Richmond, Virginia
December 1863
Jefferson Davis was sitting behind his desk in his office in Richmond. It was late. A single oil lamp burned, casting long shadows across the large room. The door to the office was cracked open, and he could hear the hum of activity as his staff processed the reports that were coming in from the front. Davis, out of all character, had his feet on his desk and his hands joined behind his head. His eyes were closed but he wasn’t asleep. He was exhausted, but exhilarated.
He had spent the day reading the wires as they came in from Alexandria and Fairfax Station. Old Pete had obeyed orders and attacked Washington City. Jackson’s plan unfolded during the course of the day, but all Davis could do was read staccato accounts that came in over the telegraph wires, with a two-hour delay.
Davis had been up before dawn, knowing that the attack must have begun, but also knowing that he wouldn’t get the first reports—always wrong—until later.
At eight in the morning a staff officer had rushed in. “First message from General Longstreet, sir.”
Davis, pacing, had fairly ripped the message from his aide.
Genl Stuart has launched demonstration on Va side of Long and Chain bridges. Federals responding in force. Couriers report both Jackson and Lee began advancing at midnight. Longstreet.
There were long periods of maddening silence. Davis knew that Longstreet, on Arlington Heights, sent his messages by courier to Alexandria or Fairfax. From there, telegraph operators sent the messages to the War Department in Richmond where they were transcribed and rushed to Davis.
It was past eleven in the morning when Davis received the next update. Couriers report Jackson and Lee forces converged this hour east of city at Bladensburg Road. Little resistance. Longstreet.
That would have been hours ago. The fate of Washington City was probably already decided. Davis admired Longstreet’s quiet, unflappable style, but he wished that Pete would report more often, even if there was nothing to report.
Finally, at about five o’clock, a steady stream of messages began to arrive from Washington City itself. The first one brought Davis to tears. Washington City in the hands of Confederate troops. Longstreet.
What did it mean? Had Meade surrendered? Abandoned the city?
Twenty minutes later, Davis read, Genl Meade has disengaged and fled in good order northward. Will not pursue at this time. Will consolidate possession of Washington City and await orders. Longstreet.
With his eyes closed, Davis tried to imagine how the day had unfolded. Stuart, with his flair for the theatrical, making a loud and convincing ruckus, threatening to cross the bridges. Meade forced to rush troops there from elsewhere in the city to meet the threat. Jackson and Fitz Lee, making night marches, converging at dawn east of the city, and marching in mostly unopposed. Meade, realizing too late what had happened, and badly outnumbered, fleeing northward with his army intact, probably headed for Philadelphia where Lincoln and the Federal government had set themselves up. Davis thought of Mexico, and how seldom military plans work as they are written. Jackson. Maybe there is a Divine Providence.
“Sir? We’ve made arrangements for you to take the cars to Washington City at first light tomorrow morning.”
Now what, thought Davis. We’ve taken Washington, but can we hold it? That would depend on Burgoyne. If he can deal McClellan a blow, Lincoln will have no choice but to negotiate. Independence would be all but assured. I need Burgoyne to move quickly.
Davis knew that his troops at Vicksburg couldn’t hold out forever, and when it fell, as it must, Grant would be freed to move eastward. If McClellan defeats Burgoyne, The Union general would head south again with a mind to retake Washington.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Major. Cars at first light. I shall try to convince Mrs. Davis to come with me. It’s been years since she’s been in the White House.”