The Life of Jefferson Davis

by Frank H. Alfriend

Since the commencement of hostilities, the Government had been indefatigable in its efforts to promote enlistments of volunteers for the war, instead of the twelve-months’ system, which could be adequate for the demands of a temporary exigency only, and not for such a terrific struggle as must result from the temper and resources of the two contestants. Volunteering was as yet the only method of raising troops sanctioned by law, or likely to meet popular approval. The country was not yet prepared for an enforced levy of troops; and it is only necessary to remember the opposition, in certain quarters, to the execution of the subsequent conscription law, adopted under the pressure of disasters which made its necessity plain and inevitable, to conjecture the temper in which such a measure would have been met, in the over-confident and foolishly exultant tone of the press and public in the winter of 1861.

Mr. Davis especially sought to disabuse the public mind of its fallacious hope of a short contest, by his efforts to place the military resources of the South upon a footing capable of indefinite resistance to an attempt at conquest, which was to end only with the success or exhaustion of the North. Conscious of the perpetual disorganization and decimation of the armies which must result from the system of short enlistments, he had, early in the war, attracted unfriendly criticism by his refusal of any more six or twelve-months’ volunteers than were necessary to meet the shock of the enemy’s first advance. It was clear to his mind that, under the wretched system of short enlistments, which he characterized as a “frightful cause of disaster,” the country must, at some period of the war, be virtually without an army. Such was the case in January and February, 1862, when the enemy eagerly pressed his immense advantage while the process of furloughs and reënlistments was in progress, and the army almost completely disorganized.

Such a crisis was inevitable, and had it not occurred then, it would merely have been deferred, to be encountered at a period when the capacity of the Confederacy was even less adequate for its perils. The lesson was not without its value, since it drove the country and the press to a recognition of the fact that independence was not to be won by shifts and dalliance, by temporary expedients, and by spasmodic popular uprisings for temporary exigencies.

The efforts of the Government were unceasing to prepare for the tremendous onset of the enemy in almost every quarter of the Confederacy, which it must have been blind, indeed, not to anticipate. The responses to the calls of the Government were neither in numbers nor enthusiasm encouraging. The people were blind in their confidence, and deaf to appeals admonishing them of perils which, in their fancied security, they believed impossible of realization. But this soothing sense of security was soon to have a terrible awakening. The Confederate Government had recognized the peculiar perils menacing the western section of its territory. There for weeks rested the anxious gaze of President Davis, and thence were to come the first notes of alarm—the immediate premonitions of disaster.

Immediately, upon the occupation of Kentucky by the Confederate forces, had begun the development of a plan of defense by the Southern generals. The command of General Polk, constituting the Confederate left, was at Columbus. On the upper waters of the Cumberland River, in South-eastern Kentucky, was a small force constituting the Confederate right, commanded first by General Zollicoffer, and afterward by General Crittenden. At Bowling Green, with Green River in front, and communicating by railway with Nashville and the South, was the main Confederate force in Kentucky, commanded by General Buckner until the arrival of General Albert Sidney Johnston, whom President Davis had commissioned a full general in the Confederate service, and assigned to the command of the Western Department.

Apart from the historical interest which belongs to the name of Albert Sidney Johnston, and from the dramatic incident of his death at the very climax of a splendid victory, which immediately paled into disaster upon his fall, as the long and valued friend of Jefferson Davis, he is entitled to special mention in the biography of the latter.

Albert Sidney Johnston was born in Mason County, Kentucky, in 1803. He graduated at West Point in 1826; was commissioned as Lieutenant of infantry; served in the Black Hawk war with distinction; resigned and settled in Texas in 1836. He volunteered as a private in her armies soon after the battle of San Jacinto. His merit soon raised him from the ranks, and he was appointed senior Brigadier-General, and succeeded General Houston in the command of the Texan army. In 1838 he was appointed Texan Secretary of War, and in 1839 organized an expedition against the hostile Cherokees, in which he routed them completely in a battle on the river Neches. He warmly advocated the annexation of Texas to the United States, and after this union was effected, he took part in the Mexican war. His services at the siege of Monterey drew upon him the public favor and the thanks of General Butler. He continued in the army, and in 1857, was sent by President Buchanan as Commander-in-Chief of the United States Army to subdue the Mormons. His successful advance in the Great Salt Lake City, and the skill and address with which he conducted a difficult enterprise, largely increased his fame. When the war commenced between the North and South, he was in California, but when he learned the progress of the revolution, he resigned his commission and set out from San Francisco, to penetrate by land to Richmond, a distance of two thousand three hundred miles.

The safe arrival of General Albert Sidney Johnston, within the lines of the Confederacy, was greeted with a degree of public acclamation hardly less enthusiastic than would have signalized the intelligence of a great victory. It was known that the Federal authorities, anxious to prevent so distinguished and valuable an accession to the generalship of the South, were intent upon his capture. For weeks popular expectation had been strained, in eager gaze, for tidings of the distinguished commander, who, beset by innumerable perils and obstacles, was making his way across the continent, not less eager to join his countrymen, than were they to feel the weight of his noble blade in the unequal combat.

Few of the eminent soldiers, who had sought service under the banners of the Confederacy, had a more brilliant record of actual service; and to the advantages of reputation, General Johnston added those graces and distinctions of person with which the imagination invests the ideal commander. He was considerably past middle age; his height exceeded six feet, his frame was large and sinewy; his every movement and posture indicated vigorous and athletic manhood. The general expression of his striking face was grave and composed, but inviting rather than austere.

The arrival of General Johnston in Richmond, early in September, was a source of peculiar congratulation to President Davis. Between these illustrious men had existed, for many years, an endearment, born of close association, common trials and triumphs, and mutual confidence, which rendered most auspicious their coöperation in the cause of Southern independence.