Incredibly enough, Northern troops, plenty of them, the Seventh New York included, had been standing by, not fifty miles away, since midnight the previous Saturday.
In this case, Lincoln’s missing reinforcements had traversed the Chesapeake Bay by ship, bypassing troublesome Baltimore, had reached Annapolis, but then had been unable to ride the short rail line into Washington, due to torn-up tracks. With the tracks restored, the missing New Yorkers and others finally arrived in the Federal capital on Thursday, April 25.
After Washington’s six days—nearly a full week—of dangerous isolation, noted Leech in her Reveille book, “Crowds came running, and housetops, windows and balconies swarmed with people.”
The war, just started with the Confederate bombardment of Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor, now would go on…and on, interminably for its participants. In April of 1861, no one yet had witnessed, nor even imagined, bloody Bull Run (First Manassas) just outside of Washington itself, with the Federal capital again weakly exposed to possible assault. And so much more pain to follow. Four long years of brother against American brother; of more than 600,000 left dead; of men, women, even children, on both sides so sorely tried. And, at the end, Lincoln would be assassinated, his rival president, Jefferson Davis, would be briefly imprisoned. Both would be hated in many quarters. Many a soul forever would be embittered.
Still, at fearful price, slavery in this country would be brought to a stop and the Union preserved.
Today, it is a benign Lincoln who sits in his temple-like Memorial, modeled upon the Greek Parthenon as a bow to the birthplace of democracy in ancient Greece. The 36 exterior columns symbolize the 36 states of the freshly reunited nation at the time of his death. Their names appear on the frieze above the columns.
Inside architect Henry Bacon’s Lincoln “temple” are three chambers. Two flank the main chamber, which is dominated by the oversized statue of Lincoln. The two smaller chambers display key words from two of Lincoln’s most memorable speeches: the Gettysburg Address of November 19, 1863, and his second inaugural address of March 4, 1865.
Inside those two chambers also, canvas murals by Jules Guerin, each sixty feet long and twelve feet high, show an “Angel of Truth” above both the Gettysburg address selection and Lincoln’s inaugural statement calling for “malice toward none, charity for all.” In the latter case, the “Angel of Truth” joins hands with two figures representing North and South. Since the first “Angel of Truth,” seen above the Gettysburg quotation, is depicted releasing slaves from their shackles, the two themes here are Emancipation and Unity, each certainly a hallmark of Lincoln’s sorely tried presidency.
As for the statue itself—majesty in marble, we might call it—the credit goes to American sculptor Daniel Chester French, who spent years studying the Lincoln story in preparation for the solemn task ahead. The result, in the words of the care-taking National Park Service, is a Lincoln depicted “as a worn but strong individual who had endured many hardships.”
And look at his hands. One is clenched, “representing his strength and determination to see the war through to a successful conclusion.” The other is “a more open, slightly relaxed hand representing his compassionate, warm nature.”
To achieve his masterpiece in marble, sculptor French “viewed photographs, read eyewitness descriptions, and studied Leonard Volk’s 1860 castings of Lincoln’s hands, then sculpted several models until he [French] rendered a perfected final product.” Ecumenically enough, the giant figure we see today is sculpted from marble quarried in the South…in Georgia.
Not that the Massachusetts-born French did it all, either…for such a vast undertaking he needed the help of the Piccirilli marble-cutting workshop of New York, where the six Piccirilli brothers of the firm their father founded “transformed twenty-eight blocks of white Georgia marble into intricately carved pieces that French himself perfected.” Thanks to their “collective efforts,” close examination will show that “the pieces fit together with nearly invisible seams.”
As for authorship of the short inscription to be found right above the timeless marble Lincoln—“In this temple, as in the hearts of the people for whom he saved the Union, the memory of Abraham Lincoln is enshrined forever”—try New York Herald Tribune art critic, columnist and lecturer Royal Cortissoz. They say that out of the thousands upon thousands of words he wrote in his lifetime, these few were his proudest accomplishment.
