These basic differences help explain the absence of a rival party. Additionally, the Whig collapse in most of the South in the mid-1850s left a vacuum not filled before the secession crisis, and much of the area where a Whig-based opposition had held on, like Kentucky and Tennessee, was under Federal domination. Furthermore, at the birth of their new nation, Confederates, in the language of the Founding Fathers, denounced the legitimacy of parties. Anti-partyism became an article of political faith. Almost nobody, even Davis’s most fervent antagonists, advocated parties.
Davis took no active part in the elections. He did not back any slate of candidates, nor did he urge voters to return those who championed his policies and throw out those who did not. His stance illustrated his view of Confederate politics. He considered the old politics of partisan identity along with the striving for partisan advantages part of a jettisoned past. Even though before 1861 he had mastered that brand of politics, it had failed to save the Union. Davis believed partisanship had contributed massively to its destruction. Such politics would certainly not preserve the Confederacy. The cause had become his politics, and he wanted to believe that all Confederates were as committed to it as he. He was a Confederate, meaning, in his mind, that ideology and politics had merged. His office and the vigor of his administration did galvanize opposition; but because his opponents did not have a legitimate institutional home, he could blame objections on fractious, selfish individuals, who put pride and place ahead of the cause.
The results of this congressional election did not signal any radical change. Incumbents fared poorly in the unoccupied states: fewer than half were returned from those districts, in contrast to two-thirds returning from occupied districts. Turning out those in office certainly spoke to discontent, though almost 54 percent of all House incumbents were reelected. The outcome did not signify the triumph of former Unionists or Whigs, or a repudiation of Davis. Each election was almost idiosyncratic, given local concerns, the dwarfed electorate, the poverty of campaigning, and the dearth of newspapers. The new Congress, which would not convene until May 1864, generally supported the president as readily as did the old. Disaffection had not prevailed. Loyalty to the Confederacy and to the president remained powerful.
The returns, in conjunction with congressional roll calls, reveal a striking fact about Confederate politics. The most helpful suggestion for understanding the basic division in Confederate politics posits two groups: those who pursued “the politics of national unity” and those who advocated “the politics of liberty.” The former supported almost any legislative measure and the growth of executive power in the name of Confederate independence, while the latter depicted acts like conscription and suspension of habeas corpus, as well as a powerful executive, as dangerous threats to fundamental rights and liberties. In Congress, politicians who stood strongly against a vigorous national government hailed overwhelmingly from states like Georgia and South Carolina, still largely untouched by Federal intrusion. Senators and representatives from Union-controlled states and areas almost invariably backed the strongest possible war legislation. No delegations offered stauncher support for Davis’s forceful war policies than those from Kentucky and Missouri, who represented basically phantom states and districts.106
As useful as the definitions associated with national unity and liberty may be in comprehending Confederate politics, they do not fully explain Jefferson Davis, for he did not perceive them as antagonistic. As he said so often, national survival or Confederate independence meant liberty; failure would mean slavery. Thus, national unity or defense assumed primacy, and that view underlay his constitutionalism and advocacy of energetic government. For Davis, this outlook antedated the war. In the 1850s he parted with many of his strict-constructionist colleagues when he upheld a vital governmental role in the construction of a transcontinental railroad. Additionally, he believed in direct government involvement in arms manufacture. Both were required for national defense, and in accordance with the Constitution.
This perspective carried Davis in directions he could not have anticipated when he took the oath of office in Montgomery. By the end of 1863, with the energetic leadership of the president and the concurrence of Congress, the Confederate government had become powerful and active. Not only did Congress authorize conscription and suspension of habeas corpus, it also passed legislation enabling Confederate functionaries to impress war matériel, even including slaves; they did so from farms, plantations, factories, from wherever they found needed goods and persons. Payment was made according to official schedules, but the government set the prices, and no citizen could legally resist impressment. Recognizing the centrality of railroads, Congress as early as 1862 appropriated money for construction where deemed necessary for the war. In 1863 a law was passed giving the executive broad discretionary power over railroad operations, though Davis never put them under direct government control as he was often urged to do. The government also became intimately involved in war industries. As the major purchaser it fundamentally directed private businesses like iron mills, both large and small. It also became the primary manufacturer of certain items. The Confederate navy, its hopes of purchasing European-built ships dashed, became a shipbuilder, and the Ordnance Bureau of the War Department constructed at Augusta, Georgia, the largest gunpowder factory in North America.
