From the hour of my arrival in the capital, Friday, November 17th, my misgivings1 gave place to courage. I went directly to Willard’s, which, being near the Executive Mansion2 and the War Department, and my purse very slender, I believed would save me hack3 hire. I had scarcely registered when General Clingman called. He was followed shortly by Senators Garland and Johnson, 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 noted4 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 Miller6 and Colonel Ayr of Grant’s staff. Their friendliness7 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 Ogle8 Tayloe, bearing an invitation from Mrs. Tayloe to dinner the 308following 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).
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 reassuringly10.
I remember that Sunday as one in which tears of gratitude11 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 dressing12; that unless her business is imperative13, I would prefer to have her call later.”
In a few moments I heard light tapping again. Upon my inquiry14, a name was whispered through the keyhole, 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 peculiar15 one. She had come to warn me of the presence in the city of James Montgomery, alias16 Thompson, one of the hireling witnesses 309whose “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 miscreant17, my visitor had learned that Montgomery, 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 prudence18 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 apprehension19 from that quarter.
In the days that intervened until my appointment with the President, my hours were spent in advantageous20 interviews with Judge Hughes, of Hughes & Denver, with Judge Black, Senator Garland, Frederick A. Aiken and others, during which I gleaned21 much knowledge of what had transpired22 since my husband’s incarceration23, and of the public feeling concerning the distinguished24 prisoners at Fortress25 Monroe, whose trials had been so mysteriously postponed26. It was now six months since the imprisonment27 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 unprecedented28 in English or American jurisprudence. Leading lawyers of the country were ready and eager to appear in the 310prisoners’ behalf, but every effort made by friends to see them thus far had been futile29. In those first weeks, reiterated30 proffers31 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 undertaking32, 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 bulwark33 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 invincible34 arguments rolled that made men listen. This feature was large when he spoke35, 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, accompanied 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 imminent36, with the affectionate warmth so well-known to me in other and happier days, Mrs. Douglas at 311once 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 afterward37 to know was an habitual38 composure, though he softened39 somewhat under the ardent40 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 gatherings41 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 responsibility 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 liberated42, disheartened me greatly. When Mrs. Douglas perceived this, she added her pleadings to mine, and, as the President’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 monstrous43 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, memorable44 one of many, unhappy 312scenes at the White House, ended by the President inviting45 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 strictly46 within the jurisdiction47 of the Secretary of War, and I advise you to see him!”
Realising the futility48 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 chaos49, autocrat50 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,[54] 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 averred51, the President’s note of introduction, which I bore him, even though I was a declared “Rebel” and the wife of a so-called conspirator52 and assassin. He was simply inflexibly53 austere54 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 Secretary. He glanced at them, laid them on the desk at which 313he 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 briefly55, 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 deprivations56 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 fully5 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 314scarcely 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 concession57, 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 detention58; some one with the power to obstruct59 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 abhorrence60 among the majority of Southerners? Judge Black felt sure it was. But accusation61 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 husband’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 luminary62 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 315that 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 seeing 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 willingness 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 Georgetown. I found these to be established in what was formerly63 the home of our friend Mr. Alfred Scott,[55] of Alabama, now deceased. Soldiers guarded the entrance, as became a military headquarters, and one came forward 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 courteously64, tendering his hand frankly65. 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 trepidation66 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 succinctly67 as I could my motive68 in calling 316upon 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 convinced, I added, that the man who had borne himself so magnanimously toward a brave soldier whom he had vanquished69, possessed70 the soul to espouse71 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 manly72 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 heartily73 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 mutual74 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 hearty75 shake of the hand, we parted.
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1
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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ogle
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| v.看；送秋波；n.秋波，媚眼 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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miscreant
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| n.恶棍 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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advantageous
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| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
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gleaned
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| v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的过去式和过去分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
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transpired
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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incarceration
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| n.监禁，禁闭；钳闭 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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proffers
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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bulwark
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| n.堡垒，保障，防御 | |
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invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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41
gatherings
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| 聚集( gathering的名词复数 )； 收集； 采集； 搜集 | |
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42
liberated
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| a.无拘束的，放纵的 | |
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43
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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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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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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47
jurisdiction
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| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
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futility
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| n.无用 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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autocrat
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| n.独裁者；专横的人 | |
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51
averred
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| v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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conspirator
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| n.阴谋者，谋叛者 | |
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inflexibly
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| adv.不屈曲地，不屈地 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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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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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(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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obstruct
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| v.阻隔，阻塞(道路、通道等)；n.阻碍物，障碍物 | |
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abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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luminary
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| n.名人，天体 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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67
succinctly
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| adv.简洁地；简洁地，简便地 | |
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68
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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69
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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70
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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71
espouse
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| v.支持，赞成，嫁娶 | |
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72
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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73
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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74
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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75
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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