PRESIDENT JOHNSON HEARS WHAT THE “PEOPLE SAY”
Upon my return from the Fort on the 30th of January I redoubled my
pleadings for Mr. Clay’s release, both by correspondence and by visits
to the White House. The President’s bearing toward me was courteous and
friendly, though it was apparent the confusion of the times and the
pressure which was being brought upon him on every side was troubling
him; but, notwithstanding that he listened and with every evidence of
sympathy, Mr. Johnson continued irresolute, deferring from time to time
on what, in fact, seemed the most trivial excuses, the issuing of the
release papers. If I called once at the White House during the weeks
that followed, I called fifty times, incessantly suing for my husband’s
freedom, and adding sometimes a plea for the pardons of friends and
neighbours in Huntsville who were eager to resume their normal positions
in the community. In the middle of February I was enabled to write home
as follows:
“_My Dear Father_: I send your long-sued-for pardon. Act upon its
requirements at once! I am pressing my husband’s case and _never_
mean to stop until success crowns my efforts. I am emboldened to
hope the day not far distant when he will be a free man! Great
political excitement now reigns.... The President is very kind to me
always.”
Notwithstanding there were times when my own heart sank to an almost
hopeless state, I wrote thus hopefully to the patriarch at home, for
each post told me of his increasing feebleness, and I longed to sustain
him, at least until my husband’s release was accomplished.
“God bless you!” wrote my sister, Mrs. J. Withers Clay, early in March,
“and give you success! I asked father to send you some special message.
He replied, ‘Give her my best love, and tell her for God’s sake to tell
me when my poor boy will be pardoned!’”
These appeals, as will be understood, were the private agonies which
acted like a lash to spur me to the end of the task of securing my
husband’s freedom, and to stimulate me, even in the face of the
continued delays which now were become so inexplicable.
Early in February a change in public feeling began to be made manifest
in the press. The mystery of the detention of the prisoners at Fortress
Monroe without trial was arousing curiosity. The New York _Herald_,
thanks to the intervention of our friend, Colonel Robert Barnwell Rhett
(of the doughty and fearless Charleston _Mercury_), who had presented
Mr. Clay’s case to Mr. Bennett, now began to make inquiry in the cases
of the unjustly treated prisoners.
“Dear Mrs. Clay,” wrote Colonel Rhett, late in December, “having the
opportunity of a good talk with Mr. Bennett, of the New York _Herald_,
day before yesterday, I urged him to come out for the release of your
husband. He said he did not know much about the business! I told him Mr.
Clay was universally recognised to be one of the purest and most
high-minded public men in the country—one wholly incapable of anything
criminal or questionable; and that he had gone to Canada at the
solicitation of Mr. Davis to communicate with the Peace Party of the
North. I reminded him that, after the collapse of the Confederate
Government, when a reward was offered for his arrest, Mr. Clay had
voluntarily and promptly surrendered himself, asking an investigation;
and that no intelligent man in the country who knew anything of our
public men believed the charges to be other than frivolous and absurd. I
added 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_, irrespective of parties, and now warmly supports
President Johnson against the Radicals. It is a great power, and by
preparing the public mind and strengthening the President, may aid you
efficiently.”
The results of this interview by no means met the hopes of Colonel
Rhett, however; for the utterances of Mr. Bennett’s paper were few and
guarded. But they were as a straw showing the veering of the wind.
“I was disappointed in Mr. Bennett’s fulfilment of his promise to speak
in Mr. Clay’s behalf in the _Herald_,” ran a second letter from our
friend. “A few incidental expressions of opinion and a communication
published did not come up to my expectations. If you feel disposed to
write, Mrs. Bennett is the channel by which to reach him. She told me
she sympathised with the South in her feelings, and admired
Southerners.... In failing to deal with the case as you present it, the
President must be very feeble in the article of nerve, touching his War
Secretary and other Radical adversaries. Yet the widow prevailed with
the unjust Judge, and I trust your importunity may weary the cautious
Tennesseean into decided steps for Mr. Clay’s release!
