Jefferson Davis, American
Page 59
After inspecting Forts Gaines and Morgan guarding the entrance to Mobile Bay, Davis on the last day of the year began the final leg of the trip back to Richmond, passing through Montgomery; he spoke briefly in Atlanta on New Year’s Day evening. On January 2, 1863, his train went through Augusta and Charlotte on to Raleigh, where he gave an optimistic twenty-minute speech applauding North Carolina’s contribution to the Confederacy and providing an account of his western tour. He saw no reason to doubt the ultimate outcome of the struggle because everywhere he had found a determination to defeat the Yankees. He declared that his every act was aimed at victory. “The cause,” he said, “is above all personal or political considerations, and the man who, at a time like this, cannot sink such considerations, is unworthy of power.” In Petersburg on January 4, Davis assured the 1,000 to 1,500 well-wishers who greeted his train that “as certain as the earth now revolves upon its axis, so surely will peace and independence be established.”
Finally, later that day, he reached Richmond and home. He had been on the road for twenty-seven days, covered approximately 3,000 miles, made numerous public appearances and speeches, all the while engaged in what he called “promoting the noble cause.…”111
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Lift Men Above All Personal Considerations”
There was no New Year’s Day reception at the White House to usher in 1863. President Davis had not yet returned from his lengthy western journey. Once back in Richmond, he did make a public appearance on the night of January 5, when several hundred people congregated outside the Executive Mansion for a serenade. Davis appeared on the portico, accompanied by an aide who introduced “the president of the United States,” but quickly corrected himself in front of the mirthful crowd.
Addressing “Friends and Fellow Citizens,” Davis seized the inadvertent cue just given him: “Of the title as corrected, I am proud—the other I would scorn to hold.” Applause greeted both alacrity and sentiment. In his remarks the president emphasized themes that he equated with his cause. As he had from the beginning, he identified the Confederacy: “the last hope, as I believe, for the perpetuation of that system of government which our forefathers founded—the asylum of the oppressed and the home of true representative liberty.” The “ancestors” of his audience had declared “the great principles of human government,” which Confederates embraced as their own. Davis said of his countrymen: “You have shown yourselves in no respect to be degenerate sons of your fathers. You have fought mighty battles, and your deeds of valor will live among the richest spoils of Time’s ample page.”
This clarion call once again underscored the powerful bond cementing white liberty and black slavery. That the Confederate cause still included protecting slavery posed no problem to Davis. Almost two years of war had not altered his conviction, shared with the overwhelming majority of his fellow citizens, that the Founding Fathers had perceived no contradiction between their devotion to liberty and the right to own slaves. Before the war, the Constitution had given form to that liberty and that right. With the war, the Confederate States offered the only hope that the Revolution and the constitutionalism of the Fathers could survive. In his mind he simply carried on their legacy when he praised the valor of a people fighting for a liberty that included the right to own slaves.
Davis also excoriated the barbarism of the enemy. He found them guilty of every crime from murdering to burning to plundering, in their blurring the line between combatant and civilian. But now their savagery had advanced to an even more horrendous level. According to Davis, the Federals plotted “to be your masters, to try to reduce you to subjection” by “disturb[ing] your social organizations on the plea that it is a military necessity.” Referring to the Emancipation Proclamation, he said the Lincoln administration claimed it only wanted to preserve the Union, but he asked how it could do so “by destroying [our] social existence.…” To shouts of approval, he denounced Yankees as worse than “hyenas.”
Though admitting that war was utterly evil, the president saw “the severe crucible” as essential, for it alone could “cement us together.” He believed that the vicissitudes of war “we have been subjected to in common, and the glory which encircles our brow has made us a band of brothers, and, I trust, we will be united forever.” Now soldiers of every state are “linked in the defense of a most sacred cause.”
