The holiday spirit reigned on Christmas Day. The children rose early to see their surprises. Each servant was handed a small gift. Jefferson received from his children loving letters which their Grandmother Howell had helped them write. Presents for the president and his wife came from devoted friends and followers: for him, a pair of chamoisskin riding gauntlets embroidered on the back; for her, six cakes of “delicious soap” made from ham grease, and some fine linen thread. After breakfast the family walked to St. Paul’s for services. Following church the Davises returned to a spectacular Christmas dinner, with turkey, roast beef, and mince pie, along with a delight for the little Davises, a life-sized spun sugar hen on a nest of blancmange eggs.
The evening had its own festivities. At 8 p.m., all returned to St. Paul’s for the orphans’ Christmas party. The appearance of presents created great excitement. The president began to help pass them out, but in his enthusiasm put too much into outstretched little hands. Thus, according to Varina, he was reassigned to rescue tots who had become entangled in strings of popcorn. After the memorable celebration, the holiday closed with a dance at a neighbor’s house, but without refreshments. Guests enjoyed what Varina designated a “ ‘starvation party.’ ”72
The next day reality returned. Although no official reports of Nashville had been received, news and rumors were filtering in. The Richmond Examiner announced what many felt; the year ended on a blacker note than anyone had thought possible.73
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“The Issue Is … Very Painful for Me to Meet”
No glittering social events marked New Year’s Day 1865 in Richmond, a cold clear Sunday with snow on the ground. Wearing a woolen cap, Jefferson Davis attended church, but the president and first lady hosted no reception at the Executive Mansion. Throughout the Confederacy, despondency and even despair greeted the turn of the year.1
President Davis could have no doubt about conditions in his country and their impact on his position and his leadership. Friends and supporters reaffirmed their continued loyalty to the cause and to him, but they also warned of general unrest and war weariness among the people. These were not scare tactics. As the loyal Howell Cobb wrote, “It is due you to know the state of feeling in the country.” Cobb, the veteran politician, went on to inform Davis, “It is useless to disguise the fact that there is a deep despondency in the public mind—extending in too many instances to disaffection.” There were even reports that stridently anti-Davis men like Senator Wigfall were scheming to take power from him.2
In Richmond, political actions spoke volumes. On January 17 the Virginia legislature unanimously passed a secret resolution demanding the appointment of Robert E. Lee to command all Confederate armies. Although the lawmakers tacked on generous sentiments about Davis, they made clear they wanted a new hand directing the war. The next day they called for the entire cabinet to resign. In the Congress, with the enthusiastic championship of Vice President Stephens, opponents of the president and his policy worked actively to present peace resolutions, calls for state conventions, and generally to condemn the president’s policies.3
On the battle lines the outlook became only grimmer and grimmer. On January 15, Fort Fisher, the bastion guarding the ocean approach to Wilmington, North Carolina, fell, closing the last port open to blockade-runners. The news had a “stunning effect” in Richmond. A distraught President Davis called the loss “unexpected” and immediately wired the Confederate commander to find out whether the fortress could be retaken. Within a week Sherman began his invasion of South Carolina. Facing no more opposition than in Georgia, the blue legions moved easily through the state. By the middle of February they had forced the evacuation of Charleston and captured Columbia, much of which went up in flames. The major Confederate western front now moved toward North Carolina, where only a pitiful remnant of the Army of Tennessee stood in the path of Sherman’s triumphant divisions. At Petersburg the gray lines became feebler and feebler as an overwhelmingly outmanned Lee stretched his men perilously thin to keep pace with Grant’s southwestward extension around the city.4
President Davis fully understood the grave conditions confronting his country and his presidency. A visiting Confederate admiral judged him “deeply impressed with the critical state of the country.” On January 8 Davis stated to a sister that he was facing “bitter trials,” including constant anxiety caused by the proximity of the Federal hosts. Two weeks later he had a private conversation with a leading Virginia public figure in which he acknowledged the widespread “despondency and distrust.” He was even reported to have said that some kind of revolution could occur. To overcome these dangerous attitudes, he expressed a willingness to take any action that would help. Varina underscored the atmosphere of crisis surrounding her husband and herself when she confided to a longtime friend that “ours have been the carking cares of poverty, and danger, always pressing upon us even in sleep.”5
Although Davis comprehended the gravity of the crisis gripping the Confederacy, even admitting the terrible effect of the “long and severe pressure” inflicted upon the population by a relentless war, he still blamed “malcontents.” They had seized upon the situation and “created a feeling hostile to the execution of the rigorous laws which were necessary to raise and feed our armies, then magnifying every reverse and prophesying ruin they have produced public depression and sown the seeds of disintegration.” As always, Davis had difficulty coping with the abundant evidence that not all Confederates shared his utter commitment to the Confederate cause. He could not contemplate failure. Varina certainly spoke his mind in saying that “everything also even to extermination we expect to bear unless the liberty for which we began it is granted to us.” “The foundations of our political life,” she continued, “are laid deep in the blood of our nearest and dearest. I am sure it has not been shed in vain.”6
Davis’s commitment and determination never wavered in these trying times. He continued to express the belief that his side, the right, would prevail. In conversations with members of Congress and others he continued to evince confidence in the Confederate cause. In a public address before thousands in early February he spoke in ringing terms that sounded more like 1862 than 1865. Applauding a people “plucking from adversity new courage and resolution,” he told the crowd that “his heart beat high with hope.” Battlefield success still represented the best chance for peace and independence, and, as he had been doing for months, he called on absentees from the army to return to duty. When that took place, he had no doubt that Confederate victories would follow.
