After Buena Vista, the war began to wind down for the First Mississippi. With Mexican and American attention centered on Winfield Scott’s campaign, which got underway in early March 1847, Taylor’s force became basically an army of occupation, guarding supply lines and tangling with guerrillas. During the spring the regiment prepared for its homeward journey. A volunteer organization, it had been mustered in for one year, and its twelve months would be up in June.
On May 17, near Monterrey, a parade was held to honor the Rifles, with Old Rough-and-Ready appearing in full regulation uniform, a rare display, to pay his respects to a unit that he had grown to admire greatly. As the ceremony concluded, Colonel Davis brought the Rifles to attention with each man standing as nearly as possible where he had stood the evening before the Battle of Monterrey. A witness pictured “a solemn sight,” with “great gaps” marking the places that had been occupied by those who had fallen. To this observer “the Regiment looked like an old comb with most of the teeth broken out.” The First Mississippi had embarked for Mexico with more than 900 officers and men, but would return home with only 376 battle-tested veterans. Following the parade, the regiment retraced its route to Camargo, on to the mouth of the Rio Grande, and finally to New Orleans, which all companies reached in early June.63
The First Mississippi and Colonel Jefferson Davis disembarked in New Orleans to a tumultuous welcome. Even before leaving the mouth of the Rio Grande, each man in the regiment received a new blue uniform presented by the Mississippi legislature. In the Crescent City on the afternoon of June 10, a “grand and imposing” parade marched to Lafayette Square, the site of the official celebration. After welcoming remarks, Davis rose to respond, resting his wounded leg on a chair because he could not yet walk. In his brief comments he thanked the multitude for their celebration of his brave men, who had unflinchingly faced the enemy and performed magnificently. Both those who fell and remained beneath Mexican soil and those who returned he crowned true heroes, who did their duty and “gave themselves to their country.” Davis thought the reception tendered by the city glorious, for “next to approval of his own conscience,” he told the gathering, “the soldier values the approbation of his country.” Thereupon the throng made its way to the Place d’Armes, where tables 300 feet long groaned with “everything that the heart could wish.”64
Two days later Davis and four companies headed upriver on steamboats for Natchez and Vicksburg. In Natchez, an excited crowd, including Varina Davis, greeted the victorious soldiers. Once more, Colonel Davis spoke for “the brave men he had the honor to command,” who had fought superbly and prevailed against great odds, saying he owed to them “all that, under the circumstances, one man could owe to another.” And again he thanked the people for “the very kind reception that had been extended” to him and all who served with him. Then came “the sumptuously loaded board,” some twenty toasts, bands playing, and cannon thundering. After the festivities, Davis and Varina rode to the river landing “in a barouche nearly hidden with flowers.…” In Vicksburg a five-gun salute welcomed the party, and a procession with nineteen separate units wound to the square for speeches. Then all moved on to Camp Independence, where the regiment had been organized, for barbecue and liquid refreshment, accompanied by thirteen regular toasts with ten more in response from the Rifles.65
Although Mississippi hailed its entire regiment, the commander received special accolades. While the Rifles were still in Mexico, the correspondent of the Vicksburg Whig applauded Davis, who had “more than distinguished himself” and “attracted the attention of the whole army, and receives and merits unqualified praise.” This journalist, who lived with the regiment, reported that the men under Davis’s command “conceived him to be superior to any officer in the army—those of them who have no personal fondness for him, prefer him as a commander to anyone else.” One of his officers added that even among those who felt Davis’s manner too abrupt and even chilling, “their confidence he possesses in the highest degree.” A publicly announced “spontaneous project” called for funds to present him with a sword. “Davis is one of those brilliant meteors that shoots along and illuminates the military horizon of the world, at intervals, long and far between,” exclaimed an eastern Mississippi newspaper. Davis was adjudged qualified “for any station that a Republican government can bestow.” This heroic image even spawned verse, with one poem closing,
The Son of our State whom so proudly we claim;
The soldier and leader—the foremost in fame.66
A year earlier Davis had told his sister that his service in Mexico might give him a significant reputation. He could hardly have imagined the result. And this renown would spread far beyond the borders of his state.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“At Present All Is Uncertainty”
Jefferson Davis returned from Mexico in the late spring of 1847 as an authentic war hero, with all the status a war hero commanded in his culture. Observers proclaimed that he could win any state office, and none was too good for him. The editor of the Ripley Advertiser declared that Davis would go through the state like “ ‘a streak of lightning’ getting more votes and with more hearty good will than any man who has run for office in Mississippi this many a year.” The state Democratic convention adopted as the party motto a command Davis had given at Buena Vista: “Forward—guide centre—march!”1
Davis’s overwhelming popularity in Mississippi had manifestations far beyond the borders of his home state. Still running a war, President Polk had more officers to appoint, including a new brigadier general. Always favoring partisan credentials and personal loyalty, the president wanted to appoint Robert Armstrong, a longtime friend of his as well as a former associate and subordinate of Andrew Jackson’s. The politician Polk found politics blocking his way, however. He informed Armstrong that “public sentiment” clamored for Jefferson Davis, and his failure to heed it “would probably have produced the most disastrous consequences.” To ensure that Mississippi remained Democratic, Polk told his friend, he had “to yield” and appoint Davis. And even though the Mississippian was clearly not his preferred choice, the president described Davis as a “scientific and gallant officer,” who “richly merit[ed]” his promotion. His decision made, Polk on May 19 wrote Davis praising his performance in Mexico and tendering him a commission as a brigadier general in the United States Army to command a brigade of volunteers.2
When Davis received the commission, he was not at all sure that he wanted to return to the army, even as a general. Without question he liked the military, and he had certainly succeeded as a regimental commander. But now he had questions about the army, and he also had to weigh his options as a civilian. A Taylor partisan, Davis knew that Winfield Scott directed the primary war theater, with John Quitman a new major general in that command. Given these circumstances, Davis had to doubt his role should his assignment place him with Scott’s force. Away from the army, his luminous stature in Mississippi offered seemingly limitless possibilities. Even before his return, there was talk of his replacing United States Senator Jesse Speight, who had died on May 1. In addition, many urged that he be given the Democratic nomination for governor.