So, there you have it, the Lincoln Memorial, under construction—under creation, really—from 1914 to its completion and dedication in 1922, just one of the many, many stories emanating from the Civil War a century and a half ago.
THE CIVIL WAR’S TWO FIRST LADIES
by Ingrid Smyer
Varina: Forgotten First Lady
EVERYONE KNEW HER—THIS FEISTY, ELEGANT, AND, AS SOME DESCRIBED HER, often regal First Lady of the Confederate States of America. But not everyone loved her.
A true Southern belle and so much more, Varina Howell Davis, wife of Confederate President Jefferson Davis, was a devoted wife, a conscientious mother, an astute manager of plantation affairs, and a keen student of current events. In time this survivor of severely difficult years matured to become the writer of a comprehensive biography of Jefferson Davis.
Her dark beauty and vivacious personality could have propelled her straight from the pages of a romance novel. She was a captivating, fictionlike heroine always committed totally for or against a person or idea. This trait, coupled with her dynamic abilities in so many areas, may explain the devotion she stirred among so many of her contemporaries and the vehement hatred seen in so many others.
A mere girl when she met the distinguished but older Davis (she was seventeen and he was thirty-six), she came away with a rather mixed first impression. “I do not know whether this Mr. Jefferson Davis is young or old,” she wrote her mother. “He looks both at times.” Varina decided, to her dismay, that he must be old since he was only two years younger than her own mother.
Years later, while writing her memoirs, she remembered the first time she and Jefferson went riding together. It was during a Christmas holiday when she was a guest at “The Hurricane,” the plantation that belonged to Joseph Davis, the elder brother who filled the role of father for the younger Jefferson. “He rode with more grace than any man I have ever seen and gave one the impression of being incapable either of being unseated or fatigued,” wrote Varina.
What she didn’t mention was that she, too, was a polished rider who kept up with the best. That particular day she made a fetching picture in her bonnieblue riding costume with plumed hat.
Born into a prominent family of Natchez, Varina was accustomed to the good things of life. Raised at “The Briers” on the outskirts of town, she led a sheltered life typical of a plantation girl of her day, but she longed for wider horizons. She once wishfully described the extent of her travels as “autour de ma chambre.”
Then, in 1843, came the invitation from close family friend Joseph Davis for Varina to spend the Christmas holidays with his family at The Hurricane, thirty miles below Vicksburg. Perhaps the elder Davis hoped that this vibrant young lady would shake his widower brother from his long grief over the death of Sarah Knox Taylor (daughter of future President Zachary Taylor) just months after their marriage. In the eight years since then, he had shown no interest in remarriage. With his best years slipping away, he remained in isolation on a Mississippi plantation, and his recent interest in the male-dominated politics of the day was not likely to find him a new wife.
Enter Varina Howell, tall, attractive, full of energy and grace. She had just changed her little-girl curls for a more sophisticated, smooth hairdo, with her long tresses parted in the middle and swept up on either side. Her thick, dark hair crowned an oval face with soft features and dark eyes. Those eyes—a dominant feature—often danced with fire; at other times they were soft and friendly.
This striking young lady was also highly intelligent—although she had attended
a female seminary in Philadelphia for two terms, she later in life gave full credit to her home-bound tutor of twelve years’ standing, Judge George Winchester, for “the little learning I have acquired,” and for his “pure, high standard of right.” Thanks to the good judge, she excelled in Latin and the English classics. Always well informed, she read the National Intelligencer regularly and rarely was loathe to express her thoughts on the issues of the day. A Whig and Episcopalian, as were most of her social set, she held strong opinions. Thus her observation to her mother about the younger Davis at their first meeting: “Would you believe it, he is refined and cultivated, and yet he is a Democrat!”
Politics aside, theirs was an immediate attraction, followed by a whirlwind romance. Varina fell in love with the stately, serious-minded soldier-turnedplanter; he in turn was entranced by her stimulating conversation, her quick wit, and her good looks.