His own loyalty he made absolutely clear. “His life was bound up with the Confederacy,” he announced. “With the Confederacy he would live or die.” He thanked God that “he represented a people too proud to eat the leek or bow the neck to mortal man.” Davis’s closing combined a cry for unity with unbridled optimism: “Let us unite our hands and hearts, lock our shields together, and we may well believe that before the next summer solstice falls upon us, it will be the enemy who will be asking us for conferences and occasions in which to make our demands.”7
During this fourth winter of the war President Davis dealt with three major policy matters, all aimed at securing independence for his country and all revealing his absolute commitment to his understanding of the Confederate cause. Even in this bleak moment no other politician had risen to challenge Davis’s leadership. Yet there was another Confederate who enjoyed greater popularity and who commanded universal respect: Robert E. Lee. By 1864 he had become a national hero, the selfless and valiant patriot. Lee was without question his nation’s most successful soldier, a general who had so often won stirring victories against tremendous odds. To many beleaguered southerners Lee was the only person who could overcome the seemingly insuperable difficulties pressing upon the Confederacy. As one official confided to his diary, “Nearly all desire to see Lee at the head of affairs.”8
Mounting criticism of Davis’s direction of the war accompanied the cheering of Lee. In
the aftermath of Hood’s defeat and Sherman’s march through Georgia, Davis became an inviting target. He had erred in removing Joseph Johnston; he had mismanaged the western war; he had interfered with generals in the field. The bitterly hostile Richmond Examiner claimed it had discovered the source of the Confederacy’s troubles way back in the Mexican War: “For the horns of this V are not like the horns of a dilemma; one of which you can always choose to be impaled upon; but he gores us with both horns like a bull.”9
Although wild talk was heard about a military dictatorship, attention centered on giving Lee more authority over military affairs. The Virginia legislature called for his elevation to supreme command. In Congress, House and Senate secretly passed a joint resolution asking for Lee to be made general in chief. In the midst of these unmistakable strictures on his direction of the war, Davis remained calm. The possibility of promoting Lee did not distress him; he had previously offered Lee wider responsibilities in addition to the Army of Northern Virginia, which the general had declined. Even so, the president had continuously utilized Lee as a military adviser on questions far beyond Virginia. Still, Davis zealously guarded his executive authority and prerogatives.10
Finally, the president and Congress worked out a solution. Congress passed a bill creating the position of general in chief, which Davis signed. On February 6 he named Lee to the post. In appointing Lee, Davis wrote him, “the honor designed to be bestowed has been so fully won, that the fact of conferring it can add nothing to your fame.” Accepting the appointment, Lee remained the deferential subordinate. “I know I am indebted entirely to your indulgence and kind consideration for this honorable position.” He certainly still recognized Davis as commander in chief. The messages the two men exchanged on the promotion did not portend any change in their relationship, either personal or professional. And none occurred.11
Even before the decision to have a commanding general of all Confederate armies, Jefferson Davis had become involved in two major diplomatic efforts, one directed toward Europe that he initiated, the other with the United States which he accepted. Each signaled the perilous conditions of Confederate fortunes, but simultaneously dramatized Davis’s unshakable faith in his nation.
In January, President Davis became engaged in another attempt to discuss peace with the United States. This effort originated with Francis Preston Blair, Sr., a Kentucky native and notable old Jacksonian. In late 1864 Blair came up with a scheme to end the fighting and hasten reconciliation between the South and the North—the two sections would join together and attack the French in Mexico. He took his plan to President Lincoln and desired to present it to Davis. Lincoln wanted nothing to do with any foreign military action, but agreed to permit Blair to go to Richmond and see what transpired.
On January 12, 1865, Blair arrived in the Confederate capital. His visit was kept secret, though rumors of his presence and its meaning swirled about. When they saw each other, Blair and Davis renewed their prewar friendship before turning to the real purpose of their meeting. Blair asserted that with the war over slavery practically finished, his goal was to reunify the country as quickly as possible. He worried that if the conflict continued, the huge armies employed by both sides would eventually threaten democracy. He could even envision monarchy because foreign powers might pick apart an exhausted America. To preclude these dire possibilities, Blair prescribed a foreign war to restore national harmony. He said that Davis, if he chose, could move west and lead the southern forces from Texas.
