The Government Yields Its Prisoner  
By the early spring of ’6 the faces of old friends began to reappear in the Northern cities. New York, which I necessarily visited at times during those eventful months, when not at the Fort with Mr. Clay or beseeching the President on his behalf, was crowded with Southern people, many of whom were returning from abroad, or were industriously seeking to re?stablish business connections. In the capital one met on every hand friends of the ante-bellum days, saddened and changed, it might be, in fortune, but brave-spirited and walking with heads upright and hearts strong to meet the future. “I am persuaded that our States and people are to be prosperous, despite the portentous clouds which are now around us,” wrote Mr. Mallory, from Bridgeport, Connecticut, where, now an invalid, he was constrained to remain; “and that the day is not far distant when you and your incomparable lord, with other congenial spirits, will smile at fate and look back to the paths we are now treading with more of pride than of sorrow! My love to Clay. God love him! What would I not give to be able to serve him!”
A spirit as loyal and comforting to us pervaded the circle of old-time associates in Washington, and permeated the newer ones who had gathered about me in my adversity. Mrs. Parker, the brilliant hostess of the Buchanan days, who now so hospitably had thrown open her home to me, proved an unsparing and faithful friend. Her hospitality to me and to the legion of other friends 368who flocked to offer their sympathy and services to me was unstinted, and the several members of her family vied with each other in extending their kindnesses and protection to me.
Among the friends who reappeared in Washington about this time, my diary notes the calls upon me early in ’6 of fair Constance Cary and her fiancé, Burton Harrison,[71] long since released from the imprisonment which, for a time, he shared with Mr. Davis; of my kinswoman, Mrs. Polk, of North Carolina, and of Madame Le Vert, the brilliant Octavia Walton, who, almost three decades before, had led all other fascinating beauties in the capital. Accompanied by her daughters, Mme. Le Vert had returned to the North to intercede for the pardons of General Beauregard and others of her kin and friends. Her comings and goings were heralded everywhere. She was the distinguished member of the Southern coterie in New York, whence frequent trips were made to the capital, and it was commonly remarked that the charm of her personality had suffered no diminution with the increase of years.
Our beloved General Lee, who had been summoned to Washington to appear before the Reconstruction Committee, was the lion of the day. I saw him several times, surrounded by hosts of admirers, the ladies begging for mementoes, buttons—anything, in fact, he might be persuaded to give up, while he, modest and benevolent, yielded helplessly to their demands. It was during these months that I became acquainted with the lovely Mme. de Podestad, General Lee’s kinswoman, who was both witty and beautiful. For a number of years, as the wife of one of the Spanish Minister’s suite, she was a conspicuous member of Washington society. Going thence to Spain, she became lady-in-waiting to the Queen. Madame de Podestad was a devoted admirer of her heroic kinsman, and I saw much of her in those memorable days of ’6.
 
MRS. A. S. PARKER
 
of Washington, D. C.
369It was a time of intense political excitement. The strife over the Civil Rights bill was the absorbing topic everywhere. The “returning good sense of the people,” upon which the President so long had appeared to depend, was less apparent than he had hoped, and to many astute minds the air seemed to vibrate with premonitions of the Government’s overthrow. Cabinet changes were so earnestly desired that a discussion of that body became part of every conversation. Mr. Johnson’s absorption in the progress of the Civil Rights bill was so great, that, upon my return from a visit to my husband, early in April, realising the inadvisability and the inconsiderateness of pressing my demands at that moment, I yielded to the urgings of my friends and entered upon a short season of diversion. I remember to have visited, in company with Senator Bright and Mr. Voorhees, the studio of Vinnie Reames, whose vogue in Washington was then at its height; and I indulged in a pleasure trip to Baltimore, where a great fair was in progress which had been arranged by the patriotic ladies of that city. Contributions had poured in, and half the capital was in attendance.
“Mrs. Johnson sent a superb basket of flowers,” reads the account I sent home, “which was raffled for sixty dollars! A portrait of the President was bought and sent to her. Also General Johnston’s and General Lee’s were bought and sent to their wives. Mr. Corcoran won the portrait of ‘Stonewall’ Jackson. Admiral Semmes was present one day, and he and I promenaded the rooms together. Though not the ‘Pirate’s Bride,’ I was proud of his company. A robe de chambre for Mr. Davis and a superb pillow for Mr. Clay are in my possession. Will take them soon! Ross Wynans,” I added, in describing the more generous donations sent 370to the energetic ladies, “has sent one hundred thousand dollars, and an English gentleman twenty-five thousand!”
Admiral Semmes was the most recent of the State prisoners to be released, and his appearance at the fair was the signal for a lively enthusiasm. By this time Mr. Stephens, our late Vice-President, was a free man, and thrice had called upon me in Washington to offer sympathetic suggestions concerning the case of my husband, so inexplicably detained. Our dear friend, ex-Secretary of the Navy Mallory, had been given his liberty early in March.
