Prisoners of the United States  
Dawn found us haggard and ill. Our night ride to Augusta was a fatiguing one. Of our party, only the children slept. The air in the car was of the foulest, and the discomforts of the trip were consequently most trying to our invalids, of whom there now were three—Mr. Davis, Mr. Clay, and our venerable Vice-President, Mr. Stephens, we having taken the latter aboard during the night; also, our late Postmaster-General Reagan, ex-Governor Lubbock, and General Wheeler and staff. Nor were we again permitted to leave the car until our arrival in Augusta. Telegraphic orders having been sent ahead for our meals, these were brought to the train and eaten en route.
Upon our arrival in Augusta, I asked Colonel Pritchard for the privilege of driving in the carriage assigned to us to the home of a beloved friend, Mrs. George Winter. Upon my promise that at the hour appointed I would be responsible for Mr. Clay’s appearance on the boat which was to take us to Savannah, Colonel Pritchard gave a somewhat reluctant consent and we drove rapidly away. As had been the case in Macon and Atlanta, the town was in commotion. This visit to our friends was almost an error; for, greatly excited at our appearance among them, they embraced us in hysterical alarm, and begged my husband even yet to fly. To add to the distress, neighbouring friends, hearing of our presence, hastened in and joined their pleadings to those of our hostess. The scene was unendurable to Mr. Clay, and, literally tearing ourselves from their embraces, we re-entered the carriage. The 259horses heads were turned at once toward the river where our custodians awaited us. Arrived there, though I cannot admit that it was our intention or impulse to board the boat with a fond alacrity, our embarkation was not without a misleading appearance of-eagerness. The bank of the river was both steep and slippery, and, notwithstanding I was assisted in my descent by two officers, my approach was neither stately nor awe-inspiring. In fact, it was precipitate, and I found myself, most unexpectedly, in the arms of a soldierly little figure in undress uniform who stood close to the crude gang-plank. As I opened my lips to apologise for my unexpected onslaught, he turned and raised his hat. It was “little Joe!”
An episode of that trip in connection with General Wheeler fixed itself indelibly in my mind. I was in conversation with this hero on one occasion, during which he leaned against the side of the boat in a half-recumbent position. Presently a young officer, rude in the display of “his brief authority,” approached us, and rapping General Wheeler sharply with his sword, said, “It is against the rule to lean on the guard-rail!”
To my amazement, our hero, who had fought so nobly against his peers and whose name alone had been a menace to his foes, merely touched his hat and said quietly, “I did not know the rule, sir, or I would not have infringed it.” I was thrilled with admiration.
“General!” I exclaimed, “you have taught me a lesson in self-control and courtesy I can never forget! Had I been a man, that Yankee would have been exploring the bottom of the Savannah River, or I, one!”
The discomforts to which we had been subjected during our journey to and from the headquarters of General Wilson culminated in the wretched little craft on which we now were. Not a chair was in the cabin for our invalids, nor an available couch. For Mr. Davis, who suffered intensely during the trip from pain in his eye (for years a 260chronic disability), two valises were stacked one on top of the other, being the nearest approach to a seat it was possible to improvise. On these he rested during much of the journey, Mrs. Davis, Miss Howell or myself in turn acting as support in lieu of a chair-back. From time to time we bathed his temples with cologne in vain attempts to lessen his tortures.
Our journey from Savannah may best be pictured by reference to my pocket-diary, carried throughout those momentous weeks. We boarded the William P. Clyde on the fifteenth of May, our destination still unknown to us, as we steamed out into the Atlantic. These are some of the brief records I made of ship and passengers:
“May 16, 1865. William P. Clyde is a brig-rigged steamer, quite comfortable. The Fourth Michigan is with us, and an armed convoy, the Tuscarora, escorts us. Her guns bear directly upon us, day and night. Fears are entertained of the Stonewall or Shenandoah. My husband keeps well and heroic. God in mercy give us grace for the fiery ordeal.”
“May 17th. Fairly at sea, and considerable fear of the Stonewall evinced by the ship’s crew. All the axes of the vessel are removed from their usual positions to the Colonel’s room. Mrs. Davis sent ashore for oranges for Miss Howell, who is ill. Poor girl!”
