its prison victims. 
 
 Instinct with the zeal of the fanatic, and intrenched 
 behind the bewildered Mr. Johnson, the Head of the Bureau 
 of Military Justice was indifferent alike to contumely and 
 the appeals of even the merely just. In so far as the coun- 
 try at large might see, its Judge Advocate was imperial in 
 his powers. The legality of the existence of the Bureau 
 had been denied by the greatest jurists of the times ; yet 
 its dominating spirit was determined, despite the gravest 
 warnings and condemnation, to railroad, by secret trial, 
 the more distinguished of the prisoners to the gallows. 
 "Thoughtful men," Reverdy Johnson had said in his 
 argument in the trial of Mrs. Surratt, " feel aggrieved that 
 such a Commission should be established in this free coun- 
 try when the war is over, and when the common law 
 courts are open and accessible. Innocent parties, some- 
 times by private malice, sometimes for a mere partisan 
 purpose, sometimes from a supposed public policy, have 
 been made the subjects of criminal accusation. History 
 is full of such instances. How are such parties to be pro- 
 tected if a public trial be denied them, and a secret one in 
 whole or in part be substituted?" 
 
 "The Judge Advocate said, in reply to my inquiries," 
 said Thomas Ewing, "that he w r ould expect to convict 
 under the common law of war. This is a term unknown to 
 our language, a quiddity incapable of definition." And, 
 again, "The Judge Advocate, with whom chiefly rests the 
 fate of these citizens, from his position cannot be an 
 impartial judge unless he be more than man. He is the 
 Prosecutor in the most extended sense of the word. As 
 in duty bound before this court was called, he received the 
 reports of detectives, pre-examined the witnesses, pre- 
 pared and officially signed the charges, and, as principal 
 
NEWS FROM FORTRESS MONROE 289 
 
 counsel for the Government, controlled on the trial the 
 presentation, admission and rejection of evidence. In 
 our courts of law, a lawyer who heard his client's story, if 
 transferred from the bar to the bench, may not sit in the 
 trial of the cause, lest the ermine be sullied through the 
 partiality of the counsel." 
 
 To our sad household at distant Huntsville, each day, 
 with its disquieting rumours and reports of these trials, 
 added to our distress of mind. There was scarcely a man 
 or woman in the South who did not prophesy that, the 
 popular cry being "Vengeance," and full military power 
 in the hands of such men as Stanton and Holt, our former 
 President and Mr. Clay would surely meet the fate of Mrs. 
 Surratt. 
 
 Under the domination of such knowledge, my condition 
 of mind was a desperate one. We were nearly a thousand 
 miles removed from the seat of Government and from my 
 husband's prison. The Bureau of Military Justice, it was 
 well known, was industriously seeking to convict its 
 prisoners ; while the latter, ignorant even of the charges 
 against them, and denied the visits of counsel or friends, 
 were helpless to defend themselves, however easy to obtain 
 the proof might be. It were impossible for a wife, know- 
 ing her husband to be innocent, and resenting the ignoble- 
 ness of a government which would thus refuse to a self- 
 surrendered prisoner the courtesies the law allows to the 
 lowest of criminals, to rest passively under conditions so 
 alarming. 
 
 From the moment I stepped upon the soil of Georgia I 
 renewed my appeals to those in the North of whose regard 
 for my husband I felt assured. Among the first to respond 
 were Charles O 'Conor, of New York, T. W. Pierce, of 
 Boston, R. J. Haldeman, and Benjamin Wood, editor and 
 proprietor of the New York Daily News. Mr. Wood wrote 
 spontaneously : 
 
 " I beg you to have full faith in my desire and exertions 
 
2 9 o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 to relieve your noble husband from persecution, and to 
 secure for him a prompt and impartial trial, and conse- 
 quently an inevitable acquittal of the charge that has 
 been infamously alleged against him. I will communicate 
 immediately with Mr. O 'Conor, Mr. Carlisle, Mr. Franklin 
 Pierce, and Judge Black. Let me request you to accord 
 me the pleasure of advancing to Mr. Clay, until his libera- 
 tion, whatever sum may be necessary for the expenses 
 attendant upon legal action for his defense, as, owing to 
 his imprisonment and the present unsettled condition of 
 your neighbourhood, there might be a delay that would 
 prove prejudicial to his interests." 
 
 " I have no idea he will be brought to trial," wrote Mr. 
 Pierce, on June 16th, " as the evidence on which the Gov- 
 ernment relies is a tissue of wicked fabrication, from the 
 perjured lips of the lowest upon the earth ! No one who 
 knows him (Mr. Clay) can for a moment believe him guilty 
 or even capable of crime. I have written to Judge Black 
 and requested him to make effort to have you come to 
 the North. I hope your application to Judge Holt* will 
 secure for you this liberty." 
 
 Mr. O'Conor's letter ran as follows: 
 
 "New York, June 29, 1865. 
 
 "My Dear Madam: I do not believe that any attempt 
 will be made to try Mr. Clay or any other of the leading 
 Southern gentlemen on the charge of complicity in the assas- 
 sination f of Lincoln. 
 
 "Such of them as have, through mistaken confidence in 
 the magnanimity of their enemies, surrendered themselves 
 into custody, may be obliged to suffer imprisonment, until 
 it shall be determined, as a matter of policy, whether they 
 ought to be tried for treason. 
 
 * Neither this application, nor any communication sent by Mrs. Clay 
 to Judge Holt, met with the recognition of acknowledgment. A. S. 
 
 t A reference to Holt's Report, dated December 8, 1865, will show 
 how little either Mr. Pierce or this great legal light apprehended the 
 audacity of the inquisitorial Military Commission, of which the Secre- 
 tary of War and Joseph Holt made two. A. S. 
 
NEWS FROM FORTRESS MONROE 291 
 
 "Mr. Jefferson Davis is, of course, the first victim de- 
 manded by those who demand State prosecutions. His will 
 be the test case. ... I have volunteered my professional 
 services in his defense, and although I have hitherto been 
 refused permission to see him, and his letter in reply to my 
 offer has been intercepted and returned to him as an improper 
 communication, I am persuaded that, if atrial shall take place, 
 I will be one of his defenders. In performing this duty, you 
 may fairly consider me as in compliance with your request, 
 defending your husband. ... I sympathise most sin- 
 cerely with yourself and your husband in this cruel ordeal, 
 and shall be most happy if my efforts shall have any influence 
 in mitigating its severity or in shortening its duration. 
 
 "I am, my dear Madam, with great respect and esteem, 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " Charles O'Conor." 
 
 This epistle, coming from so wise a man, was calculated 
 to calm us ; one from Mr. Haldeman inspired us equally 
 to courage. 
 
 " Harrisburg, July 24, 1865. 
 "Mrs. C. C. Clay. 
 
 "My Dear Madam: Your exceedingly affecting letter 
 did not reach me until long after it was written. 
 So soon as it was practicable, I visited Honourable Thaddeus 
 Stevens at his home in Lancaster City. I selected Mr. 
 Stevens more particularly on account of his independence 
 of character, his courage, and his position of intellectual and 
 official leadership in the lower house of Congress, and in his 
 party. It is not necessary for me to tell you, Madam, that, 
 knowing your husband, I never had a suspicion of his com- 
 plicity in the assassination of Mr. Lincoln, but you will be 
 gratified to learn that Mr. Stevens scorned the idea of either 
 his guilt or that of any of the prominent sojourners in Canada.* 
 
 "Mr. Stevens holds, that as the belligerent character of 
 the Southern States was recognised by the United States, 
 neither Mr. Davis nor Mr. Clay can be tried for treason. 
 That, if tried, Mr. Clay should be tried in Alabama. You 
 will perceive, then, my dear Madam, that connected with the 
 proposed trial of your husband, there are profound questions 
 
 * Several years later Mr. Stevens reiterated these statements to one 
 of the editors of the New York Tribune, who again quoted Mr. Stevens's 
 remarks in an able editorial. A. S. 
 
2 9 2 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 of statesmanship and party. On this account, Mr. S. would 
 not like to have his name prematurely mentioned. He is 
 using his great political influence in the direction indicated, 
 and it is, of course, much greater when he is not known as 
 the counsel of Mr. Clay. ... I promised to see Mr. 
 Stevens so soon as the form and place of trial are announced. 
 . Mr. Stevens will be a tower of strength, and com- 
 mand attention and respect from President, Secretary and 
 Congress. 
 
 "Hoping, Madam, that when I address you again, it will 
 be under happier auspices, I am, 
 
 " R. J. Halbeman." 
 
 Nor were these all. Ex-Attorney General Black wrote 
 me early in July these brief but kind words of sympathy : 
 
 " I hasten to assure you that I will do all that in me lies 
 to secure justice in Mr. Clay's case. I have written to the 
 President, Secretary of War, and Mr. Davis. You may 
 safely rely upon me to the extent of my ability to do you 
 good ! " 
 
 Letters as positive and cordial came also from Messrs. 
 George Shea and J. M. Carlisle. I had written meanwhile 
 to Mr. Clay in prison, hoping thereby to give him courage ; 
 to the Secretary of War, beseeching for kindness to his self- 
 surrendered and delicate prisoner ; to General Miles, beg- 
 ging him to keep his promise and tell me of Mr. Clay's con- 
 dition. It was three months ere I heard from my hus- 
 band. The Secretary of War ignored my letter, and 
 three weeks passed ere the general in command at Fortress 
 Monroe made reply. His letter was judicially kind. It 
 saved me, at least, from apprehension lest Mr. Clay, too, 
 should be submitted to the horrible indignity which had 
 been put upon Mr. Davis, the news of which was still agi- 
 tating the country. General Miles's letter was as follows : 
 
 "Headquarters Military District of Fort Monroe. 
 Fort Monroe, Virginia, June 20, 1865. 
 "Dear Madam: Your letter of the 8th inst. * is at hand. 
 
 * The letter reads "ult.," but, being obviously an error, is here 
 changed. A. S. 
 
NEWS FROM FORTRESS MONROE 293 
 
 In answer, I am happy to say to you, your husband is well in 
 health and as comfortable as it is possible to make him under 
 my orders. He has not at any time been in irons. His fare 
 is good. (I think Mr. Davis's health better than when he 
 left the Clyde.) He has pipe and tobacco. The officers in 
 charge are changed every day. Your husband was pleased 
 to hear you were well. Wished me to say that he was well 
 and comfortable and under the circumstances quite cheerful. 
 Has every confidence that he will be able to vindicate himself 
 of the charge. He sends much love, and hopes you will not 
 make your [self] uneasy or worry on his account, as his only 
 concern is about you. Your letter was sent to Judge Holt. 
 
 ' ' Your husband has not been allowed any books except his 
 Bible and prayer-book, although I have requested provision 
 to allow him one other, but have received no answer as yet. 
 You may be assured that while your husband is within the 
 limits of my command he will not suffer. Hoping this will 
 find you well, I remain 
 
 ' ' Very respectfully, 
 
 " Nelson A. Miles, 
 " Brevet Major-General United States Volunteers." 
 
 On the face of it this communication was kind. But, 
 to offset its statements as to my husband's comfort, 
 rumours quite the reverse reached us from many reliable 
 sources. How well these were founded, how grievously 
 the life in prison told upon my husband's spirit, may be 
 adjudged from the following excerpts from a running 
 letter from Mr. Clay which reached me late in the 
 autumn. It was designed for my eyes alone, in 
 the event of some sudden termination of his present 
 awful experiences. In part it was a solemn charge 
 and farewell to me, and this portion was guarded ; for 
 Mr. Clay had supposed he must commit the letter, at 
 last, to the care of General Miles for transmittance to me. 
 In part, it is evident hope was reviving him; by this 
 time permission had been given to him to write to me 
 through the War Department ; also, he perceived the way 
 opening for a private delivery of the letter, and therefore, 
 at the last, he spoke more unreservedly. 
 
294 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 "Casemate No. 4, Fortress Monroe, Virginia. 
 " Friday, August 11, 1865. 
 "My Dearly Beloved Wife: After repeated requests, I 
 am permitted to address you this communication, which is 
 only to be delivered to you by General Miles in case of my 
 death before we meet on earth. . . . This letter is written 
 in contemplation of death; for, although trusting through 
 God's goodness and mercy to see you again on this earth, yet, 
 as my health is much impaired and I am greatly reduced in 
 flesh and strength, and never allowed a night's unbroken 
 rest, I feel I am in greater peril of my life than is usual. 
 Under the solemn reflection that I may not see you again 
 before I am called hence to meet my Judge, I shall try to wiite 
 nothing that I would erase at that day when I must give an 
 account of the deeds done in the flesh. God bears me wit- 
 ness that I am unconscious of having committed any crime 
 against the United States or any of them, or any citizen 
 thereof, and that I feel and believe that I have done my duty 
 as a servant of the State of Alabama, to whom alone I owed 
 allegiance, both before and since she seceded from the Federal 
 Union. I have not changed my opinion as to the sovereignty 
 of the States and the right of a State to secede ; and I am more 
 confirmed by my reflections and our bitter experience that the 
 Northern people were so hostile to the rights, interests and 
 institutions of the Southern States, that it was just and 
 proper for these to seek peace and security in a separate 
 government. I think the utter subversion of our political 
 and social systems and sudden enfranchisement of four 
 million slaves a great crime, and one of the most terrible 
 calamities that ever befell any people; that generations yet 
 unborn will feel it in sorrow and suffering; and that nothing 
 but intense hatred and vindictive rage could have so blinded 
 the North to its own interests and [to] those of humanity, 
 as to induce the consummation of this act of wickedness and 
 folly. I look for nothing but evil to both blacks and whites 
 in the South from this sudden and violent change in their 
 relations; intestine feuds and tumults; torpid indolence and 
 stealthy rapacity on the part of the blacks; jealousy, distrust 
 and oppression of them on the part of the whites; mutual 
 outrage and injury, disquiet, apprehensions, alarms, murders, 
 robberies, house-burnings, and other crimes; the blighting 
 of hearts and homes and the destruction of industry, arts, 
 literature, wealth, comfort and happiness. No people, save 
 
NEWS FROM FORTRESS MONROE 295 
 
 the Jews, have ever been more oppressed and afflicted than 
 those of the South, [and] especially the blacks, will be, in my 
 opinion. Their professed deliverers will prove the real de- 
 stroyers of the negroes in the end. 
 
