Day 13

It rained last night. Our new tents did not leak. However, packing up this morning was a muddy mess. I am glad we were able to shower before getting on the road.

This is our turn around point. Today, we point the car toward home. We stopped in Slidell for breakfast and ate at La Pines Cafe. It doesn’t look like much on the outside and it looks run down inside, but the food was fantastic (and inexpensive). The best breakfast we’ve had on this trip. As we were leaving, Kati noticed a sign that advertised the restaurant had been featured on the Food Network’s “Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives.” So, if you ever find yourself passing through Slidell, do stop in and sample their food. You won’t be disappointed.

Through the years, I have taken G3 to more than 20 president homes. Since he collects presidents’ houses the way some people collect coins, I thought it would be interesting to visit Jefferson Davis’ home. After all, he was the only president of the Confederacy. For me—and it may be treasonous to admit this—it was one of the most fun houses to see. The guide was bland and the house was not impressive, but before our visit I knew very little about Davis. He was the President of the Confederacy. My knowledge began and ended there. And I love to learn, so the museum was exciting—for me. (I do owe Kati a winery.) I also found it interesting as a northerner to see how Mississippi would portray him—a Southern Hero.

Biloxi, Mississippi is along the Gulf Coast and Beauvoir (Beautiful View, in French) sits near the water. It was the last place Jefferson lived. In 2005, Hurricane Katrina devastated the coast. Many historic sites were swallowed up by the water. Beauvoir was one of the few that was left standing. The damage, however, was extensive. More than two feet of water entered the building. The windows were broken and outside wood ripped apart. Extensive renovations restored the building, but many archival papers were lost. Love the guy or hate him, the lass of archival documents is always devastating for history.

Jefferson Davis went to West Point. Following graduation he was stationed in the Michigan Territory in what is now Wisconsin. While there, one of his duties was to swear in new militia men, one of whom was none other than his future nemeses, Abraham Lincoln. He also fought in the Black Hawk War. When Americans captured Chief Black Hawk, Davis was assigned to transport him to Fort Monroe in Virginia. Years later, Davis himself would be imprisoned there for two years following the Civil War.

Davis’ first wife was Sarah Taylor, the daughter of the soon to be President Zachery Taylor. They were not married long before both Davis and his wife got malaria. Davis recovered—although he suffered recurring bouts of fever and chills his whole life. His wife died. Ah, to think I have something in common with Davis. But medicine has come a long was since then and I have never had a recurring bout of malaria.

Davis was elected to the House of Representatives, but he resigned to serve in the Mexican-American War. During the Battle of Buena Vista he was shot in the foot. He refused to leave the battlefield until he knew the Americans had won.

President Pierce appointed Davis to be his Secretary of War. As Secretary, he got Congress to buy camels from the Middle East. Too many horses were dying as they transported good from Texas through the desert. Camels dealt much better with the harsh desert conditions. In the Civil War, the camels came under control of the Confederacy when Texas seceded. They were used to transport cotton from San Antonio to Brownsville, one of the only ports the Union did not blockade. After the war, the camels fell out of favor, in part because the railroads took over their jobs, and in part because they were associated with the Davis.

Before the country erupted into war, Davis was a Mississippi senator. (Lamar, who I wrote about a few days ago was the other Mississippi senator.) Like Lamar, Davis was opposed to secession and he tried to prevent the Union from fracturing. As a former Secretary of War, he was well acquainted with the nation’s military might and he doubted it could be defeated easily. However, when Mississippi voted for secession, he resigned from the senate. (The woman who worked at Davis house was quick to explain that in those days loyalty to state came before loyalty to country so he didn’t have a choice. Andrew Johnson would have disagreed.)

In February 1861, the Confederate Provisional Congress met in Montgomery, Alabama. They wrote a new—Confederate—constitution and nominated Davis to be President. They felt no one else had Davis’ record as both a military man and a politician. His experience as Secretary of War was a key point on his resume. Later, Davis was elected by southern white men, but it was an easy win since no one ran against him. According to the information in the museum, Davis did not want to be president, but he agreed because he felt it was his duty.

When the war ended, America did not put him on trial. But they did revoke his citizenship. More than a century later, President Carter restored his citizenship stating that “it was the last act of reconciliation in the Civil War.”

