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 Whittles1, whose hospitable3 home became my asylum4 until I proceeded on my way to Huntsville. The necessity for procuring5 passports through the several military districts made my journey a slow one. To add to my discomforts6, 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 conjectured7 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. Whittle2. 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 279protest 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 rebuke8. “You have passed his jurisdiction9, 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 detention10 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 dilemma11 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 instructors12. 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 Baker13, who made what was meant to be a very thorough search of all my belongings14, 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 invaders16. I returned to 280find my friends in deep trouble and anguish17 of mind on my behalf. They repeated the story of the search with much distress18 of manner. From the disorder19 in which I found my room when, shortly afterward20, I entered it, these agents of the Government must have hoped to find there the whole assassination21 plot. Clothing of every description was strewn over the floor and bed and chairs; while on mantelpiece and tables were half-smoked cigar stumps22 and ashes left by the gentlemen who took part in that memorable23 paper hunt. After a thorough examination of my wardrobe, piece by piece, they had taken possession of numerous letters and photographs, almost purely24 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 destitution25 I’ve heard tell of in the South!” In his eagerness to discourse26 on the beauty of a lady’s apparel, he overlooked a recess27 in one of my trunks which contained the only written matter that, by any turning of words, might have been designated treasonable.
Great, indeed, was my surprise, when, seated on the floor surveying the disorder about, overwhelmed with a conviction of desolation to come, I opened one secret little slide and looked within the pocket. Now my chagrin28 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 standing29 281just where it had been thrown, in the middle of the floor, while hung around it was a wreath of once gorgeous pomegranate flowers, which I recognised as those I had worn at one of the last functions I had attended in the Federal City.
Many months passed, in which repeated demands were made for the letters carried away by these emissaries of the Government, ere they were returned to me. Though taken thus forcibly from me for Governmental examination, I have no reason to conclude that those in authority at the War Department detained them for so serious a reason or purpose. On the contrary, I have ground for believing that my letters and other possessions lay open for seven or eight months to the gaze of the more curious friends of the department authorities; for, my friend, Mrs. Bouligny,[44] early in ’6, 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? and C Streets, Washington, by a Federal officer, who came in a United States Mail wagon30 with his burden!
My home-coming after the eventful trip to Fortress31 Monroe was a sore trial. Ex-Governor Clay, now an old man of seventy-five years, and Mrs. Clay, almost as aged32 (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 282and his staff. Servants and all other of their former possessions were scattered33; and Mother Clay, whose beautiful patrician34 hands had never known the soil of labour, who, throughout her long life of piety35 and gentle surroundings, had been shielded as tenderly as some rare blossom, now, an aged woman, within but a few months of the tomb, bereft36 of even her children, was compelled to perform all necessary household labour. The last and bitterest pain, that of my husband’s incarceration37, fell crushingly upon her. Her son, who had added lustre38 to his distinguished39 father’s name, who in private virtues40 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 wreak41 a vengeance42 on some one for the deplorable act of a madman. The knowledge came to her as a very death-dealing blow, the climax43 of years of unintermitting anxiety, deprivations44, 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 formerly45 affluent46 citizens but had been impoverished47 or ruined. By the summer of ’5, the country about was completely devastated48.
The crops were inconsiderable; scarcely any cotton had been planted, and the appalling49 cotton tax had already been invented to drain us still further. All over the South “Reconstruction days” had begun. Confusion of a kind reigned50 in every town or city. It was no longer a question of equality between the Freedmen and their late masters, but of negro supremacy51. On every side the poor, unknowing creatures sought every opportunity to impress the fact of their independence upon all against whom they bore resentment52. The women were wont53 to gather on the sidewalks of the main thoroughfares, forming a line across as they 283sauntered along, compelling their former masters and mistresses who happened to be approaching to take the street; or, if not sufficiently54 numerous or courageous55 to do this, would push their way by them, bumping into them with a distinct challenge to the outraged56 one to resent it. As if to encourage this spirit of “independence,” the agents of the conquering Government were there to protect their protégés from the indignant resentment such conduct might well awaken57, though they seemed not to be equipped to instruct them in better things.