Davis did not make this critical decision without seeking advice. Although he certainly discussed his options with Joseph and most probably with Varina, whose preference he could not doubt, no records reveal their deliberations, except to indicate that Joseph expected his brother to be offered the Senate seat. Davis also consulted his former commanding general and fast friend, Zachary Taylor, who had no doubts. While he believed that Davis deserved both a general’s star and any political reward, he advised against the army. He shared Davis’s view, erroneous as it turned out, that the war would not last much longer. Moreover, he expressed his opinion that whatever fighting remained would take on more of “a guerilla character,” in which “little of reputation c[ould] be gained.” Taylor therefore urged Davis to go to the Senate, if his private affairs permitted.3
D
avis decided on the political course. In a June 20 letter he thanked President Polk profusely, but turned down the brigadier-generalship on constitutional grounds. He maintained that because volunteers were really militia troops, they had a constitutional right to serve under the immediate command of officers appointed by state authority, even after they entered the service of the United States. Thus, Davis said he could not take command of such units in violation of his principles. No evidence indicates that he had previously held such convictions, but they gave respectability to his negative response, in no way disparaging the president or the war and also enabling him to mask his choice of political office.4
At the moment Davis declined the commission, he did not know absolutely that the Senate appointment was his. Yet the available evidence indicates that hope alone did not underlie his refusal of the president’s offer. As early as May 1847, various newspapers had asserted that Governor Albert G. Brown would surely award the vacant post to Davis, and in mid-July, Davis informed a political confidant that he was “really obliged to Governor Brown for feelings which by others I had been led to believe that he did not entertain towards to me.” Zachary Taylor leaves no question that Davis saw the Senate as considerably more than a mere possibility. Commenting on Davis’s correspondence to him, Taylor in June wrote a son-in-law that Davis was deciding between a civilian and a military position.5
Even though certainty is impossible, the record forcefully suggests that sometime early in the summer Governor Brown let Davis know how he intended to fill the Senate vacancy. After all, Brown was a shrewd politician who knew as much about the public mood in Mississippi as anyone else. He undoubtedly saw Davis as a potential rival, but he had no intention of turning the wounded war hero into a political martyr. Besides, other leaders pushed him to appoint Davis. When, on August 1o, Brown sent Davis formal notification of the appointment, he received in return the prompt acceptance he expected. As all had anticipated, public acclaim resounded through the state. Praising the governor’s action, the leading Democratic newspaper proclaimed, “No selection could have given greater satisfaction to the whole State than this.” The Whig press exuberantly joined the chorus: “In this appointment the Governor has, without doubt, given expression to the wishes of a large majority of the people of the State.”6
Davis would be making his second trip to Washington in as many years, but sharply different circumstances marked the occasion. In the fall of 1845 he had been an unknown freshman congressman. Two years later he would enter the Senate with a national reputation as an enormously popular military hero, who had rapidly ascended to the highest level of Mississippi politics. In 1845 he had taken his young bride with him to the capital, but this time he would leave her behind.
Jefferson Davis went to Washington alone because the family difficulties that had first brought him home from Mexico erupted again. His arrival at Davis Bend in June 1847 seemed to inflame what had been at best a simmering détente between wife and brother. That summer Varina wrote her mother decrying “this miserable business of Brother Joe’s,” which had given Jefferson “more pain if possible than expected.” The evidence makes clear, however, that Jefferson’s distress did not result chiefly from anything Joseph did, but rather from Varina’s behavior. Addressing her directly, he did not mince words: “You had an opportunity when I came to you cripple, so as to be confined to the house, to quarrel with me as much as would have satisfied any ordinary person.…”7
Although it appears that Joseph and Varina’s competition for Jefferson’s affection and attention underlay the discord, at least two specific matters generated abundant agitation for Varina. First, the old issue of Jefferson’s will arose once more. A new will drawn up in 1847 evidently replicated central portions of the 1846 version, which had surely upset her. The terms of this one also stipulated that she could live at Brierfield and would receive income from the plantation during her lifetime, but, as before, she would share these proceeds with certain of her husband’s relatives. Also, as in 1846, she would not control the estate, much less inherit the property, a situation that she found intolerable.8
Compounding the matter of the will which so offended Varina were the plans for a new residence at Brierfield. During Jefferson’s leave at Davis Bend in the fall of 1846, he had agreed to build a new and larger home, but beyond that general determination, he and Varina had settled on no specifics. As the plans matured in the autumn of 1847, Varina reacted furiously, angry at both Jefferson and Joseph. She was distressed mainly because the house was being designed to accommodate not only Jefferson and herself but also his widowed sister Amanda and her children. The house would have a central section separating two wings and two kitchens, one for each family.