 "Had I foreseen this, I should doubtless have been in 
 favour of enduring lesser evils and wrongs from the North 
 and postponing this calamity, for it would have come sooner 
 or later, but, perhaps, not in our day. I never doubted 
 . . . that our interest would be best served by preserving 
 the old Union, under which I might have enjoyed wealth and 
 honour all my life. I felt that I was acting against my own 
 interest in favouring Secession, but thought it my duty to my 
 State and the South. Hence, I have nothing to reproach 
 myself for as to my course in that respect. I only regret that 
 we did not defer the evil day or prepare longer, better main- 
 taining our independence. I still think we might and would 
 have maintained it, with more wisdom in council and in the 
 field, and with more virtue among our people. I feel it due 
 to my character, to my family and friends, to say this much on 
 public affairs. 
 
 " Now in regard to your own course and that of my kindred, 
 I would advise you, if able, to remove from the South; but, 
 impoverished as you all are, or soon will be, it is improbable 
 that you can do so. Hence, you had best make your home 
 in some city or large town, where the white population pre- 
 vails. I think populous negro districts will be unsafe. You 
 will be obliged to cast off our former slaves, if they should 
 desire to live with you, for you have no means of supporting 
 or of employing them. . . . Do what you can for the 
 comfort of my parents. . . . Try to exercise charity to 
 all mankind, forgiving injuries, cherishing hatred to none, 
 and doing good even to enemies. . . . This is true 
 wisdom, even if there was no life beyond the grave, because 
 the best way of securing peace of mind and of promoting mere 
 worldly interests. But when I remember that Christ commands 
 it and enforced it by His example, and promised, 'if you keep 
 my commandments, you shall abide in my love,'' the inestimable 
 great reward should stimulate us to the performance of the duty. 
 . . Nothing has convinced me of the divinity of Christ 
 so much as His superhuman morality and virtue. . . . 
 
 " Saturday, August 12, 1865. 
 ". . . I hope and sometimes think that my confine- 
 ment here is to end in good to me. I have tried and am 
 
296 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 still trying to turn it to my incalculable profit. I have searched 
 my own heart, and reviewed my life more earnestly, prayer- 
 fully, and anxiously than in all my days before coming in 
 here. I have read The Book through twice; much of it more 
 than twice. 
 
 "You will see from my Bible and prayer-books that I have 
 been assiduous and earnest in their study. I confess that 
 this has been from necessity rather than choice. I have 
 never been allowed to see any word in print or manuscript 
 outside of them, until 3d inst., when a copy of the New York 
 Herald was brought me, and I was informed that I was [to be] 
 allowed to see such newspapers as General Miles would daily 
 send me. 
 
 " September 10, 1865. 
 " I dropped my pen in the delusive hope that I was to be 
 allowed to see you soon, or at all events to correspond freely 
 with you, and that in the meantime I would be allowed a rea- 
 sonable hope of living, by granting me opportunity to sleep. 
 For I must now tell you what I have heretofore thought I 
 would conceal till my liberation or death, that I have endured 
 the most ingenious and refined torture ever since I came into this 
 living tomb; for, although above the natural face of the earth, it 
 is covered with about ten feet of earth, and is always more or less 
 damp like a tomb. With a bright light in my room and the 
 adjoining room, united to it by two doorways, closed by iron 
 gates, which cover about half the space or width of the partition, 
 and with two soldiers in this room, and two and a lieutenant in 
 the adjoining, until about 30th June; with the opening and 
 shutting of those heavy iron doors or gates, the soldiers being 
 relieved every two hours; with the tramp of these heavy, armed 
 men, walking their beats, the rattling of their arms, and still 
 more the trailing sabre of the lieutenant, the officer of the guard, 
 whose duty is to look at me every fifteen minutes, you may be 
 sure that my sleep has been often disturbed and broken. In 
 truth, I have experienced one of the tortures of the Spanish 
 Inquisition in this frequent, periodical and irregular disturb- 
 ance of my sleep. During the one hundred and twelve days 
 of my imprisonment here I have never enjoyed one night's 
 unbroken sleep ; I have been roused every two hours, if asleep, 
 by the tread of soldiers, the clank of arms and the voices of 
 officers. ... I have never known the feeling of refresh- 
 ment from sleep on arising any morning of my imprisonment. 
 Besides, I have never been allowed retirement from sight, 
 
NEWS FROM FORTRESS MONROE 297 
 
 actual or potential, of my guards; having to bathe and do all 
 the acts of nature in view of the guard, if they chose to look at 
 me. I have never been allowed an interview with any one 
 alone, not even with a minister of God, but have always been 
 confronted with two or more witnesses, whenever minister 
 or physician come to see me. I have never been allowed any 
 clothes save those in present use. . . . Where my other 
 clothes are I do not know, as several of those who were repre- 
 sented as masters of my wardrobe denied the trust. I have 
 found out that some things I valued have been stolen, together 
 with all the little money I kept. I think it probable that you 
 will never see half of the contents of my valise and despatch 
 bag. The inclosed letters* present but a glimpse of my 
 tortures, for I knew that the grand inquisitors, the President 
 and Cabinet, knew all that I could tell and even more; and, 
 besides, my debility of body and of mind was such that I had 
 not power to coin my thoughts into words. . . . And to 
 be frank, I was too proud to confess to them all my sufferings, 
 and also apprehended that they would rather rejoice over and 
 aggravate than relent and alleviate them. I now feel ashamed 
 that I have complained to them instead of enduring unto 
 death. My love for you, my parents and brothers, prevailed 
 over my self-love, and extracted from me those humiliating 
 letters. I have been reluctant to humble myself to men whom 
 I regarded as criminals far more than myself, touching all the 
 woes and wrongs, the destruction and desolation of the South. 
 "If you ever get my [Jay's] prayer-book, you will see 
 scratched with a pencil, borrowed for the occasion, such 
 items in my monotonous prison life as I felt worth recording. 
 
 "October 16th. 
 "On the 19th of August I wrote my second letter to the Sec- 
 retary of War, and was then in hopes of removal of the guard 
 from the adjoining room in a day or two. Besides, I was so 
 enfeebled and my nerves so shattered by loss of sleep that I 
 could scarcely write. Hence I quit this painful labour of 
 love. The guard was not removed till the 12th of Septem- 
 ber, and then because my condition, from loss of sleep, was 
 become really very critical. Since then I have improved 
 very much in health and have slept as well as I ever did. But 
 I have been deluded with the hope of my enlargement on 
 
 * Copies of those addressed by Mr. Clay to the Secretaty of War and 
 to President Johnson. A. S. 
 
298 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 parole, and thought I would not dwell on so painful a theme. 
 I now learn that I am to be moved to-day to Carroll Hall, 
 
 where Mr. D is. Hence I avail myself of a 
 
 chance to send you these sheets lest they should never reach 
 you if I die in prison. I must impress on you the propriety of 
 concealing this communication while I live and never alluding 
 to it, for, if found out, I should suffer for it. ... I dare 
 say I should be turned out on parole but for the charge against 
 me of concerting Lincoln's murder. They are loth to con- 
 fess the charge to be false, which they would do by releasing 
 me. I am made to suffer to save them from the reproach of 
 injustice. I should be willing to brave them out by stubborn 
 endurance and refusal of anything but legal justice. I should 
 not fear that. But I am never to be tried for murder, nor, I 
 think, for treason. They know there is no pretext for charg- 
 ing me with murder, and they doubt their ability to convict 
 me of treason before a jury of Southern men, and such only 
 could legally try me. . . . 
 
 "Now excuse any incoherence or want of method and the 
 bad writing, as it is all done under great disadvantages, which 
 I may explain hereafter. You can write to me under cover 
 to Captain R. W. Bickley, Third Pennsylvania Artillery, 
 Fortress Monroe, Virginia. He will be here till ioth of 
 November, and then go out of service. After that I'll find 
 some one else through whom you can write to me. He is 
 from Philadelphia. He, Captain J. B. Tetlow, Philadelphia, 
 Captain McEwan, Lewisburg, Pennsylvania, and Dr. John J. 
 Craven* of this place, have been very kind to me ; also Lieuten- 
 ant Lemuel Shipman, Sunbury, Pennsylvania. The last 
 made me a wooden knife to eat with during the time I was 
 denied knife and fork and spoon, which was till thirtieth of 
 June. 
 
 "They would, too, shake hands (which was forbidden) and 
 treat me as an equal when they could do so unobserved. 
 Take care you don't allude to this letter in yours through War 
 
 Department. . . . has no sensibility 
 
 or refinement, and hence Mr. Davis and I have suffered more 
 than we should have done. Mr. Davis was ironed without 
 cause, and only grew violent when they offered to iron him. I 
 
 * Dr. Craven was already in communication with Dr. Withers, of 
 Petersburg, Va., Mr. Clay's cousin, who, through the courtesy of his 
 fellow-practitioner, was enabled to contribute occasionally to Mr. 
 Clay's comfort and welfare. A. S. 
 
NEWS FROM FORTRESS MONROE 299 
 know this from one who was present. Facts are, General M- 
 
 was authorised to iron us if necessary for safety, and deemed it 
 
 necessary with Mr. D , or mistook the authority as an order 
 
 to do it. But Mr. Davis is petulant, irascible, and offensive in 
 manner to officers, as they tell me, though they say he is able, 
 learned, high-toned, and imposing in manner." 
 
 Before this heartrending letter reached me, however, 
 another, couched purposely in terms more guarded (as 
 befitted matter which must run the gauntlet of Secretary 
 Stanton's, the Attorney-General's and General Miles's 
 scrutiny), had reached me. In my endeavours to com- 
 fort our enfeebled parents, I had already discussed with 
 them the advisability of making my way to Washington, 
 and in the first letter from me that reached my husband's 
 hands I spoke of my hope of doing so. Unknown to me, 
 Mr. Clay, so early as June 30th, had written an urgent 
 appeal to Secretary Stanton that I might be allowed to 
 see or communicate with him. To this he had received 
 no reply. Upon learning, therefore, of my intention 
 through my letter, his first impulse was to dissuade me. 
 
 "If you come North," he wrote, on August 21st, "you 
 must come with a brave heart, my dear 'Ginie . 
 prepared to hear much to wound you, and to meet with 
 coldness and incivility where you once received kindness 
 and courtesy. Some will offend you with malice, some 
 unwittingly and from mere habit, and some even through 
 a sense of duty. Many religionists have, doubtless, found 
 pleasure and felt they were doing God service in persecu- 
 ting heretics. If rudely repulsed, remember, in charity, 
 that such is human nature. The Jewish priests drove off 
 the lepers with stones. . . ." 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 Again in Washington 
 
 By September I had reopened correspondence with 
 many Washington friends. As will have been seen by a 
 perusal of certain preceding letters, the question of giving 
 me permission to return to the capital already had been 
 broached to the President and Secretary of War, by 
 Judge Black and others. It was now again brought to 
 the attention of Mr. Johnson, by Mr. Duff Green, a long- 
 time friend of ex-Governor Clay, of my husband, and of the 
 President's. It was the first application of all that had 
 been sent to the Government to bring a response. The 
 Executive's reply was couched as follows: 
 
 " I am directed by the President to say that an appli- 
 cation for permission to visit Washington, made by Mrs. 
 C. C. Clay, Jr., over her own name, will be considered by 
 him. R. Morrow, 
 
 "Major and A. A. G., Secretary." 
 
 In forwarding this communication to me, Mr. Green 
 wrote : 
 
 "We think there is nothing to prevent your coming at 
 once. To wait for permission may delay you weeks, and 
 perhaps months. Your coming would not prejudice 
 either yourself or your husband, and you can do more by a 
 personal application to the President than by an applica- 
 tion 'over your own name.'" 
 
 Two months dragged by, however, ere I could complete 
 arrangements for the journey and detach myself from our 
 clinging parents, who, deprived of all of their other chil- 
 dren, now placed their dependence upon me. Notwith- 
 
 300 
 
AGAIN IN WASHINGTON 301 
 
 standing their hearts ached for some assurance of Mr. Clay's 
 safety, they were ill-disposed to look upon my projected 
 trip with favour. Huntsville was in complete subjugation 
 to the Federal representatives. We had numerous 
 reasons to realise the pitiless and cruel policy that had 
 been inaugurated by our conquerors, and few to lead us 
 to look for kinder things at the hands of the powers at 
 Washington. The reports that reached us of the treat- 
 ment accorded to those Southerners who had already 
 proceeded to the capital, even allowing for the prejudice 
 of editors unfriendly to us, were not of a kind to encourage 
 a hope for clemency or justice there. The efforts of 
 the wives of other prisoners to communicate with their 
 husbands, their applications to the Government to grant 
 them the right of trial, not only had been of no avail, but, 
 in some instances, had made them the direct objects of 
 attack from those inimical to them. " I have had a 
 weary time," one wrote late in October, "but of that, if 
 you knew how weary, you would cry out ' No more an' 
 you love me,' rather than bear the infliction of the retro- 
 spect, so I will not torment you." . . . President 
 Johnson's remarks to the South Carolina Delegation, 
 concerning Mrs. Davis's efforts, became the talk of the 
 country. I was astonished when I learned that she had 
 never written a line without consultation with Mr. Schley 
 and his, in turn, consulting General Steedman upon the 
 tenor of her letters, and receiving the approval of both on 
 the manner of presenting the subject. It was the old fable 
 of the lamb whose grandfather muddied the stream. 
 
 Such news served further to convince my husband's 
 parents of the futility of the trip I was contemplating. 
 They urged that I would be attacked on every side so 
 soon as I entered the Federal capital; they pleaded, 
 too, alas ! the stringency of our present means, a very 
 vital objection just then to us whose every possession had 
 either been "confiscated" or otherwise rendered useless 
 
3 o2 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 to us. Nevertheless, every moment anxiety was con- 
 suming me. I resolved to act while I had the strength, 
 and made known my resolve to our parents. 
 
