Inexpressibly relieved, I dictated these words:
“Honourable C. C. Clay, Fort Monroe.
“You are released! Have written you to-night.
“V. C. C.”
The President’s telegram to the Fortress having been sent simultaneously with mine, my husband was given his freedom the next day. There remained, however, yet a few duties to perform ere I might join him at Petersburg, whence we together were to return to our beloved home; to Alabama, with its purple and russet mountains and spreading valleys, its warm hearts and loyal friends, and where waited the feeble and eager father, ex-Governor Clay, whose remaining tenure of life was to be so short. There were kindnesses to be acknowledged ere I left the capital, and on every side I met detaining hands overwhelming me with congratulations on my success at last. The evening before my departure, the venerable former Vice-President of the Confederate States called upon me to extend his good wishes for the future. Being deterred from coming in person, Judge Black wrote several notes full of his characteristic impulsiveness.
“Dear Madam,” his messages ran, “tell your great and good husband I could do nothing for him, because his magnificent wife left nobody else a chance to serve him! I would have been proud to have some share in his defense, but circumstances have denied me the honour. I rejoice none the less in his happy deliverance, and I have no right to envy you the privilege which you have used so grandly, of vindicating his stainless name. His liberation under the circumstances is a full acknowledgment that the charges against him in the proclamation are infamously false.... Your note of yesterday evening literally took my breath away. After you had done so much for yourself and I had done so little, nay, less than nothing, you address me as if I had been your benefactor merely because I rejoiced in your success.... If I say but little, you must not, therefore, suppose that I shall ever forget your amazing eloquence, your steadfast courage under circumstances which might have appalled the stoutest heart; your unshaken faith where piety itself might almost have doubted the justice of God; the prudence with which you instinctively saw what was best to be done, and the delicacy which never allowed the charms of the lady to be lost in the great qualities of the heroine. These things are written down at full length in the book of my memory, where every day I turn the leaf to read them.... I cannot forget your sad look when I saw you at Mrs. Parker’s the last time. Do not allow yourself to doubt the ultimate triumph of justice. God has recorded among His unalterable decrees that no lie shall live forever!
“Remember, if I can serve you it will always seem like a privilege to do it. In feudal times, when the liege man did homage to his suzeraine, he put his head between her hands (if it was a queen or a lady) and declared himself hers to do her commands; to be the friend of her friends, and the enemy of her enemies, for life and limb and earthly honours. Imagine the homage vowed in proper form, and claim your authority as suzeraine whenever you please. I ought to add that Mrs. Black was so wrought upon by your conversation that she has longed to see you again, and her whole heart, an honest and good one as ever beat, is yours.”
“You went to work like a true wife,” was the message sent by my dear old mess-mate, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, “and God blessed you for it. Did you see Mr. Holt? I have heard he was our bitterest enemy. Can it be so?”
“Ten thousand thanks to God, my dear friend, for your release!” wrote Mr. Mallory to my husband. “May He punish with rigorous justice ... your unjustifiable and most cruel incarceration! My wife and I, if indescribables would permit us, would dance for joy to-day at the news of your release. Love to your wife! God bless her bright spirit and noble heart; and may we meet in Florida, one acre of whose barrens I would not give for all New England!”
From Mr. Lamar, “dear old Lushe,” the following tender word came: “Ah, my friend, you know not how often, how constantly my heart has been with you! Often in the watches of the night, when all around was hushed in sleep, have I wept over your fate!... I have not time to write now, except to beg you to come right here and make your abode with me. We have a large house. Oh, do, Mr. Clay, do come and see me! I would share the last dollar I have with you. Come, my friend, and live with me, and let us henceforth be inseparable. Please come. I believe the sight of you will restore my health; at least, if anything can.
“Your devoted brother, L. Q. C. Lamar.”[[72]]
The sight of these letters of long ago sets the tears gushing, and awakens a thousand tender memories of kind hearts that long since ceased to beat to the emotions of pain or pleasure. Oh! the vast army of men and women who, by their sympathy in those last crucial days of my experiences in the capital, were a buoy to my courage, and that of my husband, broken in health, and heart, and spirit, as we turned back to our home in Alabama!