Jefferson Davis, American

by William J. Cooper

  Despite Davis’s ordeal, he retained his presence and could be impressive. In mid-June a visiting British army officer noted that “his face is emaciated and much wrinkled”; this eyewitness also commented on Davis’s extreme thinness and observed the beginnings of a stoop. At the same time, he described his host’s good features, “especially his eye which is very bright and full of life and humor.” The president impressed this worldly visitor with his “agreeable, unassuming manners, and by the charm of his conversation.”41

  Whatever his physical disability and the pressure that ground down on him, Davis had a powerful tonic in his children. Those around him remarked on his adoration of his little ones and his joy with them. He enjoyed taking them for rides. When small boys in nightclothes interrupted an evening meal or social gathering, a proud father welcomed and said prayers with his little men, then sent them on to bed. According to Secretary Mallory, the president’s children considered him “their pleasantest playmate.”42

  Despite repeated illness and constant overwork, President Davis never turned into a social hermit. He did not make a habit of publicly mingling with Richmonders, telling them that “constant labor in the duties of office, borne down by care, and with an anxiety which has left me scarcely a moment for repose,” permitted little time for what he termed “social intercourse among you.” Yet he did preside effectively at official functions.43

  He most relished informal gatherings at the White House. He spontaneously invited to dinner or to breakfast individuals or groups of cabinet members, military officers, congressmen, friends, and visitors to Richmond. No special preparations were made, for these guests ate whatever was being served the family. Attendees portrayed a “plain and unpretending” host, who conversed about many subjects from bridles to his school days in Mississippi. The evening affairs, often closing with cigars, could go on quite late.44

  Davis also demonstrated a genuine generosity to individuals serving the cause whom he discovered in unfortunate circumstances. One winter night he noticed the sentinel at the front door of the Executive Mansion wore no overcoat. Informed that overcoats had not been issued, the president acted, and soon the garments were distributed. When he learned that a regiment camped in the city had received no breakfast, these soldiers had food delivered to them by noon. One morning an elderly woman came to him at the White House. She identified herself as the oldest living relative of George Mason, a Revolutionary hero, and said that all her property was within Federal lines. To support herself, she needed a job. The president got her a position at the Treasury Department.45

  He regularly took his own time to thank people for sending him presents and helping him. His personal letters expressed gratitude for items ranging from hats to Bibles, from eyeglasses to tea sets. Once when suffering from a boil, he received a Richmond woman’s remedy, a flaxseed poultice. It evidently worked, for upon recovery he made a visit to her home to voice his appreciation.46

  The president did have another side, however. As Secretary Mallory observed, “few men could be more chillingly, freezingly cold.” Davis’s frosty demeanor chilled those he perceived as motivated by less than total concern for the public welfare, for the cause. Just as with generals, he refused to flatter or to cultivate goodwill with members of Congress and other politicians he identified as consumed with their own private interests. Their self-esteem he discounted. If they did not attain his perception of his own devotion to the cause, they deserved at best only formal courtesy from him. In his judgment, the crisis demanded superhuman exertions and selflessness, and he could not deal effectively or humanly with those who did not measure up. He had no patience with human folly. His friends’ attempts to counsel him in this matter went unheard, for, in Mallory’s words, “he could not do this; it was not in his nature … to coax men to do their duty in the condition of their country.”47

  Considering the military situation in the two major theaters of war, Commander-in-Chief Davis faced what had become an ever-present dichotomy: in Virginia, achievement and stability; in the West, disappointment and turmoil. In early May, Robert E. Lee again demonstrated his battlefield wizardry in defeating the huge Federal army at Chancellorsville, just west of Fredericksburg. But this stunning victory came at an extraordinarily high price. Among the mortally wounded was Lee’s great lieutenant Stonewall Jackson, who died on May 10. The government put on a state funeral in Richmond for the fallen hero, attended by an unwell and feeble president. The body was then transported to Jackson’s Shenandoah Valley home in Lexington for burial. For Davis, the death of Jackson did not match Sidney Johnston’s as a personal blow, but he recognized Stonewall’s special place, stating that “a great national calamity has befallen us.…” To a visitor at the White House after the funeral, he remarked, “I am still staggering from a dreadful blow. I cannot think.”48