 The middle of November had arrived ere, by the aid 
 of Mr. Robert Herstein, a kindly merchant of Hunts- 
 ville ("may his tribe increase'"'), who advanced me 
 $100 in gold (and material for a silk gown, to be made 
 when I should reach my destination), I was enabled to 
 begin my journey to the capital. Under the escort of a 
 kind friend and neighbour, Major W. H. Echols, of 
 Hunts ville, who, having in mind the securing of a certain 
 patent, arranged his plans so as to accompany me to 
 Washington, I bade father and mother "good-bye" and 
 stepped aboard the train. My heart sometimes beat high 
 with hope, yet, at others, I trembled at what I might 
 encounter. Fortunately for the preservation of my 
 courage, I had no forewarning that I had looked, for the 
 last time, upon the sorrowful face of our mother. Her 
 closing words, in that heartbreaking farewell, were of 
 hope that I would soon return bringing with me her 
 dearest son. With the desire to cheer them both, I 
 wrote back merrily as I proceeded on my way; but, 
 indeed, I had small need to affect a spirit of buoyancy; 
 for, from the beginning, I was the recipient of innumer- 
 able kindnesses from fellow-travellers who learned my 
 identity. In many instances my fare was refused by 
 friendly railroad conductors. 
 
 "I have paid literally nothing thus far," I wrote from 
 Louisville, Kentucky, which city I reached early in the 
 morning of November 15th. "At Nashville," my letter 
 added, "we took sleeping cars, which were as luxurious 
 as the bed that now invites me. I had, however, an 
 amusing, and, at first blush, an alarming nocturnal 
 adventure. I was waked by the rattling of paper at 
 my head, and, half unconsciously putting out my hand, 
 it lighted on the hairy back of some animal ! I sprang 
 
AGAIN IN WASHINGTON 303 
 
 out of bed, raised the curtain, and there sat, in the corner 
 of my berth, the most monstrous coon you ever saw ! 
 The black around his eyes at first made him appear like 
 an owl, but he proved to be a genuine old ' zip coon.' So 
 I got out one of 'Mammy 'Ria's' nice biscuit, which 
 have been greatly complimented by my friends, and 
 asked him please to come out of my bed and eat some 
 supper. But he wouldn't ! And I had to wake Major 
 Echols in the gentlemen's apartment, who forcibly 
 ejected him after a good laugh at me !" 
 
 A day later and we reached Cincinnati, where, owing 
 to the late arrival of the boat, the St. Nicholas, on which 
 we had travelled from Louisville, through banks of fog, 
 we were delayed some twelve hours. Our trip on this 
 river steamer was, in its way, a kind of triumphal progress, 
 very reassuring to me at that critical moment. As 
 I wrote back to father, "We found the captain a good 
 Southerner and a noble old fellow ! Had one son in the 
 Federal Army and lost one at Shiloh ! Mr. Hughes, of 
 the Louisville Democrat, was aboard ; he said his paper had 
 been suppressed, but he would now be permitted to go 
 South. He is a rabid secessionist, and promised to copy 
 the News* articles concerning my husband." On 
 board, too, was Mrs. Gamble, of Louisville, a wealthy 
 woman whose name was associated with innumerable 
 kindnesses to our soldiers, and generous gifts to our 
 cause. She was a sad woman, but sympathised greatly 
 with Mr. Davis and Mr. Clay, and begged that upon my 
 return from Washington we would make our home with 
 her "until better times." 
 
 Upon learning the length of time we must spend in 
 Cincinnati, I went at once to the Spencer House, whence 
 I wrote and immediately despatched notes to my old 
 friends, Mrs. George E. Pugh, wife of the ex-Senator, and 
 to Senator and Mrs. George H. Pendleton (the first a 
 
 * New York Daily News. 
 
304 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 resident of the city, the last-named residents of Clifton, 
 a suburb), telling them of my unexpected presence in the 
 city, and hoping to see them during the day. On my 
 way to the hotel, I had looked about the city with in- 
 creasing interest and pleasure. How different it was 
 from our devastated country ! 
 
 "You never saw the like of the fruit!" I wrote en- 
 thusiastically to mother. "Grapes, oranges, apples; 
 such varieties of nuts — cream, hazel, hickory, and English 
 walnuts — as are on the beautiful stall just at the entrance 
 of the hotel ! The Major has just entered, laughing 
 heartily at Yankee tricks and Yankee notions ! He says 
 a man said to him, ' Insure your life, sir ? ' 
 
 " ' For what ? ' says the Major. 
 
 "'For ten cents!' replies the man. 'And if you are 
 killed on the cars, your family gets $3,000 cash !' 
 
 "'Three thousand?' rejoins Major Echols, contemptu- 
 ously. ' What's that to a man worth a million! ' at which 
 all stare as if shot. I laugh, too, but tell him I fear we 
 will be made to pay for his fun, if they think us mil- 
 lionaires /" 
 
 The day was half gone when dear Mrs. Pugh, only a 
 few years ago the triumphant beauty of the Pierce and 
 Buchanan administrations, but now a pale, saddened 
 woman, clad in deep mourning, appeared. God ! what 
 private sorrows as well as national calamities had filled 
 in the years since we had separated in Washington ! 
 The pathos of her appearance opened a very flood-gate of 
 tears, which I could not check. But Mrs. Pugh shed 
 none. She only put out a restraining hand to me. 
 
 " No tears now, I beg of you. I can't endure it. 
 Tell me of yourself, of your plans. Where are you going ? 
 What of Mr. Clay? How can I aid you?" she asked, 
 turning away all discussion save as to the object of my 
 journey. 
 
 The afternoon was already nearly spent when Senator 
 
AGAIN IN WASHINGTON 305 
 
 and Mrs. Pendleton arrived, having driven in from their 
 suburban home upon the receipt of my note, sent at mid- 
 day. Their welcome was cordial and frank as in the 
 old days. They had come to take me home to dinner, 
 where, they assured me, we might talk more freely than 
 at the hotel. They would take no refusal, but agreed 
 with Major Echols, who was unable to accompany us, to 
 see me safely to the station in ample time to take the 
 midnight train for Washington. In the hours that 
 followed, I learned somewhat of the experiences in 
 the North, during the bloody strife of the four years 
 just closed, of Southern sympathisers, even where their 
 sympathy was restrained from announcing itself by an 
 open espousal. Senator Pendleton's known friendliness 
 for Clement L. Vallandigham, whose fearlessness and out- 
 spoken zeal in our behalf had cost him so dearly, had 
 brought its own penalties. At times, he told me, when 
 feeling ran highest, neither his home nor that of Senator 
 Pugh had escaped certain malodorous missiles of the 
 lawless ! 
 
 We spent much of the evening in scanning the prob- 
 lems that lay before me. I told my host of the numbers 
 of brilliant men who had volunteered their aid to Mr. 
 Clay, mentioning among others the name of Judge 
 Hughes, of Washington, whose friendly proffer of counsel 
 had reached me just previous to my departure from 
 Huntsville. 
 
 "By all means," said Senator Pendleton, as we drove 
 at last to the station, "see Judge Hughes first! He is 
 strictly non-partisan, is a friend of the President's, and, 
 moreover, is under obligations to Mr. Clay, which I know 
 he would gladly repay ! ' ' 
 
 It was already a late hour when we rejoined the waiting 
 Major Echols. With a warm "God bless you, dear 
 friend!" Senator and Mrs. Pendleton bade me "good- 
 bye," and I stepped aboard the train for Washington. 
 
3 o6 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 What that name called up, what my thoughts were, or 
 what my sensations, as I realised our approach to the city 
 once so attractive, but now seeming to represent to me 
 a place of oppression and the prison in which for six 
 months Mr. Clay had been incarcerated, may better be 
 imagined than described. Early the following morning 
 our train began to thread its way through familiar 
 country. By mid-day we had reached war-scarred 
 Harper's Ferry, and passed over into old Virginia ! A 
 short journey now, and I found myself once more driving 
 up Pennsylvania Avenue in the company of tried friends, 
 en route to Willard's. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 Secretary Stanton Denies Responsibility 
 
 From the hour of my arrival in the capital, Friday, 
 November 17th, my misgivings gave place to courage. 
 I went directly to Willard's, which, being near the 
 Executive Mansion and the War Department, and my 
 purse very slender, I believed would save me hack hire. 
 I had scarcely registered when General Clingman called. 
 He was followed shortly by Senators Garland and John- 
 son, of Arkansas, the vanguard of numerous friends, who 
 within a few hours came to extend their sympathies and 
 wishes for the success of my mission. During that first 
 day I sent a note to Colonel Johnson, Mr. Johnson's 
 Secretary, asking for an interview with the President 
 at the earliest possible date. To my great relief of mind, 
 within a few hours there came an answer, telling me the 
 President would see me the following Wednesday ! 
 
 For the next few days I knew no moment alone. The 
 list of callers noted in my small diary necessarily was 
 but partial, yet even that is wonderfully long. Among 
 them, to my surprise and somewhat to my mystification, 
 were General Ihrie, Major Miller and Colonel Ayr of 
 Grant's staff. Their friendliness amazed me. I could 
 imagine no reason why they should call. General Ihrie, 
 moreover, assured me of his chief's kind feeling toward 
 my husband, and advised me to see the Lieutenant - 
 General at an early date. 
 
 The Sunday after my arrival, callers began to arrive 
 before breakfast, the first being Colonel Ogle Tayloe, 
 bearing an invitation from Mrs. Tayloe to dinner the 
 
 3o7 
 
3 o8 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 following evening. Before church hour had arrived, dear 
 old Mr. Corcoran came, intending to give me welcome on 
 his way to St. John's. He forgot to leave again until 
 services were over, and others returning from church 
 crowded in. Mr. Corcoran's manner was full of the old- 
 time charm, as he bade me good-bye at last ; and, as he 
 took my hand in parting, he said, " You've not forgotten 
 the little white house round the corner?" (referring to 
 the banking-house of Riggs & Corcoran). 
 
 " No," I answered, smiling sadly, " You are my bankers 
 still, but, alas ! where are my deposits? " 
 
 Mr. Corcoran's glance was full of kindness. Laying 
 his hand upon his heart, he replied, "They are here, my 
 friend ! ' ' and he pressed my hand reassuringly. 
 
 I remember that Sunday as one in which tears of 
 gratitude rose to my eyes again and again, until at last 
 I exclaimed, " It is all very strange to me ! There 
 appears to be none of my husband's enemies here ! It 
 seems to me as if everyone is his -friend ! ' ' 
 
 The following morning, however, I had an experience 
 calculated to arouse in me a feeling somewhat less secure. 
 I was still in the bath when a tap came at my door. 
 
 "A lady wishes to see you," was the reply to my 
 question. 
 
 "Who is she?" I asked. 
 
 " Don't know, ma'am. She wouldn't give her name ! " 
 
 "Very well," I answered. "Explain to her that I 
 am dressing; that unless her business is imperative, I 
 would prefer to have her call later." 
 
 In a few moments I heard light tapping again. Upon 
 my inquiry, a name was whispered through the key- 
 hole, which I recognised as that of the wife of a well- 
 known public official. I at once admitted her. The 
 purpose of her visit was a peculiar one. She had come 
 to warn me of the presence in the city of James Mont- 
 gomery, alias Thompson, one of the hireling witnesses 
 
STANTON DENIES RESPONSIBILITY 309 
 
 whose "testimony" against Mr. Davis and Mr. Clay had 
 been registered with the Bureau of Military Justice. 
 By some unfortunate connection of her own family 
 with this miscreant, my visitor had learned that Mont- 
 gomery, upon hearing of my object in visiting Washington, 
 had been heard to make a threat of violence against me. 
 The lady, who shall continue to be nameless, was so 
 convinced some harm threatened me that she begged 
 me to promise that while in the capital I would go 
 armed, and especially be cautious with unknown callers. 
 Montgomery, she added, was likely to disguise himself; 
 but, further to aid me in guarding against some injury 
 at his hands, she had brought with her a photograph of 
 the wretched man. Whether or not some crime was 
 projected against me by this man I never knew, but 
 the wild nature of the times warranted me in exercising, 
 thereafter, a prudence which otherwise would not have 
 occurred to me. I took counsel with friends, and, 
 with one exception, later to be mentioned, no occurrence 
 during my stay in the capital served to arouse in me a 
 further apprehension from that quarter. 
 
 In the days that intervened until my appointment 
 with the President, my hours were spent in advantageous 
 interviews with Judge Hughes, of Hughes & Denver, 
 with Judge Black, Senator Garland, Frederick A. Aiken 
 and others, during which I gleaned much knowledge of 
 what had transpired since my husband's incarceration, and 
 of the public feeling concerning the distinguished prisoners 
 at Fortress Monroe, whose trials had been so mysteriously 
 postponed. It was now six months since the imprison- 
 ment of Messrs. Davis and Clay; but in so far as might 
 be learned, definite charges against them had not yet 
 been filed at the War Department. On every side I 
 heard it declared that the situation was unprecedented 
 in English or American jurisprudence. Leading lawyers 
 of the country were ready and eager to appear in the 
 
3 io A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 prisoners' behalf, but every effort made by friends to see 
 them thus far had been futile. In those first weeks, 
 reiterated proffers of legal aid continued to reach me 
 daily from distinguished quarters. 
 
 Upon my arrival in the capital I had put myself at 
 once into communication with Judge Hughes, as advised 
 by Senator Pendleton. His kindness was unceasing, 
 not only in the matter of legal advice to guide me through 
 the intricacies of my undertaking, but in his generous 
 placing at my disposal his horses and carriages, and 
 the services of his coachman and footman. Mrs. Hughes 
 was absent in the West, and the hospitality of their home, 
 therefore, was barred; but all that a thoughtful nature 
 could suggest was done by the Judge to facilitate success 
 in my mission. 
 
