I now told Mr. Johnson of Mrs. Clay’s condition, and begged him to release my husband, if only to permit him one interview with his probably dying mother, to return again to custody if the President so wished; or, failing the granting of this, to allow me to visit him in prison. At last, after much reiteration on my part, Mr. Johnson yielded; he promised that he would issue the permit for my visit to Fort Monroe on his own responsibility in a few days; that I might rely upon receiving it upon my return from the metropolis.
Hastening to New York, I was soon made aware by Messrs. O’Conor, Shea and Greeley, who called upon me severally, that my one course now was to persist in my effort to precipitate a trial for my husband, or to procure his release on parole, in which these gentlemen stood ready to supplement me, and, upon the announcement of a trial, to defend Mr. Clay.
My interview with Mr. Greeley took place in one of the public corridors of the New York hotel, now thronging with Southern guests, and, as I sat beside him on a settle, in earnest conversation with the fatherly old man, his bald “temple of thought” gleaming under the gaslights, which threw their fullest brilliancy upon us, I remember seeing several prominent Southern generals then registered at the hotel glance repeatedly at us, and always with a look of surprise that said very plainly, “Well! If there isn’t Mrs. Clem. Clay hobnobbing with that old Abolitionist!”
CHAPTER XXVII
President Johnson Interposes
Mr. Johnson kept his word. Late in December I found myself on my way to Baltimore with the President’s autographed permit in hand, that would admit me to my husband’s prison. I left Washington on the afternoon of the 27th of December, going by train to Baltimore. Here, crossing the city in an omnibus with other passengers, to the wharf of the “New Line Steamers,” I was soon on board the boat, the George Leary, bound for Norfolk and Fortress Monroe. I was so keenly alive to my own lonely condition that I could not bring myself even to register my name among the list of happier passengers. Everywhere about me gaily dressed people thronged. I saw among them General Granger and wife, his staff, and ladies of the party. As the George Leary pulled out from her moorings, the brass band of a company of soldiers bound for Norfolk began to play sweet, old-time airs. I had no desire to linger among the care-free throng, and, calling the stewardess, handed her a gold-piece, saying, “Can you sign for me or get me a stateroom? I only go to Fortress Monroe.”
In a few moments she returned, regarding me inquiringly.
“Lady!” she asked, “ain’t you the wife of one of those gentlemen down at the Fort?”
“Yes!” I answered. “I am the wife of Mr. Clay, the prisoner!”
Thereupon she opened her hand, displaying my gold-piece, saying, “The captain says he can’t take any fare from you. He’ll be here in a little while!” And she moved away.
In a few moments the tall, gaunt Captain Blakeman stood before me.