HERO AND GENERAL.
Hark to that roar whose swift and deafening peals
In countless echoes through the mountains ring,
Startling pale Midnight on her starry throne!
Now swells the intermingling din—the jar,
Frequent and frightful, of the bursting bomb,
The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shout,
The ceaseless clangor, and the rush of men!—_Shelley._
On the 23d of March, 1862, orders reached General Garfield, in Eastern
Kentucky, to report at once, with his command, to General Buell at
Louisville. It had been determined to concentrate the Army of the Ohio
under Buell, move southward to Savannah, Tennessee, there effect a
junction with the Army of the Tennessee, which, under General Grant, was
on its way up the Tennessee River, after the victories at Forts Donelson
and Henry, and, with the united force, move forward to Corinth,
Mississippi. Garfield ceased, from that time, to be a commander of an
independent force, and became merged, with others of his rank, in the
great Army of the Ohio. He proceeded to Louisville with all possible
dispatch. But Buell was already far on the road to Savannah. Finding
orders, he at once hurried southward, and overtook Buell at Columbia,
where the army had to construct a bridge over Duck River. The rebels had
burned the old bridge; and, at that stage of the war, pontoon bridges
were not to be had. Garfield was at once assigned to the command of the
Twentieth Brigade, of General Thomas J. Wood’s division. During this
delay at Duck River, General Nelson, hearing that Grant had already
reached Savannah, asked permission of Buell to let his division ford or
swim the river and hurry on to Grant. As there was no known reason for
hurrying to Grant, who sent word that he was in no danger of attack, the
permission was coldly given. But it was this impatience of Nelson which
saved Grant’s army at Shiloh. With Nelson’s division a day in advance,
the remainder of the army followed at intervals—with Crittenden’s
division second, McCook’s third, then Wood’s—to which Garfield
belonged—and last Thomas’s. It had been intended to halt at Waynesboro
for a day’s rest, but the impetuous Nelson was beyond the town before he
had heard of it, and his speed had communicated itself to the succeeding
divisions. In this way Nelson reached Savannah on the 5th of April.
Grant’s army was at Pittsburg Landing, ten miles up the river. The world
knows of the unexpected and terrific battle, beginning on the 6th and
lasting two days. Nelson reached Grant at 5 P. M. of the first day’s
fight, Crittenden during the night, and McCook about 9 A. M. of the next
day. These reinforcements alone saved Grant’s army from destruction.
Wood, impeded by the baggage trains abandoned in the road by the
preceding divisions, who were straining every nerve to reach Grant in
time, only reached the battle-field as the fighting closed. Garfield’s
brigade and some other troops were sent in pursuit of the flying enemy;
but their great fatigue from continuous marching, and the darkness of
the night, soon recalled the pursuit. On the following morning,
Garfield’s brigade took part in a severe fight with the enemy’s cavalry,
but it was only a demonstration to cover retreat.
Halleck, Commander-in-Chief, reached Pittsburg Landing April 11th, and
began a remarkably slow advance upon Corinth, the objective point of the
campaign. The army was required to construct parallels of fortification
to cover each day’s advance; and, in this way, it took six weeks to
march the thirty miles which lay between the army and Corinth. While
lying before Corinth, as throughout his career in the army, Garfield
gratified, as much as possible, his love of literature. He had with him
several small volumes of the classics, which he read every day. He
rather preferred Horace, as being “the most philosophic of the pagans.”
During this time an incident occurred which showed well the character of
Garfield. One day a Southern ruffian, a human blood-hound, came riding
into camp, demanding that the soldiers hunt and deliver to him a
wretched fugitive slave who had preceded him. The poor negro, who was
badly wounded from the blows of the bully’s whip, had sought the
blue-coats for protection, and had succeeded in concealing himself from
his relentless pursuer among Garfield’s command. The swearing braggart,
being misled and foiled by the soldiers, who not only sympathized with
the slave, but enjoyed the swaggerer’s wrath, at length demanded to be
shown to the head-quarters of the division commander. The latter, after
hearing the complaint, wrote an order to Garfield to require his men to
hunt out and surrender the trembling vagabond. Garfield took the order
from the aid, read it, quietly refolded it, and indorsed on it the
following reply:
“I respectfully, but positively, decline to allow my command to
search for, or deliver up, any fugitive slaves. I conceive that they
are here for quite another purpose. The command is open, and no
obstacle will be placed in the way of the search.”