 From the first, too, Judge Jeremiah S. Black, ex- 
 Attorney-General, and Secretary of State under President 
 Buchanan, with whom I now became, for the first time, 
 personally acquainted, proved a bulwark of sympathy 
 that thereafter never failed my husband and self. He 
 was a peculiar man in appearance, with shaggy brows, 
 deep-set eyes, and a cavernous mouth, out of which 
 invincible arguments rolled that made men listen. This 
 feature was large when he spoke, but when he laughed, 
 the top of his head fell back like a box cover, and looked 
 as if it must drop over the other way. Happily for the 
 unfortunate, his heart was modelled on a scale as large, 
 and for months he gave his time and advice unstintedly 
 to me. 
 
 On the Wednesday appointed by the President, ac- 
 companied by Judge Hughes, I proceeded to keep my 
 appointment at the White House. One of the first 
 familiar faces I saw as I entered was that of Mrs. Stephen 
 A. Douglas, now widowed. A wait of some moments 
 being imminent, with the affectionate warmth so well- 
 known to me in other and happier days, Mrs. Douglas at 
 
STANTON DENIES RESPONSIBILITY 311 
 
 once volunteered to accompany me in my call upon 
 "the good President," and in a few moments we were 
 shown into his presence. Mr. Johnson received us 
 civilly, preserving, at first, what I learned afterward 
 to know was an habitual composure, though he softened 
 somewhat under the ardent appeal of Mrs. Douglas 
 when she urged upon him the granting of my request. 
 
 My first impression of the President, who, while a 
 Senator, in the fifties, had seldom been seen in social 
 gatherings in the capital, was that of a man upon whom 
 greatness, of a truth, had been thrust ; a political accident, 
 in fact. His hands were small and soft; his manner 
 was self-contained, it is true, but his face, with "cheeks 
 as red as June apples," was not a forceful one. 
 
 From the beginning, as Judge Black had declared he 
 would do, Mr. Johnson clearly wished to shirk the re- 
 sponsibility of my husband's case, and to throw it upon 
 the shoulders of his Secretary of War. His non-committal 
 responses to my reasons why I should have access to 
 my husband, why he should be tried or liberated, dis- 
 heartened me greatly. When Mrs. Douglas perceived 
 this, she added her pleadings to mine, and, as the Presi- 
 dent's shiftiness became more and more apparent, she 
 burst into tears, and, throwing herself down on her 
 knees before him, called upon me to follow her example. 
 This, however, I could not comply with. I had no 
 reason to respect the Tennesseean before me. That he 
 should have my husband's life in his power was a mon- 
 strous wrong, and a thousand reasons why it was wrong 
 flashed through my mind like lightning as I measured 
 him, searing it as they passed. My heart was full of 
 indignant protest that such an appeal as Mrs. Douglas's 
 should have been necessary ; but that, having been made, 
 Mr. Johnson could refuse it, angered me still more. I 
 would not have knelt to him even to save a precious 
 life. This first, memorable one of many, unhappy 
 
3 i2 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 scenes at the White House, ended by the President 
 inviting me to call again after he had consulted his 
 Cabinet. At the same time he urged me to see Mr. 
 Stanton. 
 
 "I think you had best go to him," he said. "This 
 case comes strictly within the jurisdiction of the Secretary 
 of War, and I advise you to see him ! " 
 
 Realising the futility of further argument with 
 Mr. Johnson at the time, I followed his advice, going 
 almost immediately, and alone, to the War Department. 
 It was my first and last visit to Secretary Stanton, in 
 that day of the Government's chaos, autocrat of all the 
 United States and their citizens. Varying accounts of 
 that experience have appeared in the press during the 
 last thirty-seven years. The majority of them have 
 exaggerated the iron Secretary's treatment of me. Many 
 have accused him of a form of brusque brutality,* which, 
 while quite in keeping with his reputation, nevertheless 
 was not exhibited toward me. 
 
 The Secretary of War was not guilty of "tearing up in 
 my face and throwing in the waste-basket," as one 
 writer has averred, the President's note of introduction, 
 which I bore him, even though I was a declared " Rebel" 
 and the wife of a so-called conspirator and assassin. He 
 was simply inflexibly austere and pitiless. 
 
 Upon arriving at the War Department, I gave my 
 card and the President's note to the messenger in waiting, 
 which, from across the room, I saw handed to the Secre- 
 tary. He glanced at them, laid them on the desk at which 
 
 * To pass by less irreproachable witnesses, the following incident 
 illustrative of Mr. Stanton's brusquerie to women was told by the 
 Reverend Elisha Dyer. "While sitting in Mr. Stanton's private office, 
 a well-dressed lady entered. She was rather young, and very capti- 
 vating. Approaching the Secretary, she said, ' Excuse me, but I must 
 see you ! ' My old friend at once assumed the air of a bear. In a stern 
 voice he said, 'Madam, you have no right to come into this office, and 
 you must leave it ! No, Madam,' he continued, when she tried to 
 speak, 'not one word!' And, calling an orderly, he said, 'Take this 
 woman out!'" A. S. 
 
STANTON DENIES RESPONSIBILITY 313 
 
 he sat, and continued in conversation with a lady who 
 stood beside him. In a second the messenger returned, 
 and desired me to take a seat on a sofa, which, as it 
 happened, was directly in line with Mr. Stanton's desk. 
 In a few moments the lady with whom he had been in 
 conversation withdrew. As she passed me I recognised 
 her. She was Mrs. Kennedy, daughter of ex-Secretary 
 Mallory, then a prisoner in Fort Lafayette. Her face 
 was flushed and very sad, which I interpreted (and 
 rightly, as it proved) as meaning that her request had 
 been denied. The sight filled me with indignation. I 
 resolved at once to retain my seat and let the Secretary 
 seek me, as a gentleman should do. I was strengthened 
 in this determination by the conviction that he would 
 ignore my plea also, and I was resolved to yield him no 
 double victory. 
 
 After a delay of a few moments, in which the Secretary 
 adjusted first his glasses and then his papers, he slowly 
 approached me, saying, "This is Mrs. Clay, I presume?" 
 
 " And this Mr. Stanton ? " I replied. 
 
 I at once briefly, but bravely, proceeded with my 
 story. I told him that my object in visiting Washington 
 was to obtain the speedy release of my husband, who was 
 dying hourly under the deprivations and discipline of 
 prison life; or, failing this, to obtain for him an early 
 trial, which he desired not to shirk, but to hasten ; of the 
 result of which we had no fear, unless " he be given up to 
 that triumvirate called the 'Military Bureau of Justice,' 
 of which you are one, Mr. Stanton !" This I said with 
 inward trembling and with eyes brimming, but looking 
 him fully in the face. His own gaze fell. 
 
 "Madam," he answered. "I am not your husband's 
 judge " 
 
 " I know it ! " I interrupted. " And I am thankful for 
 it; and I would not have you for his accuser ! " 
 
 "Neither am I his accuser!" he continued. I could 
 
3 i4 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 scarcely believe I had heard him aright. His manner 
 was gravely polite. I remember thinking at that moment, 
 " Can this be the rude man of whom I have heard ? Can 
 I have been misinformed about him ? ' ' 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Stanton, for those words," I said. 
 " I had not hoped to hear them from you. I thought 
 you were the bitterest of my husband's enemies ! I 
 assure you your words give me fresh hope ! I will tell 
 the President at once of this cheering interview ! " 
 
 At these expressions Mr. Stanton seemed somewhat 
 confused. I wondered whether he would modify or 
 recall his words. He did not, however, and thanking 
 him again for even that concession, I withdrew. 
 
 The legal friends to whom I gave an account of this 
 conversation were less confident as to its significance. If 
 Mr. Stanton was neither Mr. Clay's judge nor accuser, 
 who was? Some one was surely responsible for his 
 detention; some one with the power to obstruct justice 
 was delaying the trial, which the first legal minds in the 
 country for months had sought to bring about. If not 
 Mr. Stanton, could it be Mr. Holt, whose name was 
 already become one of abhorrence among the majority 
 of Southerners? Judge Black felt sure it was. But 
 accusation against the Judge Advocate General without 
 proof was impolitic, with my husband's safety still in 
 the balance. In a situation so serious as the present, I 
 should have preferred to conciliate him. 
 
 " Have you tried to interest Judge Holt in your hus- 
 band's behalf?" wrote our old friend ex-Speaker Orr. 
 "Would not some little kind memory of the past steal 
 over him when you revive the morning reminiscences of 
 the Ebbitt House, when his much-adored wife was a 
 shining luminary in that bright circle? He would be 
 more or less than man if such a picture did not move 
 him. Will you try it?" 
 
 Great, indeed, was Mr. Orr's surprise when he learned 
 
STANTON DENIES RESPONSIBILITY 315 
 
 that I had written to Mr. Holt three times, only to meet 
 with complete silence at his hands ! 
 
 Under such circumstances it was wiser to adhere to 
 my first purpose ; namely, to sue for the privilege of see- 
 ing Mr. Clay and for his release on parole, or for a speedy 
 trial. I was urged by Judge Black not to cease in my 
 appeals to the President; to tell the Executive of my 
 interview with his Secretary of War, and in the meantime 
 to secure from General Grant, if possible, a letter to the 
 President, advocating my plea. I had already been 
 assured by General Ihrie of his chief's ability and willing- 
 ness to serve me. On the evening of the second Sunday 
 after my arrival in Washington, therefore, I drove from 
 Willard's at seven o'clock, accompanied by Major Echols, 
 to Lieutenant-General Grant's headquarters in George- 
 town. I found these to be established in what was 
 formerly the home of our friend Mr. Alfred Scott,* of 
 Alabama, now deceased. Soldiers guarded the entrance, 
 as became a military headquarters, and one came for- 
 ward to take my card as we drove up. Upon his return, 
 Major Echols and I were shown at once to the General's 
 reception parlour. Dismissing the officers in uniform 
 who stood about, General Grant received me courteously, 
 tendering his hand frankly. I at once presented Major 
 Echols, saying that " my friend, like yourself, is a graduate 
 of West Point; but, feeling bound to offer his allegiance 
 to his native South, he had served with distinction at 
 Fort Sumter," which introduction, I imagined, pleased 
 the General, though it disconcerted my modest escort. 
 
 I now briefly, and in some trepidation at finding myself 
 face to face with the " Hero of the Hour ! " the " Coming 
 Man," "Our next President" (for by these and many 
 other titles was the hero of Appomattox already crowned), 
 explained as succinctly as I could my motive in calling 
 
 * Mr. Scott's daughter is the wife of the widely known Dr. Garnett, 
 of Hot Springs, Arkansas. 
 
3 i6 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 upon him, closing my remarks with the assurance that 
 the one circumstance prompting me to ask his aid was 
 not his army victories, but his noble conduct to our 
 beloved General Lee in his recent surrender. I was con- 
 vinced, I added, that the man who had borne himself so 
 magnanimously toward a brave soldier whom he had 
 vanquished, possessed the soul to espouse and sustain 
 a cause, if just, though all the world opposed. It was in 
 this faith I had come to him. 
 
 The Federal General listened very gravely. When I 
 had finished he responded in his characteristic, quiet 
 way: "If it were in my power, Mrs. Clay, I would to- 
 morrow open every prison in the length and breadth of 
 
 the land. I would release every prisoner unless " 
 
 (after a pause) "unless Mr. Davis might be detained 
 awhile to satisfy public clamour. Your husband's 
 manly surrender entitles him to all you ask. I admire 
 and honour him for it, and anything I can say or do to 
 assist you shall be done. I heartily wish you success." 
 
 I asked him, in the course of our conversation, if he 
 would go with me to the White House the next day, at 
 any hour, day or evening. 
 
 " That is impossible," he said. " I leave at midnight for 
 Richmond." 
 
 " Would you be willing to write what you have spoken ? " 
 
 "With pleasure!" he replied. Going to the door he 
 called, "Julia !" 
 
 In a moment Mrs. Grant entered the room. She shook 
 my hand with the cordiality of a friend, saying, as she 
 did so, "We have many mutual friends in St. Louis." 
 She then expressed her deep sympathy for me, and hoped 
 her husband could serve me with the President. 
 
 In a few moments General Grant returned with the 
 promised letter. I thanked him from a grateful heart. 
 Upon rising to go, he accompanied me half down the 
 steps, where, with a hearty shake of the hand, we parted. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 Mr. Holt Reports Upon the Case of C. C. Clay, Jr. 
 
 Armed with General Grant's letter, my hopes at once 
 rose high. It seemed to my eager and innocent mind 
 that an ally so really great could not fail to convince the 
 President and his Cabinet of the wisdom of granting my 
 plea in whole or in part. I began to feel that the cul- 
 mination of my husband's troubles was now approaching. 
 I hastened to send the letter to Mr. Johnson. It read as 
 
 follows : 
 
 "Washington, D. C, Nov. 26, 1865. 
 " His Excellency A.Johnson, 
 
 "President of the United States. 
 
 "Sir: As it has been my habit heretofore to intercede for 
 the release of all prisoners who I thought could safely be left 
 at large, either on parole or by amnesty, I now respectfully 
 recommend the release of Mr. C. C. Clay. 
 
 "The manner of Mr. Clay's surrender, I think, is a full guar- 
 antee that if released on parole, to appear when called for, 
 either for trial or otherwise, that he will be forthcoming. 
 
 "Argument, I know, is not necessary in this or like cases, 
 so I will simply say that I respectfully recommend that C. C. 
 Clay, now a State prisoner, be released on parole, not to leave 
 the limits of his State without your permission, and to sur- 
 render himself to the civil authorities for trial whenever called 
 on to do so. 
 
 " I do not know that I would make a special point of fixing 
 the limits to a State only, but at any future time the limits 
 could be extended to the whole United States, as well as if 
 those limits were given at once. 
 
 "I have the honour to be, 
 
 "Very respectfully, your obedient servant, 
 (Signed.) "U. S. Grant, Lieutenant General." ;: 
 
 * The letter here given is from a copy furnished Mrs. Clay by Robert 
 Morrow, Secretary in 1866. 
 
