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Chapter 15: the opposition of Congress to the President.
The term of the Provisional Congress was now rapidly drawing to a close.
The newly elected senators and members were to be sworn in, and the
President's co-laborers in the formative period of the
Government were to go out of office.
Many of them were valued friends, and had a co-intelligence with him born of esteem and long observation of his habits of thought and his methods in the United States Senate.
He was loth to part from them, and felt that their experience would render them more useful to the
Government than new men could be, even though these might possess more ability; so that the year opened with an anxious sense of something being out of tune.
The paramount questions of the hour were, of course, to arm men for the contest, to procure ships and equip them for the destruction of the merchant marine of the
United States, and to form an effective financial policy.
On this last point there were many
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opinions, and there had been many efforts made by members of both houses to convince the
President of the expediency of selling cotton to the enemy; a larger party advocated the exportation of all the cotton grown in the country to
England.
Where the ships were to come from for this immense exportation they did not point out; carriers would not be swift enough to run the blockade, and the cotton would be captured, and serve to supply the manufacturers of
New England.
The men whose families were in need, and at whose gin-houses the means of relief lay piled in bulky plenty, of course leaned toward the malcontents.
When all this cumbrous and unavailable wealth was burned by the
Government, the dissatisfaction of some gave tongue.
The President and his advisers looked to the stringency of the
English cotton market, and the suspension of the manufactories, to send up a ground-swell from the
English operatives that would compel recognition, and grudged every pound of cotton exported.
Now for the first time there appeared to be an organized party in opposition to the Administration.
This might have been weakened by daily social intercourse, and habituated as we were to giving numerous entertainments of an official character, we should gladly have kept up the custom; but during every entertainment,
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without exception, either the death of a relation was announced to a guest, or a disaster to the
Confederacy was telegraphed to the
President.
He was a nervous dyspeptic by habit, and if he was forced to eat under any excitement, was ill after it for days.
He said he could do either one duty or the other-give entertainments or administer the Government-and he fancied he was expected to perform the latter service in preference; and so we ceased to entertain, except at formal receptions or informal dinners and breakfasts given to as many as
Mr. Davis's health permitted us to invite.
In the evening he was too exhausted to receive informal visitors.
The
Examiner sent forth a wail of regret over the “parsimony of the Administration.”
It touched feelingly upon the deprivation to the young people of
Richmond of not being received in the evening, the assumption of “superior dignity by the satraps,” etc. This became a fierce growl, as it contemplated the awful contingency of the “
President getting rich on his savings.”
It would have been much better if the
President could have met the
Congress, and the
State officials as well as the citizens, socially and often, for the magnetism of his personality would have greatly mollified their resentments; but for years his physician had
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forbidden him to go at all into society in
Washington, and he found this disability greater in
Richmond, proportionately to the burden he bore.
One or two of the generals had their little cliques who sympathized with them.
Some disappointed politicians felt that they had been overlooked, or their claims disregarded.
Some thought they knew that their names had been preferred for the office which had been conferred upon
Mr. Davis; others felt sure that everyone except the
President had preferred them for the portfolios unworthily held by others.
In fact, it was the “Spectator's” allegory of the man who, dissatisfied with his short face, was allowed to lay it down, and yet could find none other to suit him. To these malcontents, always noncombatants, the blighter's hand was the
President's.
Congressional committees made earnest and honest recommendations to him to do this or that, ignorant of what had transpired since they formulated their projects — which were perhaps well conceived when formed, but had become impracticable from the change of circumstances; a politician would have flattered and appeared to confide in them without communicating anything, but
Mr. Davis was too sincere for this policy.
To have explained
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these difficulties would often have exposed the army or navy to danger; he therefore had to take refuge in silence; this was interpreted to mean contempt or a stubborn desire to dictate to the co-ordinate branch of government, and increased the discontent.
He was abnormally sensitive to disapprobation: even a child's disapproval discomposed him. He felt how much he was misunderstood, and the sense of mortification and injustice gave him a repellent manner.
It was because of his supersensitive temperament and the acute suffering it caused him to be misunderstood, I had deprecated his assuming the civil administration.
He was always inclined to sacrifice himself rather than betray the trust even of an enemy.
Once, when an officer he loved had been censured by one of the generals in a letter marked “private,” and was indicated as one whose removal was required, the officer remonstrated warmly with the
President, and, with the freedom of old friendship, said, “You know me, how could I ever hold my head up under implied censure, from you, my old friend?”
The President, who could not explain that he found no fault in him, to cover his' discomposure said, curtly, “You have, I believe, received your orders; I can suggest nothing but obedience.”
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His old friend left him wounded to the quick, and
Mr. Davis came home and went, without eating, to his room and slept little.
As soon as he could speak quietly of it, he said: “I would not secretly censure a man and ask another to take the responsibility, but, as the letter was confidential, all I could do was to make the poor fellow too mad with me to ask an explanation.”
So, little by little the
Congress became alienated, or at least a large portion of them with a few of the military men. The President let the conviction gnaw at his vitals in silence.
He used to say with a sigh, “If we succeed, we shall hear nothing of these malcontents; if we do not, then I shall be held accountable by the majority of friends as well as foes.
I will do my best, and God will give me strength to bear whatever comes to me.”
