“I have not yet called upon the President,” I wrote father upon my return from Fortress Monroe, on the 29th of March, “but will report myself to-morrow and ask of him that no revocation of the late order shall be made. I shall urge Mr. Clay’s release, if only temporary, that he may come and see you and help you arrange your business.... The Radical pressure on the President is fearful. They have expelled Foote, and have persuaded Stewart, of Nevada, his son-in-law, to desert his colours and cause, and they may pass the veto over the President’s manly veto of the Civil Rights bill. But President Johnson will fall, if fall he must, battling!”
The records of my calls upon the Executive during the weeks that followed almost might be traced by the many pencilled cards sent me by Mr. Johnson from time to time.
“It will be impossible for me to see you until it is too late. I am pressed to death!” reads one. “There is a committee here in consultation; I cannot tell what time they will leave. I fear too late, but see if in twenty minutes,” runs another. And a third, “Some matters of importance are now transpiring. I will see you at any time, but would prefer passing the answer until Saturday.” Weeks passed thus in futile calls and beseechings, until, having tested every expedient to hasten the President to the fulfilling of his promise, my patience was exhausted.
“Again I am under the necessity of writing,” I began in a letter to my sister, dated the fourteenth of April, “without announcing my husband’s release! Nor can I give you any definite information save what I mean to do and wish others to do. I am at this moment from the President’s; did not see him, but left a note inquiring when I could, and [asked] to be informed by note, which he often does in my case. He shall tell me in this interview whether he means speedily to release Mr. Clay. If not, then I will have issued the writ of habeas corpus, unless Judge Black oppose it!”
At eleven o’clock at night, however, I added, “The President sent for me to-night, and I have strong hopes that Mr. Clay will be released in a few days! I will telegraph you immediately when it occurs. I pray Heaven it may be ere this reaches you!”
Three days later, accompanied by my faithful friend, Mrs. Bouligny, I again called upon the President. It was eight o’clock in the evening. Having detected, as I believed, a disposition on Mr. Johnson’s part yet further to procrastinate, notwithstanding his recent promises that he would order Mr. Clay’s release, I was resolved not to leave the White House again without the requisite papers. I announced this intention to the President as he greeted us, asking him at the same time whether he would not spare me another moment’s anxiety and write me the long-petitioned-for order for Mr. Clay’s release.
Mr. Johnson’s mood was light. He repeated some of the on dits of the day, trying in various ways to divert me from my object, to which, however, I as often persistently returned. From time to time other visitors entered to claim the President’s attention; or, he excused himself while he went into a Committee meeting which was being held in an adjoining room. During such an interval I sat at the President’s desk and scribbled a short letter in pencil to Mr. Clay. It was dated:
“Executive Mansion, Washington, D. C.,
April 17, 1866.
“My precious husband!” I wrote. “Behold me seated in the library of this house, in the President’s chair, writing you the ‘glad tidings of great joy!’ The President has just gone in for a few moments to see some gentlemen, and will bring me your release papers when he returns! He told me on the fourteenth that he would try to have them, but not to be too hopeful. So I came with some misgiving, to be relieved and rejoiced. Ere this will reach you, you will be informed by telegram of the release. I will telegraph you to-night.... Judge Black anxiously desires to see you, also Judge Hughes, both kind friends to me!”
It was still early in the evening when I wrote this buoyant epistle, which immediate after-events scarcely bore out. The President returned again and again to my companion and me, but ten o’clock arrived and still the papers had not been given me. I was growing more and more impatient, but upon reiterating my intention not to leave without the papers, the President became somewhat jocular. He invited Mrs. Bouligny and me to make ourselves comfortable, his words being accompanied by an evasive smile. My soul rose up in resentment at this!
“You seem to be inclined to treat this matter lightly, Mr. President,” I said hotly. “I am indignant! I want the paper!” Alas! my protest did not win me a direct compliance. The hands of a nearby clock already pointed to eleven when, the President having seated himself at a desk or writing-table that stood at hand, I rose and stepped to his side.