CHAPTER III. ESTABLISHING STATIONS--FIRST TRIP AND FIRST PASSENGERS. BRAINS AND CAUTION SHIFTING THE SCENES.
|THE battle of Gettysburg, fought on the 2d and 3d of July, 1863, was one of the most important, if not _the_ most important, battle of the whole war. The conflict had now been going on for over two years with varying success. Each side had used its utmost efforts for success, and to the general public the end seemed no nearer than in the beginning; but those behind the scenes saw things in a different light, and especially was this true of President Davis and his cabinet. While he and they well understood the advantages of keeping up a fair outside show, they knew equally well that the proportion of strength had greatly changed between the North and the South. Commencing with proportions of two to one (20 to 10) they had reached the proportions of three to one (15 to 5), and another such battle as that which had just occurred--in which the losses on both sides were immense, and in which both sides thought themselves defeated, and were making preparations for retreat on the day following--would make the disproportion still greater.
They knew, too, that every day made their situation more and more desperate; that every day increased the effectiveness of the blockade; that food, clothing, and all the necessaries of life were every day becoming scarcer; and while they still had almost any quantity of cotton, they knew the people could not eat that, and unless some new source of nutrition for the Confederacy could be opened, it must soon succumb from mere exhaustion. To add still further to the difficulty, their communication with the North seemed about to be cut off entirely. Up to that time their letters from their Northern sympathizers, from England, and from other parts of the world, had reached them through blockade-runners, mostly by the way of Nassau; but the recent capture of some of these blockade-runners, and the stricter watch now kept by the United States blockading squadron, made this source look more and more doubtful, and certainly less and less reliable.
Mr. Davis, when United States Senator and when Secretary of War, had credit for brains and great shrewdness; but never did he need them so much as now, and as "necessity is the mother of invention," the fact of the need called forth from his fertile brain a plan of domestic diplomacy which would have done credit to Pitt in his palmiest days. However good a conception or plan may be, still it is of no use unless it can be put into execution, and just here was President Davis's greatest trouble. He had scores of officers about him ready to do his slightest bidding, but among them all he could think of no one exactly fitted for the kind of service he then had in view. When in his greatest distress of mind, walking the floor for hours at a time, thinking, thinking, thinking, it happened that Colonel Ralph Abercrombie, who was in command of a Louisiana regiment in General A. P. Hill's corps, came into Richmond, and, as was his custom, called immediately at the executive mansion. The Colonel had been known to Mr. and Mrs. Davis since a boy. Mr. Davis, when Secretary of War, had appointed him to a lieutenancy in the regular army. Both Mr. and Mrs. Davis were on the most intimate terms with his widowed mother, and though the Colonel was now about thirty years of age, they still called him Ralph.