On October 6 President Davis left Richmond by train accompanied by aides William P. Johnston and G. W. C. Lee and General Pemberton, whom he asked to join his party. For the second time in less than a year he was heading west to combat the cancer that had been assaulting the Army of Tennessee. The loss of the main rail line in East Tennessee required an itinerary that carried him south through the Carolinas to Atlanta, then northward to Bragg’s army, spread along Missionary Ridge and the adjoining high ground overlooking Chattanooga and the Federal occupying force.
The four-day journey was not difficult, but neither was it quiet. Roomy cars made for comfortable travel, but at each little town people clamored for the president, who spoke and shook hands to “ovations.” Reaching Atlanta on the evening of the eighth, Davis received a rousing welcome, with Governor Brown and a crowd on hand. After an introduction by Brown, the president spoke from the platform with a sure political accent. He complimented Georgia for her performance during the war, underscoring the conduct of her soldiers on so many battlefields. He also praised the cooperation he had received from the governor. With Brown aboard, Davis’s train next morning steamed toward northern Georgia. In a brief stop at Marietta, Brown again introduced Davis, who basically repeated his Atlanta remarks.92
That night the president arrived at his destination. As he detrained, hundreds of soldiers greeted him with cries for a speech. After mounting his horse, he raised his hat and shouted: “Man never spoke as you did on the field of Chickamauga, and in your presence I dare not speak. Yours is the voice that will win independence of your country and strike terror to the heart of a ruthless foe.” Amid shouts, he waved and rode to Bragg’s headquarters on Missionary Ridge, where he spent the night.93
Saturday he toured and inspected Confederate lines. “Plaudits” and “still louder cheers” predominated during his ride through the army, although at times the welcome was more subdued because of the proximity of the Federal lines, in some instances no more than 1,000 yards away, with pickets in plain sight. William P. Johnston called the president’s reception “truly gratifying.” That evening Davis appeared on the porch of the farmhouse serving as Bragg’s headquarters to speak briefly to around 100 soldiers who had gathered hoping to see him. Beginning by lauding their gallantry at Chickamauga, he continued, “[you] had given still higher evidence of courage, patriotism, and resolute determination to live freemen or die freemen.…” He closed with the conviction that “under the blessings of Providence” the Confederacy would succeed, and the Army of Tennessee would advance its banners from the Tennessee to the Ohio. According to an observer, the president’s words were “rapturously and repeatedly cheered.”94
Davis performed these public tasks admirably, but the main purpose of his visit was to root out the malignant growth strangling the army’s high command. To that end he conversed with Bragg and other generals. All had the opportunity to tell their stories, and the commander in chief listened to all who wanted to talk. What he heard confirmed what he had been told. Unrestrained, even virulent dissatisfaction with Bragg permeated the general officers’ ranks. One of the newest arrivals was perhaps the most denunciatory. Longstreet said to Davis that at Chickamauga, Bragg was not active on the field as Lee would have been.95
After three days of discussions Davis made an incredible decision. Deciding he could not make a change in commanders, he stuck with Bragg, even though he acknowledged “the painful fact” that “the harmony and subordination” essential for success were absent. He tried to ameliorate this unhappy condition by confirming Bragg’s sacking of Polk and a corps commander. Rationalizing that he was helping Bragg and the army, he replaced Polk with Lieutenant General William J. Hardee, then in Mississippi, a solid, experienced officer who had previously served in the Army of Tennessee, but who had been at odds with Bragg after the Kentucky campaign. Upon assigning Hardee, Davis admitted the rancor still rampant in the army and silently confessed that he had not eliminated it. “I rely greatly upon you,” he told Hardee, “for the restoration of a proper feeling, and know that you will realize the comparative insignificance of personal considerations when weighed against the duty of imparting to the Army all the efficiency of which it is capable.” Emphasizing how his perception of commitment could distort reality, he even hoped to find a place in the army for Pemberton, at that moment perhaps the most discredited Confederate general. To Bragg he reiterated the point that the circumstances “should lift men above all personal considerations and devote them wholly to their country’s cause.” Davis’s absolute conviction that the Confederacy demanded commitment to cause over anything personal became in this instance a mantra. He clung to his creed despite a year of futility in pacifying the venomous relations menacing the Army of Tennessee.96