President Davis had his way with Congress. A vigorous and potent chief executive, he obtained from Congress legislation that in 1860 or even 1861 almost all southerners would have decried as horrendously despotic. Congress never stymied him on a critical matter. Aside from personal characteristics, there were understandable reasons for Davis’s success. As in most wars, and certainly the case in the United States between 1861 and 1865, executive power surged at the expense of legislative. Davis was the war leader who approached Congress speaking the language of military necessity and national survival. Most senators and representatives were ardent Confederates who believed steps taken toward national authority were better than Union victory. Additionally, for security reasons the Confederate Congress conducted most of its sessions in secret. Those private deliberations, coupled with scant reporting, meant that public pressure barely affected debates, and bills went through the legislative process with little outside scrutiny. Furthermore, the stalwart pro-Davis cohort—anchored on the men from the occupied areas plus those who voted for the administration’s war policies despite opposing the president personally—represented an unbeatable combination. The frustrated minority that disliked the measures as well as the man flailed away, often with personal diatribes against the president. Henry Foote denounced Davis as “vain, selfish, overbearing, ambitious, intriguing, and a slave to his prejudices and partialities.…” He shouted for “the people to rise, sword in hand, to put down the domestic tyrant who thus sought to invade their rights.” But vicious verbal barrages could not derail Davis’s legislative success.107
Although enjoying substantial legislative leeway, Davis did not dictate to senators and representatives. His political background and his devotion to traditional American constitutional practices influenced his dealings with Congress. As well as sending messages setting forth what he wanted and why, Davis during congressional sessions also met constantly with legislators. He recognized that contact with members was important for them to have a venue to present their needs and wishes as well as for him to press his case. Individuals brought concerns about appointments and questions about patronage. Entire state delegations trooped in for conferences, sometimes called by Davis, to discuss affairs in their states. Davis listened and tried to explain his policy.
The president could be considerate and gracious, though he stiffened when he spotted any deviation from his definition of commitment to the cause. Following a visit to the president, one congressman depicted him as “out of temper.” His upbraidings could ruffle feelings, and he did make enemies. But until the end he never lost the goodwill of a congressional majority or the upper hand in legislative matters
. His success with Congress enhanced his belief that commitment to the cause, his definition of Confederate patriotism, would enable his country to prevail. In addition to these business meetings, the president often entertained the solons in the White House, both in small groups and at large receptions. The discussions and the socializing did not guarantee he would have his way with Congress, but they did not hurt.108
Shortly after completing his western travels, President Davis took to the road again, but this time only a short distance, some seventy-five miles northwest of Richmond, to the Army of Northern Virginia at Orange. Through his presidential-aide son, Robert E. Lee had let Davis know that he and his army would be delighted to see their commander in chief. Davis was pleased to go. He always liked being around troops, and he could discuss personally with his trusted friend and top soldier his thoughts on the western military situation. Accompanied by two members of his staff, one of them G. W. C. Lee, he took the train on Saturday, November 21, and arrived in a driving rain. He was greeted by General Lee, and the two men repaired immediately to Lee’s headquarters, where they spent the day. On Sunday the president and the commanding general attended St. Thomas Episcopal Church in Orange, the pews clogged with officers wanting to see the two chieftains together. The president visited some units, though the inclement weather knocked out a scheduled review. On the twenty-fourth, Davis was back in Richmond.109
President Davis had barely returned to Richmond when disaster struck. On November 25, the Federal army in Chattanooga under Ulysses Grant, who had taken over after Davis’s visit, assaulted Missionary Ridge. Late in the afternoon, attackers in blue broke Bragg’s line and routed the men in gray. The beaten and demoralized Army of Tennessee did not halt its pell-mell retreat until it reached Dalton, Georgia, some twenty-five miles south of Chattanooga. Grant not only crushed Bragg, he also blasted Davis’s fantasy.110
This time no question arose about Bragg’s future with the army. Even the crusty general realized he had none; three days after the debacle he resigned his post. Bragg’s reports to Davis combined honest self-appraisal with charges assailing subordinates for what happened. Writing of his “shameful discomfiture,” he called the defeat “justly disparaging to me as a commander.” He also admitted that he and the president “both erred in the conclusion for me to retain command here after the clamor raised against me.” But in almost the same breath he hurried to blame the loss on the scurrilous conduct of others, especially Major General John C. Breckinridge, who Bragg claimed had been drunk during and after the battle. Bragg asserted that “warfare” against him “has been carried on successfully and the fruits are bitter.”111
Davis knew that Bragg had to go, though the magnitude of the calamity shocked him. He had convinced himself that he had set the army in the right direction. He hoped, even expected, that Bragg would go on the offensive around Chattanooga, or at least drive the Federals from East Tennessee. Neither eventuality occurred, however. Even before Missionary Ridge, Bragg’s hesitancy and Federal initiatives disappointed Davis. Disharmony also still plagued the army. Although Polk was gone, he was not the only Bragg antagonist, and Longstreet had overtly joined the opposition. With Bragg’s initial blessing, Longstreet marched off to East Tennessee, where he basically disregarded his commanding officer and acted independently. But he had no more success than Bragg; by the end of November he had suffered bloody failure.112