Winnie, Davis’ youngest daughter, fell in love with a New Yorker, Alfred Wilkinson. They wanted to get married. But not only was he a Northerner, he was the grandson of a prominent abolitionist. This did not sit well with former Confederates. The south did not approve of their union. To save her father further heartache, Winnie broke off the engagement. Both she and Wilkinson continued to live in New York but they never each other again. Nor did either of them ever marry. Oral history claims when she died—in her mid-thirties of malarial gastritis—he sat in the back of the church during her funeral service.

The museum did a fabulous job of highlighting every aspect of Davis’ career that might impress a Northerner, like me. Notably missing are the facts and events that would disparage him in the eyes of a Northerner. I asked one woman who worked there if he had slaves. She said he did but that he inherited them all. He never bought them. She was also quick to say that he adopted a black boy, Jim Limber, after rescuing him from a situation in which he was abused. Of course, I had my doubts so I googled it. Limber did exist, but it seems Davis’ kindness has been exaggerated by southern historians to make him appear less of a racist.

The woman also told me that Davis taught all his slaves how to read and write, which was illegal. I don’t believe it, but a quick google search did not yield an answer I found satisfactory. I will need to do more research. If you know of a valid source with more information, please let me know. What I did find online is that Davis owned a plantation and 70 slaves. He was a slave owner. He fought a war to protect what he believed was his property. He tried to convince the north that they needed partnership with the south or their own economy would suffer. And that for the economy to run well for both the north and south, the south needed to continue enslaving people. Yes, let us take note of the good Davis did, but let us not forget that he believed wholeheartedly in the institution of slavery. Morally, he was not a good guy.

The tour was not terribly informative. The tour guide was a young guy who just started working there. The other tourists in our group were the rudest tourists I’ve ever encountered. They talked among themselves while the tour guide was trying to give us information. Both Kati and told them to be quiet and pay attention. Yep, two northern women put southern men in their place in the home of the Confederate president. No, we were not lynched for doing so.

After the tour, we went swimming in the Gulf of Mexico. Nothing reminds me more of Dad than swimming in salt water, and I said so as I walked into the Gulf. The last time I swam in the Gulf was when I was a kid and my parents took me to Florida. Kati was grossed out by the brown water. It was nothing like the bay in Mattituck. The beach wasn’t nearly as nice either, especially since it runs parallel to a major road. It was also low tied. And the water was extremely low. Dad would have said there was hardly any water at all. We walked far out and it never reached my waist.

As I was meandering, a jellyfish wrapped it’s tentacles around my left ankle and foot. Pain surged though my leg. And all I could think about was when G3 was a toddler and Dad pulled several red jellyfish out of the water. They don’t sting the palm of your hand—or the bottom of your foot— so you can touch them. G3 thought Dad was a superhero for keeping him—and everyone else on the beach—safe. The pain was sharp enough to force me out of the water. Not wanting to suffer the same fate, G3 and Kati followed. My foot and ankle are now an angry shade of red.

Another state:

Another:

Kati is mesmerized by the clouds in the sky. They seem to take on different shapes and patterns here. So different from the clouds we see back home. They are keeping her entertained as she drives.

We are camping somewhere in Alabama at a place called St. Stephens Historical Park. It is deserted. Okay, that’s not entirely true. Occasionally, a car drives by and there are campers in the RV part of the park, but we are the only people in the tent area. It’s us and the mosquitoes. G3 commented that it’s the perfect setting for a horror movie. Even if we screamed no one would hear us over the sound of the cicadas. I think G3 scared himself because he doesn’t want to sleep in his own tent. He said he wanted to sleep in the bigger tent. Kati switched with him, but she isn’t happy. She bought him his own tent because he insisted it was what he wanted. It would have been cheaper to buy one tent. But the campsite is dark and eerie. We are next to a lake and the bird calls or frog noises occasionally sound like voices. It can be unsettling. I understand his fear. As much as he wants to be grown up, he is still a kid. I would have switched with him, but I was the only one who had set up my sleeping bag, sleep sack, and pillow.

There is no cell service at the campground. Therefore, if you are reading this, I—or rather Kati—had to drive to civilization to post it which means we survived the night just fine.