For the defenders of Confederate liberty, Davis envisioned a bright future. He announced that the enemy had been halted in Virginia, Tennessee, and Mississippi. The Confederacy was growing proportionately stronger than the Union. “Now deep resolve is seen in every eye, an unconquerable spirit nerves every arm,” he proclaimed. That determination existed on the home front as well as in the ranks. “With such noble women at home, and such heroic soldiers in the field, we are invincible.” He closed with an appeal to the Almighty: “May God prosper our cause and may we live to give to our children untarnished the rich inheritance which our Fathers gave to us.”1
One week later, Davis’s message to the third session of the First Congress covered much of the same ground. He praised the valor of Confederate soldiers and commended the southern people for their efforts. He proudly averred “that these Confederate States have added another to the lessons taught by history for the instruction of man; that they have afforded another example of the impossibility of subjugating a people determined to be free.…” Condemning what he termed “the appalling atrocities” of the Yankee invaders, Davis singled out Benjamin Butler as an outlaw deserving execution. And with the Emancipation Proclamation, this bestiality was now threatening the monstrosity of servile insurrection and race war. Even facing so bloodthirsty a foe, Davis showed no doubt. “The energies of a whole nation devoted to the single object of success in this war have accomplished marvels.…” “With hearts swelling with gratitude,” he concluded, “let us, then, join in returning thanks to God, and in beseeching the continuance of his protecting care over our cause and the restoration of peace with its manifold blessings to our beloved country.”2
Although in his speech and message Davis included the just-visited West in heralding Confederate military success, almost immediately he had to struggle again with the disease he had traveled so far to treat. In the Army of Tennessee, his palliatives had not effected a cure. The pestilence afflicting the army did not long remain in remission. During the turn of the year, Braxton Bragg fought the futile Battle of Murfreesboro (in the Union designation, Stone’s River). On the last day of 1862, his attack drove back the Federals, causing him to communicate news of a great victory. But after a desultory January 1, his renewed assault on the second was a bloody failure. Even though the two sides had battled to a tactical draw, Bragg realized he could not maintain his army at Murfreesboro and fell back about twenty-five miles.3
Coming so rapidly after the report of a triumph, Bragg’s retreat brought disappointment to Richmond; but more important, it reenergized the anti-Bragg feeling within and without the army. This antagonistic outpouring so affected Bragg that he took the unusual step of asking his generals in writing whether they approved of his retreat and whether they retained confidence in him as a commander. The replies stung. While some support was voiced, a widespread judgment called for his resignation.
Jefferson Davis did not know quite what to make of his general. He retained his faith in Bragg’s ability; he had fought the enemy and still held a position in middle Tennessee. Even so, the president could not fathom Bragg’s requesting his subordinates’ opinion of his actions. The lack of confidence among so many generals worried him, though it certainly should not have surprised him. He was legitimately concerned that such an attitude could eventually infect the entire army, rendering it unlikely to fight effectively for Bragg. Also, he recognized that Bragg did not belong to the select company of generals who could “overcome the distrust and alienation of their principal officers” and on their own “excite enthusiasm &… win affection of their troops.…”4
On Janua
ry 21 the president directed General Johnston, then touring his department, to proceed to Bragg’s army and report on whether Bragg should be replaced. Davis reminded the general, “as that army is a part of your command, no order will be necessary to give you authority there.” Within a week Johnston arrived at Bragg’s headquarters at Tullahoma, Tennessee.5
Although Bragg was his subordinate, Johnston acted more like a timid guest than a commanding general. He did talk with Bragg, but with few others. He made no attempt to conduct extensive interviews and actually determine the relationship between Bragg and the Army of Tennessee. As a result, in his reports to the president, dated February 3 and 12, he assessed positively the state of the army, the command relationships in it, and in addition gave Bragg a ringing endorsement.6
Joseph Johnston did not approach this assignment as a commanding officer. What his most astute biographer terms his “delicate sense of honor” made him impotent. The critical fact was that if Bragg went, Johnston would replace him. Everyone—Johnston, Bragg, Davis, and Secretary of War Seddon—understood that. While Johnston did want the army, a position he considered eminently preferable to his theater command, his sense of honor precluded any involvement in opening the slot, even making a professional judgment. He wanted the president to force him to take the post while he protested the decision. He believed that if he found anything askew, he could be accused of engineering Bragg’s removal. He was deeply troubled about such perceptions for his reputation, telling his friend Senator Wigfall it “would not look well & would certainly expose me, injure me.” The president assured Johnston that his command authority obviated any such criticism. Similar assurances from his political patron Senator Wigfall and from Secretary Seddon, known to Johnston as a friendly supporter, who even suggested that he keep Bragg as chief of staff, did not move the general. He was unwilling to act. Honor, yes, fear of public disfavor, yes; but Johnston had never been willing in any critical situation to make any decision that might reflect adversely upon him. In this instance his inaction was absolutely in character.7
That characteristic was evident when President Davis on March 9 finally took the issue in his own hands and ordered Johnston to take over the Army of Tennessee and send Bragg to Richmond. It had become apparent to the president that Johnston had not reported accurately. Letters from Leonidas Polk, his old acquaintance and Bragg’s archenemy and senior subordinate, castigated the commanding general but urged his appointment to a post that could utilize his talent for discipline and organization. In this instance Polk was surely right. At about the same time Bragg’s report on the Battle of Murfreesboro reached the War Department; in it Bragg lambasted several of his generals, including John C. Breckinridge. Further, Congress was becoming restive about Bragg.8
Johnston even managed to sidestep this direct order. He wired that Bragg’s wife was quite ill, making it impossible for Bragg to go to Richmond. Of course, Johnston could easily have assumed command of the army and left it to Bragg and the War Department to decide on the general’s travel plans. Then, on April 10, Johnston said that his own illness prevented his taking the field; Bragg had to stay.9
At this point Davis and Seddon stopped trying to make any change. Johnston had written that if Bragg went, the army needed a new commander promptly. If Johnston would not accept the position, no other full general was available. Given Johnston’s repeated assertions of punctilio and persistent refusal to act, the president had to consider that removing Bragg might so offend Johnston that he would refuse or resign, leaving the West with no senior commander. Furthermore, given the structure of army command, Davis really had no option, barring radical action. Once more Davis proved unwilling to eradicate the plague afflicting the Army of Tennessee by firing Bragg along with the carping, backbiting corps and division commanders. The army needed radical surgery, which the senior physician would not and could not bring himself to administer.