The decision to retain Bragg as commanding general of the Army of Tennessee was disastrous. Perhaps back in December 1862 Davis could have reasonably hoped that his visit to the army, along with Joseph Johnston’s oversight, would alleviate hard feelings and enable Bragg to succeed as a commander. Ten months later no such rationalization had any legitimacy. When Davis said he had no one else to substitute for Bragg, he was again referring to full generals. Of course, Johnston was nearby and available, but Davis understandably would not consider him. He blamed Johnston for Vicksburg; besides, Johnston’s performance with the Department of the West and at Vicksburg did not indicate he would make a strong army commander. At this moment the president needed to move beyond the prescription of reliance on rank structure in the Confederate army. With Polk already gone, he could have relieved Bragg, which would have dispensed with the two chief antagonists. Then he would have had to risk turning to a lieutenant general, perhaps Longstreet or Hardee, in hopes the appointee would restore the unity and positive outlook so desperately needed. His not doing so is extremely difficult to understand, for he knew that virulent illness still contaminated the army. He blindly or desperately rationalized the palliative of substituting Hardee for Polk as effective therapy, adding a massive dose of wishful thinking. In only six weeks his woefully inadequate treatment resulted in catastrophe.
Upon leaving this brave, mishandled army, the president addressed to it a public statement in which he forcefully restated his view of the Confederate cause. After praising the officers and men for “gallantry and patriotic devotion,” he designated them as “defenders of the heart of our territory,” telling them that “the hopes of our cause greatly depend upon you,” and much remained to be done. Large portions of the country had been “devastated by your ruthless invader, where gentle women, feeble age, and helpless infancy have been subjected to outrages without parallel in the warfare of civilized nations.” They eagerly await your arrival for their “deliverance,” he cried.
Davis said the Confederacy had been “forced to take up arms to vindicate the political rights, the freedom, equality, and State sovereignty which were the heritage purchased by the blood of your revolutionary sires.” He posited but a single alternative: “slavish submission to despotic usurpation, or the independence which vigorous, united, persistent effort will secure.” “Nobly have you redeemed the pledges given in the name of freedom to the memory of your ancestors and the rights of your posterity,” he assured the soldiers. But, the president went on to say, completion of their mission would necessitate “continuance in the patient endurance of toil and danger, and that self-denial which rejects every consideration at variance with the public service as unworthy of the holy cause in which you are engaged.”
With the reference to the subduing of personal goals and desires, Davis came to the present moment on Missionary Ridge. He claimed all shared a “common destiny” that demanded from each man “obedience and cordial cooperation.” “No higher duty” could he imagine “than that which requires each to render to all what is due to their station. He who sows the seeds of discontent and distrust prepares for the harvest of slaughter and defeat.” Commending their bravery and determination, Davis called on the soldiers to �
��crown” those attributes “with harmony, due subordination, and cheerful support of lawful authority, that the measure of your duty may be full.” Davis’s ringing pronouncement to the army encamped along Missionary Ridge contrasted sharply with his feeble action.97
The president’s visit to the Army of Tennessee completed the initial segment of what turned out to be a monthlong journey through the heartland of his country. From Missionary Ridge, Davis returned to Atlanta on October 14 and started west, still accompanied by aides Johnston and Lee. Reaching Montgomery on the fifteenth, he consulted with Thomas Watts, his recently resigned attorney general and newly elected governor of Alabama. In Montgomery, Davis went aboard a steamboat for an overnight run down the Alabama River to Selma. When the boat docked at daylight, the mayor welcomed the presidential party and conducted it to breakfast. In Selma, Davis gave a speech and visited the Confederate naval foundry before boarding a train for Demopolis. In that town he spoke, lunched with a member of Congress, and met with Generals Johnston and Hardee. The generals joined the president for the trip on to Meridian, Mississippi, where, after a tiring day, Davis spent the night. On the morning of October 18, he took a brief twenty-mile train ride to Lauderdale Springs to see his brother Joseph and mortally ill sister-in-law Eliza, who died six days later. There he also conferred with Governor Pettus.98
Back in Meridian on the nineteenth, the president changed his plans. Instead of leaving immediately for Mobile, he decided to remain in Mississippi and visit Jackson, which had suffered grievous damage when taken by Federal troops in mid-July. But before going to the state capital, he traveled a short distance south to Enterprise to review troops. On “a very hot & dusty day” he looked them over and then spoke to them from a hotel porch. During his remarks a heckler took a verbal blast when Davis declared he would “not be interrupted by blackguards—my foot is on my native hearth.”
