They had much in common. Both had been born in Kentucky. Both had prospered in the trans-Appalachian region as that region had prospered. Both had become famous throughout the nation; indeed, both had recently been elected Presidents, and they were now setting forth toward their posts. Davis and Lincoln had something else in common: Neither would live to come home again. The day before, Jefferson Davis, as spare and erect as ever but with his light hair now turning gray, was helping his wife prune rose bushes on Brierfield, their plantation near Vicksburg, when a messenger rode in with a telegram. Her husband’s face turned so desolate as he read the message that Varina Davis feared news of a death in the family. Davis was silent for long moments, then told her that he had just been chosen provisional President of the newly formed Confederate States of America. As an old soldier he had expected at most a military command, but as a good soldier he immediately packed to leave. Early next morning the plantation bell summoned the slaves of Brierfield to hear their master bid them farewell.
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