Leaving Danville, Mr. Davis and his party went by railroad to Greensboro’, North Carolina. Here Mr. Davis met Generals Johnston and Beauregard. Consultation with these two officers soon revealed to Mr. Davis their convictions of the hopelessness of a farther protraction of the struggle.
Ex-Secretary Mallory gives the following narrative of the last official interview of President Davis with Generals Johnston and Beauregard:
“At 8 o’clock that evening the cabinet, with the exception of Mr. Trenholm, whose illness prevented his attendance, joined the President at his room. It was a small apartment, some twelve by sixteen feet, containing a bed, a few chairs, and a table, with writing materials, on the second floor of the small dwelling of Mrs. John Taylor Wood; and a few minutes after eight the two generals entered.
“The uniform habit of President Davis, in cabinet meetings, was to consume some little time in general conversation before entering upon the business of the occasion, not unfrequently introducing some anecdote or interesting episode, generally some reminiscence of the early life of himself or others in the army, the Mexican war, or his Washington experiences; and his manner of relating and his application of them were at all times very happy and pleasing.
“Few men seized more readily upon the sprightly aspects of any transaction, or turned them to better account; and his powers of mimicry, whenever he condescended to exercise them, were irresistible. Upon this occasion, at a time when the cause of the Confederacy was hopeless, when its soldiers were throwing away their arms and flying to their homes, when its Government, stripped of nearly all power, could not hope to exist beyond a few days more, and when the enemy, more powerful and exultant than ever, was advancing upon all sides, true to his habit, he introduced several subjects of conversation, not connected with the condition of the country, and discussed them as if at some pleasant ordinary meeting. After a brief time thus spent, turning to General Johnston, he said, in his usual quiet, grave way, when entering upon matters of business: ‘I have requested you and General Beauregard, General Johnston, to join us this evening, that we might have the benefit of your views upon the situation of the country. Of course, we all feel the magnitude of the moment. Our late disasters are terrible, but I do not think we should regard them as fatal. I think we can whip the enemy yet, if our people will turn out. We must look at matters calmly, however, and see what is left for us to do. Whatever can be done must be done at once. We have not a day to lose.’ A pause ensued, General Johnston not seeming to deem himself expected to speak, when the President said: ‘We should like to hear your views, General Johnston.’ Upon this the General, without preface or introduction—his words translating the expression which his face had worn since he entered the room—said, in his terse, concise, demonstrative way, as if seeking to condense thoughts that were crowding for utterance: ‘My views are, sir, that our people are tired of the war, feel themselves whipped, and will not fight. Our country is overrun, its military resources greatly diminished, while the enemy’s military power and resources were never greater, and may be increased to any desired extent. We can not place another large army in the field; and, cut off as we are from foreign intercourse, I do not see how we could maintain it in fighting condition if we had it. My men are daily deserting in large numbers, and are taking my artillery teams to aid their escape to their homes. Since Lee’s defeat they regard the war as at an end. If I march out of North Carolina, her people will all leave my ranks. It will be the same as I proceed south through South Carolina and Georgia, and I shall expect to retain no man beyond the by-road or cow-path that leads to his house. My small force is melting away like snow before the sun, and I am hopeless of recruiting it. We may, perhaps, obtain terms which we ought to accept.’
“The tone and manner, almost spiteful, in which the General jerked out these brief, decisive sentences, pausing at every paragraph, left no doubt as to his own convictions. When he ceased speaking, whatever was thought of his statements—and their importance was fully understood—they elicited neither comment nor inquiry. The President, who, during their delivery, had sat with his eyes fixed upon a scrap of paper which he was folding and refolding abstractedly, and who had listened without a change of position or expression, broke the silence by saying, in a low, even tone: ‘What do you say, General Beauregard?’
“‘I concur in all General Johnston has said,’ he replied.
“Another silence, more eloquent of the full appreciation of the condition of the country than words could have been, succeeded, during which the President’s manner was unchanged.
“After a brief pause he said, without a variation of tone or expression, and without raising his eyes from the slip of paper between his fingers: ‘Well, General Johnston, what do you propose? You speak of obtaining terms. You know, of course, that the enemy refuses to treat with us. How do you propose to obtain terms?’
“‘I think the opposing Generals in the field may arrange them.’