“If Davis would take this route”—and Mr. Hill’s finger traced the way upon the diagram before us, “if he keeps to it without any detour whatsoever, he will get away,” he declared. “If he turns aside a step or lingers an hour he is lost! If he crosses the river there”—and our host, who knew the topography of his State by heart, paused as he marked the spot, “no one can take him!”
Not a member of that circle but was tense in his or her desire that our chief should be spared the ignominy and pain of capture. The magnanimity of Senator Wigfall, whose antagonism to President Davis had caused a profound concern in Richmond in this hour of the Confederacy’s downfall, was especially marked.
To the present, none of those assembled at the hospitable Hill home had reason to apprehend a personal danger from the conquering party. The meeting had taken place at Appomattox which, more than victories gained, has made the name of Grant immortal. The Northern General had received the proffer of Lee’s sword, and peace had been proclaimed. By the terms made we had some little reason to be optimistic as to our future, despite the peopling of our Southern cities with Union soldiers. The developments of one fateful day, however, unveiled to us the actual perils we were yet to face.
As I have said, my husband and Mr. Wigfall had practically completed their arrangements to leave Lagrange and strike for the Mississippi. It was my expectation, thereupon, to return to our parents’ home in Huntsville. The day agreed upon for my departure approached. At the request of my husband, I drove to the cars to ascertain what currency would be required to take me to Macon, whence I was to proceed at once to Alabama. In company with Henrietta Hill and her little brother, I drove to the station in time to see the afternoon train pull in. As it swept into the city with a shrill scream, it was crowded with men and women of both races; so overcrowded, rather, that many clung to the platforms. There were shouts and a general Babel, which I did not understand, and, as debarkation began, to these was added the bedlam of drunken laughter. When as near to the cars as the carriage would permit, I directed Benny Hill to go forward to the conductor and ask “What currency is needed to get to Macon?”
The man seemed to understand that I had prompted the question, and called to me, “Gold or greenbacks, Madam?” Then, not waiting for my reply, he hastened to add the news, “Macon has been surrendered by General Howell Cobb to the Federals, General Wilson commanding. Atlanta, as you know, is in the hands of the Yankees, Colonel Eggleston in charge!”
This was disappointing news to me, as I had but little gold and a peck of Confederate paper, which was not likely to carry me far under reported conditions. I waited until the crowd had thinned out somewhat, and then questioned the man further.
“Is there any other news than that of the proclamation for Mr. Davis’s arrest?” I asked. His reply astounded me.
“Yes, Madam!” he said; “$100,000[[43]] is offered for Clement C. Clay, of Alabama.” A trembling seized me. I don’t know how I made my way to the carriage. Before I was fairly seated I saw Colonel Philip Phillips, at this time a resident of Lagrange, coming toward us. In his hands he held a journal. Quickly reaching the carriage, he handed me the paper, and, pointing to the despatch, which contained the proclamation, he said, “Go home quickly and give this to Mr. Clay!”
Scarcely aware of what I did, I ordered the coachman to drive back at once, forgetting in the excitement of the moment to invite the Colonel to accompany me. Arriving at the Hill residence, I met my hostess almost at the door.
“Please ask the gentlemen to come to us!” I said faintly, “I have important news!” and I hastened upstairs.