After staying the night in Enterprise, Davis set out early on October 20 for Jackson. Because of torn-up rails, he had to detrain twelve miles east of the city at Brandon and continue on horseback. The twenty-first began drizzly but cleared while the president rode around observing the destruction. To Colonel Johnston the burned-over town presented “most gloomy pictures.” In a speech in the Capitol, Davis appealed to Mississippi to rise up and throw off the invader. Then he returned to Brandon, ate supper, and reboarded the train. But after only ten miles, the cars lurched as the engine ran off the tracks. “We had made blue beef of a misguided cow,” wrote Johnston. Thus delayed, Davis did not get back to Meridian until the next day.99
From Meridian, the president headed east. He spent two days in Mobile reviewing troops in the area, and he also gave a brief speech asserting that the Confederate cause was stronger than it had been a year earlier. Leaving Mobile, Davis traveled up to Montgomery and on over to Atlanta. There, on October 29, he saw Governor Isham Harris of Tennessee and Vice President Stephens, who described a president “in excellent Health and spirits.” To an apprehensive Stephens, Davis expressed confidence that Bragg would achieve positive results in Chattanooga.100
The following morning Davis departed for Savannah. Along the way he made brief remarks. At Macon a “hurrahing” crowd greeted him and “carried him off in triumph” to a hotel, where he addressed a large gathering. After dinner a special train transported him on to Savannah. Even though Davis tried to sleep, people at stations along the route waited to see him. At Griswoldville, only ten miles east of Macon, some forty blacks who labored in a pistol factory gathered in hopes of seeing the president. Informed of this unusual assemblage, Davis stepped from his car and circulated among the workers, took each hand, and spoke individually to each man. Thereafter at stops he would rise and shake hands. At 8 a.m. he reached Savannah, where dignitaries ushered him from the depot to a hotel and a quiet breakfast. Afterward he went by boat to examine the coastal fortifications. Artillery batteries saluted his arrival. He came ashore, inspected the soldiers, and praised the patriotism of Georgians. According to one of his uniformed audience, “his remarks fell with electric effect on the men, and at the conclusion we gave him three hearty cheers.”
The presidential party returned in carriages late in the afternoon. That evening a former West Point classmate provided a magnificent feast: oyster soup, stewed terrapin, fried oysters, wild duck, mutton chops, custard, coffee, and sherry. After this meal a torchlight procession called for a speech; Davis complied from the hotel balcony. Then he was off to the Masonic Hall for another address. There, Johnston related, he shook hands with 1,000 well-wishers, “leaving him rather exhausted and miserable.” After the president finally got to bed, a crowd serenaded him. Next morning after breakfasting on stewed and fried oysters, he received a committee from Charleston, attended church, and talked with the mayor, who put on a sumptuous dinner: okra soup, stewed shrimp, boiled and roasted wild duck, and vegetables.101
On the morning of November 2 Davis left Savannah and its lavish board. Bound by train for Charleston, he spoke twice en route and at 1 p.m. arrived in the birthplace of secession, where booming cannon announced the presidential train. Accompanied by a cavalry escort from the depot, four carriages, with Davis and General Beauregard in the lead vehicle, traversed the streets to City Hall. Thousands of citizens thronged the route: “the men cheered and the ladies waved their handkerchiefs in token of recognition.” At City Hall, after the mayor’s introduction, Davis addressed a large crowd. He began by recalling his previous visit when he accompanied the body of John C. Calhoun. Davis was confident that great statesman “in our trial watches over us with all a guardian angels care.” Praising the patriotism and devotion of South Carolina, he emphasized the valor of the proud defenders of the city. The enemy certainly desired Charleston “as the nest of the rebellion,” but he did not believe they would ever capture it. Yet if it ever did fall, he would want only “rubbish” remaining, no “prey for yankee spoils.” He told his listeners he had come to confer with General Beauregard and learn the needs for defense. Though he had no doubts about the fidelity of the Palmetto State, he urged constant vigilance. “But let us not be inactive,” he cried, “let then all our efforts in this our crisis be directed to the future.” The politician Davis was in action. According to an eyewitness, he gave many hands a hearty shake, meeting “every one as if he had met an old friend.” Then he reentered his carriage for the drive to his lodgings, the mansion of a former governor. During the subsequent two days, the president inspected troops and works in and around the city, including visits to islands guarding the harbor.102
