THE DEATH OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN
The South was now sadly crippled. Our bulwarks were demolished and our
granaries emptied, our most fertile valleys occupied by the Northern
army, and Confederate money was depreciated to such an extent as to make
it practically useless.[42] Our army was thinning daily, and even the
news from Richmond, save from Mr. Davis himself, seemed to carry an
undertone prophetic of coming collapse. “The enemy, yesterday and
to-day,” wrote Mr. Mallory, from the capital, late in October, “is, in
the graphic gorillaisms, ‘pegging away’ close at us; and the flash of
his guns is visible and their roar was audible from my piazza yesterday.
His approaches have been very slow, to be sure, but nevertheless, he has
taken no step backward, but is ‘inching’ upon Richmond surely and
methodically in a way that seems as gopherlike as it is certain; and he
will keep up this system unless we can, by hard fighting, push him
back.”
Supported by the hope of Mr. Clay’s return, and knowing he would seek me
first among those of our kin who were nearest to the coast, I lingered
on Beech Island until late in January, 1865, though I did so against the
advice of Colonel Clay, who urged me to go southward, and the assurances
of Mr. Davis that I might safely return to Richmond, which city, the
President was confident, would continue to prove an impregnable refuge.
In the last days of December two such messages, equally positive and
each positively opposed to the other in its significance, sped to me by
courier from the capital. Who was to decide when such correspondents
disagreed? Yet the need for some move became more and more urgent. To
return to Huntsville was out of the question. Northern Alabama was
overrun with Federal soldiers, to whom the name alone of Clay, borne as
it was by three men all actively labouring for the preservation of the
Confederate States, was a challenge to the exercise of fresh authority.
I heard distressing news of the contemplated transportation, to
Nashville, of the aged ex-Governor Clay (our uncle, Mr. McDowell, a
non-combatant full of years, had already died in that prison under most
pitiful circumstances), yet I was powerless to send him even a line of
comfort or encouragement. Mail routes in every direction were in
possession of the enemy, or liable to be interrupted by them, and
straggling companies of Union soldiers were on the lookout to intercept
such messengers as might attempt to bear our letters from point to
point.
My husband was in Canada, or on the seas, I knew not where; J. Withers
Clay, the second son of the ex-Governor, was active with pen and press
in lower Alabama; Colonel Clay was stationed in Richmond in the thick of
the political battle. Our parents were left alone in the old home, to
brave the discomforts put upon them by their sometimes cruel and
sometimes merely thoughtless oppressors. A grandson, Clement, a mere
lad, but a hero in spirit, venturing into the town to succour the old
people, was promptly arrested. “I wonder,” wrote one who visited our
parents, “that their heartstrings have not long since snapped!”
All through the Tennessee Valley dejection was spreading. “If Mr. Davis
does not restore General Johnston to 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
detached from all. I was homeless, husbandless, childless, debarred from
contributing to the comfort of my husband’s parents, and I chafed at my
separation from those to whom my presence might have proved useful. As
time went on, all deprivations and anxieties were obscured by one
consuming determination to join my husband at all hazards; but, despite
every effort toward accomplishing this, I found myself swept helplessly
along by the strong currents of the times. My sole means of
communication with Mr. Clay was now through occasional “personals,”
which were published in the Richmond _Enquirer_, coöperating with the
New York _Daily News_. One of these, which appeared early in November,
1864, indicates the indecision and anxiety which by this time was felt,
also, by my husband in his exile:
“To Honourable H. L. Clay, Richmond, Virginia. I am well. Have written
every week, but received no answer later than the 30th of June. Can I
return at once? If not, send my wife to me by flag of truce, via
Washington, but not by sea. Do write by flag of truce care John Potts
Brown, No. 93 Beaver Street, New York. Answer by personal through
Richmond _Enquirer_ and New York _News_.”
“I inclose you a ‘personal’ from Brother Clement, published in
yesterday’s _Enquirer_,” Colonel Clay wrote on November 11, 1864. “I
consulted Mr. Mallory, Mr. Benjamin and the President, and then sent him
the following: ‘Your friends think the sooner you return the better. At
the point where you change vessels you can ascertain whether it is best
to proceed 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
Wilmington is not yet increased to the degree intended; and during the
rough weather, before the hard winter sets in, it is much easier for
vessels to run the blockade. I shall tell him that the statistics kept
in the Export and Import Office show five out of six vessels, inward and
outward bound, safely run the blockade, but that he must himself
consider the risk from what he learns after reaching Bermuda.”
Colonel Clay’s prompt decision, such was my distracted state of mind, by
no means satisfied me. The suggestion contained in my husband’s words
seemed feasible to my courageous mind. I despatched a note of inquiry at
once to Richmond, begging Mr. Davis to write to Mr. Seward to secure my
safe passage by land to Canada. I told him of my unrest, the increasing
uncertainty that prevailed in the neighbourhood of “Redcliffe,” and my
desire to join my husband. The President’s reply was reassuring and full
of the confidence which sustained him to the end of the remaining days
of the Confederacy. “There is no danger in coming here now,” ran his
message from the capital, dated December 29, 1864. “When he (Mr. Clay)
returns he will, of course, visit this place, and can conveniently meet
you here.” But, when I proposed to try to make my way to this haven,
Colonel Clay wrote excitedly, animated by an anxiety as great as my own:
“Don’t come to Richmond! Don’t send the President letters or telegrams.