 317 
 
3i 8 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 In my note accompanying the General's recommenda- 
 tion, I begged to repeat my request that I be allowed to 
 visit Mr. Clay at Fortress Monroe, and that I be furnished 
 with copies of the charges against him, in order that I 
 might consult with him as to the proper means to disprove 
 them, in the event of his being brought to trial. After a 
 two days' silence on the part of the Executive, I wrote 
 a note of inquiry to Mr. Johnson. The reply that reached 
 me was not calculated to stimulate my erstwhile hope- 
 fulness. 
 
 " I cannot give you any reply to your note of this inst.," 
 wrote Colonel Robert Johnson, on the 30th of November, 
 "except that the President has the letter of General 
 Grant. No action has yet been had. I will bring the 
 matter before the President during the day, and will 
 advise you." 
 
 And now, indeed, I began to be aware how all-powerful 
 was the hidden force that opposed the taking of any 
 action on my husband's case. Again and again there- 
 after I called upon President Johnson, pleading at first 
 for his intervention on my behalf; but, upon the third 
 visit, when he again suggested that I "see Mr. Stanton," 
 I could refrain no longer from an outburst of completest 
 indignation. I was accompanied on this and on almost 
 all my innumerable later visits to the White House by 
 Mrs. Bouligny, who witnessed, I fear, many an astonishing 
 passage at arms between President Johnson and me. On 
 the occasion just touched upon, aroused by Mr. Johnson's 
 attempt to evade the granting of my request, I answered 
 him promptly: 
 
 " I will not go to Mr. Stanton, Mr. President ! You 
 issued the proclamation charging my husband with crime ! 
 You are the man to whom I look for redress ! " 
 
 "I was obliged to issue it," Mr. Johnson replied, "to 
 satisfy public clamour. Your husband's being in Canada 
 while Surratt and his associates were there made it 
 
MR. HOLT REPORTS UPON THE CASE 319 
 
 neccessary to name him and his companions with the 
 others!" 
 
 " And do you believe, for one moment, that my husband 
 would conspire against the life of President Lincoln?" 
 I burst out indignantly. " Do you, who nursed the breast 
 of a Southern mother, think Mr. Clay could be guilty of 
 that crime?" 
 
 Mr. Johnson disclaimed such a belief at once. 
 
 " Then, on what grounds do you detain one whom you 
 believe an innocent man, and a self -surrendered prisoner ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 But here the President, as he did in many instances 
 throughout those long and, to me, most active days in 
 the capital, resorted to his almost invariable habit of 
 evading direct issues; yet it was not long ere I was 
 given reason to feel that he, personally, sincerely 
 wished to serve me, though often appearing to be but 
 an instrument in the hands of more forceful men, whom 
 he lacked the courage to oppose, and who were directly 
 responsible for my husband's detention. Before the end 
 of December the President gave me a valuable and secret 
 proof that his sympathies were with rather than against 
 Mr. Clay. 
 
 Until the sixth of December, nearly seven months after 
 my husband's surrender, no formal charges had been 
 filed against him with a view to placing him on trial, or 
 on which to base his continued imprisonment. During 
 that time, the visits of counsel being denied him, there 
 was not in the capital one who was vitally concerned 
 in his or Mr. Davis's case, though certain unique aspects 
 of the cases of the two distinguished prisoners of the 
 Government had invited a more or less continuous 
 professional interest in them. 
 
 At the time of my reappearance in Washington, though 
 the city was filled with distinguished pardon-seekers, and 
 with Southerners who had been summoned on various 
 
3 2o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 grounds, to explain their connection with the late Con- 
 federate States' Government, interest in the prisoners at 
 Fortress Monroe became quickened. The Legislature of 
 the State of Alabama drew up and forwarded a memorial 
 to the President, asking for Mr. Clay's release. Prominent 
 lawyers besides those whose letters I have quoted wrote 
 volunteering their aid, Senator Garland, Mr. Carlisle, and 
 Frederick A. Aiken, counsel for Mrs. Surratt, among 
 them. Through Mr. Aiken, already familiar with the 
 means employed by the Military Commission to convict 
 their prisoners, I gained such information as was then 
 available as to the probable charges which would be 
 made against Mr. Clay. 
 
 " I send you the argument of Assistant Judge Advocate 
 General Bingham, in the Surratt trial," he wrote on 
 November 25th. . . . "This argument has been 
 distributed broadcast over the country, and the opinion 
 of the Republican party educated to think it true ! It 
 seems to me," he added, "that a concisely written argu- 
 ment in favour of Mr. Clay, on the evidence as it stands, 
 would be useful with the President." 
 
 In the midst of this awakening of our friends on Mr. 
 Clay's behalf, the Government's heretofore (from me) 
 concealed prosecutor, Mr. Holt, presented to the War 
 Department his long-delayed and elaborately detailed 
 "Report on the case of C. C. Clay, Jr." On the face 
 c f it, his action at this time appeared very much like an 
 eiiert to checkmate any influence my presence might 
 awaken on the prisoner's behalf. Upon learning of this 
 movement I at once applied to the War Department for an 
 opportunity to examine the Report. It was not accorded 
 me. After some days, learning of Mr. Stanton's absence 
 from the city, and acting on the suggestion of Mr. Johnson, 
 on the 20th of December I addressed Mr. Holt by letter 
 for the third and last time. I asked for a copy of 
 the charges against my husband, and also for the return 
 
MR. HOLT REPORTS UPON THE CASE 321 
 
 of my private correspondence, which had been taken from 
 me, in part, at Macon, and part from my home in Hunts- 
 ville. Days passed without the least acknowledgment 
 from the Judge Advocate. 
 
 It was at this juncture that Mr. Johnson's friendliness 
 was exhibited toward me; for, happening to call upon 
 him while the document was in his hands, I told him of 
 my ill success and growing despair at the obstacles that 
 were presented to the granting of my every request at 
 the War Department.* I begged him to interpose and 
 assist me to an interview with Mr. Clay, but, above all, at 
 this important moment, to aid me in getting a copy of 
 the charges now formulated against him. Thereupon, 
 exacting from me a promise of complete secrecy, the 
 President delivered his official copy of the "Report" 
 into my hands, that I might peruse it and make such 
 excerpts as would aid me. I did more than this, however ; 
 for, hastening back with it to the home of Mrs. A. S. 
 Parker, which had been generously thrown open to me, 
 I spent the night in copying the document in full. 
 
 The list of accusations against my husband was long. 
 It represented "testimony" which the Bureau of Military 
 Justice had spent six months, and, as later transpired, 
 many thousands of dollars, in collecting, and was a digest 
 of the matter sworn to in the Judge Advocate's presence. 
 
 * For months Mr. Holt's Report was steadily refused to the public. 
 Referring to this secretive conduct, in July, 1866, A. J. Rogers said, in 
 the House of Representatives, "Secrecy has surrounded and shrouded, 
 not to say protected, every step of these examinations. In the words 
 of the late Attorney-General, ' Most of the evidence upon which they 
 [the charges] are based was obtained ?x parte, without notice to the 
 accused, and whilst they were in custody in military prisons. Their 
 publication might wrong the Government.' . . . The Secretary of 
 War, February 7, 1866, writes to the President that the publication 
 of the Report of the Judge Advocate General is incompatible with the 
 public interests. This report," continues Mr. Rogers, "in the tes- 
 timony it quotes, will show that the interests of the country would 
 never have suffered by the dispensing with illegal secrecy, but that 
 the interests and fame of the Judge Advocate General himself would 
 suffer in the eyes of all the truth-loving and justice-seeking people on 
 earth." A. S. 
 
322 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 As I read and copied on during that night, the reason 
 for Mr. Holt's persistent disregard of my letters became 
 obvious. No official, no man who, for months, against 
 the protests of some of the most substantial citizens, the 
 most brilliant lawyers of the country, had been so de- 
 terminedly engaged in secret effort to prove a former 
 friend and Congressional associate to be deserving of the 
 gallows, could be expected to do anything but to avoid 
 a meeting with the wife of his victim. In December, 1 860, 
 when Mr. Clay's position as a Secessionist was known to 
 be unequivocal, Mr. Holt, whose personal convictions 
 were then somewhat less clearly declared, had written, on 
 the occasion of my husband's illness, "It is my earnest 
 prayer that a life adorned by so many graces may be long 
 spared to our country, whose councils so need its genius 
 and patriotism!" In December, 1865, basing his 
 charges against his former friend — a former United 
 States Senator, whose integrity had never suffered ques- 
 tion ; a man religious to the point of austerity ; a scholar, 
 of delicate health and sensibilities, and peculiarly fastidi- 
 ous in the selection of those whom he admitted to in- 
 timacy — , Mr. Holt, I repeat, basing his accusations 
 against such a one-time friend upon the purchased 
 testimony, of social and moral outcasts, designated 
 Mr. Clay in terms which could only be regarded as the 
 outspurting of venomous malice, or of a mind rendered 
 incapable of either logic or truth by reason of an ex- 
 cessive fanaticism. 
 
 Under this man's careful marshalling, the classes of 
 "crimes which Clay is perceived to have inspired and 
 directed" were frightful and numerous. The "most 
 pointed proof of Clay's cognisance and approval of" 
 [alleged] "deeds of infamy and treason" lay in the depo- 
 sition of G.J. Hyams" (so reads the Report), "testimony 
 which illustrates the treacherous and clandestine char- 
 acter of the machinations in which Clay was engaged," 
 
MR. HOLT REPORTS UPON THE CASE 323 
 
 to the complete satisfaction of Mr. Holt.* One of the 
 most curious pieces of evidence of the Judge Advocate's 
 really malignant design in that virulent "Report" lies 
 in his wilful perversion of a statement which Mr. Clay had 
 made by letter to the Secretary of War. My husband 
 had written that, at the time of seeing Mr. Johnson's 
 Proclamation for his arrest (during the second week in 
 May), he had been nearly six months absent from Canada, 
 a fact so well known that had Mr. Clay ever been brought 
 to trial a hundred witnesses could have testified to its 
 accuracy. Mr. Holt, to whom the Secretary of War, 
 while denying the access of counsel to his prisoner, had 
 confided Mr. Clay's letter, now altered the text as follows : 
 
 "In connection with the testimony in this case, as 
 thus presented, may be noticed the assertions of Clay in 
 his recent letters to the Secretary of War, that at the date 
 of the assassination, he, Clay, had been absent from 
 Canada nearly six months." 
 
 The substitution of the word "assassination" for 
 "proclamation" made a difference of one month, or 
 nearly so, in the calculations by which Mr. Holt was at- 
 tempting to incriminate and to preclude a sympathy for 
 his defenseless victim, my husband. After thus subtly 
 manipulating Mr. Clay's statement in such way as to give 
 it the appearance of a falsehood, Mr. Holt next proceeded 
 to stamp it as such, and decreed that this "remain as the 
 judgment of the Department upon the communications of 
 this false and insolent traitor !" 
 
 "It is to be added," this remarkable Report continues, 
 "upon the single point of the duration of his stay in 
 Canada, that it is declared by two unimpeached witnesses! 
 
 * Hyams, alias Harris, was one of the witnesses who, six months 
 before the date of Mr. Holt's Report, had been exposed by the Rev. 
 Stuart Robinson, and who, six months later, or less, himself confessed 
 his perjuries to the Judiciary Committee. A. S. 
 
 t But not unimpeachable, as later events proved. They were after- 
 ward denounced by Mr. Holt as unprincipled perjurers and the cause 
 of all his trouble. A, S. 
 
3 2 4 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 that he was seen by them in Canada in February last. 
 It may be said that this Bureau has now "no doubt that 
 it will be enabled, by means of additional witnesses, to 
 fix the term of Clay's stay in Canada even more pre- 
 cisely than it has already been made to appear."* 
 
 Having now carried, through many pages, his charges 
 of numerous and basest crimes against Mr. Clay, Mr. 
 Holt sums up his Report thus: 
 
 " It may, therefore, be safely assumed that the charge 
 against Clement C. Clay, of having incited the assassination 
 of the President, is relieved of all improbability by his 
 previous history and criminal surroundings i '" 
 
 It must not be supposed that my woman's mind at 
 once recognised the real atrocity of these charges in that 
 first reading, or identified the palpable inaccuracies in 
 them; nor that fortifying deductions immediately made 
 themselves plain to me. As was said of another Holt 
 document, sent later to the House by the Judge Advocate 
 General himself, every sentence of the Report before me 
 was "redolent with the logic of prosecution, revealing 
 something of the personal motive. There was certainly 
 nothing in it of the amicus curiae spirit, nothing of the 
 searcher after truth ; nothing but the avidity of the mili- 
 tary prosecutor for blood." 
 
 At that time, denied access to my husband, his papers 
 and journal scattered, my own retained by the War 
 Department, I possessed nothing with which to combat 
 Judge Holt's accusations, save an instinctive conviction 
 
 * In fact, as will have been seen elsewhere, Mr. Clay arrived in South 
 Carolina on the fourth of February, 1865, after a full month's journey- 
 ing by stormy sea from Nova Scotia to Bermuda; thence on the ill- 
 fated Rattlesnake , which, failing to make its way into port at Wilming- 
 ton, now in the hands of the Federals, with delay and circumlocution, 
 ran the blockade at Charleston, only to perish under the very ramparts 
 of Fort Moultrie. His return, therefore, was sufficiently dramatic, and 
 known to hundreds of truly unimpeachable witnesses, had the Judge 
 Advocate allowed Mr. Clay to know the charges against him or given 
 him an opportunity for denial. A. S. 
 
l MR. HOLT REPORTS UPON THE CASE 325 
 
 that when once the charges were made known to Mr. 
 Clay, he would be able to refute them. 
 
 That this elaborately detailed, this secretly and 
 laboriously gathered category of crime was destined 
 months hence to be turned to the open contempt and 
 shame of the Judge who drew it up, I had no consoling 
 prescience, and not even the most astute of my coun- 
 sellors foresaw. Three months after Mr. Clay's conditional 
 release, in April, 1866, however, Representative Rogers, 
 in his report to the Judiciary Committee appointed by 
 the House, revealed to the body there assembled the 
 "utterly un-American proceedings of the Military 
 Bureau" and the strange conduct of its head. 
 