Upon my return to Huntsville, after Mr. Clay’s incarceration, having been absent from it now nearly four years, I found the metamorphosis in the beautiful old town to be complete. Indignation at the desecration58 about us was the one antidote59 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. Indignities60, petty and great, multiplied each day at the hands of often wholly inexperienced Federal representatives, who, finding themselves in authority over the persons and property of men distinguished throughout the land, knew not how to exercise it. Looking back upon those frightful61 years, I am convinced that these agents, far more than our enemies who strove with our heroes upon the field, are responsible for a transmitted resentment that was founded upon the unspeakable horrors of “Reconstruction days.” Happy, indeed, was it for us that the future was hidden from us; for, bad as the conditions were that met my husband’s family then, there were to be yet other and worse developments. Our home, opposite to that of Governor Clay, was now occupied by one Goodlow, head of the Freedmen’s Bureau. From the one wing of the parental62 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,—the 284galleries and portico63 of which were now the gathering64 place for protégés of the Government. Daily I saw Alfred, the former dining-room servant of Governor Clay, revelling65 in his newly acquired liberty, dash by our dwelling66, seated in a handsome buggy behind a fine trotter. He was a handsome copper-coloured negro, with the blood of red men in his veins67. His yellow gauntlets were conspicuous68 two streets away, and as he passed he left on the evening air the odour of the Jessamine pomade with which he had saturated69 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 tattered70 attire71, and with the humblest demeanor72, he eked73 out a scanty74 living at a meagre little luncheon-stand on the corner of a thoroughfare. His former respect and regard for his old master now returned, and with it, I doubt not, a longing15 for the days when, in his fresh linen75 suits, laundered76 by the laundress of the Governor’s household, a valued servant, he had feasted on the good things he himself had assisted in concocting77!
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 follower78 of the mule-tail who appealed to it. He knew but one “bureau” in the world, and that was “ole Missus’s” or “Mis’ Mary’s,” an unapproachable piece of furniture with a given number of drawers. Bitter was the disappointment of the innocent blacks when they failed to see the source whence came their support.
“Whar’s dat bureau?” was sure to be the first question. “Whar all dem drawers what got de money an’ de sugar an’ de coffee? God knows I neber see no bureau ’t all, an’ dat man at de book-cupboard[45] talked mighty79 short ter me, at dat!”
285While letting my thoughts linger for a moment on those dreary80 days, I cannot refrain from recalling one of the occasional instances of humane81 conduct shown us by those placed in authority over the citizens of Huntsville, associated, as it is, with a bit of genuine negro blundering. The generosity82 of Dr. French, Medical Director, there stationed, toward the family of our brother, J. Withers83 Clay, in giving his medical services freely to them, greatly touched us all. Appreciating his obvious desire to administer to our wounded spirits a true “oil and wine,” my sister one morning gathered a bunch of fragrant84 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 bruised85 and oppressed the sweeter and stronger they grow! Now,” she added, “tell me, Sally, what are you going to say?” Sally answered promptly86:
“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.
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1
whittles
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| v.切，削（木头），使逐渐变小( whittle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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whittle
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| v.削（木头），削减；n.屠刀 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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procuring
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的现在分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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jurisdiction
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| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
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detention
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| n.滞留，停留；拘留，扣留；(教育)留下 | |
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dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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instructors
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| 指导者，教师( instructor的名词复数 ) | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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assassination
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| n.暗杀；暗杀事件 | |
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stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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destitution
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| n.穷困，缺乏，贫穷 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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patrician
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| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
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piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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bereft
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| adj.被剥夺的 | |
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incarceration
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| n.监禁，禁闭；钳闭 | |
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lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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wreak
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| v.发泄；报复 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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deprivations
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| 剥夺( deprivation的名词复数 )； 被夺去； 缺乏； 匮乏 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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affluent
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| adj.富裕的，富有的，丰富的，富饶的 | |
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impoverished
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| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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devastated
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| v.彻底破坏( devastate的过去式和过去分词)；摧毁；毁灭；在感情上（精神上、财务上等）压垮adj.毁坏的；极为震惊的 | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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57
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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desecration
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| n. 亵渎神圣, 污辱 | |
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59
antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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indignities
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| n.侮辱，轻蔑( indignity的名词复数 ) | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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revelling
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| v.作乐( revel的现在分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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eked
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| v.（靠节省用量）使…的供应持久( eke的过去式和过去分词 )；节约使用；竭力维持生计；勉强度日 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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laundered
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| v.洗（衣服等），洗烫（衣服等）( launder的过去式和过去分词 )；洗（黑钱）（把非法收入改头换面，变为貌似合法的收入） | |
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concocting
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| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的现在分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
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78
follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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79
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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80
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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81
humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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82
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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83
withers
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| 马肩隆 | |
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84
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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85
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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86
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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