Davis advised Johnston that he would strive to augment his army. And he had already begun calling for reinforcements from all over the West, including the river force at New Orleans, to succor Johnston. General Beauregard waited in Corinth, Mississippi, for these disparate units. Even before Fort Donelson, Davis had ordered Beauregard to leave Joseph Johnston’s army to assist Albert Sidney Johnston in his huge command. As the victorious Federals pursued the retreating Confederates, they divided their forces, one under Grant ascending the Tennessee, another initially sent to Nashville, and a third along the Mississippi. President Davis urged Johnston to strike one Federal column. He recognized that Johnston, even reinforced, would be no match for the united Union host, but he hoped his general could isolate one element of his enemy and inflict a blow of such magnitude that sagging morale would rebound. He told Johnston he anticipated victory, and as with all his commanders asked to be kept fully and regularly informed.16
Sidney Johnston did not disagree. In early March he sent an aide to Richmond to affirm that he remained optimistic and intended to fight, but not until he had crossed the Tennessee River. Later in the month he sent a lengthy message to the president, saying he expected the criticism leveled against him. But he had been so busy trying to cope with the disastrous situation, he had not had the opportunity thoroughly to investigate events at Fort Donelson. After sketching his current understanding of what had happened there, Johnston said he had no interest in attributing blame to subordinates for past errors. Instead, he was concentrating on future operations. He also hoped Davis would soon visit his army, and if the president decided to assume command, he would happily assist. In the meantime, Johnston planned to join with Beauregard and turn on the enemy before he could reunite. He believed the result would silence all critics. In this message, the president saw what he saw in himself, a selfless patriot eager to destroy the enemy.17
On April 6, Johnston flung his hurriedly assembled and incompletely organized army at the most advanced Federal column under Ulysses Grant, encamped on the western side of the Tennessee River just across the Mississippi state line from Corinth. Shiloh, the name of a little country church, became the Confederate designation for the greatest and bloodiest battle of the war to that date; together casualties on both sides reached some 24,000. On the first day the Confederates seemed on the verge of fantastic success against the surprised Federals. Intent on driving Grant back into the Tennessee River, the gray lines pressed inexorably forward in vicious fighting. But as daylight began to disappear, the Confederate attack was halted. Tidings of a great victory flashed to Richmond, but there was terrible news for the president: Sidney Johnston had died on the battlefield, mortally wounded while rallying his troops on the front lines. Command passed to Beauregard, who late in the afternoon stopped the assaults.18
Reinforced the next day by units arriving from Nashville, Grant drove the Confederates back across the ground they had purchased so dearly, and Beauregard withdrew to Corinth. This was not the great victory that had been initially reported and celebrated in the capital. Still, Shiloh—or Pittsburg Landing, as the Union called it—would have enormous consequences. The battle ended all thought of a quick and easy Union triumph in the West; the Confederates could and would fight.