 After a detailed report on the testimony which, having 
 been given to the Bureau of Military Justice, the wit- 
 nesses now acknowledged before the House Committee 
 to have been false, Mr. Rogers continued : 
 
 "Who originated this plot I cannot ascertain. I am 
 deeply impressed that there is guilt somewhere, and I 
 earnestly urge upon the House an investigation of the 
 origin of the plot, concocted to alarm the nation, to 
 murder and dishonour innocent men, and to place the 
 Executive in the undignified position of making, under 
 proclamation, charges which cannot . . . stand a 
 preliminary examination before a justice of the peace. 
 . . . But that no time was left me to pursue to the 
 head the villainies I detected in the hand, I might have 
 been able plainly to tell Congress and the country that if, 
 in this plot, we had a Titus Oates in Conover,* so also we 
 had a Shaftesbury somewhere." 
 
 Many newspapers, the New York Herald and Washing- 
 ton Intelligencer in the lead, also began to reiterate the 
 demand for a public inquiry into the strange workings of 
 
 * Conover was the chief witness in the cases of Mrs. Surratt and her 
 companions, and Mr. Holt's charges against Mr. Clay were based on 
 his testimony and that of others who had been drilled in their parts by 
 Conover. A. S. 
 
326 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 the Bureau of Military Justice. Rumours ran over the 
 country that "persons in high places who deemed it for 
 their best interest to show complicity on the part of 
 Davis and others in the assassination of Lincoln, by 
 false testimony or otherwise, will find themselves held up 
 to public gaze in a manner they little dream of . " * 
 
 Two months later Mr. Holt issued a pamphlet which, 
 under the heading, "Vindication of Judge Holt from the 
 Foul Slanderers of Traitors, Confessed Perjurers and 
 Suborners acting in the interest of Jefferson Davis," was 
 scattered broadcast over the country. It is improbable 
 that any parallel to this snarl of defiance was ever sent 
 out by a weak but, by no means, an apologetic offender 
 in high office. The pamphlet covers eight full pages of 
 admissions as to the deceptions which he claimed had 
 been practised upon him, but contains no line of regret 
 for the tyranny he had exercised, and which had con- 
 demned distinguished and innocent men to lie for months 
 in damp dungeons, prey to a thousand physical ills and 
 mental torments. Mr. Holt's vindication began as follows : 
 " To all loyal men ! In the name of simple justice . . . 
 your attention is respectfully invited to the subjoined 
 article f from the Washington Chronicle, % of yesterday, 
 
 * The public, however, was not destined to be treated to a spectacle 
 so likely to react to the Government's dishonour. Mr. Holt, who for 
 a year caused to be denied to the prisoners (one of whom had been a 
 Cabinet Minister, the other a United States Senator) even the visits 
 of counsel, now, for some forever unexplained reason, instead of arrest- 
 ing the perjurer Conover, after his admissions in the Committee room 
 of the House, talked to him kindly, and extended him the courtesy of 
 a trip to New York, in order that he might procure further testimony. 
 Once arrived, the polite swindler excused himself to his companion, 
 and, bowing himself out, "was not seen by him thereafter," said Mr. 
 Holt; and he adds naively, "and up to this time he has not communi- 
 cated with me, nor has he made any effort, as I believe, to produce the 
 witnesses!" A. S. 
 
 f In part an interview with Mr. Holt, and the whole most obviously 
 inspired by him. 
 
 % Practically the only voice now raised in an attempt to explain or 
 justify the Advocate General's uniqtie methods. While denying his 
 knavishness, it had the singular appearance of developing his foolish- 
 ness. A. S. 
 
MR. HOLT REPORTS UPON THE CASE 327 
 
 as representing a perfectly true vindication of myself 
 from the atrocious calumny with which traitors and 
 suborners are now so basely pursuing me. Joseph Holt," 
 
 "It is clear," says this "vindicatory" excerpt, "that a 
 conspiracy has been formed to defame the Judge Advocate 
 General and the Bureau of Military Justice. ... At 
 the bottom of this conspiracy, or actively engaged in 
 executing its purposes, is Sanford Conover, who, after 
 having been fully proved guilty of subornation or perjury,* 
 has unquestionably sold himself to the friends of Davis f 
 and is seeking with them to destroy the reputation of a 
 public officer J whose confidence he gained, as we shall 
 hereafter see, by the same solemn protestations, and 
 which confidence he subsequently most treacherously 
 abused. ... A more cold-blooded plot for the 
 assassination of character [sic] has never been concocted 
 in any age or country ! " 
 
 It will be seen, Mr. Holt now overlooked the months 
 in which he, supported in his secret work by the Secretary 
 of War, and with almost unlimited powers vested in him, 
 had been engaged in plotting with the same tools, though 
 warned of their evil careers, against the lives of gentlemen 
 of irreproachable character and antecedents; against 
 my husband, who had with confidence in its integrity 
 placed himself in the hands of the Government in the 
 expectation of a fair and impartial trial. 
 
 Mr. Holt's "Vindication" continues: "Conover, though 
 now wholly degraded, was then, so far as was known to 
 the Government, without a stain upon his character." 
 
 * Conover had obviated the necessity for proving, by confessing, his 
 own infamy. A. S. 
 
 f Now for sixteen months a prisoner in Fortress Monroe, and denied 
 trial or counsel ! A. S. 
 
 % It is hard to believe that, if Mr. Holt's reputation had survived the 
 doubt thrown upon it by the House Committee, in the preceding July, 
 it could be seriously injured by anything that might be averred by so 
 vile a man as his former ally, Conover. A. S. 
 
328 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 (The thoughtful reader must naturally turn to the 
 accusations of the Reverend Stuart Robinson, made 
 publicly to the Government representative, Hon. H. H. 
 Emmons, and, by the press, scattered through the 
 country fifteen months previous to this declaration in 
 Mr. Holt's " Vindication.") " Hence, when he wrote me," 
 continues the aggrieved Judge Advocate General, "alleg- 
 ing the existence of testimony implicating Davis and 
 others, and his ability to find the witnesses, and proffering 
 his services to do so, I did not hesitate to accept his 
 statements and proposals as made in good faith and en- 
 titled to credit and to consideration." 
 
 In the "Report" on the case of Mr. Clay, dated 
 December 6, 1865, which, by the courtesy of the President, 
 I was enabled to see, Mr. Holt's willing adoption of the 
 fabrications of his unscrupulous "witnesses" was ap- 
 parent in every phrase. In fact, its spirit of malice 
 terrified me. I kept faith with Mr. Johnson and told no 
 one of the knowledge I now possessed; but I communi- 
 cated some of the main points of the "Report" to Judge 
 Black and other advisers, and, resolving that I would 
 neve 1 " cease until I attained my point, I redoubled my 
 pleadings with the President for the permission to visit 
 my husband, which request I now knew it would be useless 
 to make at the War Department. When I returned the 
 "Report" to the President, I was keyed to a high pitch 
 of alarm by the spirit shown by the Advocate General, 
 and my requests now took another form. 
 
 " It is said, Mr. Johnson, that you have refused to allow 
 the Military Court, composed of Messrs. Holt, Speed and 
 Stanton, to try Mr. Davis and Mr. Clay." The President 
 bowed affirmatively. 
 
 "Then I pray you to give me your solemn oath in the 
 presence of the living God, that you will never, while in 
 this Presidential chair, yield those two innocent men into 
 the hands of that blood-seeking Military Commission ! " 
 
MR. HOLT REPORTS UPON THE CASE 329 
 
 I was greatly agitated, and weeping. Mr. Johnson, 
 however, was calm and seemingly deeply in earnest as he 
 answered me, 
 
 " I promise you, Mrs. Clay ; trust me ! " 
 
 "I will; I do !" I cried, "but I would like you to em- 
 phasise this sacred oath, remembering the precious lives 
 that hang upon it." 
 
 Upon this Mr. Johnson raised his hand and repeated 
 his promise, adding again, "trust me ! " 
 
 After this interview I felt a sense of security which 
 gave me comparative repose of mind, but, nevertheless, 
 I called almost daily, to fortify Mr. Johnson against the 
 continued machinations of those officials whose influence 
 was so inimical to my husband and Mr. Davis. I now 
 began to perceive that Judge Black, Senator Garland and 
 others had said truly when they remarked to me that Mr. 
 Johnson might be moved, if at all, by his heart rather 
 than by his head. He had already given me a strong 
 proof of this ; soon he gave me others. 
 
 The Christmas season was approaching, and while all 
 about me were arranging their little gaieties and sur- 
 prises, the realisation of Mr. Clay's isolation and discom- 
 forts and peril became more and more poignant. To 
 add to the sadness of our situation, letters from Hunts- 
 ville containing pathetic allusions to the failing health of 
 my husband's mother now began to follow each other 
 rapidly. I was urged to act quickly if she and her son 
 were to meet on earth again. In my letters to Mr. Clay 
 I dared not tell him of this approaching disaster, for 
 between himself and his mother an unusually tender rela- 
 tionship existed. I dreaded the alarm such news might 
 give him, alone and ill in his dismal prison, exhausted 
 as he was with waiting for direct communication with 
 me. I had already been a month in Washington without 
 having effected a meeting with him. Under the circum- 
 stances, the headway gained seemed inappreciable . With 
 
330 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 a copy of Holt's " Report " in my possession, I resolved to 
 go on to New York for consultation with Mr. 'Conor, 
 Mr. Shea, and Mr. Greeley, so soon as I should receive 
 some definite concession from the President. 
 
 I now told Mr. Johnson of Mrs. Clay's condition, and 
 begged him to release my husband, if only to permit him 
 one interview with his probably dying mother, to return 
 again to custody if the President so wished ; or, failing the 
 granting of this, to allow me to visit him in prison. At 
 last, after much reiteration on my part, Mr. Johnson 
 yielded ; he promised that he would issue the permit for 
 my visit to Fort Monroe on his own responsibility in a few 
 days ; that I might rely upon receiving it upon my return 
 from the metropolis. 
 
 Hastening to New York, I was soon made aware by 
 Messrs. O 'Conor, Shea and Greeley, who called upon me 
 severally, that my one course now was to persist in my 
 effort to precipitate a trial for my husband, or to procure 
 his release on parole, in which these gentlemen stood 
 ready to supplement me, and, upon the announcement of 
 a trial, to defend Mr. Clay. 
 
 My interview with Mr. Greeley took place in one of the 
 public corridors of the New York hotel, now thronging 
 with Southern guests, and, as I sat beside him on a settle, 
 in earnest conversation with the fatherly old man, his bald 
 " temple of thought " gleaming under the gaslights, which 
 threw their fullest brilliancy upon us, I remember seeing 
 several prominent Southern generals then registered at the 
 hotel glance repeatedly at us, and always with a look of 
 surprise that said very plainly, " Well! If there isn't Mrs. 
 Clem. Clay hobnobbing with that old Abolitionist ! " 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 President Johnson Interposes 
 
 Mr. Johnson kept his word. Late in December I 
 found myself on my way to Baltimore with the Presi- 
 dent's autographed permit in hand, that would admit 
 me to my husband's prison. I left Washington on the 
 afternoon of the 27th of December, going by train to Bal- 
 timore. Here, crossing the city in an omnibus with other 
 passengers, to the wharf of the "New Line Steamers," I 
 was soon on board the boat, the George Leary, bound for 
 Norfolk and Fortress Monroe. I was so keenly alive to 
 my own lonely condition that I could not bring myself 
 even to register my name among the list of happier pas- 
 sengers. Everywhere about me gaily dressed people 
 thronged. I saw among them General Granger and wife, 
 his staff, and ladies of the party. As the George Leary 
 pulled out from her moorings, the brass band of a com- 
 pany of soldiers bound for Norfolk began to play sweet, 
 old-time airs. I had no desire to linger among the care- 
 free throng, and, calling the stewardess, handed her a 
 gold-piece, saying, " Can you sign for me or get me a state- 
 room? I only go to Fortress Monroe." 
 
 In a few moments she returned, regarding me inquir- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Lady !" she asked, "ain't you the wife of one of those 
 gentlemen down at the Fort?" 
 
 " Yes ! " I answered. " I am the wife of Mr. Clay, the 
 prisoner ! " 
 
 Thereupon she opened her hand, displaying my gold- 
 piece, saying, "The captain says he can't take any fare 
 
 33* 
 
332 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 from you. He'll be here in a little while ! " And she 
 moved away. 
 
 In a few moments the tall, gaunt Captain Blakeman 
 stood before me. 
 
 "Are you Mrs. Clay ?" he asked. " Wife of the prisoner 
 at Fortress Monroe?" 
 
 Upon receiving my affirmative answer, the Captain 
 spoke earnestfy. 
 
 " Mrs. Clay, you have my deep sympathy. I'm a regular 
 Down-Easter myself— a Maine man ; but for forty years 
 I've plied a boat between Northern and Southern cities; 
 and I know the Southern people well. I think it is a 
 damned shame the way the Government is behaving 
 toward you and Mrs. Davis ! " 
 
 For a moment the tears blinded me, seeing which the 
 Captain at once withdrew, comprehending the thanks he 
 saw I could not utter. However, when the gong sounded 
 for supper, he returned, and with kindly tact led me to a 
 place beside him at the table, though I assured him I 
 wanted nothing. At my obvious lack of appetite he 
 showed a very woman's thoughtfulness, himself preparing 
 the viands before me while he urged me "to drink my 
 coffee. You must take something," he said from time to 
 time, whenever he perceived a lagging interest in the 
 dishes before me. Nor did this complete his kindnesses, 
 for on the following morning, as I left the boat, Captain 
 Blakeman handed me a slip of paper on which was written : 
 
 " New Line Steamers, Baltimore, December 27, 1865. 
 "Will please pass free Mrs. C. C. Clay, rooms and meals 
 included, to all points as she wishes, and oblige, 
 
 "S. Blakeman, 
 "Commanding Steamer George Leary." 
 