It was a courageous act, but he had never known fear. A court-martial,
with a swift sentence of death, was the remedy for refusals to obey
orders. When told of his danger, he said:
“The matter may as well be tested first as last. Right is right, and
I do not propose to mince matters at all. My soldiers are here for
far other purposes than hunting and returning fugitive slaves. My
people on the Western Reserve of Ohio did not send my boys and
myself down here to do that kind of business, and they will back me
up in my action.”
But no court-martial was held. A short time afterwards the War
Department issued a general order embodying the principle of Garfield’s
refusal; and from that time it was the rule in all the armies of the
Republic that no soldier should hound a human being back to fetters.
After the six weeks’ preparation for the siege of Corinth, Halleck found
that only the hull of the nut was left for him. The wily enemy had
evacuated the place without a struggle. The vast Union army, which had
been massed for this campaign, having no foe to oppose it, was resolved
into its original elements. The Army of the Ohio, under Buell, was
ordered to East Tennessee, preparatory to an attack on Chattanooga. The
advance to the east, was along the line of the Memphis and Chattanooga
Railroad. This road had to be almost entirely rebuilt, as the supplies
for the army were to come along its line. This work of rebuilding was
assigned to Wood’s division, and Garfield’s brigade laid down the musket
to handle the spade and hammer. Here, Garfield’s boyhood experience with
tools, was of incalculable value. If a culvert was to be built, his head
planned a swift, but substantial way, to build it. If a bridge had been
burned, his eye saw quickly how to shape the spans, and secure the
braces. His mind was of the rare sort which combines speculative with
practical powers. His spirit electrified his men, as it had the school
at Hiram; and, in the drudgery of the work, from which the inspiration
of battle was wholly wanting, it was he who cheered and encouraged their
unwonted toil. The work, for the time being, having been finished,
Garfield’s head-quarters were established at Huntsville, Alabama, the
most beautiful town in America. But the exposures of army life, the
tremendous exertions put forth in rebuilding the railroad, and the
fierce rays of the summer sun, in the unaccustomed climate, laid hold on
his constitution, in which the old boyhood tendency to ague was all the
time dormant; and in the latter part of July, 1862, he was attacked by
malarial fever. In the rough surroundings of the camp, as he tossed on
his feverish couch, his thoughts turned longingly to the young wife and
child in that humble northern home. Procuring sick-leave, he started
north about the first of August.
The War Department had an eye upon Garfield, and determined to give his
abilities free scope. Five divisions of Buell’s army we have followed to
Corinth, and thence, along the tedious march to Chattanooga. A sixth
division had been sent on a separate expedition to Northern Mississippi,
and a seventh, under General Geo. W. Morgan, to occupy East Tennessee,
and, in particular, Cumberland Gap. In the early part of August, orders
reached Garfield to proceed to Cumberland Gap and take command of the
seventh division of the Army of the Ohio, relieving General Morgan. But
when the order reached Garfield, he was already on his way north, fast
held by the malignant clutch of low fever.
While Garfield had been with the army before Corinth, and on the line of
march toward Chattanooga, the general discipline was very loose. The
army camp is the most demoralizing place in the world. The men lose all
self-restraint, and lapse into ferocious and barbarous manners. The
check for this is discipline; but the volunteer troops, in the early
stages of the war, utterly scouted the idea of discipline. To render it
effective, the Army of the Ohio had to be reduced to a basis of strict
military order. Courts-martial were frequent. Garfield’s judicial mind
and sound judgment, combined with the knowledge of discipline which his
experience as a teacher had given him, caused him to be sought for
eagerly, to conduct these courts-martial. He was idolized by his own
men, but his ability in the drum-head courts spread his fame throughout
the division. The trial of Colonel Turchin, for conduct unbecoming an
officer, was the one which attracted most attention.
The report of the trial to the War Department, prepared by Garfield, had
served to still further heighten the opinion of his abilities
entertained there. Garfield had been at home, on his sick leave, about a
month, and had begun to rally from the fever, when he received orders to
report at Washington City as soon as his health would permit. Shortly
after this he again bade farewell to his girlish wife, and started to
the Capital. The service for which he was required there, was none other
than to sit on the memorable court-martial of Fitz-John Porter, the most
important military trial of the war. The charges against Porter are well
known. He was accused of having disobeyed five distinct orders to bring
his command to the front in time to take part in the second battle of
Bull Run. The trial lasted nearly two months. Garfield was required to
pass upon complicated questions, involving the rules of war, the
situation and surroundings of Porter’s command previous to the battle,
the duties of subordinate commanders, and the military possibilities of
the situation. In such a trial, the common sense of a strong, but
unprofessional mind, was more valuable than the technical training of a
soldier. The question at issue was, whether Porter had kept his own
opinions to himself and cheerfully obeyed his superior’s orders, even if
he did not approve them, or whether, through anger or jealousy, he had
sulked in the rear, so as to insure the defeat which he prophesied.
