Jefferson Davis, American

by William J. Cooper

  From Brierfield on September 17 an ailing Davis responded positively to the invitation: “Under such circumstances, I have only to reply that my whole political life has been devoted to the Democratic cause, and the maintenance of those principles in which originated the party of strict construction, and faithful adherence to the Constitution. It is not in an hour when clouds have darkened our fortune that I can refuse any poor service it is still in my power to render. That cause, and those principles, seem more dear to me now than in the day of their triumph.” After tying the State Rights banner to the Democratic staff, he closed by saying that as soon as his health permitted he would prepare an address to the people. Having consulted with friends, he emphasized his commitment to this newly accepted mission by resigning from the United States Senate. This also permitted Davis to contrast himself with Foote, who had not given up his Senate post, even though he had been the Union party nominee since May.41

  The news that Davis had entered the field rejuvenated the downcast and defeated State Righters. Proclaiming that “the very mention of him sends an electric thrill through every heart,” the party’s major newspaper hailed Davis as the man who led the “sons and brothers” of Mississippians “to victory,” and “who never quailed himself, and whose smiles and voice cheered them on in the most doubtful and trying moment of battle.” With that man “now a candidate for the highest office within your gift,” the Mississippian asked the critical question: “Can you vote against him?” A compatriot believed Davis “stronger in the State of Mississippi, not only than any man, but than any principle.” “The people,” he maintained, “had a confidence in his integrity and trustworthiness that surpassed anything I have known.…”42

  Giving up the Senate seat he had cherished and worked so hard to keep for a difficult immediate challenge and an uncertain future demonstrated conclusively that in Davis’s mind, something utterly fundamental was at stake. He obviously felt an obligation to his party, which he still considered to be the Democrats, for ideological as well as political-tactical reasons. Like other State Rights leaders, he knew that the September drubbing had left the party in shambles and that, with no effective gubernatorial standard-bearer, it would remain so and end up crushed in both the governor’s race and the legislative elections. Such an outcome would mean that Foote would dominate state politics, an outcome that did not bode well for Jefferson Davis. Besides, his pride was on the line. He had told the U.S. Senate that he spoke with the voice of Mississippi; he had traversed much of the state preaching a gospel that he believed in deeply. When the committee asked him to step forward, everything was in jeopardy: career, cause, reputation. He acted to vindicate all.

  Davis had agreed to make the race, but his eye difficulties still severely restricted his activities. He and his advisers recognized that they had little time left to reverse the Unionist tide. Because of his impaired vision, the committee drafted and sent him a public announcement. At first, he listened to the document being read, then objected to “turgid” phrasing, and finally “discarded the whole paper.” Then, according to Varina, he dictated another statement to her. Dated September 25, this long address to “The People of Mississippi” basically repeated the message Davis had been proclaiming since spring. He made sure to underscore his longtime loyalty to the Democratic party and Democratic principles, but he also declared that he always considered himself the representative of the people. As such, his opposing the Compromise of 1850 in the Senate matched the stated position of Mississippi in the spring of that year. One stand he never took, he insisted, was for disunion. Denouncing those who tried to make union or disunion the question, he once again pledged his love for the Union and proclaimed the only legitimate issue to be preserving the constitutional rights of Mississippi by Mississippians.43

  This public letter, which was issued in “extra-form” in Jackson and appeared widely in the state press, was not the only vehicle the Davis camp used to reach voters. In late September a hastily written biography appeared, with “A Citizen of Mississippi” listed as author. That citizen was in fact Collin S. Tarpley, a well-known Jackson attorney, a prominent Democrat, and a friend of Davis. Published in Jackson, this twenty-nine-page pamphlet recounted Davis’s career, describing him as a Democrat and stressing his service to the nation as well as his unswerving loyalty to Mississippi in both peace and war. According to the biographer, selflessness, integrity, honor, and devotion to his state formed Davis’s credo.44

