C. C. Clay, Jr., Departs for Canada  
I was in Richmond at my husband’s side when Dahlgren’s raid was made. Early one morning the cry of danger came. We were still at breakfast, when Senator Henry, of Tennessee, hurried in. “No Senate to-day, Clay!” he cried. “A big force of the enemy is at Lyons’s, and every man in the city is needed! Arm yourself, and come on!” and he hastened on his way to warn others. Members of Congress shouldered guns, where they could get them, and mounted guard around the capital. They were an untrained mass, but they came back victors and deliverers of the city.
The armies having gone into winter quarters, as the close of Mr. Clay’s Senatorial career in Richmond drew near, he seriously contemplated a period of needed rest from public duties. Bent upon this, he declined a judgeship in the Military Court, which had been pressed upon him by Mr. Davis. We dallied with enticing invitations that reached us from Florida, and planned what was to be a veritable vacation at last, together.
“Mr. Yulee is delighted with the hope of seeing you!” wrote the lovely chatelaine of “Homosassa.” “He will fish with Mr. Clay, and we will do the same! Just think how good oysters will be in these sad times! Do come, dear Mr. and Mrs. Clay, just as soon as Congress adjourns! My dear sister, Mrs. Holt, had a tender and sincere affection for you....”
The prospect of a visit to that lovely retreat, built upon an island, deep in the green glades of Florida and 204far away from the political and martial strife of the intervening States, was very tempting to my wearied husband, a true lover of woods and trees and the sweet solitudes of a bucolic life; but we were destined not to enjoy it. Early in the spring of ’4, Mr. Clay felt it his duty to accept the high responsibility of a diplomatic mission to Canada, with a view to arousing in the public mind of this nearby British territory a sympathy for our cause and country that should induce a suspension of hostilities. Despite the failure of our representatives in European countries to rouse apathetic kings and dilly-dallying emperors to come to our aid, it was hard for us to believe that our courage would not be rewarded at length by some powerful succour, or yielding.
“I send you my speech,” wrote dear Lamar to me from his sick-bed in Oxford, Georgia, so late as June,’64. “The views presented in reference to Louis Napoleon may strike you as at variance with some of the acts, in which his Imperial Highness has done some very uncivil things in a very civil way. But his sympathy is with us. It is his policy to frighten the Yankees into acquiescence in his Mexican enterprise, and he no doubt would be glad to give French neutrality in American affairs for Yankee neutrality in Mexican affairs. In this he will fail, and he will sooner or later find his policy and inclinations jump together. After all, the British people are more friendly to us than all the world besides, outside of the [question of] Southern Confederacy. This friendship, like most national friendships, is mixed up with a large part of alloy, fear of the Yankees forming the base. But respect for the South and admiration of her position is the pure metal, and there is enough of it to make their good-will valuable to us.”
So thought many of our noblest statesmen, when, early in the Spring, Mr. Clay started on his way through our blockaded coast for Canada. “I earnestly desire that 205his services may prove effectual in securing a permanent peace to our bleeding country; that his efforts may be recorded as one of the brightest pages in its history,” wrote one; and from every quarter Mr. Clay and his companions were followed by the prayers of a people, wrung from hearts agonised by our long, exhausting strife. When the parting came, the shadow of impending evil fell so blackly upon my soul, I hastened away from disturbed Petersburg, accompanied by my faithful maid, Emily, and her child, determined to act upon Mr. Clay’s suggestion and seek my kin in Georgia. Petersburg was in the greatest confusion, guns resounding in every direction. Our dear Aunt Dollie Walker, the saint, whose faith (her Bishop said) had kept Episcopalianism alive in Virginia through those troublous times, told us in after days of having been literally chased up the streets by cannon balls. It was one of the best cities in the Confederacy at that period to get away from.
I began my journey southward, pausing a day or two at Danville; but, fearing each moment to hear news of the appearance of impeding armies, blocking my way through the Carolinas, I hastened on. The news from the capital which reached us while in Petersburg had been of the worst.
“You have no idea of the intense excitement,” wrote my sister. “I am so nervous I know not what to write! No one goes to bed here at night. For several nights past no one could have slept for the confusion and noise. The city has been in a perfect uproar for a week. We have heard firing in two directions all the morning, on the Brook Turnpike and at Drewry’s Bluff. The wounded are being brought into the city in great numbers. General Walker is wounded! Poor General Stafford’s death cast a gloom over the city. I went with Mr. Davis to his funeral, and carried flowers!... General Benning is wounded, and Colonel Lamar, our dear L. Q. C.’s 206brother, also.... At the wedding” [of Miss Lyons] “you never saw such disorder in God’s house before in your life. Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Mallory and Mrs. Most-everybody-else, stood up in the pews, and you could not hear one word of the service for the noise. Mr. Davis was there—Mrs. Chestnut sat with me. She is going home very soon, so the Colonel told me. He said it was impossible for her to remain in Richmond with nothing to eat!”
To my sister’s panorama of horrors, our brother, who was stationed in Richmond, added a masculine picture.
“The enemy press us sorely with powerful forces of cavalry and infantry,” he wrote. “The former cut off our communications everywhere, hoping to reduce Lee to starvation, and the presence of the latter keeps from him reinforcements that otherwise would be promptly sent. We have lost severely around the city. General Stuart was shot by a Yankee soldier who fired upon him at ten paces as he galloped past him. He died last night, about twenty-eight hours after he received the wound. Brigadier General Gordon, also of the cavalry, had his arm shattered yesterday above the elbow, and ’tis said will probably have to suffer amputation. Mr. Randolph, the ‘Sir Anthony Absolute’ of your play, was wounded yesterday in the shoulder and thigh, and will los............