Garfield threw all his powers into the investigation, and at last was
convinced that Porter was guilty. Such was the verdict of the Court;
such, the opinion of Presidents Lincoln and Grant, and such will be the
opinion of posterity.
During this trial, Garfield became a warm friend of Major-General
Hunter, the presiding officer of the court, and in command of our forces
in South Carolina. After the adjournment, Hunter made an application to
Secretary Stanton to have Garfield assigned to the Army of South
Carolina. The appointment was made. It was gratifying to Garfield,
because Hunter was one of the strong antislavery generals, whom, at that
time, were few enough. Garfield felt that the war, though being fought
on the technical question of a State’s right to secede, was really a war
to destroy the hideous and bloody institution of slavery, and he wished
to see it carried on with that avowed purpose. As he afterwards
expressed it: “In the very crisis of our fate, God brought us face to
face with the alarming truth, that we must lose our own freedom or grant
it to the slave.”
In the same address from which the above is taken, which was delivered
before the war had actually closed, he declared that slavery was dead,
and the war had killed it:
“We shall never know why slavery dies so hard in this Republic and
in this hall till we know why sin has such longevity and Satan is
immortal. With marvelous tenacity of existence, it has outlived the
expectations of its friends and the hopes of its enemies. It has
been declared here and elsewhere to be in all the several stages of
mortality, wounded, moribund, dead. The question has been raised,
whether it was indeed dead, or only in a troubled sleep. I know of
no better illustration of its condition than is found in Sallust’s
admirable history of the great conspirator Catiline, who, when his
final battle was fought and lost, his army broken and scattered, was
found far in advance of his own troops, lying among the dead enemies
of Rome, yet breathing a little, but exhibiting in his countenance
all that ferocity of spirit which had characterized his life. So,
sir, this body of slavery lies before us among the dead enemies of
the Republic, mortally wounded, impotent in its fiendish wickedness,
but with its old ferocity of look, bearing the unmistakable marks of
its infernal origin.”—_House of Representatives, January 13, 1865._
But in war it is always the unexpected which happens. Pending Garfield’s
departure to Hunter’s command, his old army, then merged with the Army
of the Cumberland, under the command of General Rosecrans, who relieved
Buell, had, on the last day of the year of 1862, plunged into the battle
of Stone River. During the day a cannon-ball took off the head of the
beloved Garesché, chief of General Rosecrans’s staff. The place was
important, and hard to fill. It required a man of high military ability
to act as chief confidential adviser of the commanding general, both as
to the general plan of a campaign, and the imperious exigencies of
battle. Rosecrans had relied much on Garesché, and, just when so much
was expected of the Army of the Cumberland, the War Department feared
the testy General might become unmanageable, and, though well versed in
the practice of warfare, give way just at the crisis. The chief of staff
also had to be a man of pleasant social qualities to fit him for the
intimate relation.
Much as the War Department at Washington thought of Rosecrans at this
time, his violent temper and invincible obstinacy rendered it imperative
that some one should be with him who would prevent an absolute rupture
upon trifling grounds. But in addition to these things, the chief of
staff had to be a man of faultless generosity and unselfishness; he had
to be a man who would exert his own genius for another’s glory; he had
to be willing to see the plans of brilliant campaigns, which were the
product of his own mind, taken up and used by another; he had to be
willing to see reports of victories, which were the results of his own
military skill, sent to Washington over the name of the commanding
general, in which his own name was never mentioned. He was to do the
work and get no glory for it. All this he had to do cheerfully, and with
a heart loyal to his superior. There must be no division of counsel, no
lukewarm support, no heart-burnings at head-quarters. To the army and
the world there was but one man—the general. In reality there were two
men—the general and his chief of staff.