  Despite Davis’s personal popularity, the State Rights leadership knew that in the effort to defeat the Union party they faced two notable, intertwined problems: the Unionists’ momentum and the stain of disunion clinging to their party. Although Unionists with their rhetorical broadsides through the year had certainly made a hefty contribution toward plastering that designation on their opponents, perceptive State Righters acknowledged responsibility within their own camp. The editor of the Mississippian admitted to Davis that public talk of a confederacy of southern states damaged the party. All attempts at caution, he warned, would lead nowhere “while letters from half-crazy members of the party, are thrown before the public to influence the election.” Unionists never let up, though some of them privately admitted that while Davis believed in the right of secession, he had not advocated disunion. Noting Davis’s replacing Quitman, a major Unionist newspaper asserted that a change in men did not change the message. The Vicksburg Whig proclaimed, “The people of the State have decided that the reins of Government shall not continue in the hands of agitators, and we think that the course of Gen. Foote will be sustained in November, by a much larger majority than has been announced in the recent convention election.”45

  To prove that prediction wrong and to demonstrate his political powers, a convalescing, though far from recovered, Jefferson Davis left Brierfield in late October to present himself and his case to the voters. Against his doctor’s advice, but with the left eye covered and goggles to deflect sun and dust, Davis traveled through Vicksburg on the twentieth and on to Jackson, before heading for north Mississippi on the twenty-first. Aware that if he were to have any chance, he would have to generate enthusiasm and a large turnout in this traditionally Democratic citadel, Davis planned to spend all of his time in the area. With only two weeks until the voting, he could not hope to cover all of the northern counties; yet the party announced that he would make at least a half dozen public speeches. His last appearance was at Holly Springs on November 3, election day.46

  In this final almost desperate exertion, Davis continued to denounce the Compromise of 1850 and condemn the Union party. Still, acknowledging that Mississippians had made clear their acceptance of the Compromise, he declared himself “bound by every principle of his cherished democracy” to accept the popular verdict. He saw only one issue remaining: whether Mississippians acquiesced approvingly or disapprovingly, and in his opinion the decision of voters should turn on that question. To nudge them toward disapproval, and himself, he accentuated his Democratic heritage, declaring that he would always be found “clutching to the last the flag staff of the good old banner of Jackson and Jefferson and Madison Democracy.”47

  Davis did not prevail. In spite of his vigorous, albeit brief, campaign, he lost to Henry Foote. Even so, he narrowed considerably the Union margin of victory. In the convention election Unionists had won by more than 7,000 votes; Davis lost by only 999. He brought back to the polls many Democrats who had sat out two months earlier. Running strongly across the state, except in Whig strongholds along the Mississippi River, he polled 28,359 votes, or one-third more than the State Rights delegates had obtained in September. He carried twenty-six counties, making inroads in the north and adding in the south. Several knowledgeable politicians on both sides thought that had the election been held a couple of weeks later, Davis could have completely closed the gap and beaten Foote.48

  Whether or not more time would have enabled Davis to win can never be known, but the defeat did not at all tarnish his standing in his
party. To the contrary, he emerged with status enhanced. That at a dire moment he gave up his Senate seat and cast his political fortunes with his party in Mississippi, and then, given his physical condition, made an almost herculean attempt to turn back the Unionist tide, brought an outpouring of support. He was told that his friends now admired him as no man had been admired since Jackson. “I regard your future political sky as being without a cloud and of Italian azure,” wrote one State Rights leader, who added the salve, “and that your course will be necessarily onwards and upwards, until you reach the Presidency.”49

  Yet, although losing the governor’s race did not diminish Davis’s personal political standing, his party suffered a notable setback. His was an individual performance, for his close run did not help many of his comrades. Of the four Democratic State Rights congressional incumbents, all of whom had opposed the Compromise, only Albert G. Brown, whose district included the only part of the state to vote State Rights in September, would return to Congress. Unionists thrashed State Righters in the contests for the state House, winning sixty-three of ninety-eight seats. Only the state Senate remained a State Rights refuge; the party won nine of sixteen contested seats and retained a considerable advantage, twenty-one to eleven.50