In response, according to Blair, the Confederate president was quite receptive to the idea of ending the war. Davis pointed out that more than once he had tried for peace talks. But he thought the reestablishment of sectional accord would necessitate the passage of some time. He did agree that a joint military venture to defend shared values would help the process, though he had doubts about actually mounting one. If the Lincoln administration was serious about peace, Davis said he would either send delegates to Washington or receive a Union delegation in Richmond. Still, he expressed grave reservations about Secretary of State William Henry Seward, whom he declared he would not trust in negotiations. Davis believed that back in 1861 Seward had been duplicitous in his dealings with the Confederate emissaries in Washington. Acknowledging that he did not know Lincoln, Davis requested Blair’s opinion. Blair described the Union leader as a fair, honest man; Davis replied that this positive assessment satisfied him.
Blair returned to Washington carrying a letter to Lincoln in which Davis wrote that if Lincoln would promise to receive Confederate agents, he would promptly make the necessary appointments and “renew the effort to enter into a conference with a view to secure peace to the two countries.” Lincoln would have nothing to do with talk of “two countries.” He prepared a reply in which he instructed Blair to tell Davis that he would receive any person Davis may “informally send me, with a view of securing peace to the people of our common country.” On the twenty-first Blair delivered Lincoln’s response to Davis.
In this proposed conference Davis perceived an opportunity to silence critics who faulted him for not pursuing peace more vigorously. Davis had not altered his opinion that Lincoln would require terms including the end of slavery and the restoration of the Union. Perhaps he was wrong, and if so, he would welcome an end to hostilities. On the other hand, if the result turned out as he expected, it could only help Davis and his cause. If the talks made clear that Lincoln demanded the equivalent of unconditional surrender, his detractors would be quieted, for at this point most were unwilling to give up the Confederacy. Even the Richmond Examiner proclaimed peace on those terms “impossible.” Active in Congress on the peace issue, Senator William A. Graham of North Carolina spoke for many like-minded politicians when he admitted the South was weary of war and surely wanted it over, but concluded that giving up “a great Government” run by men chosen to maintain it would be enormously difficult.
Having decided to participate in a conference, President Davis had now to select his envoys. To help make his decision he took the unusual step of talking with Vice President Stephens, who was in Richmond for the congressional session, and he also brought the matter before his cabinet. All thought Assistant Secretary of War John A. Campbell a good choice. He had been an associate justice of the United States Supreme Court and in 1861 had acted as liaison between the Confederate mission in Washington and Seward. After discussion Davis named two others: Robert M. T. Hunter, his former secretary of state and subsequently a member of the Confederate Senate, where he backed the administration and served on the Foreign Relations Committee; and Vice President Stephens. Initially Davis resisted appointing Stephens, for several months now a vocal opponent of the administration; but he was persuaded by arguments that the vice president, who was well known in the North, was an especially appropriate choice and that anti-administration forces would try to exploit the omission of Stephens, an articulate advocate of peace talks. In the end, Davis made politically astute as well as able choices for his commission.
On January 29 the three men left Richmond for Petersburg and the Federal lines. They hoped to be allowed to pass through and go on to Washington. Although the president announced their departure on a peace mission, his instructions made success almost impossible in the way they spelled out the commission’s assignment: “an informal conference with [Lincoln’s representatives] upon the issues involved in the existing war, and for the purpose of securing peace to the two countries.” Lincoln had never countenanced any language including the concept of “two countries,” as Davis well knew. Judah Benjamin, who drafted the directive, tried to gloss over the point, but Davis put in “two countries.” Those words caused a delay at General Grant’s headquarters, with urgent messages to and from Washington before the Confederates were allowed to proceed. They went aboard a Union vessel and on down the James River, but not to Washington. They stopped at Fortress Monroe, where Secretary Seward awaited them along with President Lincoln, who at the last minute had deci
ded to participate personally.
On February 3 the five men actually met on Lincoln’s steamer. Their discussion would become known as the Hampton Roads Conference. They decided on an informal session with no documents read and no notes taken; there were also no aides, only one steward. After brief pleasantries, the serious talk began. Leading for the Confederates and making no mention of “two countries,” Stephens asked if a way existed to stop the war. Lincoln responded that he knew of only one way: end the rebellion. Stephens then pushed the possibility of a Mexican action. His colleagues also brought up the issue of an armistice during which negotiations could proceed. Lincoln quickly brought reality to the Confederates. There would be no joint Mexican venture and no armistice. Hostilities would cease only when those rebelling against lawful authority quit the struggle and returned to the Union. In addition, all executive decisions regarding slavery would remain intact. Seward then informed the commissioners about the Thirteenth Amendment prohibiting slavery, recently sent to the states for ratification. In Stephens’s account, Lincoln talked about giving additional time to the southern states to ratify and about compensation for slaves. Although historians do not agree on whether Lincoln made such an offer, none disputes his fundamental requirement for peace: the dissolution of the Confederate States of America.
Jefferson Davis, American Page 71