A prime minister sometimes succeeds in erecting for himself a fame
separate, and not merged in the splendor of his sovereign. Wolsey and
Richelieu and Talleyrand all did so. But the chief of staff was to know
no fame, no name for himself. His light was merged and lost in the
corruscations of the man above him. To find a man who united the highest
military ability with a genial nature, and who was willing to go utterly
without glory himself, was a difficult task. In a moment Stanton fixed
his eye on Garfield. Without warning, the commission to South Carolina
was revoked. Garfield was ordered to report at once to General
Rosecrans, whose head-quarters were at Murfreesboro, Tennessee, as a
result of the victory at Stone River.
Rosecrans has said that he was prejudiced against Garfield before his
arrival. He had heard that he was a Campbellite preacher, and fond of
theological debate, and a school teacher. These three things were enough
to spoil any man for Rosecrans. So he gave Garfield a cool enough
reception on the January morning when the latter presented himself at
head-quarters. Rosecrans, of course, had the option of taking the man
whom the Department had sent him, to be his confidential adviser or not.
Garfield’s appearance, to be sure, was not that of the pious fraud, or
the religious wrangler, or the precise pedagogue. In the book, _Down in
Tennessee_, we find the following superb description of his appearance
at this time, by one who saw him:
“In a corner by the window, seated at a small pine desk—a sort of
packing-box, perched on a long-legged stool, and divided into
pigeonholes, with a turn-down lid—was a tall, deep-chested,
sinewy-built man, with regular, massive features, a full, clear blue
eye, slightly tinged with gray, and a high, broad forehead, rising
into a ridge over the eyes, as if it had been thrown up by a plow.
There was something singularly engaging in his open, expressive
face, and his whole appearance indicated, as the phrase goes, ‘great
reserve power.’ His uniform, though cleanly brushed and sitting
easily upon him, had a sort of democratic air, and every thing about
him seemed to denote that he was ‘a man of the people,’ A rusty
slouched hat, large enough to have fitted Daniel Webster, lay on the
desk before him; but a glance at that was not needed to convince me
that his head held more than the common share of brains. Though he
is yet young—not thirty-three—the reader has heard of him, and if he
lives he will make his name long remembered in our history.”
After some conversation, Rosecrans concluded to go a little slow before
he rejected his services. He kept Garfield around head-quarters for a
day or two, quizzing him occasionally, and trying to make up his
estimate of the man. This sort of dancing attendance for a position he
did not want, would have galled a man of less ability and cheaper pride
than Garfield; but he had the patience of a planet. “Rosey,” as his
soldiers called him, soon found himself liking this great whole-souled
Ohioan, and, what was still more significant, he began to reverence the
genius of the man. He was unable to sink a plumb-line to the bottom of
Garfield’s mind. After each conversation, the depths of reserve power
seemed deeper than before. Rosecrans decided within himself to take him,
if possible. Only one thing stood in the way. If Garfield preferred to
go to the field, as he had himself prophesied from his name
(Guard-of-the-field) just before leaving college in 1856, Rosecrans was
not the man to chain him up at head-quarters. The choice was open to
Garfield to take a division or accept the position of chief of staff.
The latter had fifty times the responsibility, and no opportunity
whatever for fame. But without a moment’s struggle, Garfield quietly
said: “If you want my services as chief of staff, you can have them.”
The opinion in the army of the selection of General Garfield to succeed
the lamented Garesché, may be gathered from a volume called: “_Annals of
the Army of the Cumberland_,” published shortly after Garfield’s
appointment, and written by an officer in the army. “With the selection
of General Garfield, universal satisfaction is everywhere expressed.
Possessed of sound natural sense, an excellent judgment, a highly
cultivated intellect, and the deserved reputation of a successful
military leader, he is not only the Mentor of the staff, but his
opinions are sought and his counsels heeded by many who are older, and
not less distinguished than himself.”