He is in a sea of trouble, and has no time or thought for anything
except the safety of the country. I fear the Congress is turning madly
against him. It is the old story of the sick lion whom even the jackass
can kick without fear. It is a very struggle for life with him. I do not
know that he has any reliable friends in Congress, who will sustain him
upon principle, fearlessly and ably. He has less and less power to
intimidate his enemies, and they grow more numerous every day.... If he
were preëminently gifted in all respects, the present moment is perilous
enough to call forth all his energies no matter how great.... Before
this reaches you, you will have read my private letter to Hammond, in
regard to the military situation in South Carolina and Georgia. I think
as soon as Sherman reduces Savannah, he will move promptly up the
Savannah River, and endeavour to capture Charleston by taking it in
reverse. That success would be a feather in any general’s cap. We cannot
hope to make fight on that river, I think, but must take the Edesto as
our line of defense. Now, look upon the map and you will see that the
whole of Beech Island lies between the two rivers, and in the event
Sherman moves up (as he will do, to cut off supplies from Charleston and
Virginia), the South Carolina Railroad will fall within the line of his
advance. I only give you my personal opinion; for, of course, no one can
speak assuredly of Sherman’s intentions. If I am right, I think you had
better move in the direction of Alabama before there is any rush of
travel, and as soon as you can well do so.... In Alabama or western
Georgia there will be plenty of food; more, indeed, because of the
inability to bring it east of Augusta. I write to advise you to go as
far away from the line of the enemy’s march as you can ... I dare not
look into the future, after Hood’s battles in Tennessee, if the Yankee
accounts are verified. God knows we are pressed hard on every side by
the enemy, and have no wise counsellors to give proper direction to our
weak, erring efforts for independence. Passion and prejudice and
personal feelings govern in many instances where patriotism should rule.
Congress is discussing questions of the smallest moment while the
Confederacy is in the grip of the Yankees struggling for existence.... I
fear the pending attack upon Wilmington will prevent Brother Clement
from coming in at the Port (if he should conclude not to go to Mexico)
for some time yet. Until the flotilla set sail from Fortress Monroe I
looked for him to come in about the last of this month or the first of
the next. Now I shall not know when to expect him, for no vessels will
attempt the blockade there at Washington.”
It now became apparent that to wait at our exposed Island was no longer
prudent. A family council was called, and it was decided that, upon the
first sign of a suitable escort, I should make my way to Macon. I had
not long to wait. Within a few days we learned of the presence of
General Howell Cobb in Augusta. I wrote to him at once, telling him of
my contemplated exodus and of my desire to place myself under his
protection upon his return journey to his headquarters at Macon. He
replied with the gallant cordiality which was ever a characteristic with
him, and which I think would never have deserted him even in the midst
of the roar of cannon:
“AUGUSTA, Georgia, January 21, 1865.
_“My Dear Friend_: ... I assure you that your threat to cling to me
like the old man of the sea to Sinbad is the most agreeable threat
that ever was made to me, and it shall not be my fault if it is not
executed. I am here under orders from Richmond, which leave me in
doubt whether I am to remain a day, a month, or a year. My opinion
is that I will be ordered back to Macon in a very few days, and
there is no telling at what hour I may receive the order. To make it
certain, however, that I can give you timely notice, you ought to be
in Augusta. I am ready to receive the acceptable trust and devote my
best efforts to your comfort and happiness.
Very truly your friend,
“HOWELL COBB.”
Early in February I arrived in Macon without misadventure, and here, on
February 10th, my husband joined me, having learned of my whereabouts
from our friends in Augusta.
Mr. Clay’s experiences since leaving Nassau had been exciting. _The
Rattlesnake_, a hitherto skilful blockade runner, on which he had taken
passage, was bound for Charleston; but, finding an entrance at that port
impossible for the moment, she had crept cautiously up to Wilmington,
only to be obliged again to show her heels to the wary and enlarged
blockading fleet. After numerous efforts to find a friendly harbour, the
little ship, reconnoitering about the South Carolinian coast, ran
aground four miles away from Fort Moultrie, grounded, it was rumoured,
by the pilot. Here the little craft, which quickly became the target of
the enemies’ guns, was abandoned, her timbers ablaze, while passengers
and crew, taking to the life-boats, bore with them such baggage as might
be gathered in their haste; and now, to cap the climax of their
disasters, the life-boats, too, ran aground, and sailors and passengers
were compelled repeatedly to wade through the waves, which dashed
throat-high about them, in an effort to rescue the pieces of baggage
they had been able to save from the ship. On that cold, blustery day in
early February, in garments saturated with brine, Mr. Clay was taken in
a yawl to Fort Moultrie, whence, ill from the exposure he had undergone,
he was carried in a sail-boat to Charleston by the Reverend Mr. Aldrich,
an accidental visitor to the Fort. By that kindly man he was put to bed
and to sleep under the stimulus of orange-leaf tea, while his clothing
and few rescued belongings were undergoing a drying.