“Yours, etc.,
“R. BARNWELL RHETT.”
Early in the month of February two important letters reached me through
Mr. R. J. Haldeman. They were addressed to the President, and bore the
signature of Thaddeus Stevens and R. J. Walker, respectively. Since my
letter addressed to him in May, 1865, Mr. Haldeman’s efforts had been
unremitting to interest in my husband’s behalf those whose
recommendations were likely to have most weight with the President and
his advisers. He now wrote me as follows:
“MRS. C. C. CLAY, JR.
“_My Dear Madam_: I inclose you a very handsome letter from the
Honourable R. J. Walker to the President. I also sent you the letter
of Mr. Stevens, which has become of some importance in view of Mr.
Stevens’s recent utterances. Mr. Walker considers it of the
_highest_ importance, and wonders how I obtained it.
“After seeing you, I called on Mr. S—— in reference to the proposed
visit (to you), but found him brooding over the violent speech which
he has since made. I did not therefore deem it prudent to insist
upon the performance of his promise, and am confirmed in my judgment
by events.
“During the day I heard something which convinced me the President
would not then act. This I could not bring myself to tell you, and
therefore obeyed a hasty summons to New York by an unceremonious
departure from Washington. As the future unfolds, I hope to be again
at Washington, and at the propitious moment. I hope you will keep up
your good spirits, for, upon the faith of a somewhat phlegmatic and
never over-sanguine Dutchman, I think the period of Mr. Clay’s
release approaches rapidly.... Mr. Walker, however, desires me to
say to you that ‘as we must all go to Clay at last, why not go at
once?’ I think this pointed witticism would bear repetition to the
President. I am, very respectfully, Madam,
Yours,
“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.
“I have had strange visitors lately,” I wrote to father. “Some
extremists of the Radical party have called upon me to assure me of
their belief in my husband’s innocence!” And in my diary of the 14th of
that fateful February, I find entered: “When will wonders cease? Who but
the Honourable Mr. Wilson, of Massachusetts, has called, and
voluntarily, to say he will do anything in his power for me or Mr. Clay;
knows he is innocent; believes Mr. Davis to be also innocent! It is the
goodness of God!”
The circumstances of Mr. Wilson’s unexpected visit were altogether
dramatic. I was seated at the dinner-table with the family of Mrs.
Parker, when, it being still early in the evening, a visitor was
announced who declined to give his name or the purpose for which he had
called.
“Tell Mrs. Clay that a friend wishes to see her,” was his message. A
sudden remembrance flashed over me, and, indeed, over the friends around
me, of the secret warning I had received just after my arrival in
Washington, viz.: that I must be on my guard against strange visitors.
After a few moments’ consultation with the family, I decided to see the
stranger. Doctor Maury, Mrs. Parker’s son-in-law (who had been Chief of
Staff on General Longstreet’s medical staff, and was a brave and
charming man), accompanied me to the drawing-room door, encouraging me
by telling me to have no fear, as he would remain near by. As I entered
the room the Doctor drew back into the hall. He was prepared, he assured
me, for any emergency.
Great, indeed, was my astonishment upon entering, to see, rising to meet
me, Senator Wilson, Vice-President of the United States! To that moment
I had had no acquaintance with the Massachusetts Senator, though I had
seen him often on the floor of the Senate. Though seized with an inward
panic of apprehension that he was the bearer of some dreadful tidings, I
took the proffered hand of my strange visitor, obeying mechanically an
instinct of responsive courtesy. For a moment, however, fear made me
speechless. At last, Mr. Wilson broke the painful silence.
“You are doubtless surprised to see me,” he said.
“Unutterably so!” I rejoined. “Please tell me quickly why you have come,
and end this agony of suspense!” And I burst into tears.
“Do not weep, dear Madam!” said Mr. Wilson. “Mr. Clay is well, and I
have come to tell you that I deeply sympathise with you and desire to
help you to obtain his release!”
