The telegram that President Jefferson Davis received not only filled him with an immense happiness and a feeling of relief — but was most opportune as well.
“It could not have come at a better time,” he said, striking the most fortuitous sheet of paper with his hand. His carriage was at the door waiting to take him to the Cabinet meeting that he had called at the Council Chamber in Richmond. He planned to go over with them the details of the speech he wanted to give at the Confederate Congress and the agreements he proposed to put forward. This would not be an easy thing to do. But it might be easier to get them on his side when he told them of the great victory that had just occurred. The Battle of the Hudson Valley was over, the last of the invaders had surrendered. And it was Southern troops as well as Northern troops who had effected defeat of the enemy. Biloxi had been avenged. He must remind them of that and hopefully carry them along with his new proposals in the heat of success. A new and most decisive political battle was about to begin. He needed all the support he could get from his Cabinet if it was to be fought in the manner that he and Lincoln desired.
One slave helped him on with his coat, another opened the door and handed him up into the carriage. Slaves, he thought as the driver cracked his whip and they started off at a merry clip.
Solve the slavery question and the Union was saved.
But that was not going to be a very easy thing to do.
Most of the Cabinet were already there when he arrived. Rotund and stubby Judah P. Benjamin, the Secretary of State, was talking to James A. Seddon, the Secretary of War. Seddon, tall, lean, dressed in black and wearing a black skullcap, looked more Jewish than Benjamin did, although he was a Virginia aristocrat. Davis looked to them for support: Seddon had once even advocated arming the Negroes; thinking the unthinkable. He was an intelligent enough man to think positively and possibly override inborn prejudices.
Seddon should aid him, but Davis was not so sure of Christopher G. Memminger from South Carolina. He was Secretary of the Treasury and had a wicked temper. As had Stephen Mallory, the Secretary of the Navy. He was the son of a Connecticut Yankee and had helped his mother run a boarding house for sailors in Key West. This surely had not been easy; but he was a quick man with his fists.
The door opened and John H. Reagan, Postmaster General, came in with Thomas Bragg, the Attorney General.
“I see that all members of the Cabinet are present,” Jefferson Davis said, seating himself at the end of the long table. He took the folded sheets of his speech from his jacket pocket, started to put them on the table, then changed his mind. He knew it by heart and he wanted to watch their reactions to his proposals. He opened the table drawer and put it inside, next to the revolver pistol that he kept there.
“Gentlemen — do any of you have any urgent business that we need to hear before we get to the substance of the meeting?”
“Need more money in the Treasury,” Memminger said, and there was a murmur of laughter. The Treasury was always short of funds.
“Any other?” Davis asked, and the rest of the Cabinet members shook their heads. “Good. Then to the matter of the proposed bill. The North has given us certain assurances that we must consider deeply before we think of the assurances that we must give in return. There must be the end of all abolitionist attacks and propaganda. That is essential.”
“Not only essential, but vital,” Bragg said. “Particularly when we try to persuade the planters to sell their slaves.”
“I agree…”
Davis broke off as the door to the hallway was swung open so hard that it crashed against the wall. Leroy P. Walker, the former Secretary of War stormed in. Davis had dismissed the tall Alabaman from his Cabinet and in doing so had made an enemy for life.
“This is a private meeting and you are not welcome here,” Davis said.
“Of course it’s private ’cause you and the other traitors are trying to sell the South down the river like some ol’ nigger woman.”
“How do you know what we are doing here?” Davis said, mouth tight with cold anger.
“I know because at least one of you ain’t a traitor and told me what you were planning.”
“Walker — you are no longer a member of this chamber and you are not wanted here,” Mallory shouted, jumping to his feet and striding forward.
“Maybe I ain’t — but you going to hear what I say first. Now — stand clear!” Walker shouted as he stepped aside quickly so his back was to the wall. “Now you listen while I speak — and listen good.”
He took a long cavalry pistol from inside his jacket and pointed it at them.
Seddon spoke slowly and calmly in his deep Virginia accent. “Put that away, Leroy. This is the Conference Chamber of the Confederacy and not some white trash saloon.”
“You hush and listen to me — ”
“No!” Mallory shouted, lunging forward and grabbing him by the arms.
They struggled, cursing, and the gun fired with a muffled crack.
“Shot me…” Mallory said weakly and he fell to the floor.
Jefferson Davis had the table drawer open and was taking out his pistol.
Walker saw the movement, turned and fired. Just as Davis pulled the trigger of his own gun.
There was stunned silence after the two shots; gunsmoke drifted across the chamber. Walker lay dead on the floor with a bullet hole in the center of his forehead.
They rushed to Davis, stretched him on the floor. His eyes were closed and his jacket was soaked with blood. Reagan opened an immense clasp knife and cut his shirt and jacket away. The bullet had entered his chest just below his shoulder blade and was oozing blood.
“Use this,” Seddon said, taking a large white kerchief from his tailcoat pocket; Reagan pushed it against the wound.
“Will someone go for the surgeon!”
Davis sighed and opened his eyes, looked up at the men grouped around him. “Walker…?” he asked weakly.
“Dead,” Judah Benjamin said, kneeling at his side. “Memminger has gone for the doctor.”
Jefferson Davis looked up at the circle of worried men. They had to carry on, finish the work that he had begun. Good men all of them, supporters and friends. Some not too bright, some very bigoted. Who could he rely on? His eyes stopped moving and rested on the rotund figure and concerned face of Judah P. Benjamin. The brightest of the lot. The peacemaker. Would he be able to work for the greater peace of the country?
“Take care of things, Judah,” Davis said, trying to sit up. “You are the one who can sow accord — and you are the brainiest one here. See that this war is ended and peace is made.” He raised his voice a bit. “Have you all heard me? Do you agree with me?” One by one they nodded in silence as he looked around the circle. “Then the matter is settled. I have faith in Judah Benjamin and you must have too…” His eyes closed and he dropped back to the floor.
“Is he… dead?” someone asked in a hushed voice. Benjamin leaned his head close to Davis’s mouth.
“Breathing still. Where is that doctor?”
Two days later Judah P. Benjamin rose to speak before the assembled Congress of the Confederacy. He had studied Jefferson Davis’s speech, improved it where he could, made sure that all of the proposals were outlined in the greatest detail. Now he must read it with the greatest sincerity. The Congressmen must be convinced.
“You all know what occurred at the fated meeting of the Cabinet. Two men dead, Jefferson Davis wounded, possibly mortally. His last conscious words were for me to speak for him, and I do that now. He asked me to read this proposed speech and do my utmost to convince you all that this is the wisest and sanest course to follow.