Upon awakening, Mr. Clay’s first effort was to forward to Richmond to
the care of Colonel Clay, to be held until his own arrival in the
capital, a small hand-trunk addressed to Judah P. Benjamin, and to
General Lee, his restored pet; his second, to find me. This
accomplished, it was his intention to proceed at once to Richmond, to
deliver in person his State papers, the most important of which he had
carried in an oil-silk bag suspended about his neck. To the complete
frustration of his plans, however, my hapless husband found the railway
route between Augusta, where he supposed me to be, and Charleston, now
effectually closed. It was by a roundabout road, therefore, made partly
by carriage, that he reached the desired point on the seventh of
February, only to learn of my departure a few days before under the
escort of General Cobb. By the 10th, when Mr. Clay arrived at last in
Macon, he had informed himself of the grave plight of our armies, and of
the lamentable political differences existing in the capital, to which
Colonel Clay, in his letter to me, had alluded. A few hurried
conferences with General Cobb and others, and together we took our
departure for Richmond. Everything which might become an impediment to
the rough travel that lay before us was dispensed with, even my
invaluable maid, Emily, being left behind at the home of Major Whittle.
We proceeded first to Washington, Georgia, going, upon our arrival, to
the home of General Toombs, where was sojourning Mr. Stephens, our
Vice-President. The hearts of all were heavy as the gentlemen conferred
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.
“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 connections 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 reëstablishing faith in the currency. That department is
$400,000,000 in arrears, it is said. I know it is enormously in debt to
the War Department ($32,000,000), and that the Quartermaster General and
the Commissary General cannot obtain the means to pay current expenses.
If we cannot have transportation and bread for the soldiers in the
field, to say nothing of clothing and pay, ... what becomes of our
army?... As I see the present and argue thence what the future has in
store for us, ... I see nothing but defeat and disaster and ruin!”
Characterised throughout his life by a punctilious observance of
everything which in his eyes appeared a duty, Mr. Clay was not to be
deterred by even such grave news from carrying out his intention to
deliver in person, to the President and Mr. Benjamin, an account of his
stewardship in Canada. Late in February, therefore, he resumed his
journey, mounted upon General Toomb’s grey mare, and accompanied by the
General’s man, Wallace. He had not proceeded far, however, when,
overtaken by an illness, the result of his exposure at Charleston, he
was obliged to return to Washington. A month elapsed ere he was able
again to set out for Richmond, the city which was so soon to be the
theatre of our national collapse.
The roads now, in many places, were impassible. The number of Union
soldiers was increasing daily in the States which Mr. Clay must cross in
his northward journey. My husband, with his precious documents, would
have been a rich prize to any who might have seized him. Through many
vicissitudes he made his cautious way toward the capital, securing a
horse, when he could, or a mule team, or following the railroad tracks
where necessary. Much of the journey he made alone, but he sometimes
found himself in company, and that not always wholly desirable. On one
occasion he fell in with two straggling Confederate soldiers, and, being
near the home of a distant kinsman, Robert Withers, upon the arrival of
the trio he asked Mr. Withers’ hospitality for them all. Consent was
promptly forthcoming, but my husband’s feelings were somewhat less
cordial toward his whilom companions when one was allotted to him as a
bedfellow. “Had to sleep with ——,” reads his diary, “much to my dread of
camp-itch!”
Eight days were consumed in that journey to the capital, by this time
the scene of an excitement truly anarchistic. Mr. Clay was probably the
last man in the Confederate service to seek to enter Richmond. The trend
of Confederate travel just then was in an opposite direction.
Making at once for Colonel Clay’s headquarters, my husband secured the
trunk destined for Mr. Benjamin, to whom he shortly afterward
transferred his papers. The transaction was a hurried one, and Mr. Clay
pushed on to the apartment of Mr. Davis. In after days I often heard him
describe the scene which there met him. He found the President engaged
in hastily packing a valise, his clothing and papers scattered in little
heaps about. I think he assisted his hapless friend in these
preparations. An hour or two later and Mr. Clay was _en route_ for
Danville, on the last of the over-laden trains to draw out from the once
dear but now desolated city. Of the sad journey of the President through
the Carolinas, with his company of legislative friends, of which, for a
portion of the way, my husband was one, I remember no particulars. I
recall a hasty return to Macon, where Mr. Clay joined me, whence we
hurried on in a few days to the home of former Senator B. H. Hill, at
Lagrange, in western Georgia. The remembrance of the days that
immediately succeeded the evacuation of Richmond, followed, as that
event was, by the murder of Abraham Lincoln, is a confused one. A kind
of horror seized my husband when he realised the truth of the reports
that reached us of this tragedy. At first he had refused to credit them.
“It’s a canard!” he said; but when, at last, he could no longer doubt,
he exclaimed: “God help us! If that be true, it is the worst blow that
yet has been struck at the South!”