For Jefferson Davis, the disappointment in the outcome at Shiloh could not match his distress at Sidney Johnston’s death; he pronounced the loss “irreparable.” Privately he wept, mourning Johnston’s loss as “the greatest the country could suffer from.” Later he confessed to the general’s son, “My dear Boy, I cannot think calmly of your Father. I cannot speak or write of him without immotion.” In his memoir he wrote that in Johnston’s “fall the great pillar of the Southern Confederacy was crushed, and beneath its fragments the best hope of the Southwest lay buried.” Based on reports coming to him that he surely wanted to accept, Davis also believed that in halting the Confederate attack Beauregard had given up Johnston’s great victory, a belief he clung to all his life. The question of whether Beauregard’s decision to halt prevented a decisive Confederate triumph has no simple answer. The weight of scholarly opinion holds that the Confederate assault had spent itself, and neither Johnston nor anyone else could have driven Grant into the Tennessee River, though not all students of the battle agree. As for leadership, riding along the front lines like a regimental commander, Johnston demonstrated a flair for inspiring volunteer troops on the battlefield but revealed little mastery of tactics or full understanding of the role of a commanding general.19
While coping with frustration and grief in the West, Davis also had to deal with the enemy almost at his doorstep. McClellan was slowly and methodically pushing Joseph Johnston back up the Peninsula toward Richmond. In mid-March, to help deal with this massive military responsibility, Davis brought Robert E. Lee back as his military adviser. After some difficult months in western Virginia, and following the fall of Port Royal, South Carolina, Lee had been sent to shore up the coastal defenses of South Carolina and Georgia. Although Davis worried that ordering Lee to return to Richmond could risk the safety of Charleston and Savannah, he decided he had to have Lee by his side. On March 13, Davis charged Lee with conducting “military operations in the armies of the Confederacy” under the president, though Lee was not specifically designated commanding general. Still, he had Davis’s authority, and after Sidney Johnston’s death, he outranked every other officer in the Confederate army but Adjutant and Inspector General Cooper.20
On March 14, at almost the same time Davis appointed Lee, he vetoed a bill passed by Congress creating the office of commanding general of all Confederate armies. In rejecting the bill, Davis has usually been faulted for his unwillingness or inability, or both, to relinquish any authority. Yet Davis had been involved in preparation of the initial bill; but when a provision was added permitting the commanding general on his own initiative to take the field, Davis balked and tried unsuccessfully to have that stipulation deleted. He had legitimate reasons for his objections to the proposed statute. In his veto message he assured Congress that he “fully approve[d]” the proposition to have an individual “under direction of the President” head the army. After all, he had just given Lee such a commission. His problem lay elsewhere, and he had tried unsuccessfully to get Congress to reconsider his concern. He specifically rejected the portion of the measure that permitted the commanding general at his choice to take the field and command any army he pleased, without presidential authority. In Davis’s mind, this provision completely undermined the constitutional vesting of the president as commander in chief. As he bluntly put it, “The Executive could in no just sense be said to be Commander in Chief if without the power to control the discretion of the general created by this act.” Davis had a sound constitutional position; besides, no president would willingly give up the power Davis zealously guarded. Davis may not have wanted anyone to carry the title commanding general of all armies, but he had Lee, to whom he had given similar powers, and before Shiloh he had his most trusted general in command in the West.21
Lee occupied a critical position and exercised considerable influence, particularly in the East. As the intermediary between the president and Joseph Johnston, he transmitted Davis’s wishes and attempted to glean information about Johnston’s intentions. Davis and Lee wanted to strike McClellan; an unhappy Johnston doubted the wisdom of defending Richmond, much less attacking the stronger enemy. He remained uncommunicative and even secretive. On May 14 Davis and Lee visited Johnston’s headquarters for a full discussion, but even though the three men talked until quite late—so late that Davis and Lee spent the night—no conclusion was reached. Responding to Davis’s inquiries about his plans, Johnston replied that because he had insufficient strength to take the offensive, he had to bide his time and hope his adversary would make a mistake. Two days later, with Johnston in Richmond’s suburbs, a presidential message received the same vague response; the general could only wait for McClellan. Even this crisis did not allay the tensi
on between president and field commander.22