  Even though Lee had to cope with the loss of Jackson and was involved in reorganizing his army, he eagerly advocated another advance into enemy country. He knew the temper of the president who wrote his general, “I readily perceive the disadvantage of standing still.…” Davis only regretted that he could not provide Lee with “the means which would make it quite safe to attempt all that we desire.” Neither Lee nor Davis, however, required certainty or safety before action.49

  The two men decided they needed a face-to-face discussion. Because of his health, Davis had Lee come to Richmond. In a mid-May conference with Davis and Secretary of War Seddon, Lee placed before them an ambitious plan: he would take his army, with all the reinforcements the president would give him, and strike across the Potomac. To make the advance of the Army of Northern Virginia even more menacing to the enemy, Lee wanted the Atlantic coast virtually stripped and those troops organized under General Beauregard in central Virginia. From there Beauregard could pose a threat to Washington that would tie down Federal troops, and he could quickly take advantage of any success Lee might have in the North.50

  Lee had several goals for his offensive. They were discussed in Richmond, and during the following six weeks were spelled out in letters between general and president. He certainly wanted to feed and supply his army on northern soil. Northern Virginia had sustained too many armies for too long. In addition, an invasion would carry the war to the enemy, an aim he and Davis shared and savored. He also believed his army almost invincible, certainly capable of inflicting a devastating defeat on his opponent. Such a thunderous victory in enemy country would surely have enormous value, perhaps even lead to peace. Most assuredly it would relieve the pressure bearing down on the lower Mississippi Valley, specifically Vicksburg.

  Davis brought before his cabinet the question of whether to authorize Lee’s project or to keep him on the defensive, shifting units from his army to Mississippi. All supported Lee’s thrust except Postmaster General John Reagan, the only member from west of the Mississippi. The cabinet’s position affirmed by the president so troubled Reagan that he requested the president to reconsider. Aware of the gravity of this decision, Davis agreed to reopen the discussion. According to Reagan, the cabinet spent an entire Saturday going over every aspect of every issue, with the outcome the same. An impromptu gathering on Sunday reaffirmed what had already been decided. Even though he did not prevail, Reagan was impressed by his chief’s deliberate thoughtfulness: “his whole course of conduct showed him to be reasonable, conservative and just.”51

  Davis’s decision to go with Lee was quite understandable and sensible. Lee was without question his best general, and Davis knew it. Moreover, no other general had even approached Lee’s record in the field. Success by Lee on enemy territory had enormous potential. Besides, Lee’s advance appealed to Davis’s aggressiveness and his overwhelming desire to inflict pain on his enemy. Davis later wrote he hoped Lee could win a battlefield victory north of the Potomac that would have “ensured peace on the only basis we were willing to accept it, Independence.” Further, the president could not know what use would be made of troops sent from Lee to Mississippi. Wou
ld they arrive in time, and more important, would they be employed effectively? Lee put it elliptically, speaking of “the uncertainty of [their] application.” Neither Davis nor Lee ever said directly, but both knew, that Joseph Johnston had never exhibited decisiveness, much less boldness. While Davis blessed Lee’s move, he did not strip the Atlantic coast, ordering those men along with Beauregard to Virginia. That was simply too much of a gamble, for it risked losing Charleston and Savannah, and perhaps the Carolinas. The political dangers were too great.52

  Eastern Theater, May 1863–1865.