An incident which occurred soon after his appointment, illustrates well
the aspect of his many-sided character, as presented to the common
soldier. Civilians have little idea of the gulf which military
discipline and etiquette places between the regular army officer and the
private soldier. Never was a Russian czar more of a despot and autocrat
than a West Point graduate. It seems to be an unavoidable outgrowth of
the profession of arms and military discipline that the officer should
be a sultan and the private a slave. One night, at Rosecrans’s
head-quarters in Murfreesboro, the officers’ council lasted till the
small hours of the morning. The outer hall, into which the room used by
the council opened, was occupied by a dozen orderly sergeants, who were
required to be there, ready for instant service all the time. As the
hours advanced, and there was no indication of an adjournment within,
this outer council got sleepy, and selecting one of its number to keep
watch, rolled itself up in various ragged army blankets and tumbled on
the floor. It was not long till the air trembled with heavy blasts from
the leaden trumpet of sleep. The unlucky fellow, who was left to guard,
was envious enough of his sleeping comrades. Tilting his seat back
against the wall, he sank into deep meditation upon the pleasures of
sleep. A few minutes later, sundry sudden jerks of his head, from side
to side, told that he, too, had found surcease from sorrow in sonorous
slumber. Just at this unlucky moment the door opened, and General
Garfield stepped out into the dimly-lighted passage, on his way to his
quarters. The sleeper’s legs were stretched out far in front of him with
lofty negligence; his arms hung by his side; his head, from which the
cap was gone, hung down in an alarming manner, as if he were making a
profound and attentive investigation of his boots. At this unlucky
moment, Garfield stumbled over the sergeant, and fell with his full
weight upon the frightened orderly. Military discipline required that
Garfield should fire a volley of oaths at the poor fellow, supplemented
by a heavy cannonade of kicks in the enemy’s rear, and the cutting down
of his supplies to bread and water for a week. Orderlies at
head-quarters knew this to be the plan of battle. General Garfield rose
to his feet as quickly as possible, gave the unfortunate and trembling
sergeant his assistance to rise, and after a kindly “excuse me,
Sergeant, I did not see you. I’m afraid you did not find me very light,”
passed on his way. It is easy to see why the common soldiers loved a
chief of staff in whom the gentleman was stronger than the officer.
During the tedious delay at Murfreesboro, the officers and men exercised
their ingenuity in inventing games to pass away the time. Phil.
Sheridan, out at his quarters in the forest surrounding the town, had
invented a game which he called Dutch ten-pins. Out in front of his
cabin, from the limb of a lofty tree, was suspended a rope. At the end
was attached a cannon-ball, small enough to be easily grasped by the
hand. Underneath the rope were set the ten-pins, with sufficient spaces
between them for the ball to pass without hitting. At first the
fun-loving little General only tried to throw the ball between the pins
without knocking any. But as his skill increased, he enlarged the
opportunity for it by making the game to consist not only in avoiding
the pins on the throw, but in making the ball hit them on the return.
Sheridan became very fond of the exercise, and in the three throws
allowed each player for a game, he could bring down twenty pins out of
the thirty possible. The reputation of the novel game and Sheridan’s
skill reached the commanding General’s head-quarters. One day Rosecrans,
Garfield, and a few brother officers, rode out to see “little Phil,” as
Sheridan was called, and take a hand in the game which had made for
itself such a name. The guests were cordially received, and after a good
many jokes and much bantering, Sheridan began the game. At the first
throw the returning ball brought down six pins; at the second, seven;
and the third the same number, making a score of twenty. Several tried
with more or less success, but not approaching the host’s score. When
Rosecrans took the ball, the merry company laughed at his nervous way of
handling it. After a lengthy aim, he threw and knocked down every pin by
the throw. Again he tried it, and again the ball failed even to get
through the wooden line. Sheridan nearly exploded with laughter. A third
time he met with the same ill-luck, failing to make a single tally. Then
General Garfield stepped forward, saying: “It’s nothing but mathematics.
All you need is an eye and a hand.” So saying, he carelessly threw the
ball, safely clearing the pins on the forward swing, and bringing down
seven on the return. Every body shouted “Luck! luck! Try that again.”
The chief of staff laughed heartily, and with still greater
indifference, tossed the ball, making eight; the third throw had a like
result, scoring Garfield twenty-three, and giving him the game. It was
no wonder that an officer said of him, “That man Garfield beats every
thing. No matter what he does, he is the superior of his competitors,
without half trying.”
On the 25th of April, 1863, Garfield issued a circular to the Army of
the Cumberland, upon the barbarities and unspeakable outrages of the
Southern prison-pens. The circular contained a verbatim statement by an
escaped prisoner of his treatment by the rebels. After a few burning
words, General Garfield concluded: “We can not believe that the justice
of God will allow such a people to prosper. Let every soldier know that
death on the battle-field is preferable to a surrender followed by such
outrages as their comrades have undergone.”
