Jefferson Davis, American

by William J. Cooper

  With the provisional Constitution adopted on February 8, the delegates became electors. Their choices for president and vice president would be only provisional; the election of a regular president and vice president by popular vote and a constitutional electoral college was set for the fall. As in the constitutional deliberations, the delegates voted by state. Although many ambitious politicians were in Montgomery, intense politicking did not characterize the selection process; numerous participants commented on the absence of traditional pressures and lobbying. Those same participants, and observers as well, described a determined harmony pervading all activities. These self-appointed electors wanted the man they perceived as best for their Confederate States of America.5

  In Montgomery, and even before, one name always came up: Jefferson Davis. Among southern political leaders, no one else could match his combined political, military, and administrative experience. And because armed conflict might occur, his military background carried special weight. Davis had another attribute that appealed to many, his conservatism. He had never been a fire-eater, and was not perceived as a fomenter of secession. This identity assumed particular importance because the delegates in Montgomery were acutely aware that only seven slave states had seceded while eight remained in the Union. To attract the Upper South and border states, the new government would have to exhibit moderation and judiciousness. Thus, Davis’s name appeared on everyone’s short list.6

  But Davis was not the only possibility. Everyone recognized that because of its size, location, and the prominent men in its delegation, Georgia would have an influential voice in the selection. No other state sent men with the reputations of Howell Cobb, Alexander Stephens, and Robert Toombs, all of whom had had impressive political careers. And Cobb, a former congressman, governor, and secretary of the treasury, had been named president of the convention. Still, Georgians would have to settle on one of their luminaries, and in addition each had liabilities. Cobb did not relish the responsibility of the presidency and made his feeling widely known. Stephens was almost too conservative; in Georgia he had spoken against immediate secession and on the first ballot in the secession convention had voted against that course. Although the prospect of becoming president pleased Toombs, he had a different problem. In Montgomery his highly visible penchant for excessive imbibing made for serious doubts about his fitness for the post. The dean of fire-eaters, Robert Barnwell Rhett, Sr., a member of the South Carolina delegation, was clearly interested and may have believed it his due, but not even a majority of his fellow Carolinians considered him qualified. Younger than Rhett but his equal as a proponent of secession, William Lowndes Yancey of Alabama had supporters among some zealots, but not very many.7

  Yet, in spite of these possible contenders, the balloting held little suspense. With four votes needed to win, no one seriously challenged Davis. The testimony makes clear that he was the choice of Mississippi, Louisiana, and Florida; in addition, he had a majority in South Carolina, even though some of the Palmetto Staters worried about his conservatism. Alabama also came to him, influenced by commissioners sent by the state to Virginia, who reported that leading men in Virginia wanted Davis. In Georgia, Cobb, Stephens, and Toombs canceled one another out. If the Georgia delegates had united behind one, especially Cobb, and pushed hard, they might have sparked a contest. But without a serious challenge from Georgia, Davis triumphed easily. In all likelihood he would have won anyway. When on February 9 the delegates met to elect a chief executive, they placed in nomination only one name: Jefferson Davis. No one else received a vote. Then with the same unanimity Alexander Stephens was chosen vice president. The entire process took only half an hour. Via telegraph the result flashed to Mississippi.8

  From Vicksburg a messenger was immediately dispatched to Davis Bend, arriving late in the afternoon of February 9. He found Davis in the garden at Brierfield assisting Varina with rose cuttings. Upon reading the telegram, Davis “looked so grieved” that, his wife later remembered, she feared some family calamity. She recorded that, “after a few minutes’ painful silence,” her husband shared the news “as a man might speak of a sentence of death.” According to Varina, he neither wanted nor expected the presidency. Years afterward Davis repeated that he never desired the position; later he even claimed he thought he had helped arrangements in favor of Howell Cobb. Yet he knew the Montgomery gathering would in all probability name him to a major post, whether military or civilian, and unlike Cobb he never sought to remove his name from consideration for president. Still, the notification forced him to confront the enormous responsibility placed on him.9

  He did not shirk it. He informed Varina he would have to leave immediately for Montgomery. When he departed from Hurricane Landing on February 11, slaves rowed him out to mid-river to catch a steamboat bound for Vicksburg. Going aboard the familiar boat, Jefferson Davis could not know he would not see Brierfield again for seven years and would never return as a slaveowner or as a resident planter.

  Davis’s trip to Montgomery took five days. When he disembarked at Vicksburg, the town put on a great celebration—bands, militia units, speeches. A similar event awaited him in Jackson, where he resigned his general’s commission and in a brief address promised to do his duty as president. To reach Montgomery from Jackson by train, Davis had to go north to Grand Junction, Tennessee, then east through northern Alabama to Chattanooga, and south to Atlanta. When he reached Atlanta at 4 a.m. on the sixteenth, a waiting throng wanted a speech. Later in the morning, Davis spoke to this crowd just as he had to some two dozen others at every stop along the way from Jackson, except in Tennessee, which had not yet seceded. To enthusiastic listeners he talked about independence as the southern destiny; he said he hoped for peace, but would accept war if necessary for independence. A reporter characterized the entire trip as “one continuous ovation.”10

