and who bore himself like a gentleman and soldier, received me
on the dock and took me to his quarters to breakfast, and to await the
time to see Mr. Davis.

It was with some emotion that I reached the casemate in which Mr. Davis
was confined. There were two rooms, in the outer of which, near the
entrance, stood a sentinel, and in the inner was Jefferson Davis. We met
in silence, with grasp of hands. After an interval he said, "This is
kind, but no more than I expected of you." Pallid, worn, gray, bent,
feeble, suffering from inflammation of the eyes, he was a painful sight
to a friend. He uttered no plaint, and made no allusion to the irons
(which had been removed); said the light kept all night in his room hurt
his eyes a little, and, added to the noise made every two hours by
relieving the sentry, prevented much sleep; but matters had changed for
the better since the arrival of General Burton, who was all kindness,
and strained his orders to the utmost in his behalf. I told him of my
reception at Washington by the President, Mr. Seward, and others, of the
attentions of Generals Grant and Humphreys, who promoted my wish to see
him, and that with such aid I was confident of obtaining permission for
his wife to stay with him. I could solicit favors for him, having
declined any for myself. Indeed, the very accident of position, that
enabled me to get access to the governing authorities, made indecent
even the supposition of my acceptance of anything personal while a
single man remained under the ban for serving the Southern cause; and
therefore I had no fear of misconstruction. Hope of meeting his family
cheered him much, and he asked questions about the condition and
prospects of the South, which I answered as favorably as possible,
passing over things that would have grieved him. In some way he had
learned of attacks on his character and conduct, made by some Southern
curs, thinking to ingratiate themselves with the ruling powers. I could
not deny this, but remarked that the curse of unexpected defeat and
suffering was to develop the basest passions of the human heart. Had he
escaped out of the country, it was possible he might have been made a
scapegoat by the Southern people, and, great as were the sufferings that
he had endured, they were as nothing to coward stabs from beloved hands.
The attacks mentioned were few, and too contemptible for notice; for now
his calamities had served to endear him to all. I think that