 " I hope you will use this pass as often as you need it," 
 he said. 
 
 We arrived at Fortress Monroe at four o'clock the next 
 morning. As I stepped from the gangplank, the scene 
 
PRESIDENT JOHNSON INTERPOSES 333 
 
 about me was black and bleak, the air wintry. Save for 
 a few dozing stevedores here and there, whom I soon per- 
 ceived, the wharf was quite deserted. It had been my 
 intention, upon my arrival, to go directly to the little 
 Hygeia Hotel just outside the Fort, but upon the advice of 
 Captain Blakeman I accepted the shelter offered me by 
 the clerk in charge of the wharf, and rested until daylight 
 in his snug little room just off from the office. 
 
 Just before leaving Washington I had written to Dr. 
 Craven, telling him of my intended visit to the prison, 
 and asking him to meet me at the little hotel. I now, at 
 the first streak of dawn, still acting upon the suggestions of 
 the kind captain, found a messenger and sent him with a 
 note to General Miles, telling him of my arrival with the 
 President's permit to see my husband, and asking that an 
 ambulance be sent to convey me to the Fort; and I 
 despatched a second to Dr. Craven to tell him my where- 
 abouts. Unknown to me, that friendly physician, whose 
 humane treatment of Mr. Davis and my husband had 
 brought upon him the disapproval of the War Depart- 
 ment, had already been removed from his station at the 
 Fort. My messenger found him, nevertheless, and upon 
 receipt of my message he came and made himself 
 known to me. His words were few, and not of a charac- 
 ter to cheer one in my forlorn condition. 
 
 "Look for no kindness, Mrs. Clay," he said, "at the 
 hands of my successor, Dr. Cooper. He is the blackest of 
 Black Republicans, and may be relied upon to show the 
 prisoners little mercy." 
 
 Our interview was brief, and, as the Fort ambulance 
 was seen approaching, the Doctor left me hurriedly. 
 "For," said he, "it will do neither you nor the prisoners 
 any good if you are seen talking with me." He had 
 scarcely disappeared in the grey morning when the escort 
 from the Fort arrived. The vehicle was manned by two 
 handsome Union soldiers, one, Major Hitchcock of 
 
334 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 General Miles 's staff, and the other Lieutenant Muhlen- 
 berg, a grandson, as I afterward learned, of the author of 
 "I would not live alway." Months afterward, when 
 Mr. Clay left the Fortress, he carried with him the little 
 volume containing Bishop Muhlenberg's verses, a gift 
 from the young lieutenant, 
 
 Arrived at the Fort, I was taken at once to the head- 
 quarters of General Miles, and conducted to a room com- 
 modiously and even luxuriously furnished. In a short 
 time the General made his appearance. He was polite 
 and even courteous in the examination of my passport, 
 which he scanned carefully; but his manner was non- 
 committal as he politely asked me to "be seated." I 
 seated myself and waited. The General withdrew. 
 After the lapse of a few moments, an orderly appeared, 
 bearing upon a salver a tempting breakfast; but I, who 
 had spent months in seeking the privilege I had now come 
 to claim, could touch nothing. I declined the food, say- 
 ing I would wait and breakfast with my husband. The 
 orderly looked perplexed, but removed the tray; and now 
 a dreary and inexplicable wait began, interbroken with 
 first a nervous, then an indignant, and at last a tearful 
 inquiry. During the morning I affected a nonchalance 
 wholly at variance with my real feelings. Picking up a 
 book that lay at my elbow on the table, I was surprised to 
 see a familiar name upon the fly-leaf. I commented upon 
 the luxury of the apartment when next General Miles 
 entered, and added, " These books seem to have been Gov- 
 ernor Wise's property. ' ' The General was quick to defend 
 himself from any suggestion that might lie in my words. 
 He replied at once. " These headquarters were furnished 
 by General Butler before I was sent here !" 
 
 Midday came and still the President's autographed 
 permit, which to me had seemed so powerful a document, 
 was not honoured. A savoury luncheon was now brought 
 in, but a nausea of nervousness had seized me and I could 
 
'. ^..■■■■'■.■'■/■■■■V.V-,.;.-. 
 
 DR. HENRY C. VOGELL 
 Fortress Monroe, 1866 
 
PRESIDENT JOHNSON INTERPOSES 335 
 
 not eat a morsel. My excitement increased momentarily, 
 until the distress of mind and apprehension were wholly 
 beyond my control. I now implored General Miles to 
 let me see my husband, if only for a moment ; to explain 
 this delay in the face of the President's order. I begged 
 him to allow me to telegraph to Washington ; but to all 
 my pleadings his only reply was to urge me to "be calm." 
 He assured me he regretted the delay, but that "his 
 orders" were such that he could neither admit me to my 
 husband's room, nor allow me to use the Government 
 wires at present. 
 
 By the middle of the afternoon, faint with pleadings 
 and worn with indignation and fears at the unknown 
 powers which dared thus to obstruct the carrying out of 
 the President's orders, not knowing what might yet be 
 before me, my self-possession entirely deserted me. I 
 remember, during my hysterical weeping, crying out to 
 General Miles, " If you are ever married, I pray God your 
 wife may never know an hour like this ! ' ' 
 
 In the midst of an uncontrollable paroxysm which 
 seized me at last, Dr. Vogell, who has been variously 
 designated as the private secretary and instructor of 
 General Miles, entered. During the day General Miles 
 had presented the Doctor to me, and, in his subsequent 
 passing and repassing through the room, we had from 
 time to time exchanged a remark. He was a tall, pictu- 
 resque man, of possibly sixty years. At the sight of my 
 culminating misery, Dr. Vogell could bear the distressful 
 scene no longer. He cried out impulsively, "Miles, for 
 God's sake, let the woman go to her husband ! " 
 
 Unhappily, this manly outburst, though it had its own 
 message of sympathy for me, failed as utterly to move 
 the commanding General Miles as had my previous 
 urgings. In the months that followed, Dr. Vogell often 
 called upon me clandestinely in Washington (announced 
 as " Mr. Brown "), to say that " a friend of yours was quite 
 
336 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 well this morning, and desired his love given you ! " 
 The recollection of his kindnesses lives imperishable in 
 my memory, but especially vivid is that first upwelling 
 sympathy during the painful waiting at the Fort. 
 
 General Miles seemed not untouched by my pleadings, 
 but, it was evident, he felt himself subject to a superior 
 power which forced him to refuse them. His manner 
 throughout, in fact, was courteous and apologetic. 
 Despite my agony of mind, it was late in the afternoon 
 ere the President's order was honoured. Then General 
 Miles entered, and, with an appearance of completest 
 relief, consigned me, tear-stained and ill, to the care of 
 Lieutenant Stone, who conducted me to Mr. Clay's prison. 
 
 All day my husband, to whom there had penetrated a 
 rumour of my coming, had been waiting for me, himself 
 tortured by fears for my safety and by the mystery 
 of my delay. The gloomy corridors, in which soldiers 
 patrolled night and day, guarding the two delicate 
 prisoners of State, were already darkening with the 
 early evening shadows when, at last, I saw my husband, 
 martyr to his faith in the honour of the Government, 
 standing within the grating, awaiting me. The sight 
 of his tall, slender form, his pale face and whitened hair, 
 awaiting me behind those dungeon bars, affected me 
 terribly. My pen is too feeble to convey the weakness 
 that overcame me as Lieutenant Stone inserted and 
 turned the key in the massive creaking lock and admitted 
 me ; nor shall I attempt to revive here the brief hours 
 that followed, with their tumultuous telling over of the 
 happenings of the past months and our hurried planning 
 for the future. 
 
 I returned to the capital full of sorrow and indignation. 
 My adventure at Fortress Monroe had revealed to me, far 
 more fully than I previously had suspected was possible, 
 the struggle for power that was now going on between the 
 Secretary of War, Mr. Stanton, on the one side, and 
 
PRESIDENT JOHNSON INTERPOSES 337 
 
 on the other, President Johnson, by whose courtesy 
 or timidity this official still retained his portfolio. I 
 resolved to relate my entire experience at Fortress 
 Monroe to the President at the first opportunity. 
 
 In the meantime, my husband, with whom I had left 
 a digest of Holt's report, upon a careful perusal of it, 
 had been greatly aroused. By the courtesy of a secret 
 friend, he hastened to send me a list of persons who could, 
 if called upon, readily testify to his whereabouts during 
 certain periods described in the charges against him. 
 He urged me to see the President, and not to cease in my 
 efforts to obtain his release on parole. His condition of 
 mind as expressed in this communication was, it was 
 evident, one of intense excitement. 
 
 "You must not get discouraged!" he wrote. "My 
 life depends upon it, I fear! Since the days of Cain and 
 Judas, men may take life for money or some other selfish 
 end. As innocent men as I am have been judicially 
 murdered, and I do not feel secure from it, although 
 God knows I feel innocent of crime against the United 
 States or any citizen thereof. As to my declaring my 
 purpose to surrender to meet the charge of assassination, 
 my unwillingness to fly from such charge, my preferring 
 death to living with that brand on me, my desire to 
 exculpate Mr. Davis, myself and the South from it, you 
 know as well as I do. 
 
 "Judge Holt is determined to sacrifice me for reasons 
 given you* He may do it if I am not allowed liberty to 
 
 * In the preparation for the publication of these Memoirs, I found 
 myself continually lighting upon evidences of irregularity in the Gov- 
 ernment's proceedings against Mr. Clay. I was met constantly by what 
 appeared to be a persistent and inexplicable persecution of Messrs. 
 Davis and Clay (if not a plot against them, as hinted by Representa- 
 tive Rogers) at the hands of the War Department, acting through 
 Mr. Joseph Holt. I encountered charges, not ambiguously made 
 against Mr. Holt, of malice, and of rancour which would be satisfied 
 only with the "judicial murder" of the prisoners in his hands. Charges 
 of malice and meanness have been made against him by living men as 
 frequently as by those who have passed away; men, moreover, whose 
 
338 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 seek witnesses and prepare my defense; or, if I am sub- 
 jected to the mockery of trial by Military Court, when 
 all the charges he can make may be brought against me 
 in a great drag-net." 
 
 As a step toward securing an early interview, and also 
 because the President's daughters, Mrs. Stover and 
 
 integrity of purpose has never been challenged. A rather general con- 
 demnation of Mr. Holt appears in certain correspondence of the six- 
 ties. It was uttered publicly in the press in the early and middle por- 
 tion of that decade. In the pamphlet alluded to and quoted from in 
 Chapter XXII. of these "Memoirs," the Rev. Stuart Robinson had 
 quoted Mr. Crittenden, of Kentucky, and another, to show the peculiar 
 estimate in which Mr. Holt was then held. "I know little," wrote Mr. 
 Robinson, in June of '65, "either of the personal or public character of 
 Mr. Holt. . . . The only well-defined impression I have of his per- 
 sonal character is gained from two remarks concerning him in i86i-'62. 
 The first, that of a venerable Christian lady, of the old-fashioned coun- 
 try type, made to me: 'Joe Holt, Sir, is the only young man I ever knew 
 that left this country without leaving one friend behind him in it ! ' 
 The other, the fierce retort of the venerable Crittenden, to a Cabinet 
 officer, reported to me by Governor Morehead: 'Joseph Holt, of Ken- 
 tucky, did you say, Sir ? I tell you, Sir, by Heaven ! there is no such 
 man as Joseph Holt, of Kentucky!'" 
 
 In addition to such contemporaneous public utterances concerning 
 Mr. Holt, I have learned much that is corroborative by word of mouth 
 from men whose opinions have been softened by time, and whose con- 
 spicuous positions in national affairs establish their utterances as both 
 weighty and trustworthy. Said one of these, a United States Senator, 
 within the year (1903), "Joseph Holt was the meanest man of his 
 time. He was both unscrupulous and ambitious ; and the smartest 
 man I ever knew !" 
 
 Another as prominent in the nation's affairs, said, using the same 
 adjective as did the Senator just quoted, "He was a peculiarly mean 
 man. I don't know the true circumstances of Mr. Davis's and Mr. 
 Clay's imprisonment, but the suspicions that attached to Holt were 
 never proven, nor, so far as I know, investigated. After he went out 
 of ofhce he seemed to have no friends.. He remained in Washington. 
 I often saw him. Every morning he would get into a shabby old 
 buggy and drive to market, where he would buy his meat and vegeta- 
 bles, potatoes, etc., for the day. These he would carry back to the 
 house in his buggy, and his cook would prepare his solitary meals for 
 him. I never felt anything but dislike for him," said this gentleman, 
 "and I don't know any one else who did !" 
 
 "True!" responded another gentleman, whose word has balanced 
 national opinion to a large extent for many years, "Mr. Holt was 
 repugnant to me. I think he was generally regarded as a man who 
 had forsaken his own section for gain. I thought him a heartless man. 
 When he left office he went into utter obscurity !" 
 
 These remarks, coming from sources so authoritative, lent strength 
 to the supposition that Mr. Holt's behaviour toward his self-surrendered 
 
PRESIDENT JOHNSON INTERPOSES 339 
 
 Mrs. Patterson, now presiding at the White House, had 
 been courteous to me, I resolved, as a stroke of policy, 
 to attend the Presidential reception to take place on the 
 ninth of January. Naturally, since my arrival in Wash- 
 ington, I had not participated in the social life about me. 
 In acknowledgment of Mr. Johnson's concessions, and, 
 with my husband's life at stake, with a desire further to 
 win the President's good offices, I now prepared to attend 
 his levee. My toilette was complete save for the draw- 
 prisoner and former friend, Clement C. Clay, if it might be traced to 
 its source, would, indeed, reveal a persecution at once vengeful and 
 malicious, springing from some personal animus. For a year I made 
 continuous effort to find this motive, but without success. Pitiless 
 enmity, supported by almost unlimited powers (vested in Mr. Holt as 
 Judge Advocate General, when the Government was in an unprece- 
 dented condition of chaos) , this officer surely exercised toward Messrs. 
 Davis and Clay; but, where was the raison d'etre ? 
 