  From W. J. Cooper and T. E. Terrill, The American South: A History (2d ed.), with permission of the McGraw-Hill Companies

  When President Davis turned toward the lower Mississippi Valley and his home, he had to cope with a troublesome situation. The fundamental command problem in the Department of the West had never been solved. General Johnston still adamantly refused to take literal command. Despite repeated efforts by Davis to tell him that he was in charge, and by Seddon, who tried to placate Johnston’s suspicions by emphasizing his friendship for the fussy general, Johnston demurred. To get around Johnston’s insistence that distance made his assignment impossible, the president suggested that he place a division at Selma or Meridian to expedite movement, but nothing happened. Johnston satisfied himself by proclaiming that a choice between defending Mississippi and Tennessee was a political decision, one that should be made in Richmond, not by a general in the field. In a basic sense he was right. Yet he never suggested, much less tried, any stratagem that would give him the flexibility to hold both. And he certainly never issued orders forcing Davis to make that hard decision, a choice that for political reasons, including public opinion and his estimation of Confederate unity, the president really could not make.53

  While Richmond and Johnston frustrated each other, their supposedly common enemy acted. Frustrated by his previous setbacks, General Ulysses Grant was determined to win the great prize: Vicksburg. The spring of 1863 found him charting a new course. Convinced no direct approach would work, he dedicated himself to finding a way to place his army in the rear of the great fortress. He realized he could march his soldiers down the Louisiana side of the Mississippi; the issue was getting them back to the eastern bank. He initially attempted to cut or dig a route for transports through the swamps and streams, to no avail. Finally, he decided on a daring move. In mid-April, navy transports and gunboats were sent on a run past the Vicksburg batteries. It worked. Now he had both soldiers and ships below the city. In the meantime, he ordered a huge cavalry raid from north to south through Mississippi to disrupt the Confederates. That was also a smashing success. By the end of April, his army had crossed the river. Now, to confuse his foe, he would strike eastward toward Jackson, then reverse himself, going back toward the river. For this campaign he jettisoned a supply line. His men would live off the land while they turned Fortress Vicksburg into Prison Vicksburg. Grant had formulated a brilliant plan, which could only be foiled by quick response, decisive action, and smooth cooperation.54

  Grant’s two opponents were not up to the challenge. Pemberton had courage, and would certainly hold steadfastly to what he saw as his duty, but did not understand Grant’s design until it was far too late. He assumed that Grant would act as he himself would, cautiously and conservatively. Pemberton was simply outclassed in this campaign of maneuver. Besides, he spent much of his energy trying to separate himself from Johnston’s authority. Although Pemberton initially thought about searching for Grant and briefly came out of his fortifications, he took Davis’s order to hold Vicksburg to mean that he must physically remain within the city, where he was so much more comfortable. It became his anchor of certainty in a sea of uncertainty. He never seemed to comprehend that he could prevail only by preventing a siege. Confused, Pemberton clung to the city while Grant moved easily through the countryside. Later, a direct order from Johnston finally moved him out; outside the town he thought chiefly about interrupting Grant’s nonexistent supply lines, but bewilderment and ineptness doomed him. In lopsided engagements, Grant easily pushed him back, and by May 18, Pemberton was trapped in Vicksburg.55

  Joseph Johnston also assisted. To meet the grave threat to his home state, President Davis did not wait for the commanding general of the Department of the West to decide his presence was required. Shortly after learning that Grant had crossed the Mississippi, Davis ordered Johnston to Mississippi. Upon arriving in Jackson on May 13, Johnston telegraphed that because Federal forces had inserted themselves between Jackson and Vicksburg, he had arrived too late. Once again Johnston and Richmond became bogged down in a futile, stupefying dialogue about his command authority. Although Johnston did say only a quick strike could save Pemberton and Vicksburg, he orchestrated none. He said he must wait for reinforcements because he was outnumbered. As Davis urged action, wiring, “we cannot hope for numerical equality and time will probably increase the disparity,” Johnston was quarreling with the War Department over how many men he actually had.56

