At this announcement I could not restrain my sobs. I doubt not I troubled him much by my tears and pleadings. I begged him hysterically to fly; I would join him anywhere if he would but escape. But my ever patient husband only answered, as he tried to calm me, “Virginia! my wife! Would you have me fly like an assassin?”
I could say no more, but only listen, between the crowding fears and terrors that seized me, while those about discussed the wording of a telegram which, a short time afterward, Colonel Phillips carried to the telegraph office. It ran thus:
“Bt. Major-General Wilson, United States Army: Seeing the proclamation of the President of the United States, I go to-day with the Honourable P. Phillips, to deliver myself to your custody.
C. C. Clay, Jr.”
I think this resolute act, and the preparation of a letter which was immediately written to the same general, relieved my husband, for he was instantly calmer. For myself, I felt that he had signed his own death warrant. During the succeeding hours, the entire household was in consultation. Having decided to proceed to Macon by the early train the next morning, Mr. Clay retired and slept, to my surprise, as peacefully as a child, though I, less fortunate, watched and wondered at his calmness.
Early the following morning we left Lagrange, accompanied by Colonel Phillips. The world appeared very strange and worthless to me as the train hastened on to Atlanta, where a change of cars was necessary. We found that city a pandemonium; soldiers patrolling the streets, drums beating, and vans, loaded with furniture, moving up and down the avenues. In our desire to proceed as rapidly as possible we accosted a soldier.
“Where is Colonel Eggleston?” Colonel Phillips asked.
“There he is, within ten feet of you!” was the reply. The Colonel thereupon approached the officer in command and said to him, “I have a distinguished friend here, Mr. Clement C. Clay, of Alabama, who is on his way voluntarily to surrender himself.”
On hearing my husband’s name, Colonel Eggleston approached us and held out his hand, saying: “Is it possible, Mr. Clay, you are the man who is making such a stir in the land? I am not surprised at your surrender. I knew your record through my Senators, Pugh and Pendleton, of Ohio. You’ve done the right thing, sir, and I hope you’ll soon be a free man.”
Mr. Clay, surprised at the Federal Colonel’s magnanimity, turned and presented him to me. He extended his hand. I took it. It was the first Yankee hand I had touched since we had left Minnesota, four years before. The Colonel assured us it was impossible for us to proceed that night to Macon. “It will be best for you,” he said, “to spend the night at the Kimball House. But the city is in a tumult, and, as Mrs. Clay is with you, I will have a guard that you may not be disturbed.” When we were ready to retire, two soldiers appeared, with muskets in hand, and took their stand, one at each side of our chamber door, where they remained until the next morning.
Shortly after breakfast, Colonel Eggleston presented himself. His manner was courteous. “As times are so turbulent,” he said, “I think it best that I should detail a guard to accompany you to Macon; that is,” he added, “unless you object.” Upon Mr. Clay’s assurance that the guard would not be unpleasant to us, the General presented Lieutenant Keck, a young officer, who, during the conversation, had been standing near. Thereupon the Lieutenant attached himself to our party and we boarded the car for Macon. Throughout the trip our guard behaved with undeviating consideration, and this, under trying circumstances; for, the wires flashing the news about the country, many of the stations along the road were crowded with friends, who, when they saw us, uttered expressions of intensest regret, even urging my husband to fly. On more than one occasion, so considerate was Lieutenant Keck’s conduct, that he allowed Mr. Clay to leave the car, unguarded.