In those few weeks at his brother’s plantation they spent many happy hours together. He also took her to “Brierfield,” his land adjacent to the vast Hurricane holdings, to show her the fields he had turned into a plantation of his own. Before she returned to Natchez in January, they became engaged. Thus began a lifelong devotion that took them through good times and bad.
Although Varina’s new love came from a moneyed family, Varina could boast an impressive pedigree all her own. Grandfather Richard Howell served with distinction under General Washington as both soldier and secret agent. He subsequently became governor of New Jersey. His third son, Varina’s father, William Burr Howell, left home at an early age to seek his fortune, served in the Navy during the War of 1812, and eventually settled high on a bluff of the Mississippi River at Natchez. Here he was befriended by Joseph Davis, who later served as groomsman at his wedding to one of the belles of Natchez, Margaret Louisa Kempe. She was the daughter of Colonel James Kempe from Dublin, Ireland, who fought alongside Andrew Jackson in Alabama and New Orleans, then settled in Mississippi, amassed a fortune, and married a Virginia girl, Margaret Graham. Grandmother Kempe was to be a role model for young Varina—both had fiery tempers matched with worldly charm and strong convictions.
Jefferson and Varina were married in a simple ceremony at her home, with little time spent on formal arrangements. The wedding had been put on hold for many months due to a lingering fever that weakened the bride-to-be. Still recovering, she was determined that they should wed at once. For the wedding on February 26, 1845, she wore a white embroidered Indian muslin trimmed in lace and set off by a pink rose from the garden in her hair. A breakfast followed in a drawing room filled with white hyacinth.
Then came a wedding trip by river boat to visit his sister’s house in Louisiana, the very place Sarah Knox Taylor had died. The sojourn also included a stop at that unfortunate woman’s grave. (This may have been done at Varina’s suggestion, since throughout her life she always honored the memory of her husband’s first love.) After a visit to husband Jefferson’s mother at the family home in Woodville, it was on to New Orleans before settling into life on the plantation. Here, at her husband’s Brierfield, Varina made a gracious transition from teenager to capable wife.
But politics had entered their peaceful picture. Davis, who had taken part in a political meeting for the first time in his life the same week that he and Varina met, soon acquired a seat in Congress. Next, war intervened, too—the West Point graduate marched off to the Mexican War, where he would earn a hero’s spurs and reunite with his former father-in-law, General Zachary Taylor.
With Mexico soon defeated, it wasn’t long before Taylor rode his own military coattails straight into the White House. Joining the Taylors in Washington just as quickly were Senator and Mrs. Jefferson Davis of Mississippi—first appointed to the Senate to complete a deceased member’s unexpired term, Davis won the same seat in his own right in the election of 1848, coincident with Taylor’s election.
The move to Washington was to tap Varina’s social skills as never before, but she was not intimidated in the least by capital society. She soon was a familiar figure in the most prestigious salons of Washington. Her political astuteness won her many friends—and some obviously jealous enemies. Her powers of observation would serve her well as she made mental notes of the famous and not-so-famous, passing along her insights to her idealistic husband, still a neophyte in the political game and somewhat unbending in manner. Her vivacious personality made up for his native aloofness, and it certainly did not hurt their social standing to be embraced as intimates of the first family in the White House. In fact, Senator Davis and his wife would be with the family as the president lay dying from a stomach ailment in July 1850.
It wasn’t long before the Mississippi couple would be seen as close friends of still another White House occupant—Franklin Pierce, a bona fide Yankee by virtue of his New England background and a sharp contrast to the late President Taylor’s Virginia heritage. Davis would serve in Pierce’s Cabinet as Secretary of War from 1853 to 1857.