Confronting such a shocking and dispiriting defeat, the president had to do more than merely replace Bragg. He also had to restore confidence in the army and the country. When Bragg departed, his senior subordinate, Lieutenant General Hardee, was named interim commander, but Hardee informed the War Department that he did not want the regular job. Bragg had advised Davis to send to the army “our greatest and best leader,” and then, like a man cognizant of his plight, added, “yourself if practicable.” Although the president had no intention of assuming any field command, he immediately thought about his best commander: Lee. He was not alone. Howell Cobb, the influential Georgian, a stalwart Davis backer and a Confederate major general with a key assignment in his native state, appeared in Richmond to campaign for Lee. Regarding Lee’s appointment as “almost essential to the success of our cause,” Cobb declared he would “spare no pains or effort in pressing the matter upon the President.” And Davis did listen to him.113
While Cobb pressed, Davis for the second time in two months discussed with Lee the latter’s taking over the Army of Tennessee. Lee stated that he had “considered with some anxiety the condition of affairs in Georgia & Tennessee.” He also suggested Beauregard as Bragg’s successor. To the president’s query about his going, Lee answered as he had in October: he would go, but he had no one in his army who could replace him. Obviously aware of the sour-tempered officer corps in the Army of Tennessee, Lee wondered whether he would receive “cordial cooperation.” Wrestling with an enormously important and difficult decision, the president on December 9 called Lee to Richmond for consultations. Upon departing for the capital, Lee believed that he would be sent west. But after several days of discussion, Davis took a different course. He decided that Lee was irreplaceable in Virginia.114
With Lee removed from contention, Davis had few alternatives. The time had passed to take the risk and appoint a lieutenant general in an attempt to cleanse and rejuvenate the army. Hardee had already begged out, and with his bad relations with Bragg and poor performance in East Tennessee, Longstreet was not an option. Lee had brought up Beauregard, but Davis continued to have serious reservations about Beauregard’s character and ability and would not trust him with a major field army. That left only Joe Johnston.115
There was certainly a clamor for Johnston’s appointment. Even after Vicksburg Johnston’s public reputation survived, as he had predicted. Important westerners were eager for him; after a western tour, presidential aide James Chesnut told Davis that “every honest man” he saw thought highly of Johnston. Davis’s old acquaintance Leonidas Polk, who had done as much as anyone to wreck the Army of Tennessee, also urged that Johnston be placed over it. Pro-Johnston politicians pushed for him; Senator Wigfall lobbied vigorously, especially with Secretary of War Seddon. Aware of Davis’s antipathy to Johnston, men like Wigfall—who was enjoying what he termed the “low state” of the administration after the defeat at Missionary Ridge—saw Johnston’s assignment as a way to embarrass the president; they were not so much pro-Johnston as anti-Davis. Seddon finally concluded that Johnston was the only reasonable choice. Likewise, Lee favored him.116
At last, making a decision he did not relish, Davis did name Johnston. Although he held Johnston responsible for Vicksburg, he still believed in the general’s military ability. On December 16 Johnston was ordered to Dalton to become the commanding general of the Army of Tennessee. A popular move, the choice of Johnston also benefited the president politically. Even the ardently pro-Lee Cobb accepted it as the best “under all the circumstances.” Yet Davis did what he did, not because of politics or large-mindedness, but because he could find no acceptable alternative. As Seddon wrote, “the President, after doubt and with misgiving to the end, chose [Johnston], not as due exaltation on this score, but as the best on the whole to be obtained.”117
Even as he struggled with the aftermath of Missionary Ridge, President Davis greeted the fourth and final session of the First Congress. In a lengthy message dated December 7, he outlined his ambitious legislative program. He also offered a mostly realistic assessment of the Confederacy’s position and provided a vigorous restatement of his conviction that his course could not fail. He wanted Congress to amend the conscription law to extend the ages of eligibility, to abolish substitution, and to tighten exemption provisions. In asking for new taxes, the president made no attempt to cover up the jumble and morass of Confederate finances. He told the lawmakers he would “deem it my duty to approve any law levying the taxation which you are bound to impose for the defense of the country in any other practicable mode which shall distribute
the burthen uniformly and impartially on the whole property of the people.” And he urged taking steps to brake the accelerating monetary disaster by passing legislation recommended by the secretary of the treasury to reduce the quantity of Confederate notes in circulation, by requiring their exchange for interest-bearing bonds. The gross excess of the notes, Davis correctly maintained, was responsible both for runaway inflation and for the “spirit of speculation,” which he condemned. Open about the financial mess, Davis also conceded that Confederate diplomacy in Europe had failed, though he blamed the British government because it refused to uphold international law regarding blockades and the rights of neutrals. The president acknowledged that the enemy occupied much of the country and admitted the “grave reverses” headlined by the fall of Vicksburg and the recent disaster at Missionary Ridge.
Despite these setbacks, the president expressed no doubt about the ultimate outcome of the war. Even though “our success in driving the enemy from our soil has not equaled the expectations confidently entertained at the commencement of the campaign,” Davis asserted, “his progress has been checked.” In Texas, in Louisiana, and at Charleston, Confederate arms prevailed. Yet declaring the army “to be in all respects in better condition than at any previous period of the war” was surely overstatement. He celebrated gallant Confederate soldiers battling a monstrous foe, who utilized uncivilized and “inhuman practices” in a relentless, albeit vain, attempt to conquer the Confederacy. Turning to history, Davis conveyed confidence: “Whatever obstinacy may be displayed by the enemy in his desperate sacrifices of money, life, and liberty in the hope of enslaving us, the experience of mankind has too conclusively shown the superior endurance of those who fight for home, liberty, and independence to permit any doubt of the result.”118
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