The news of our arrival spread over the city at once, and an impromptu levee was begun which lasted until late in the night. It was followed, the next day, by gifts of flowers and fruit, and, what was immediately needful, of clothing of every description. The people of Savannah acted as by one great impulse of generosity, all eager to demonstrate their devotion to the prisoners now in the hands of the United States Government, and to us, their representatives. We found in the city many of our former Washington and Richmond friends, among whom were ex-Senator Yulee, of Florida, and General Mercer. Savannah was in a state of continual disquiet. The air rang with sounds of fifes and drums of Federal soldiers, and bands of triumphant music were encountered in every direction. Drills were constant and innumerable, and fully as unpleasant to our eyes as our conquerors could wish; but, to my Southern mind, no sight was so sad, and none presented so awful a travesty on the supposed dignity of arms, as the manœuvres of a regiment of negroes in full dress!
However, I was in no mood to think resentfully upon these minor evils of our times; for, notwithstanding the kindnesses shown our party on every side, my apprehensions for my husband’s safety increased as the journals of each day gave out their horrors. The news that Mr. Davis, saddened, ill, strengthless, as we knew him to be, had been put in chains, startled us. Not a soul in the South but was horrified at the wanton act, and none, I think, will ever forgive the deed though its authorship has remained unacknowledged to this day. The press, both North and South, was filled with alarming prognostications and with news of the gathering testimony which would fix the crime with which the ex-President and my husband were charged, upon them. Items which I might not otherwise have seen were clipped from Northern papers and sent to me by friends eager to acquaint me with news of every development which might warn or strengthen. From mysterious purlieus, witnesses were being brought forward on whose awful testimony were to be formulated, it was said, charges of heinous crime against the prisoners of state. What this testimony was to be, who was to give it, were mysteries to me. I tried in vain to communicate with Mr. Clay, and on the 8th of June, unable longer to endure the suspense, I wrote to General Miles, imploring him to send me at least one line to assure me of Mr. Clay’s welfare; at the same time inclosing a second letter to Judge Advocate General Holt.
To add to my distress of mind, the interest of the newspapers, being now concerned with the Surratt and other trials, became silent for the time being on the cases of Messrs. Davis and Clay, and, until the receipt of a letter from General Miles, I was uncertain of my husband’s whereabouts, rumours having reached me of his having been transferred to Fort Warren. A letter received at this time from General James H. Wilson records that he, too, was under this impression. Waiting from day to day in the hope of ascertaining some definite information concerning Mr. Clay, and having established communication with friends in various quarters, I now began to shape my plans for a return to Huntsville, meanwhile offering such consolations to my companions as was in my power. Only the uncomprehending children of our party seemed happily free from the weight of trouble everywhere besetting us. I remember an amusing incident in connection with the little Jeff., our manly protector, just previous to my leaving the hotel to accept the hospitality of friends. He had scarcely arrived, when he formed an attachment for a fine Newfoundland dog, a regular attaché of the popular hostelry. While Mrs. Davis and I were entertaining some of Savannah’s kind people, we heard Jeff.’s voice shouting every now and then in uproarious good humour, “Bully for Jeff.! Bully for Jeff.!” At last I went out to reason with him. I found him successfully mounted on his canine acquaintance, a strong bridle in one hand, a switch in the other.
“You shouldn’t say ‘Bully for Jeff.,’” I remonstrated. “It isn’t nice. You must remember whose boy you are!” The little fellow looked nonplussed.
“Well!” he said, ruefully, “Mis’ Clay, if a fellow don’t bully for hisself, who’s going to bully for him?” I gazed at him, puzzled. This was a Waterloo for me. I answered, “Well, bully for yourself! but don’t bully so loud,” and retreated to the parlour, leaving the little lad to cogitate on whether he or I was master of the situation.
I lingered in Savannah, eagerly awaiting letters which I hoped would meet me there, until the middle of June, when I proceeded to Macon, en route for Huntsville, and I am amused now at the contrariety of the human memory, when, into the woof of the thoughts of those strenuous days, there is thrust a thread of comedy. Just before leaving the hospitable coast city, I was the guest of Mrs. Levy, mother of the brilliant Mrs. Philip Phillips, of Washington, of Mrs. Pember, and of Miss Martha Levy, one of the readiest wits I have ever known.
During the evening first referred to, many guests were introduced, among them some of Savannah’s prominent Hebrews. For an hour Miss Martha had been busy presenting her friends, both Christian and Jew, when, one after another, came Mr. Cohen, Mr. Salomon, Dr. Lazarus and Dr. Mordecai. At this remarkable procession my risibles proved triumphant. I glanced slyly at Miss Martha. Her eyes shone with mischief as she presented Dr. Mordecai.
“And is Haman here, too?” I asked.
CHAPTER XXII
Reconstruction Days Begin
Upon leaving Savannah I proceeded by boat to Augusta, reaching that city on the fifteenth of June, going thence to Macon, escorted to Atlanta by Colonel Woods. During the last half of my journey I was under the care of General B. M. Thomas, who saw me safely into the hands of our kind friends, the Whittles, whose hospitable home became my asylum until I proceeded on my way to Huntsville. The necessity for procuring passports through the several military districts made my journey a slow one. To add to my discomforts, my trunks, recovered at Macon, were several times rigorously searched ere I reached my destination. At every transfer station my baggage was carefully scrutinised, and the small value in which passports were held may be conjectured from the following incident.