an
came forward with Mrs. Porterfield to meet us--a courtly gentleman of
the old Southern school--who, apparently, had never heard of the Civil
War, and who, if he noticed the blue uniform at all, did not take the
slightest interest in what it represented. His composure was really
disappointing! After greeting me with grave dignity, he turned to Faye
and grasped his hand firmly and cordially, the whole expression of his
face softening just a little. I have always thought that he was
deeply moved by once again seeing the Federal Blue under such friendly
circumstances, and that old memories came surging back, bringing with
them the almost forgotten love and respect for the Academy--a love that
every graduate takes to his grave, whether his life be one of honor or
of disgrace.

One could very easily have become sentimental, and fancied that he was
Old West Point, misled and broken in spirit, admitting in dignified
silence his defeat and disgrace to Young West Point, who, with Uncle
Sam's shoulder straps and brass buttons, could be generously oblivious
to the misguidance and treason of the other. We wondered many times if
Jefferson Davis regretted his life. He certainly could not have been
satisfied with it.

There was more in that meeting than a stranger would have known of. In
the splendid dining room where we sat, which was forty feet in length
and floored with tiles of Italian marble, as was the entire large
basement, it was impossible not to notice the unpainted casing of
one side of a window, and also the two immense patches of common gray
plaster on the beautifully frescoed walls, which covered holes made by
a piece of shell that had crashed through the house during the siege
of Vicksburg. The shell itself had exploded outside near the servants'
quarters.

Then, again, every warm evening after dinner, during the time he was at
the house, Jefferson Davis and Faye would sit out on the grand, marble
porch and smoke and tell of little incidents that had occurred at West
Point when each had been a cadet there. At some of these times they
would almost touch what was left of a massive pillar at one end,
that had also been shattered and cracked by pieces of shell from U.S.
gunboats, one piece being still imbedded in the white marble.

For Jefferson Davis knew that Faye's father was an officer in the Navy,
and that he had bravely and boldly done his very best toward the undoing
of the Confederacy; and by his never-failin