As he entered the third year of his presidency, Jefferson Davis’s work habits had not changed since the early weeks in Montgomery. In Richmond he used two different offices. His official workplace was located on the third floor of the former Customs House on Main Street just a block below Capitol Square. The building housed the Departments of State and the Treasury as well as the Office of the President. Davis usually walked the half mile from the White House past the Capitol and down the hill to the Customs House.10
Davis’s business office was neither impressive nor large; it measured around 24 feet long by 18 feet wide, furnished with two tables, a few chairs, and maps covering the walls. The cabinet also met here. A single soldier guarded the door. His private secretary’s office adjoined, and immediately opposite the presidential rooms was the office of his personal aides; they had unrestricted access to him, and at least one was always present.11
Davis had a second office in the White House where he also worked, especially when ill, though he never held cabinet meetings there and rarely formal conferences of any kind. The office was located centrally on the second floor between the master bedroom and the large nursery, with doors opening to each. It contained only a desk, table, chairs, a map, and bookcases. A small outer chamber, occupied by the private secretary, provided a buffer between the president and callers. In addition, Davis used a small, informally furnished library off the drawing room, also accessible from the entry hall—a “snuggery,” one cabinet member termed it—for intimate discussions.12
President Davis devoted long hours to his extensive duties. Never an early riser, he did not usually begin his workday until 10 a.m., but regularly worked far into the night. One hour every morning he generally gave to any visitors who happened by. Then he had numerous formal appointments as well as conferences with advisers. Rarely holding to a fixed schedule, he quite often found himself running as much as an hour late for meetings. Although no one expected him to be on time, those who worked with him attested to his diligence and dedication. In the evening he returned to paperwork. He was literally “indefatigable,” but at a frightful cost to his health.13
Davis’s preoccupation with detail helped keep his days and nights full. He was consumed with minutiae that one War Department employee rightly termed “little trash which ought to be dispatched by clerks in the adjutant general’s office.” He unquestionably tried to keep himself aware of literally everything going on, particularly in the army. He also believed his duty required that kind of detailed attentiveness. Yet in a fundamental sense he simply continued the practices he had begun as secretary of war and reinstituted in Montgomery. The larger war he was running by 1862 did not cause any basic alterations in his administrative style.14
His sending as many as 200 papers to the War Department in a single day caused no surprise, and illustrated his involvement. He questioned nominations for junior artillery officers. He involved himself in deciding whether two pieces of artillery went to the navy or Charleston. He acted on a request to permit a junior officer to resign rather than face a court-martial. A letter from a captain wanting a transfer from Virginia to the Mississippi Valley received a presidential endorsement. Another captain who felt he had been overlooked for promotion also got the president’s personal attention. Matters like the promotion of two lieutenant colonels in a Louisiana regiment took his time, as did the proposal from a Virginia civilian to raise a force of artillerists in Mexico for service in Texas.15
Technology and weaponry continued to fascinate Davis. He spent time thinking about and talking about proposals both reasonable and fanciful. He responded personally to the inventor of a device for the “artificial elevation” of cannon. He scheduled an appointment with a man who claimed to have developed a new breech-loading gun. Sabers for the cavalry and their virtues versus the pistol carbine generated discussion. He even dealt with a plan for “a flying machine to be used for war purposes.”16
President Davis spent considerable time in conferences, both cabinet meetings and talks with one or more officials. The cabinet usually met two or three times a we
ek, the deliberations lasting between two and five hours. In these meetings Davis brought myriad topics before his official family, such as conscription, political questions, potential cabinet members, and diplomatic issues, though only rarely military strategy. He encouraged free discussion and invited different viewpoints. The meetings were not tightly run, however, chiefly because of Davis’s discursiveness. In the midst of discussions he would commence on what one cabinet officer called “episodical questions,” which included his early army career, horses, and history.17
The president involved the cabinet fully in the preparation of his major messages to Congress. About a month before Congress convened, he would call the cabinet together for a lengthy “free conversation” in which he and the members would go over topics that required attention. Around a week later he presented a rough draft and asked for criticism. The numerous corrections on the document indicated to the ministers their leader’s concern about the message. Davis did care, but there was a second reason for all the editorial activity, and only a single member knew about it. The initial version of the message was prepared by Judah Benjamin. He and Davis made the decision to relieve the president of such a time-consuming task. Then Davis went over Benjamin’s work and brought it to the meeting. The secretaries made any suggestions they wished; Benjamin, with their knowledge, was responsible for incorporating the adopted ideas and preparing a fair copy. Thereupon, the cabinet considered it once more. At this meeting the entire message was read, giving the last opportunity for additions or deletions. Finally, Benjamin had the responsibility to prepare the official copy for the president to submit to Congress.18