 By an accident, "at the eleventh hour," the paper in Mr. Clay's 
 handwriting containing the sentence quoted in the preceding text 
 came to light. I wrote promptly to Mrs. Clay-Clopton concerning it, 
 urging her to try to recall, if possible, the "reasons" which Mr. Clay, 
 in his prison in Fortress Monroe, on the night of December 29, 1865, 
 had given her in explanation of Mr. Holt's animosity toward him. 
 Her reply ran as follows : 
 
 "I can give you, in regard of Mr. Holt's persecution of my husband, 
 one very important reason ! On the breaking out of the war, I think 
 on the secession of Mississippi, Holt, who had won both his fame and 
 his fortune in that State of his adoption, espoused the Southern cause. 
 Whether this was known to others than Mr. Davis and Mr. Clay, I do 
 not know. From the impression that remains on my memory, Holt 
 communicated in confidence to those two gentlemen alone his intention 
 of standing by the South. Possibly, it was said to Mr. Davis alone, as 
 the latter was Mississippi's leading Senator, and by Mr. Davis repeated 
 to Mr. Clay. It was a common thing in those days to keep secret one's 
 intentions." [See visit of Admiral Semmes, Chapter IX.] "Whether 
 Holt's decision was known to others than Mr. Davis and Mr. Clay, his 
 friend," continues the letter, "I do not know. I remember Mr. Clay 
 telling me that Mr. Holt was a renegade and a traitor, who had pledged 
 himself to the South; but when, in his selfish ambition, he received a 
 higher bid from the Federal Government, he deserted our cause and 
 went over to the opposition. I do not recall the position offered Mr. 
 Holt by the Federal Government, but it was a plum he coveted. 
 
 "You ask whether Mr. Clay and Mr. Holt ever had any dealings with 
 each other, political or business : 
 
 "None of any kind! Mr. Clay only knew of Holt's base defection 
 from our cause and condemned him for it. My husband told me (in the 
 Fortress) , ' Mr. Holt knows the estimate Mr. Davis and I have of his 
 defection and would fain get us out of the way!'" A. S. 
 
34 o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 ing on of my gloves, when, while awaiting the call of my 
 hostess Mrs. Parker and her daughter Mrs. Bouligny, 
 whose preparations were somewhat more elaborate than 
 my own, I broke the seal of some letters from home. 
 The news they contained was of a nature well calculated 
 to divert me from the thought of appearing at a public 
 gathering, even at the Executive Mansion. 
 
 The first told me, in hurried lines, of the illness of my 
 husband's mother; the second, posted a few hours later, 
 announced her death. "I write beside mother's dead 
 body," began my sister, Mrs. J. Withers Clay. "Her 
 constant theme was brother Clement, and the last thing 
 I remember hearing her say was ' What of my son ? ' in 
 so distressed a tone that her heart appeared broken. 
 I trust you have seen your dear husband ere 
 this. I hope he will be released before poor father leaves 
 us. He is very distressed, very gentle and subdued 
 in his trouble. ... I can never forget mother's 
 heart-thrilling question 'What of my son?' She was 
 very unhappy about your last letter— it was rather low- 
 spirited — and said, ' I have no hope ; I shall never see my 
 son!'" 
 
 Within the next day I called upon Mr. Johnson. He 
 received me with his usual urbane manner, quite in con- 
 trast with my own indignant mood. 
 
 "Mr. Johnson," I began, "Who is the President of the 
 United States ? " 
 
 He smiled rather satirically and shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " I am supposed to be ! " he said. 
 
 "But you are not /" I answered. "Your autographed 
 letter was of little more use to me when I reached Fortress 
 Monroe than blank paper would have been ! For hours 
 it was not honoured, during which time your Secretary of 
 War held the wires and refused to allow me either to see 
 my husband or to communicate with you ! ' ' Then, in as 
 few words as possible, I related the circumstances of my 
 
PRESIDENT JOHNSON INTERPOSES 341 
 
 visit to the Fort. Mr. Johnson, though constrained to 
 preserve his official reserve, was unable to repress or 
 disguise his anger at my recital. 
 
 "When you go there again you'll have no difficulty', 
 I assure you!" he said. 
 
 " When may I ? " I asked eagerly. 
 
 "When you wish," he answered. 
 
 I now pictured to him my husband's position; I re 
 lated the sad news I had just received, and which, undc 
 present conditions, I knew I dared not tell Mr. Clay, i 
 implored the President, by every argument at my com- 
 mand, to exercise his Executive power and release Mr. 
 Clay on his parole. Every moment of his incarceration 
 under the discipline invented by the unscrupulous 
 military authorities, I felt his life to be imperilled. As 
 our interview proceeded, however, I perceived the old 
 indecision of manner returning. The President's replies 
 were all to one effect ; viz. : that the Secretary of War 
 must decide upon the case. He freely made out another 
 permit to the prison, this time to cover a longer stay, 
 but about a parole for Mr. Clay, or the naming of a day 
 for an early trial, he could promise nothing. He would 
 consult his Cabinet; he would see Mr. Stanton. At 
 last, my importunities for an authoritative action grow- 
 ing greater, the President burst out with every evidence 
 of deep feeling: 
 
 " Go home, woman, and write what you have to say, 
 and I'll read it to my Cabinet at the next meeting ! " 
 
 "You will not!" I answered hotly. 
 
 "Why?" he asked, cynically. 
 
 "Because," I replied, "you are afraid of Mr. Stanton! 
 He would not allow it ! But, let me come to the Cabinet 
 meeting, and / will read it," I said. "For, with my 
 husband's life and liberty at stake, I do not fear Mr. 
 Stanton or any one else." 
 
 The President assured me I need have no misgivings; 
 
342 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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, how- 
 ever 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 n, 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. Presi- 
 dent, 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 dlionneur, 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. 
 
PRESIDENT JOHNSON INTERPOSES 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 com- 
 fort 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 testi- 
 mony 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. Presi- 
 dent, 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, trust- 
 fully, 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 
 
344 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 con- 
 clusion 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. 
 
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 
 
 345 
 
346 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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. " In- 
 deed, 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 state- 
 ment, " to the most refined but severe torture of body and 
 soul ; my health considered in order to preserve the sensi- 
 bility 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 
 
THE NATION'S PRISONERS 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 com- 
 pressed 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 direc- 
 tions 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 after- 
 ward, 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. 
 
34S A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 build- 
 ing, 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 mat- 
 tress sufficiently long and two chairs were brought in. I 
 also requested that a druggetjbe 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. 
 
THE NATION'S PRISONERS 349 
 
 But for his own scrupulous cleanliness, Mr. Clay's life 
 must long ago have succumbed to his unparalleled depriva- 
 tions 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, re- 
 minded 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 illus- 
 trated 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 ! " 
 
35o A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 pris- 
 oner 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 appre- 
 hensive, in the care of the "blackest of Black Repub- 
 licans" 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. 
 
w 
 
 -v-^ :■•■■:.. ..■■■■/'■'■,■ --¥ 
 •..■.■■■•■:-..'-. ■/■■.■ ■■.-.■■■-'■■-■.■. ■■■;.■■<■ >-:-. 
 
 ■ 
 
 flllfll 
 flfll 
 
 
 DR. GEORGE COOPER 
 Fortress Monroe, 1866 
 
THE NATION'S PRISONERS 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 know- 
 ing 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. Pres- 
 ently 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 dur- 
 ing 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 
 
352 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 disap- 
 peared 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 rrty 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 A^oung, not thirty ; beautiful in form 
 and face ; snowy skin and raven hair and eyes ; tall, com- 
 manding, and graceful. My husband, on seeing her, 
 exclaimed, "Maid of Saragossa ! " And very appro- 
 priately did he transfer to her this poetic title. 
 
THE NATION'S PRISONERS 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. 
 
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 con- 
 tinued 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 dur- 
 ing the weeks that followed, I called fifty times, inces- 
 santly suing for my husband's freedom, and adding some- 
 times 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. 
 
 354 
 
WHAT THE PEOPLE SAY 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 Barn- 
 well 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 Decem- 
 ber, "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 volun- 
 tarily 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 
 
356 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 the current public opinion, irre- 
 spective 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 dis- 
 posed 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 adver- 
 saries. 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 
 
WHAT THE PEOPLE SAY 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 wit- 
 ticism would bear repetition to the President. I am, very 
 respectfully, Madam, Yours, 
 
 "February 3, 1866. "R- J- Haldeman." 
 
 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. 
 
353 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 " 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 inno- 
 cence!" 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 good- 
 ness 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 de- 
 clined 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 Wash- 
 ington, 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 
 
WHAT THE PEOPLE SAY 359 
 
 was the bearer of some dreadful tidings, I took the 
 proffered hand of my strange visitor, obeying mechani- 
 cally 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 sus- 
 pense !" 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, "re- 
 flects 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 shoe- 
 maker 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 him- 
 self 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 
 
360 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 Presi- 
 dent'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 sorrow- 
 ful 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 
 
WHAT THE PEOPLE SAY 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 per- 
 mission 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 com- 
 ments 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, 
 
362 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 Depart- 
 ment] 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 palpi- 
 tating 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. 
 
WHAT THE PEOPLE SAY 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 founda- 
 tion 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, dis- 
 cord, 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 com- 
 paring 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 
 
364 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 con- 
 tempt 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 reiter- 
 ated 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 Govern- 
 
WHAT THE PEOPLE SAY 365 
 
 ment 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. 
 
366 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 "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 your- 
 self 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 as- 
 sured 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 !" 
 
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 con- 
 nections. 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 incom- 
 parable 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 per- 
 meated 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 
 
 367 
 
368 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 pro- 
 tection 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 fiance, 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 every- 
 where. 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 diminu- 
 tion with the increase of years. 
 
 Our beloved General Lee, who had been summoned to 
 Washington to appear before the Reconstruction Com- 
 mittee, 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. 
 
MRS. A. S. PARKER 
 of Washington, D. C. 
 
THE GOVERNMENT YIELDS ITS PRISONER 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 inconsiderate- 
 ness 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 pos- 
 session. Will take them soon! Ross Wynans," I 
 added, in describing the more generous donations sent 
 
370 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 sym- 
 pathetic 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 dis- 
 criminating 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 
 
THE GOVERNMENT YIELDS ITS PRISONER 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 busi- 
 ness. . . . 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 any 
 time, but would prefer passing the answer until Satur- 
 day." 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 
 
372 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 he often does in my case. He shall tell me in this inter- 
 view 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 
 
THE GOVERNMENT YIELDS ITS PRISONER 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 him- 
 self 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 curi- 
 ously, 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 
 
374 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 confine- 
 ment 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 Town- 
 send, 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, 
 
rwm sw 
 
 JEFFERSON DAVIS and CLEMENT C. CLAY, JR, 
 (after release from Fortress Monroe) 
 
THE GOVERNMENT YIELDS ITS PRISONER 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 congratula- 
 tions 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 
 
376 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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 acknowledg- 
 ment 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, sup- 
 pose 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 
 
THE GOVERNMENT YIELDS ITS PRISONER 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 insepar- 
 able. 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.) 
 
378 A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES 
 
 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, glad- 
 dened, 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 up welling of healing springs in the desert, when at 
 last I was left alone. 
 
 One who sat in the Senate Chamber in Washington, 
 
THE GOVERNMENT YIELDS ITS PRISONER 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 ! Espe- 
 cially 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, imprison- 
 ment, 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 
 
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. 
 Arlington, Anne, 3. 
 Arlington, 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, 6-1 1. 
 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. Gauldree, 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, 10 1. 
 Catron, Judge John, 74. 
 Catron, Mrs. Judge John, 74. 
 
 38l 
 
382 
 
 I N DEX — Continued 
 
 Cavendish, Lord, 117. 
 
 Chaillu, Paul du, in. 
 
 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, St., 19, 74, 83, 88, 
 
 109-10, 236, 281, 375. 
 Clay, Mrs. C. C, St., 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, 34°- 
 Clemens, Jere, 13-14, 19-21, 161. 
 Cleveland, Grover, 75, 92, 118. 
 Clingman, Gen'l Thomas L., 95, 
 
 3°7- 
 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, 
 
 i57. i73. 2 3S> 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. 3 IQ - 
 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, 169, 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- 
 
INDEX — Continued 
 
 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-S 2 . 
 „ 378-9- 
 
 Fraley, Captain, 260. 
 Fremont, 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.), 
 
 3°3- 
 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., 
 
 3°. 7°- 
 Gwin, Senator W. M., 86, 126, 132. 
 Gwin, Mrs. W. M., 126-37, x 5 2 - 
 
 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, no. 
 Harper's Ferry, 165, 306. 
 Harrison, Burton, 174, 368. 
 Harrison, President, 83. 
 Havilland, Major de, 129. 
 Henry, Professor, 76, in. 
 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. , 2 2 2 . 
 
 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, 3 6 4r 
 
 371-3. 
 Johnson, Colonel George, 192. 
 
3H 
 
 INDEX — Continued 
 
 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, 
 
 i33- 
 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, 
 
 2 75> 2 9 2 -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., no, 112. 
 Muhlenberg, Lieutenant, 334. 
 Myers, Lieutenant Henry, 126. 
 Myers, Mr. Frederick, 274. 
 
 Napier, Lord, 30, 89, 114, 117, 
 
 i33- 
 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. 
 
INDEX — Continued 
 
 38S 
 
 O'Conor, Charles, 290-1. 
 Orr, James L., 30, 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, no. 
 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, 89, 
 
 97. J 33. !46, 3°3-4- 
 
 Raasloff, Minister from Den- 
 mark, 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, Mile., 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. 
 Soul6, 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. 
 
3 86 
 
 INDEX— Concluded 
 
 Stannard, Mrs., 174. 
 
 Stanton, Edwin M., 289, 312-14, 
 
 344. 3 6l > 3 6 4- 
 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. 
 Wesselhreft, 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. 
 
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