“Mr. Clay’s surrender,” Mr. Wilson continued, “reflects great honour
upon him. He is a brave and good man. Though he and I were opposed in
politics, I have always respected Mr. Clay. Even his enemies on my side
of the Chamber always knew where to find the Senator from Alabama!”
My heart was so full as I listened to these words, I could not make
answer to this tribute to the worth of my suffering husband but by a
fresh flow of tears. Somehow, as he stood before me, the erstwhile
shoemaker of Nantucket seemed stamped with the seal of nobility from
God! I did not then know his kindly nature, and those to whom I related
the incident of this visit said nothing to impress me with the sincerity
of Senator Wilson’s act. On the contrary, many assured me that some
selfish and sinister motive impelled the interview, and that Mr. Wilson
would not commit himself by writing what he had spoken. A friend to whom
I wrote an account of the visit, replied, counselling me as follows:
“I do not personally know Mr. Wilson, but believe him, from report, to
be tricky, unscrupulous, and only hypocritically fanatical. Mr. Stevens
may have spoken to him, or Mr. Sumner (whom, you remember, I saw); or he
may have wished to approach the President through an opening which he
supposed congenial to the President’s wishes. However, your course is
clear. Commit Mr. Wilson by a letter to the President, so that when the
fight waxes furious he may not be able to take advantage of what the
President may do. I consider it a good sign that the President desires
to keep the letters of Messrs. Stevens and Walker.”
In the meantime I had spoken of the incident with warm enthusiasm to Mr.
Johnson. He replied very much as others had done; to wit., that Mr.
Wilson would not commit to writing the sentiments he had expressed
verbally to me.
“He fears the Radical press too much,” said the President.
Nettled somewhat at this distrust, I assured Mr. Johnson of my faith in
his Vice-President; that I would get the letter from him, and
voluntarily. “If not,” I added, somewhat stung by his cynicism, “I will
extort it!”
Shrugging his shoulders, and casting up one eye, a characteristic habit
of the President, he asked, “How?”
“Simply,” I replied, “by an avowal that I will give to the _Herald_ and
other papers the whole affair, telling how the Honourable Senator had
come, secretly, by night, like Nicodemus, to deceive by false promises a
sorrowful woman, for some base reason best known to himself!”
Leaving the President still with an incredulous smile upon his face, I
returned to my asylum at Mrs. Parker’s, and shortly addressed Mr. Wilson
a note, expressive of my wish. A reply, under his own frank, reached me
early in March, and I bore it in some triumph to the President. The
Vice-President’s letter, a copy of which I afterward secured, was dated
from the “United States Senate Chamber, Washington, March 3, 1866.” It
was addressed to
“HIS EXCELLENCY, THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES.
“_Sir_” [the letter began]: “Mrs. Clay, the wife of Clement C. Clay,
is now in the city, and has requested me to obtain permission for
her husband to go to his home on parole. His father is said to be at
the point of death, his mother recently deceased, and, if there be
no objections or reasons unknown to me why the request of Mrs. Clay
should be denied, I have no hesitation in recommending its
favourable consideration, if only from motives of humanity, as I
have no doubt Mr. Clay will be forthcoming when his presence is
again required by the Government.
“I have the honour to be,
“Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
(Signed.) “H. WILSON.”
Some six weeks later, when Mr. Clay’s release was at last accomplished,
and the press was busy with comments upon it, the names of the gentlemen
who had written to the President on my husband’s behalf being
enumerated, some of the Radical papers attempted to deny the probability
of Mr. Wilson’s intercession; which was, as it appeared to me, a
singularly useless thing to do, since his letter was already filed among
the Government’s archives. But the air everywhere was full of political
revolution, and parties and partisans did not hesitate to resort to such
means in their endeavour to effect the desired feeling in the public
mind.
Every step taken by the President in those days was opposed or attacked.
In my efforts to accomplish my husband’s release, I came in contact with
many good and earnest men, anxious to serve Mr. Clay and me, though
often wholly disapproving of Mr. Johnson’s weak course. The retention of
Mr. Stanton in the Cabinet was peculiarly offensive to a great many.