  In Mississippi, Joseph Johnston occupied himself principally with fashioning a cocoon of security. He did instruct Pemberton to attempt a junction with him, and eventually urged his subordinate to evacuate Vicksburg in an effort to save his army. But Johnston never undertook any serious measure to effect any combination, or even to thrust at Grant. He saw only defeat. Having concluded the president had placed him in a position where he could only fail, Johnston wanted the record to show that he had been given an impossible assignment and, outnumbered, he could not succeed. He rationalized that no other general had ever faced such odds. Concerned mostly with protecting his name and fame, he wanted to ensure that no one could blame him for Confederate failure. He responded to his wife’s expressed concern about his reputation: “Don’t be uneasy on the Subject.” He continued that once everyone realized he did not have a powerful army, he would be judged as a soldier “who discharge[d] his duty manfully & responsibly [and] will always be respected.…” The administration could not blame him. Revealing a modicum of self-awareness, he told his wife, “I cannot be a great man, Nature & the President will it otherwise.” Here Johnston was half right. He did not possess the moral strength and self-confidence for greatness as a captain, but the president wanted nothing so much as for him to prevail.57

  Throughout May and June, the situation in Mississippi utterly frustrated Jefferson Davis. Even though seriously ill, he was consumed with Mississippi and Vicksburg. To one correspondent he wrote of his keen “anxiety.” Almost daily he sent dispatches to Johnston, Pemberton, or Governor John Pettus. From many Mississippians, including Pettus and brother Joseph, came cries for help. Davis answered that he was doing all he could, and he did scour the Confederacy for troops. Five thousand went from Beauregard, but he could spare no more and neither could Bragg help. The president called on his new commander in the Trans-Mississippi, Lieutenant General Edmund Kirby Smith, to send assistance. But, as with Holmes, he left it to Smith’s discretion, and concentrating on threats perceived in Louisiana, Smith said he could not try to relieve Vicksburg. A harrowed Davis urged Pettus to call for a levy en masse. He even wired Johnston, “if my strength permitted I would go to you.”58

  Davis operated with severe handicaps, and with increasing desperation. As always, Johnston provided the scantiest information. The president informed Lee that he could get no more from Johnston than the two of them could a year previously. An official in the War Department described the general’s communications as “brief unsatisfactory, almost captious letters.” Additionally, by relying on figures provided by Seddon, Davis overestimated Johnston’s strength; the actual number of reinforcements arriving in Mississippi never equaled the paper strength of the units sent. Davis was also unreasonably optimistic about the prospects for a massive rush of Mississippians to Johnston’s side. Furthermore, he too never fathomed what Grant was about. Although he did understand that to prevail the Confederates had to strike Grant in the field, he kept pressing his gener
als to hit that great Confederate fiction, Grant’s supply line. In conclusion, he kept hoping, and in his anguish even believing, that despite a complete absence of evidence for it, Johnston’s supposed great ability would surface, enabling the general to do something dramatic. But there was no miracle. On July 4 Pemberton unconditionally surrendered his army of 31,000 to Grant. Hearing this news, the last Confederate river bastion at Port Hudson, Louisiana, followed suit four days later, also succumbing to a siege. Now the Union controlled the entire length of the Mississippi. The Confederacy had been sundered.59

  No offsetting good news reached Richmond from Lee. The high hopes he and Davis placed on his offensive were obliterated on the hillsides around the small town of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. In June Lee marched his army west into the Shenandoah Valley, then north into Pennsylvania. Like Grant in Mississippi, he abandoned reliance on a supply line. The Army of Northern Virginia advanced easily and rapidly, its lead elements reaching the Susquehanna River. With news that the Federal army, under its new commander, Major General George G. Meade, was fast approaching, Lee ordered his forces to concentrate on Gettysburg. During the first three days of July, Confederates and Federals engaged in a mighty struggle which cost more than 50,000 casualties. Suffering losses totaling almost one-third of his army, Lee was forced to fall back across the Potomac. But the severely battered Union army, with casualties reaching one-fourth of its strength, could not mount a vigorous pursuit. Lee’s second northern thrust had ended like the first, a blood-soaked strategic failure. During the campaign Davis had been anxious. Varina recalled his saying at the time that if he could join Lee, the two of them could “wrest a victory from those people.” Although the outcome surely disappointed the president, he did not perceive catastrophe. Recognition of the Battle of Gettysburg as a major turning point would have to await time and perspective.60