Though the general cause of Varina’s unhappiness is clear, the precise origins are less so. That she would have to share her home with another woman rankled her. She also identified Joseph as a source of trouble, blaming him for trying to dictate particulars of construction. She told her mother that decisions concerning the house were not always conveyed to her, even though “I always speak as if it were mine and no one else’s.” At the same time she admitted that all family members remained “affectionate” with her.9
Jefferson, in contrast, pointed to Varina herself. He claimed that she had proposed that Amanda live with them, and he planned the house design on her wishes. Then, according to Jefferson, Varina changed her mind and announced that to live with Amanda would be “a source of misery.” He even told Varina that she had been generally disagreeable about the design, rejecting several proposals before finally agreeing to one. The question of fault or responsibility aside, the two women did like each other. Alone at Brierfield with her husband in Mexico, Varina enjoyed visits from Amanda, who was living at Hurricane, and she liked Amanda’s daughter, Malie, who often spent the night with her. Eventually, according to Varina, they “declined” to live together because, as Varina put it, neither of them would be subordinate in the household.10
In the fall of 1847 Jefferson Davis became quite impatient with his wife and emphasized his displeasure with her by leaving her at home when he departed for Washington. Because their months in the capital when he served in the House had been so exhilarating for Varina, he had to know how much it would hurt her not to accompany him. When she told her mother that she “had rather die than take leave of him,” she may have spoken truthfully, but she had no choice in the matter. She also reported that Jefferson “went from [her] comfortable, and as happy as the circumstances would admit of.” The circumstances obviously were not at all happy.11
Jefferson was blunt. “I will be frank with you,” he wrote from Washington about why he had refused to bring her with him. Even though he headed north “with body crippled, even shattered, and mind depressed,” he had felt compelled to go without her because his “dread of constant strife was so great.” “I cannot expose myself to such conduct as your’s when with me here,” he declared. “I cannot bear constant harassment, occasional reproach, and subsequent misrepresentation.” To him, his wife’s misdeeds had been numerous and serious—her attitude about the house; her not caring for him when he was hurt; her grumbling about servants, then becoming angry when he found “a kind companion,” Amanda, to take charge of the household when he was away; her accusing his relatives of having “a mercenary motive”; her general complaining and bitterness. It had been too much: “henceforth I will not answer your assaults or insults.” He growled that unless she changed, her conduct “would render it impossible for us ever to live together.”
While admonishing his wife, Jefferson Davis revealed once again his view of their relationship. He had hoped that “left in our separation to the full force of your affection for me, you would have enjoyed more equanimity than when we were together.” Admitting that “I cannot bear to be suspected or complained of, or misconstrued after explanation, by you,” he inveighed, “circumstances, habits, education, combativeness, render you prone to apply the tests which I have
just said I cannot bear.” He expected that she “would have grappled with substantial facts,” which would have led her to “a line of conduct suited to the character of your husband, and demanded by your duties as a wife.” “You should,” he intoned, “as a moral duty as a social obligation exercise such prudence and self-control in all things as will conduce to your health physical and mental.”12
In the midst of this blistering lecture, an obviously angry husband still professed his love for what he saw as an errant wife. At one point he even suggested that Varina may have acted unintentionally. “We are opt by viewing our own heart, to contrive our acts differently from others, and conscious of your love for me, you may not have understood how far your treatment of me was injurious.” Despite his discouragement at most of her letters, in which he detected little beneficial change in her attitude, he mentioned the “community and affection” they shared. In April 1848 he even let her know that Mrs. Robert Walker had offered to have Varina stay with her at the Virginia springs and elsewhere after the congressional recess. His love for her had obviously not diminished, and because of that, “it would always make me happier to be with you, if kind and peaceful.” Trying to convey those feelings, he closed this spring letter: “Affectionately your husband Truth & Love ever attend upon you—Good night.” He also sent her tangible symbols—a cameo of him enclosed in a band of gold for her wrist, a small gold chain, and a gold pen and pencil. Despite this showing of a softer side, he did not invite her to Washington and would remain apart from her until his return to Mississippi in the late summer of 1848.13
No evidence remains that clearly illumines Varina’s reaction to her husband’s harsh preaching, though his soft words and endearing gifts tempered its severity. None of her letters to him during this nine-month separation has survived, or been discovered. Although she did cherish her presents, she probably divulged less than the entire truth when to her mother she announced, “in trying to do my whole, I am happy, and absolutely look upon Jeff’s pleasure or displeasure as a minor consideration to my own duty.”14
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