Wherever a political meeting was held, Mr. Johnson was liable to
vituperative assault. Private conversation teemed with rumours of a
growing and increasingly violent opposition.
In view of Mr. Johnson’s demonstrated kindliness to me, it was not only
loyal to the President, but, I hoped, would prove protective to Mr.
Clay’s interest, that I should give the Executive the benefits of some
of the warnings I had heard by no means privately uttered. I, therefore,
spoke to him fearlessly, and wrote to him no less unrestrainedly.
A few days after Mr. Wilson’s visit, I wrote to Mr. Johnson in this
wise, my letter being dated February 16th:
“MR. PRESIDENT.
“_Dear Friend_: Fearing I may not see you this morning, I fortify
myself with this note. I go up [to the War Department] hoping for my
father’s correspondence. If I get neither, may I beg to remind you
of your promises? I have some strange things to tell you.... Rumour
says that ‘the people say,’ ‘If Mr. J—— does not support them versus
the Radicals, they will call on General Grant!’ I know you will not
falter, and are not to be intimidated by threats from brave men, far
less cowards.... Will you not send me one line? Do! and say the
wheel has advanced one notch toward the day of deliverance!”
A letter received after sending the above missive, in addition to the
conferences I held daily with Judges Black and Hughes, and with others
calculated by their established judicial and political worth to aid me,
had its share in stimulating me to press my arguments home more and more
confidently in my future interviews with Mr. Johnson.
“I was spectator yesterday in a Democratic Convention in an adjoining
County (Harrisburg),” ran the letter, “when the news of the veto was
brought. A resolution of approval was immediately adopted, and I, being
seen in the crowd, was called out. I raised such a storm in fifteen
minutes as would have done the President’s heart good to have witnessed.
The people are palpitating with eagerness to have the battle-ground
defined, foggy constructions and platforms removed, so that they may
charge upon the foes to a restored and tranquil Union.
“_Alea jacta est_: Mr. Johnson has put his hand to the plow, and cannot
look back.... He has shown the very highest order of statesmanship in
that command of himself and ability to bide his time, amid unexampled
embarrassments, which have won for him the confidence of reflecting men.
But could you not gently insinuate some day that, hereafter, the great
debate, on appeal, is to be carried before the Tribunal of the American
people in the case of the President versus Congress?... Many of Mr.
Lincoln’s acts, wrong in themselves, were nevertheless pardoned or
applauded, because they evinced energy, courage or willingness to
shoulder responsibility....
“As one of the people, ... and accustomed to ‘pulse’ the public, I think
I may unhesitatingly assert that Mr. Johnson would gain immensely by no
longer waiting to be attacked and undermined, but boldly striking his
country’s and his own enemies. If he would break out before witnesses
into indignant denunciation of Mr. Stanton for having attempted to sap
the foundation of liberty, and that, therefore, he is unfit to be in the
Government of a free people, a thrill of joy would course like
electricity through the land. Let the contest be only strictly defined;
let the President, with a cabinet of friends, stand forward as the
defender of peace and Union against a Congress which seeks to perpetuate
strife, discord, and disunion, and we will, by meetings held in every
county of the North, so arouse the people in support of our
constitutional and law-abiding President against a lawless and usurping
Congress, that it would be comparing small things to great to compare it
with the pressure which General Monk and the people of England brought
to bear upon the fanatical Parliament in behalf of Charles II.”
A few days after the receipt of this letter, while on my way to call
upon the President, and in the company of my faithful friend, Mrs.
Bouligny, I met Mr. Stanton descending the stairs of the White House. I
saw by the Secretary’s manner that he recognised me. Indeed, there was a
half-inclination of the head, as if he had expected me to bow to him. I
did not do so. The innate contempt I felt for this despotic Secretary of
War, whom I knew to be the power upholding Mr. Holt, who was so cruelly
detaining my husband, froze my manner into a hauteur I could not easily
have assumed. I went angrily to my appointment.