  After his address, Davis departed Atlanta on the final portion of his journey. At the rail junction of West Point, Georgia, a delegation from Montgomery met the president-elect. Following brief speeches, Davis and other dignitaries escorted by militia companies boarded a train for the run to Montgomery, with Davis speaking in “eloquent style” at two stops in eastern Alabama. Finally, at 10 p.m. the train puffed into Montgomery, where a large, excited crowd and salvos of artillery greeted its arrival. Stepping from his car, a tired Davis made a few remarks emphasizing his perception of transpiring events. A new time had come: “Our separation from the old Union is complete. NO COMPROMISE; NO RECONSTRUCTION CAN BE NOW ENTERTAINED.”11

  Amidst tremendous applause, Davis headed for the Exchange Hotel and bed. But another big, exuberant gathering clamored for him. At 10:45 p.m., he appeared on the hotel balcony to underscore his sense of the moment. “Fellow Citizens and Brethren of the Confederate States of America—for now we are brethren, not in name, merely, but in fact—men of one flesh, one bone, one interest, one purpose, and of identity of domestic institutions.” After pointing to what he called the “homogeneity” in the Confederacy, he said the new nation would prevail. He left no doubt about his own commitment. “I will devote to the duties of the high office to which I have been called all I have of heart, of head and of hand.”12

  Because the inauguration was set for Monday, February 18, Davis could rest on Sunday from his tiring journey. He remained in bed until well after 10 a.m. The remainder of the day he spent working on his inaugural address. For this occasion Davis had no intention of extemporizing; he would speak the precise words he wrote.13

  Inaugural day dawned with a cloudy sky; it was cold, with frost covering the ground. Promptly at 10 a.m. the chief marshal accompanied by aides representing the seven Confederate States appeared in front of the Exchange Hotel. The parade was formed with a brass band in front, followed by militia companies wearing sky blue pants and bright red coats. Then came Davis and Alexander Stephens, in a barouche lined in saffron and white, mounted with silver, and drawn by six magnificent gray horses. Next, also in open carriages, came an array
of dignitaries from the Provisional Congress, the several Confederate states, and the city. Citizens in carriages and on foot completed the parade. The sun broke through the overcast as the procession moved up Market Street toward the Alabama Capitol, perched on a commanding hill. As the long line approached the Capitol, the thousands of cheering spectators filling the sidewalks and streets became more numerous. An additional 5,000-plus waited on the Capitol grounds.

  At the Capitol, Davis and Stephens stepped down and, accompanied by their escort, ascended the steps of the portico and went into the building. Some women had made a beautiful wreath and placed it on Davis’s arm. More bouquets were showered upon him. After brief, formal introductions to the Provisional Congress, the official party and members of Congress emerged and took their places on a wooden platform that had been constructed in front of the portico. A grand cheer accompanied by an artillery salute greeted them. At 1 p.m., just after the invocation, Howell Cobb introduced Jefferson Davis, who rose “amid a storm of applause” and faced the crowd.14

  In his inaugural address Davis cogently and forcefully defined the Confederate cause. He began by proclaiming that the Confederacy “illustrates the American idea that governments rest upon the consent of the governed, and that it is the right of the people to alter or abolish governments whenever they become destructive of the ends for which they were established.” Fusing the southern past to the southern present, he said the southern people had “merely asserted a right which the Declaration of Independence of 1776 had defined to be inalienable.” Because the Union of the fathers had been “perverted from the purposes for which it was ordained, and had ceased to answer the ends for which it was established,” southerners in “a peaceful appeal to the ballot-box declared that so far as they were concerned, the government created by that compact should cease to exist.” Confederates would emulate their ancestors: “Doubly justified by the absence of wrong on our part, and by wanton aggression on the part of others, there can be no cause to doubt that the courage and patriotism of the people of the Confederate States will be found equal to any measures of defense which honor and security may require.”

  Davis sounded no call to war, however. He announced that “our true policy is peace.” Identifying the Confederacy as agricultural, Davis stated that the new country wanted to engage in commerce with “the freest trade which our necessities will permit.” And he spoke confidently about trade, for he shared the widespread southern assumption that the overarching requirement for cotton in the United States and especially in England “would invite good will and kind offices.”

  He then congratulated the new nation on its peaceful gestation and birth. There had been neither “aggression upon others” nor “domestic convulsion.” He found both the industrial and agricultural sectors of the economy functioning “as heretofore.” Yet, Confederates feared not. If anyone “desire[d] to inflict injury upon us,” the result would be “the suffering of millions,” which would “bear testimony to the folly and wickedness of our aggressors.”