With Lee, however, the president enjoyed a sharply different relationship. During their time together in the late spring and summer of 1861, and again between March and May of 1862, when they saw each other almost daily, the two men developed a rapport, even a trust. As Davis told an aide, “Genl Lee acts in accord with [me].” Lee was not so cautious or timid as Johnston, nor was he plagued with the concern that action might injure his reputation. He and Davis agreed that the Confederates could not keep waiting until Johnston perceived a blunder by McClellan. In addition, neither wanted to give up Richmond without a desperate fight. Publicly responding to concerns expressed by the Virginia legislature, the president declared on May 14 “that it would be the effort of his life to defend the soil of Virginia and to cover her capital.” Determined to impede McClellan, Davis and Lee bypassed Johnston completely. Without Johnston’s knowledge or input, they decided to use the small contingents in the Shenandoah Valley combined under Major General Thomas J. “Stonewall” Jackson, nominally a part of Johnston’s command. The Davis-Lee stratagem was phenomenally successful. Their first goal was the disposition of the 40,000 Federal soldiers at Fredericksburg intended for McClellan’s army. In a brilliant campaign Jackson turned the Shenandoah into his playpen, outmarching, outfighting, and outgeneraling several Federal commanders. Jackson’s triumphs influenced the Lincoln administration to hold the Union forces at Fredericksburg to protect Washington, if that became necessary.23
Still, Federal cannon could be heard in Richmond, and the peals of the city’s church bells reached Union lines. During the last week in May, Johnston finally saw an opportunity for an attack. He believed he could bring a superior force against the smaller portion of McClellan’s army on the Richmond or northern side of the rain-swollen Chicka-hominy River. Holding to his pattern, he did not inform Lee or Davis of his plans. On May 31, he struck. Despite delays, poor coordination, and disjointed attacks, the Confederates drove their enemy back. The sounds of the Battle of Seven Pines, less than ten miles from Richmond, brought the commander in chief to the field. At Johnston’s headquarters Davis and Lee could find no one who could tell them exactly what was happening. Johnston himself had ridden toward the fighting, and Davis and Lee followed. Reaching the battlefield, the president joined officers in attempting to rally troops who had been repulsed. At nightfall, as the Confederates regrouped to continue their assault on the following morning, a shell fragment severely wounded Johnston. Federal artillery still raked the area; a member of the president’s party commented on shells falling among them and cutting up trees. Seeing Johnston carried from the field, Davis dismounted, offered the general his hand, and asked if he could do anything. Shaking his head, Johnston said he did not know how seriously he had been hurt. Obviously moved, Davis wrote his wife that “the poor fellow bore his suffering most heroically.” But as the litter-bearers carried Johnston to the rear, Davis knew he had to find a new general to defend Richmond and save the army. And given the dire circumstances, he could not delay. He decided almost immediately on Lee. No one else was available; none of Johnston’s generals had distinguished themselves. Besides, the president had “perfect confidence” in Lee. During their ride back to Richmond in the gathering darkness, Davis told Lee that he would be assigned to command the army. The next day the Battle of Seven Pines played out with the Federals retaking the ground they had lost.24
The military difficulties had profound political and social manifestations that certainly affected Jefferson Davis. In late February, in his brief message to the initial session of the First Congress, he publicly acknowledged the “serious disasters” that had befallen the country. He found their genesis in the government’s attempt to defend all of its territory with a paucity of “the means for the prosecution of the war on so gigantic a scale.” At the same time he called the losses of Roanoke Island and Fort Donelson “humiliating.” Yet even while admitting unpleasant realities, he remained undaunted about his cause. “I cannot doubt,” he told the senators and representatives, “that the bitter disappointments we have borne, by nerving the people to still greater exertions, will speedily secure results more accordant with our just expectation, and as favorable to our cause as those which marked the earlier periods of the war.”25
The president’s message, however, salved neither popular dismay nor congressional unrest. Members of Congress wanted to know why Roanoke Island and Fort Donelson had been lost, and demanded that the administration take measures to bolster the war effort. Critics lashed out, cursing the president and even wishing for his capture by Union forces. Lining up with the opposition, Robert Toombs wrote Vice President Stephens that “Davis’s incapacity was lamentable.” In this pessimistic environment Davis worried about a possible attempt to establish a border-state confederacy. Deeply troubled as he was by the mounting criticism, he was reported by one government official as mentioning resignation.26
Both in and out of Congress the cries for change began to focus on the cabinet. After his inauguration as the first elected president, Davis had to submit his cabinet choices for confirmation by the permanent Senate. One member of the group had become a lightning rod for critics of the administration: Judah Benjamin, still interim secretary of war. Initially deaf to anti-Benjamin talk, Davis was determined to retain him. But he soon realized that doing so would cost too high a political price, because Benjamin had quarreled with too many notable people, including Beauregard and Joseph Johnston. Johnston had even said at a Richmond dinner party that the Confederacy could not win with Benjamin in the War Department. These disagreements spilled over into politics as champions of the two men took up their arguments. Benjamin also became the scapegoat for the feeble and futile Confederate defense of Roanoke Island. In addition, a tinge of anti-Semitism colored the opposition of some. Cries of “we must get more talent into the Confederate Government or be ruined” were really aimed at Benjamin.