As I entered the parlour in which the President stood ready to receive
me, I immediately broke into the subject to which I so continually had
returned at each of my many visits during the past three months. But the
President interposed a question.
“Did you meet Stanton as you came in?” he asked.
“I did!” I replied. “And he had the audacity to bow to me!”
“The scoundrel!” ejaculated the President. “He has been here an hour
clamouring for the blood of Davis and Clay!”
“But you will release them?” I asked.
“You must be patient,” answered Mr. Johnson. “I must detain them a
little longer to satisfy public clamour!”
At this my indignation rose. In augmenting emotion I recapitulated the
letters and indorsements I had brought to him urging my husband’s
release. I reiterated my reasons why the recommendations of these
gentlemen should have weight with him. I referred to my husband’s
inability to combat the charges that had been made against him, while
denied trial, the access of counsel, or his release from custody. I
described his ill-health and the aged father at home, now so near to
death; I rehearsed my husband’s past services to his country and the
dishonourable way in which the Government had acted toward this
self-surrendered prisoner. I spoke the thoughts that rose in my heart,
irrespective of the consequences, and, having massed my arguments in
this way, I summed them all up in one uncontrollable protest:
“And now, Mr. President,” I asked, “in the name of God, what doth
hinder? In view of all these things, does it not seem that you are the
lion in the path? Please tell me who was benefited by Mr. Lincoln’s
death? Was it Clement C. Clay? What good accrued to him from the murder?
He was the loved representative of a proud constituency. He is now
pining in solitary confinement. You, Mr. Johnson, are the one man
benefited! You have succeeded to the highest office in the gift of the
people! You, through this elevation, have become the centre of a
nation’s hopes, the arbiter of life and death!” I paused in my plea, at
a movement of deprecation made by the President, but I would not be
halted.
“You have promised me,” I continued, “and Heaven knows how I thank you
for it, that never while you sit in the Presidential chair will you
surrender to the Military Commission the two prisoners in Fortress
Monroe. In that, you have saved their lives! I have not the shadow of a
doubt but that execution, and that in chains, as in Mrs. Surratt’s case,
might have taken place. But, when, notwithstanding the recommendations
of such men as General Grant, Thaddeus Stevens, Judge Walker, and Henry
Wilson, I see you waiting for ‘public clamour’ to subside, and, at the
same time, in counsel with your Secretary of War, I am afraid. Again I
implore you to stand firmly, my friend; thus far, at least, by not
yielding to the desires of that wicked Commission and staining your soul
with innocent blood!”
Turning, my eyes rested upon the marble bust of the late President, and
I said, “Whose bust is that?”
“Mr. Lincoln’s,” was the surprised reply.
“I know it!” I answered. “But is he not a dead President? And why, may I
ask, do you, a living one, stand surrounded by his Cabinet? Why do you
not reach out to the great conservative heart of this Nation and select
your own Cabinet? Why not become the popular head, as you can become? So
long as you stand, Mr. President, as the barrier between your Military
Commission and my husband and Mr. Davis, so long will I dare to be your
friend to the extent of telling you what the people say of you!”
“Well, what do they say?” asked the President, with an air of
indifference which, it was obvious, was assumed.
“They say,” I replied, “that you should get rid of Mr. Lincoln’s
Cabinet; that you should surround yourself with a Cabinet of your own!
Why do you hobble yourself with a dead man’s advisers? They say, too,
you are swinging in too circumscribed a circle! I have even heard,” I
added, “hints of ‘impeachment’ uttered in connection with the
dissatisfaction resulting from your administration!”
During my bold speech the President gave evidence of being deeply moved,
if not irritated, by my revelations; and, feeling that I had said
enough, if, indeed, not too much, in the intensity of my feelings, Mrs.
Bouligny and I withdrew. Ere we left him, however, the President assured
me, as he so often had done (though he said the words over each time
with an earnest gravity that was void of consciousness of his
repetition), that he would “confer as to the release in our next Cabinet
meeting!”