Returning to their Mississippi plantation whenever possible, Varina and Jefferson tended to their flower gardens and improved their land. They took daily rides on fast racing horses and “enjoyed the exercise exceedingly,” she wrote. “Nothing could be more pleasant than the dense shade through which we could ride for miles in air redolent of the perfume of the moss, flowers, wild crabapple and plum blossoms.” As the specter of politics continually intruded, she “began to know the bitterness of being a politicians’s wife,” she wrote many years later. Her situation “meant long absences, pecuniary depletion from ruinous absenteeism, illness from exposure, misconceptions, defamation of character; everything which darkens the sunlight and contracts the happy sphere of home.”
Even so, Varina blossomed in motherhood with the birth in 1852 of a son named Samuel. She still missed her husband, who was off campaigning for his “Yankee” friend Franklin Pierce, and in a very human, surprisingly candid, letter for her day, she wrote him that “your wife’s courage is giving out about your staying away for such a time. I feel the want of you every hour, though I try not to be so selfish.”
With the elections of 1852 past, the Davises returned to the nation’s capital as Jefferson joined Pierce’s Cabinet. These days in Washington were happy ones for the Mississippi couple, he enjoying his work in the War Department and she participating in social and political affairs even while developing a satisfying role as serious helpmate to her husband.
Varina would often wait up for Jefferson. Then they would burn the midnight oil working on a project together, she doing double duty as researcher and secretary. It was during this time of working alongside her husband that Varina came to idealize him—perhaps too much. At least one historian, Clifford Dowdey, has written that she was helpmate in the true sense of the word, but where she “failed him” was in “never turning her analytical gaze on the man she regarded as perfect, virtually godlike.”
Mr. Dowdey’s words were true. Varina’s historic 1890 memoir of their days together glorified her husband and offered justification for all he had accomplished…or tried. Her Jefferson Davis: A Memoir by His Wife also was her repudiation of detractors from both North and South. And if her writing is often valued for the sketches peppered throughout of the leading figures of her times, it provides insights, some unintended, into Varina’s own makeup.
Her husband lost his Cabinet post with the arrival of the James Buchanan administration in 1857, but no great matter—Jefferson Davis was back again as a senator from Mississippi. And Varina, for her part, had already become one of the newly installed president’s favorite Washington ladies. For her the social swim merely continued, except that too soon the inevitable was upon them all.
The long debate was over. It was now a fait accompli. South Carolina, soon followed by five more Southern states, Mississippi among them, seceded from the Union.
The Southern legislators would of course be taking their leave very shortly. Like his fellow solons, Jefferson Davis delivered a final speech in the Senate of
the United States, his address stressing a plea for peace. “There was scarcely a dry eye in the multitude as he took his seat,” noted Varina.
These were dramatic times, and nowhere was it more obvious in the next few days than in Washington, where the streets were crowded with teary-eyed friends bidding good-byes. “As the planters’ coaches went rumbling off to the South, laden with the fine trappings of their luxurious existence,” wrote Varina biographer Ishbel Ross in her book First Lady of the South, “the Davises made a quiet and unostentatious departure but were greeted at many stops as they traveled South.” They were returning to their beloved land to prepare for what he predicted would be “a long and severe struggle.”
That was in January 1861. In February Varina and Jefferson, at home once again, were tending their roses at Brierfield when they received the historic message that was to change their lives forever. Indeed, the rocky road ahead would never lead them back to their cherished rose garden as they knew it at that moment.
As Jefferson Davis read the message saying that he had been selected for the presidency of the newly formed Confederate States of America, “he looked so grieved,” said Varina, “that I feared some evil had befallen our family.” He left the next day for Montgomery, Alabama. Varina was to follow later with the children—Margaret, six (oldest child Samuel had died in 1854); little Jeff, four; and Joseph, two; plus Varina’s sister Maggie, now a permanent member of the family. Varina put her house in order and left by riverboat to join her husband in the capital of the new Confederacy.
A seven-gun salute announced Varina’s arrival as she sailed up the Alabama River on the King. While she was warmly greeted by old friends from Washington days, the general public now showed a great deal of curiosity about this stately woman of thirty-five, elegantly dressed and coiffured, her dark hair in Grecian braids.
Best Little Stories from the Civil War: More than 100 true stories Page 36