Yet Davis did not want to give up Benjamin. He recognized the secretary’s considerable ability and had begun to value him as a counselor. The president’s opportunity arose when Secretary of State Hunter decided to leave the cabinet and accept his election to the Confederate Senate. Davis quickly shifted Benjamin to the State Department, a much less controversial post and in the public view not nearly so prominent.
Moving Benjamin necessitated a new man for the most important ministry. Davis believed Sidney Johnston the best possible choice for secretary of war, but he also regarded his favorite general as indispensable in the West. With Johnston’s appointment an impossibility, Davis concentrated on Virginians. After Hunter’s departure, no one from the Old Dominion belonged to the official family, and the president wanted his host state represented. After considering different names and hearing his cabinet advisers’ opinions, he decided upon George W. Randolph, a grandson of Thomas Jefferson. Educated at Harvard and the University of Virginia, and a successful attorney in prewar Richmond, he was serving as a brigadier general in southern Virginia. Randolph was delighted with his appointment, promising Davis that “my best energies shall be devoted to the cause so dear to us all.” Aside from the Virginia connection, it is not clear precisely why the president chose Randolph, but Randolph was a popular selection, and he worked to make himself a good secretary. According to a cabinet colleague, Randolph possessed solid credentials: “a man of plain, practical mind, a good deal of what is called common sense, and is not afraid to express his opinions.”27
Davis still had one other political requirement to meet before completing his cabinet reorganization. Every member had been a Democrat in 1860, though Benjamin had originally been a Whig, and all had supported secession. Davis felt pressure to include someone who had an untainted Whig background or who had been a Unionist. Although he did not like thinking in terms of any pre-Confederate political distinctions, he accepted the necessity of broadening the political background of his official family. But after shifting Benjamin and appointing Randolph, he had no op
enings. At this point Attorney General Thomas Bragg volunteered to step down, creating a vacancy. Bragg told Davis he made the suggestion because he believed his position the easiest to fill. Reluctantly accepting Bragg’s offer, Davis named as his successor Thomas H. Watts of Alabama, a former Whig and Constitutional Unionist. With his new cabinet set, the president on March 17 sent his nominations to the Senate: Benjamin for State, Memminger for Treasury, Randolph for War, Mallory for Navy, Watts for Justice, and Reagan for Post Office. The Senate promptly confirmed them all.
While coping with political disgruntlement and reorganizing his cabinet, President Davis was also concerned about manpower needs in his armies. Even before 1862, he expressed disquiet to his cabinet about the impact of the expiration in the spring of the twelve-month enlistments. In his February message to Congress he repeated that concern in a public forum. Between April and June 1861 tens of thousands of southerners had rushed to the colors, but many signed up for only one year. Thus, between April and June 1862, serious depletions could affect Confederate military strength, at a time when the enemy was literally at the gates of Richmond and invading the heartland. The question Davis faced: how to maintain the force under arms? Pleas and exhortations to defend homes and soil resounded throughout the country, but Davis feared they would not keep enough soldiers under arms. For a president embarked on a holy mission and publicly extolling both the sanctity of the Confederate cause and the determination of its citizens’ support, his own crusade and his rhetoric seemingly clashed with reality. In his understanding of the Confederate cause, no one would leave any post until final victory. Yet he clearly worried that thousands would do just that, jeopardizing the prize of liberty. Emotionally he had to contend with the dissonance, and politically he had to confront what he saw as a fundamental crisis.28
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