[“It was Mr. Davis who called my attention to the removal of the battle-axes. ‘Cowards!’ he said, ‘They’re afraid of this handful of Confederate men!’”]
“May 19. Nearing Fortress Monroe. We are boarded by Captain Fraley, Commander of the Tuscarora, the man-of-war which has been our escort, her guns bearing directly on us from Hilton Head. The Captain called on Mr. and Mrs. Davis, and husband and myself, and renewed an acquaintance of former years. He proffered any attentions in his power. Just to our left is seen Fort Calhoun, built by Mr. Davis, while Secretary of War....”
“May 20. Anchored off Fort Monroe awaiting orders. General Halleck to arrive on board at 11 A. M. I sadly 261fear they will land my darling at this fort. God forbid! In sight are many vessels, some bearing the English and some the French flags. The fort presents the same appearance as years ago, when I went to visit the spot. One week this day since we bade adieu to friends. Two days have we been anchored. General Halleck said to be on Tuscarora.”
“May 21. Last night at dark a tug was hailed. She replied, “General Halleck!” She was alongside in a few moments with orders which were quickly known. Governor Lubbock, Colonel Johnston and General Wheeler and staff left at six this A. M. for Delaware. At ten, Mr. Stephens and Judge Reagan were put aboard the Tuscarora for Fort Warren. Mr. Stephen’s servant detained. We are still in doubt, but Monroe is probably our destination.”
“May 22. Mr. Davis, Mr. Clay and Burton Harrison are all left! Preparations are going on at Fortress Monroe for them,’tis said. Colonel Pritchard says I will not be allowed to land or go to Washington or Baltimore or abroad!!! Terrible firing from a man-of-war!”
“May 23. Wrote letter to Judge Holt, and note to General Miles. At ten we were boarded by Major Church, and two Yankee women and four guards, and all hands, luggage, berths and persons thoroughly searched. A comico-serio-tragico’ scene! Sailors our friends. Both nurses leave. Mrs. Davis’s [man] Robert only left.”
Our journey on the Clyde, though sorrowful, apprehensive as we were concerning the fate to which the prisoners were being led, was otherwise uneventful. Mr. Davis was exceedingly depressed, and moved restlessly about, seeming scarcely ever to desire to sit down. Always an intellectual cosmopolite, however, he made observations on the natural phenomena about us, commenting from time to time on the beauty of sea or sky. Our meals, which were served at a table reserved for the prisoners, by no means represented the fare of the coastwise steamers of to-day, but few of us were in a mood to take note of culinary deficiencies.
262On the morning of May 22d a sultry, drizzling rain fell. It was a day exactly calculated to induce melancholy even in the stoutest-hearted. To us, eagerly alert to learn what we might of our fate, it was unspeakably distressful. Shortly after breakfast my husband came quietly into our stateroom. “There is no longer any doubt,” he said, “that this fort is the one destined for Davis and me! I have just been notified that we are expected to take a ride on a tug. I am convinced we shall be taken to Fortress Monroe. I can’t imagine why they do not come out boldly and tell us so, but be sure this is our farewell, my wife!” We took leave of each other in our stateroom, nor did I leave it to follow Mr. Clay to the deck. I stood, instead, at the fourteen-inch window of my cabin, alone with my thoughts.
As Mr. Davis passed the aperture, he stopped for a second to say good-bye to me, then he, too, disappeared. A few moments passed, and then the weeping of children and wailing of women announced the return of the stricken family. I heard a soldier say to Mr. Davis’s little son, “Don’t cry, Jeff. They ain’t going to hang your pa!” and the little fellow’s reply, made through his sobs.
“When I get to be a man,” he cried, “I’m going to kill every Yankee I see!”
When the child approached my door and I caught him in my arms and tried to cheer him, his resentment quickly changed to a manly tenderness; and, putting his baby lips up for a kiss, he said, “My papa told me to keep care of you and my Mamma!”
I referred in my diary to the serio-comic incidents of the search of our party. The event occurred early in the morning of the day following that of my husband’s removal. While gazing sadly across the waters toward the grim fort, I espied what seemed to be a pretty shallop, dancing lightly over the waters, in which were seated two women, brightly dressed. The little vessel seemed to be 263making for the Clyde.............