The middle of November had arrived ere, by the aid of Mr. Robert Herstein, a kindly merchant of Huntsville (“may his tribe increase”), who advanced me $100 in gold (and material for a silk gown, to be made when I should reach my destination), I was enabled to begin my journey to the capital. Under the escort of a kind friend and neighbour, Major W. H. Echols, of Huntsville, who, having in mind the securing of a certain patent, arranged his plans so as to accompany me to Washington, I bade father and mother “good-bye” and stepped aboard the train. My heart sometimes beat high with hope, yet, at others, I trembled at what I might encounter. Fortunately for the preservation of my courage, I had no forewarning that I had looked, for the last time, upon the sorrowful face of our mother. Her closing words, in that heartbreaking farewell, were of hope that I would soon return bringing with me her dearest son. With the desire to cheer them both, I wrote back merrily as I proceeded on my way; but, indeed, I had small need to affect a spirit of buoyancy; for, from the beginning, I was the recipient of innumerable kindnesses from fellow-travellers who learned my identity. In many instances my fare was refused by friendly railroad conductors.
“I have paid literally nothing thus far,” I wrote from Louisville, Kentucky, which city I reached early in the morning of November 15th. “At Nashville,” my letter added, “we took sleeping cars, which were as luxurious as the bed that now invites me. I had, however, an amusing, and, at first blush, an alarming nocturnal adventure. I was waked by the rattling of paper at my head, and, half unconsciously putting out my hand, it lighted on the hairy back of some animal! I sprang out of bed, raised the curtain, and there sat, in the corner of my berth, the most monstrous coon you ever saw! The black around his eyes at first made him appear like an owl, but he proved to be a genuine old ‘zip coon.’ So I got out one of ‘Mammy ’Ria’s’ nice biscuit, which have been greatly complimented by my friends, and asked him please to come out of my bed and eat some supper. But he wouldn’t! And I had to wake Major Echols in the gentlemen’s apartment, who forcibly ejected him after a good laugh at me!”
A day later and we reached Cincinnati, where, owing to the late arrival of the boat, the St. Nicholas, on which we had travelled from Louisville, through banks of fog, we were delayed some twelve hours. Our trip on this river steamer was, in its way, a kind of triumphal progress, very reassuring to me at that critical moment. As I wrote back to father, “We found the captain a good Southerner and a noble old fellow! Had one son in the Federal Army and lost one at Shiloh! Mr. Hughes, of the Louisville Democrat, was aboard; he said his paper had been suppressed, but he would now be permitted to go South. He is a rabid secessionist, and promised to copy the News[[53]] articles concerning my husband.” On board, too, was Mrs. Gamble, of Louisville, a wealthy woman whose name was associated with innumerable kindnesses to our soldiers, and generous gifts to our cause. She was a sad woman, but sympathised greatly with Mr. Davis and Mr. Clay, and begged that upon my return from Washington we would make our home with her “until better times.”
Upon learning the length of time we must spend in Cincinnati, I went at once to the Spencer House, whence I wrote and immediately despatched notes to my old friends, Mrs. George E. Pugh, wife of the ex-Senator, and to Senator and Mrs. George H. Pendleton (the first a resident of the city, the last-named residents of Clifton, a suburb), telling them of my unexpected presence in the city, and hoping to see them during the day. On my way to the hotel, I had looked about the city with increasing interest and pleasure. How different it was from our devastated country!
“You never saw the like of the fruit!” I wrote enthusiastically to mother. “Grapes, oranges, apples; such varieties of nuts—cream, hazel, hickory, and English walnuts—as are on the beautiful stall just at the entrance of the hotel! The Major has just entered, laughing heartily at Yankee tricks and Yankee notions! He says a man said to him, ‘Insure your life, sir?’
“‘For what?’ says the Major.
“‘For ten cents!’ replies the man. ‘And if you are killed on the cars, your family gets $3,000 cash!’
“‘Three thousand?’ rejoins Major Echols, contemptuously. ‘What’s that to a man worth a million!’ at which all stare as if shot. I laugh, too, but tell him I fear we will be made to pay for his fun, if they think us millionaires!”
The day was half gone when dear Mrs. Pugh, only a few years ago the triumphant beauty of the Pierce and Buchanan administrations, but now a pale, saddened woman, clad in deep mourning, appeared. God! what private sorrows as well as national calamities had filled in the years since we had separated in Washington! The pathos of her appearance opened a very flood-gate of tears, which I could not check. But Mrs. Pugh shed none. She only put out a restraining hand to me.
“No tears now, I beg of you. I can’t endure it. Tell me of yourself, of your plans. Where are you going? What of Mr. Clay? How can I aid you?” she asked, turning away all discussion save as to the object of my journey.