“Deeply anxious about your good husband,” Mr. Mallory wrote, early in April, “I have deferred writing to you from day to day since my release, confident that I would soon be able to congratulate you upon his release. Persuaded that he will never be called upon seriously to respond to the charge upon which he was incarcerated, and unable to perceive any reason or motive for discriminating between him and others, myself included, who laboured in the Confederate cause, I am at a loss to conceive why this confinement continues. Of course, I fully appreciate the character of the struggle between the two great departments of the Government, and the embarrassments which it throws in the President’s path; and hence I attribute to this cause all which affects Mr. Clay, and which I cannot otherwise account for. But the restoration of civil law throughout the country opens a way which his friends may very properly take ... and I have been prepared to learn it has been entered upon!”
A resort to the habeas corpus proceedings thus suggested by Mr. Mallory had already been discussed by Judge Black as a step to be taken when all other efforts had proved unsuccessful. By the fourteenth of March, Mr. Johnson’s courage to act in behalf of Mr. Clay had risen to the point of procuring for him the liberty of the Fort 371without guard, from sunrise to sunset, which order I had carried at once to General Miles.
“I have not yet called upon the President,” I wrote father upon my return from Fortress Monroe, on the 29th of March, “but will report myself to-morrow and ask of him that no revocation of the late order shall be made. I shall urge Mr. Clay’s release, if only temporary, that he may come and see you and help you arrange your business.... The Radical pressure on the President is fearful. They have expelled Foote, and have persuaded Stewart, of Nevada, his son-in-law, to desert his colours and cause, and they may pass the veto over the President’s manly veto of the Civil Rights bill. But President Johnson will fall, if fall he must, battling!”
The records of my calls upon the Executive during the weeks that followed almost might be traced by the many pencilled cards sent me by Mr. Johnson from time to time.
“It will be impossible for me to see you until it is too late. I am pressed to death!” reads one. “There is a committee here in consultation; I cannot tell what time they will leave. I fear too late, but see if in twenty minutes,” runs another. And a third, “Some matters of importance are now transpiring. I will see you at any time, but would prefer passing the answer until Saturday.” Weeks passed thus in futile calls and beseechings, until, having tested every expedient to hasten the President to the fulfilling of his promise, my patience was exhausted.
“Again I am under the necessity of writing,” I began in a letter to my sister, dated the fourteenth of April, “without announcing my husband’s release! Nor can I give you any definite information save what I mean to do and wish others to do. I am at this moment from the President’s; did not see him, but left a note inquiring when I could, and [asked] to be informed by note, which 372he often does in my case. He shall tell me in this interview whether he means speedily to release Mr. Clay. If not, then I will have issued the writ of habeas corpus, unless Judge Black oppose it!”
At eleven o’clock at night, however, I added, “The President sent for me to-night, and I have strong hopes that Mr. Clay will be released in a few days! I will telegraph you immediately when it occurs. I pray Heaven it may be ere this reaches you!”
Three days later, accompanied by my faithful friend, Mrs. Bouligny, I again called upon the President. It was eight o’clock in the evening. Having detected, as I believed, a disposition on Mr. Johnson’s part yet further to procrastinate, notwithstanding his recent promises that he would order Mr. Clay’s release, I was resolved not to leave the White House again without the requisite papers. I announced this intention to the President as he greeted us, asking him at the same time whether he would not spare me another moment’s anxiety and write me the long-petitioned-for order for Mr. Clay’s release.
Mr. Johnson’s mood was light. He repeated some of the on dits of the day, trying in various ways to divert me from my object, to which, however, I as often persistently returned. From time to time other visitors entered to claim the President’s attention; or, he excused himself while he went into a Committee meeting which was being held in an adjoining room. During such an interval I sat at the President’s desk and scribbled a short letter in pencil to Mr. Clay. It was dated:
“Executive Mansion, Washington, D. C.,
April 17, 1866.
“My precious husband!” I wrote. “Behold me seated in the library of this house, in the President’s chair, writing you the ‘glad tidings of great joy!’ The President has just gone in for a few moments to see some gentlemen, and will bring me your release papers when he returns! He told me on the 373fourteenth that he would try to have them, but not to be too hopeful. So I came with some misgiving, to be relieved and rejoiced. Ere this will reach you, you will be informed by telegram of the release. I will telegraph you to-night.... Judge Black anxiously desires to see you, also Judge Hughes, both kind friends to me!”
It was still early in the evening when I wrote this buoyant epistle, which immediate after-events scarcely bore out. The President returned again and again to my companion and me, but ten o’clock arrived and still the papers had not been given me. I was growing more and more impatient, but upon reiterating my intention not to leave without the papers, the President became somewhat jocular. He invited Mrs. Bouligny and me to make ourselves comfortable, his words being accompanied by an evasive smile. My soul rose up in resentment at this!
“You seem to be inclined to treat............