  Davis attributed the State Rights defeat to what he called “a false issue,” which “proved a bond to unite the minority, Whigs, with a portion of the Democrats and give the State to the so-called Union party.” That issue was, of course, the question of disunion. Despite his massive effort of six months, from May to November, Davis had been unable to break its power. Now, his enemies personal and political predominated in Mississippi politics. But the Union party had emerged out of a fortuitous set of political circumstances, which also allowed it and Henry Foote to capture votes and offices. As 1851 closed, no one knew how long either the particular situation or the Union party would last.51

  His political career stymied, Jefferson Davis settled in at Brierfield, planning more than a brief stay for the first time since entering Congress back in 1845. He and Varina now lived in the new house he had agreed to build in 1846 while on furlough from Mexico. Construction had commenced by early 1849, utilizing local builders and the labor of his slaves, with much of the lumber cut and milled on the plantation.52

  In contrast to Joseph, Jefferson did not build an impressive mansion, though he spent around $6,000 on what one of its builders termed “a costly residence.” A one-story home, sprawling as a live oak, the new Brierfield was long and low. Raised on piers about three feet from the ground, its branching wings provided spaciousness without ostentation. Inviting porches ran the entire length, front and back. The fluted Doric columns supporting these deep galleries and the massive doorway centered in the portico gave the home a gracious if not grand appearance.

  Although not a typical Greek Revival southern mansion, Brierfield had many traditional features, such as the wide central hall and the front windows that reached 12 feet from the floor. These and ceilings about 16 feet high aided the ventilation in the nine rooms. Two imported Carrara marble mantels in the parlor and the library, along with two chandeliers in the dining room, added refinement to rooms with unadorned millwork and plain plaster walls. The east and west wings were accessible from both the front and back porches. Perpendicular to the west wing, which contained the dining room as well as a bedroom, and set apart from the main structure, the kitchen and pantry were in turn connected to the back porch by a covered service walkway. The home also contained a shower bath, though no particulars about it have survived. Behind the big house stood many smaller buildings, including three latticed cisterns, a commissary, an outhouse, and a bellstand.53

  The Davises first moved into the house following their return from Washington in the fall of 1850. To a friend in January 1851, Varina called it “quite new.” At that time she did not use lyrical phrases to describe her home, which “not least in my catalog of evils is large enough for two families.” Of course, it was originally designed for two, hers along with that of Jefferson’s widowed sister Amanda; but the absence of a second kitchen attested to the scrapping of those plans. Setting up housekeeping with Jefferson back in the Senate, she found the house “desolate, damp, and lonesome,” with “even the cats shunning it.” She and her eight-year-old sister Maggie occupied two rooms “in one end of this barn.”54

  By the time a weak and weary Jefferson returned in November 1851 from his exhausting, futile six-month political campaign, Varina had a more positive outlook. By all accounts they had overcome the marital difficulties that had plagued them between 1846 and 1850. When Jefferson was desperately ill at home, she cared for him and adapted her habits of reading and writing “in light that was not sufficient to show the position of the furniture.” With husband and wife together, Varina recounted happy times. Books, mail twice a week, visits from neighbors, gardening, and horseback riding occupied their time. She delighted in “the daily ride on our fast racing horses, with races on the smooth road wherever we found one.” “Nothing could be more pleasant,” she rhapsodized, “than the dense shade through which we could ride for miles, in air redolent of the perfume of the moss, flowers, wild crab-apple and plum blossoms.”55

  Reading held an important place in their lives. After resigning, Davis requested the Senate secretary to send his books as well as the Congressional Globe on to Mississippi. Although the historical record does not reveal what the Davises actually read at Brierfield, it does indicate what the senator checked out of the Library of Congress during the winter of 1851. Those books included writings of the first-century Jewish historian Josephus, a volume of George Sand’s works, medieval French tales, an early novel by the popular English writer Edward Bulwer-Lytton, the memoirs of an English peeress, sermons by the English clergyman Reginald Heber, onetime Anglican Lord Bishop of Calcutta, an encyclopedia of natural history, and Ure’s Dictionary of the Arts…, in reality an encyclopedia of engineering and technology. Their taste in reading clearly ranged widely, from current affairs to history to fiction to religion to technical items.56

  Brierfield.

