C. C. Clay, Jr., Surrenders to General Wilson  
Upon leaving the home of General Toombs, we proceeded directly to that of Senator Hill, where shortly were gathered ex-Secretary of our Navy and Mrs. Mallory, Mr. and Mrs. Semmes, of Louisiana, and Senator Wigfall. We were an anxious circle, our hearts heavy with the constantly increasing testimony to our great disaster, and our minds alert to measure the ways and means of our future course. My husband and Mr. Wigfall had already determined to seek the other side of the Mississippi, there to join the gallant Kirby Smith, and make a last stand for our cause; or, if needs must be, to press on to Texas. Day by day disturbing news reached us concerning the whereabouts of Mr. Davis and his party, now making their sorry flight toward the coast of Florida, fugitives from the Federal authorities.
A Northerner would have found us a wonderful nest of “rebels,” could he have looked in upon the group that one evening surrounded the table in the library of the Hill residence, upon which was spread the map of Georgia. The gentlemen were seated, the ladies standing behind them. Every eye was bent upon the road which our host was pointing out.
“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 247our 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 248directed 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 249faintly, “I have important news!” and I hastened upstairs.
I found Mr. Clay sitting quietly, deep in the conning of a thick volume. It was Burton’s “Anatomy of Melancholy,” ever a favourite with him. It lay open on his knee, steadied with one hand; the other, as was a habit with my husband, was stroking his beard, absentmindedly. Before I could summon my voice to utter the terrible news, the others of the party had hastened upstairs. Handing the fatal paper to Senator Hill, I cried, half-hysterically, “For God’s sake, read that!”
As Mr. Hill read the proclamation aloud, everyone was silent. Senator Semmes was the first to break the silence that followed the reading.
“Fly for your life, Clay!” he said, “The town is full of men from two disbanded armies, any of whom would be tempted by such a sum. Take no chances!” Then all at once everyone but my husband began to talk excitedly. As the meaning of the despatch broke upon him, Mr. Clay blanched a moment, but at Mr. Semmes’s urgings he spoke.
“Fly?” he said, slowly, like one recovering from a blow, “from what?” Mr. Semmes’s answer came drily.
“From death, I fear!” he said. My husband turned inquiringly to the others. Secretary Mallory, seeing the unspoken question in his face, answered it.
“I don’t know what to say, Clay! One hundred thousand dollars is a glittering bribe to half-starved soldiers!” He had scarcely spoken when a knock was heard. Alarmed by the thought that some renegade was already come to arrest my husband, I flew to the door and locked it. As I did so, Senator Hill was beside me, and I remember the forceful feeling with which he spoke, even as the click of the key sounded.
“By the eternal God, Clay!” he said. “The man who dares cross my threshold to arrest you, falls on it.”
250Fortunately our fears were groundless, for in a moment we heard the word, “Phillips!” and, upon opening the door, the Colonel quickly entered. His calm bearing was a relief to us. Some one at once put the question to him, “What do you think Clay ought to do?”
“What does Mr. Clay think he should do?” was Colonel Phillips’s reply. My husband was prompt to answer:
“As I am conscious of my innocence, my judgment is that I should at once surrender to the nearest Federal authorities!” he said.
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 251very 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 wa............