From Charleston, Davis’s train chugged north toward Richmond. On November 5 he was in Wilmington, North Carolina, where he spoke and toured nearby fortifications, telling defenders they were fighting for their liberty, their homes, and their sweethearts. He gave his final public remarks in Goldsboro, and November 7 arrived back in Richmond.103
It had been a remarkable trip. The president had been on the road for thirty-two days. He had made at least twenty speeches; he had conferred with numerous political and military leaders; he had met literally hundreds of his fellow Confederates. Davis had taken on a herculean effort to show his concern for the heartland of his country and to rally all citizens in what he constantly called “our crisis.” Everywhere, from war-ravaged Mississippi to the protected Atlantic coast, he had been enthusiastically received. His reception gave credence to one editor’s claim that the president enjoyed “the heart and confidence of the people.” Even the severely critical Richmond Examiner was impressed with Davis’s undertaking: “He has inspired new life, courage and hope everywhere and among all classes. The bare sight of his sad, worn, attenuated features has drowned the voice of faction, aroused the warmest patriotism and harmony among the masses.” The Examiner called for “a tremendous and enthusiastic welcome home to our second Washington.” The Examiner exaggerated, for Davis had not quieted all his critics, but no one doubted who was president.104
While President Davis strove to uphold morale
and struggled with military reverses and command problems, Confederate voters were choosing a new Congress. Balloting for the Second Congress began in May 1863 and spilled over into 1864, for there was no national election day. These were strange elections for a society used to lengthy campaigns, engaged canvassing, and in-depth coverage by numerous newspapers, which together helped produce impressive turnouts. The Union controlled Kentucky and Missouri and most of Arkansas and Tennessee, as well as southern Louisiana, northern and western Virginia, and coastal areas in both Carolinas. Obviously, ordinary elections could not be held in these places. The standard format was election by general ticket rather than by district, with small numbers of soldiers and refugees making up the electorate. There were variations: a general ticket for occupied districts with ballots cast by voters in non-occupied districts plus soldiers and refugees; district voting with only soldiers and refugees generally participating. Even in the unoccupied areas of the Confederacy the situation was far from normal. So many voters were absent in uniform, and shortages of everything from skilled labor to paper greatly reduced the number and thoroughness of newspapers. Under these circumstances, electoral participation dropped to extremely low levels. Almost everywhere the soldier vote was consequential, and the army was a stronghold for the president.105
By the time of these contests, discontent brought on by the ravages of war affected a substantial percentage of the Confederate population. Yet the elections did not turn into a referendum on either the Davis administration or the president personally. Opponents of one or both disagreed with themselves as often as they agreed. Both Henry S. Foote, Davis’s former enemy in Mississippi, now a congressman from Tennessee, and Louis Wigfall abhorred Davis, but Wigfall vigorously supported strong war measures while Foote denounced them as tyrannical. Moreover, former fire-eaters, who were Davis-haters but devoted Confederates, had no political bonds with ex-Unionists who talked about reconstruction, or peace without independence. Such wide divergences made most unlikely an organized or unified opposition.
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