  From Harper’s Weekly, September 15, 1866 (photo credit i8.1)

  In the summer of 1852 the Davises knew great joy, the birth of their first child. Born on July 30, Samuel Emory Davis was named for his grandfather Davis. This event was especially joyful because Varina had been married for seven years without giving birth and had experienced at least one miscarriage. She had even given up “all expectations” that she would ever become a mother. Before Samuel’s arrival her own mother and several siblings had come to Brierfield to be with her.57

  The birth of Samuel also caused his father to alter significantly his outlook on the future. Since his departure for the Mexican War in 1846, his will, influenced by Joseph, had not left his property to Varina, but divided its income between her and certain of his sisters. Varina would be permitted to live at Brierfield, if she chose, but if she did not, the plantation would be sold with the proceeds divided as the income. Now, with a son to inherit, he destroyed the will that had so distressed his wife. Making a ceremony of its destruction, he built a fire, even in July, and called in a builder working at Brierfield to witness the flames consuming the document.58

  Although the ceremony pleased his wife, Jefferson now had to contend with a “misunderstanding” of “a very irritating character” with Joseph. In some unknown manner Joseph came to believe that Jefferson desired to sell Brierfield plantation, though no surviving evidence indicates that he had any such intention. Emphasizing the emotional distance that had arisen between the brothers, despite their living just over a mile apart, Joseph sent a letter to Jefferson asking about price so that he could buy the place. Jefferson replied that he had never thought about selling and had no wish to do so. Not only did Jefferson have to confront difficulties with his brother; at this time Joseph’s wife, Eliza, complained to her brother-in-law that he, Jefferson, had not treated her kindly, causing her great pain. She claimed further that Va
rina had spoken irritably to her and rejected her affection. Now, Eliza determined to return “ ‘Measure for Measure.’ ” Joseph blamed the women for his and Jefferson’s estrangement. To a friend he expressed deep affection for his youngest brother, but vowed to prevent Varina or any of her family from gaining control of any Davis property.

  In all probability their estrangement affected Jefferson’s immediate decisions about managing Brierfield. This episode also illustrates once more the onerous position Jefferson occupied between Joseph and Varina. Pleasing or appearing to grow closer to one almost invariably meant increasingly stressful relations with the other. Jefferson seemingly could not stand in the same emotional location with the two people who meant most to him, his wife and his brother–surrogate father.59

  According to Varina, these “family troubles” contributed in spring 1852 to another breakdown in her husband’s health. He was eating poorly and “thin to attenuations,” in her words. Moreover, his eye problem returned, becoming serious by late summer, with Davis himself speaking once more of his “opthalmic disease.” Certainly emotional stress could have led to a recurrence of herpetic keratitis. Attempting to aid recuperation, in the fall he took a month’s sojourn to New Orleans and to the Mississippi Gulf Coast, where he visited relatives, consulted with Dr. Cartwright, rested by the sea, and did get better. By the first of the new year he reported his health “much improved.”60

  Simultaneously delighted and dismayed with his loved ones, Jefferson Davis turned his attention to the land that in the preceding fifteen years had been transformed from a tangled wilderness into a prosperous plantation. In 1850 Brierfield contained more than 1,200 acres, with 450 cleared. Through the next decade Davis opened up an additional 350 acres, giving him a total of 800 acres for cultivation. He raised the crops and animals normal for large agricultural enterprises in the Deep South: corn and other grains for both human and animal consumption; horses for pleasure; cattle, poultry, and swine for food; oxen and mules for work. In addition, gardens produced vegetables for the black and white inhabitants, and an orchard contained an impressive variety of fruit trees, including apple, peach, pear, and plum.61