  His closing became more personal. “You will see many errors to forgive, many deficiencies to tolerate,” he told his audience, “but you shall not find in me either a want of zeal or fidelity to the cause that is to me highest in hope and of most enduring affection.” He had not sought and did not merit his office, but “generosity” had bestowed it upon him. “Upon the continuance of that sentiment and upon your wisdom and patriotism I rely to direct and support me in the performance of the duty required at my hands.” Davis concluded by celebrating what he described as “a people united in heart, where one purpose of high resolve animates and actuates the whole—where the sacrifices to be made are not weighed in the balance against honor and right and liberty and equality.” He then called on “the God of our fathers” to continue “His favor” upon the Confederates in their effort to carry forth the principles which he had permitted their fathers to “establish and transmit.…”15

  In the evening hundreds jammed Estelle Hall for a reception. For a long time President Davis stood shaking the hands of well-wishers. A substantial portion of the celebrants was female, and a number of them showed their excitement with more than handshakes. An observer noted that Davis “was abundantly kissed and rekissed.” According to one reporter, many males “thought there was too much waste of that delectable commodity, at such an early period in the history of the Confederation.” But neither the women nor the president seemed to mind.16

  President Jefferson Davis understood the monumental task he confronted. To his wife he wrote: “We are without machinery without means and threatened by powerful opposition but I do not despond and will not shrink from the task imposed upon me.” Literally, he had to construct a government from nothing. The seven states in the Confederacy had governments, of course, but there had never been any central governmental apparatus. Appointing the cabinet became Davis’s first order of business. The Provisional Congress had stipulated six agencies—State, Treasury, War, Navy, Attorney General, and Postmaster General. They replicated the departments of the old Union, except for the newest one, Interior, for which the Confederates saw no need, in no small part because to them it was symbolic of too powerful a central government. Davis later claimed that politics played no part in his selection process, but this was only partially true. Although he had no personal political debts to pay or party factions to satisfy, he did have geographic considerations. The officers he chose represented each state in the Confederacy, except for his home state. After deciding not to include the vocal, radical, and controversial Barnwell Rhett, who did not even have unanimous support within the South Carolina delegation, Davis proceeded to name his official family.17

  With the view that everyone shared his dedication to the new cause, Davis appointed men without even asking them. Three people turned him down—Robert Barnwell, the leader of the South Carolina delegation whom he knew and trusted, because of a desire to leave politics; his friend Clement Clay, because of ill health; and Yancey, probably because he felt the cabinet would restrict his independence. Two others, Toombs and John H. Reagan of Texas, initially refused, but for the sake of unity eventually agreed to serve. The two most notable appointees were former United States senators, Toombs for the State Department and Judah P. Benjamin of Louisiana for attorney general. One of their colleagues in that chamber, Stephen R. Mallory of Florida, took over the Navy Department. The position of postmaster general went to Reagan, who had sat in the House of Representatives. The two who had not previously held national offices were Christopher G. Memminger of South Carolina and LeRoy P. Walker of Alabama, who went to the Treasury Department and War Department respectively. Although not overall a distinguished group, Davis’s cabinet compared favorably to most in the old Union. Two men would hold their posts and render stellar service throughout Davis’s presidency, Mallory and Reagan. Benjamin also remained for the duration and became Davis’s closest cabinet counselor, though he would head three different ministries and become controversial. Toombs, who accepted his appointment only reluctantly, departed first—for a general’s commission and the battlefield, where he did not duplicate his political distinction. The two most unlikely choices, Memminger and Walker, had different experiences. Neither was really qualified, but the former stayed until 1864 and struggled valiantly, if ineffectively, with the Confederacy’s increasingly catastrophic financial situation; Walker, simply incapable of handling his assignment, departed after only seven months. At the outset Davis promised his official advisers that he would be candid with them, and from them he asked for the same frankness.

  From the beginning Davis established the work habits that would mark his tenure as chief executive. Upon his arrival in Montgomery he turned part of his suite at the Exchange Hotel into his office. Then in early March he moved to a nearby building designated as Government House, indicating its new function. Three rooms on the second floor became the president’s office, where he transacted most official business during his stay in Montgomery
. Varina described a long workday, specifying that he did not come home at night “until his cabinet peels off.” Consulting with it at length on major matters, Davis often kept the cabinet in session for hours. He also spent considerable time conferring with influential members of Congress. Preparing the army bill, he and Congressman William Porcher Miles, chairman of the Military Affairs Committee, spent days closeted together.18

  The lines waiting to see the president seemed unending. At least fifty men came every day with plans, suggestions, or pleas. To all, Varina reported, her husband responded “in softly modulated dulcet accents,” if he could keep his temper. Davis described himself as “constantly engaged” and “so crowded and pressed.” Even with major meetings and decisions plus endless streams of visitors, Davis’s administrative style repeated the pattern he had followed as secretary of war. He looked at almost every piece of paper addressed to the president; his personal comments appeared on them all, whether important or trivial. One caller remarked that Davis seemed “overwhelmed” with paper.19

  Passing through Montgomery, the English journalist William Russell painted a full word picture of the new president. Davis held his “slight, light figure … erect and straight.” Russell described “a fine full forehead, square and high, covered with innumerable fine lines and wrinkles, features regular, though the cheek-bones are too high, and jaws too hollow to be handsome; the lips are thin, flexible, and curved, the chin square, well refined, the nose very regular with wide nostrils, and the eyes deep set, large and full—one seems nearly blind, and is partially covered with a film.” To Russell, Davis’s face seemed “anxious,” and he had “a very haggard, careworn, and pain-drawn look, though no trace of anything but the utmost confidence and the greatest decision could be detected in conversation.”20