Every word of the circular was true. The time may come, when the South
will be forgiven for fighting for principles which it believed to be
right. The time may come when the sorrows of the North and South will
become alike the sorrows of each other, over the ruin wrought by human
folly. The right hand of fellowship will be extended. The Southern
people, as a people, may be relieved of the fearful charge of the
assassination of Abraham Lincoln, and posterity may come to look at it
as the infernal offspring of a few hell-born hearts. The day is upon us
when much of this is already true. But the men who directly or
indirectly caused or countenanced the starvation, the torture, the
poisoned and rotten food, the abandonment to loathsome disease, the
crowding of thousands of Union prisoners into stockades, opening only
heavenward, and all the other unparalleled atrocities of the Southern
prisons, atrocities that violated every rule of warfare; atrocities, to
find the equals of which the history of barbarous and savage nations,
without the light of religion, or the smile of civilization, will be
ransacked in vain, shall be handed down to an eternity of infamy. They
shall take rank with the Caligulas, the Neros, the inquisitors, all the
historic monsters in human form, whose names and natures are the common
dishonor and disgrace of mankind.
About this time there appeared in Rosecrans’s camp, with drooping
feathers, but brazen face, the thing which patriotism denominated “a
copperhead.” He was a northern citizen by the name of Vallandigham, from
Garfield’s own State, who had been ostracised by his neighbors for his
treason, and compelled to leave the community of patriots to seek
congenial company within the rebel lines. He was to have an escort to
the enemy’s camp. A squad waited outside to perform this touching task,
under the cover of a flag of truce. Vallandigham, who had the mind, if
not the heart, of a man, in forced jocularity dramatically spoke the
lines from _Romeo and Juliet_—
“Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.”
Quick as thought Garfield completed the quotation—
“I must begone and live, or stay and die.”
The joke was funny to every one but Vallandigham, but he was the only
man in the room who laughed aloud.
A little later President Hinsdale wrote to General Garfield about the
treasonable views of some copperhead students at Hiram. Above all things
Garfield detested a foe in the rear. He respected a man who avouched his
principles on the crimsoned field, but a traitor, a coward, was to his
candid nature despicable beyond language. His letter in reply is
characteristic:
“HEAD-QUARTERS DEPARTMENT OF THE CUMBERLAND, }
MURFREESBORO, May 26, 1863. }
“Tell all those copperhead students for me that, were I there in
charge of the school, I would not only dishonorably dismiss them
from the school, but, if they remained in the place and persisted in
their cowardly treason, I would apply to General Burnside to enforce
General Order No. 38 in their cases....
“If these young traitors are in earnest they should go to the
Southern Confederacy, where they can receive full sympathy. Tell
them all that I will furnish them passes through our lines, where
they can join Vallandigham and their other friends till such time as
they can destroy us, and come back home as conquerors of their own
people, or can learn wisdom and obedience.
“I know this apparently is a small matter, but it is only apparently
small. We do not know what the developments of a month may bring
forth, and, if such things be permitted at Hiram, they may anywhere.
The rebels catch up all such facts as sweet morsels of comfort, and
every such influence lengthens the war and adds to the bloodshed.”
It was about the same time the above letter was written that a letter
was brought to Rosecrans’s head-quarters, detailing an extensive plan
for a universal insurrection of the slaves throughout the South. The
rising was to take place August 1st. The slaves were to arm themselves
with whatever they could get, and their especial work was to cut off the
supplies of the rebel forces. “An army is dependent on its belly,” said
Napoleon. To destroy the bridges and railroads within the Confederacy
would swiftly undermine the rebel armies, whose rations and ammunition
came along those routes. With the universal coöperation of the Union
forces, it was thought the Rebellion might be crushed. To secure the
coöperation of Rosecrans was the apparent object of the letter. General
Garfield talked it over with his chief, and denounced the plan in the
most unmeasured terms. He said that if the slaves wanted to revolt that
was one thing. But for the Union army to violate the rules of warfare by
encouraging and combining with a war upon non-combatants was not to be
thought of. The colored people would have committed every excess upon
the innocent women and children of the South. The unfortunate country
would not only be overrun with war, but with riot. Rosecrans resolved to
have nothing to do with it. But Garfield still was not satisfied. The
letter said that several commanders had already given their assent. He
sent the letter to President Lincoln with a statement of the results
which would follow such irregular warfare. A letter of Garfield, written
on the subject, says:
“I am clearly of opinion that the negro project is in every way bad,
and should be repudiated, and, if possible, thwarted. If the slaves
should, of their own accord, rise and assert their original right to
themselves, and cut their way through rebeldom, that is their own
affair; but the Government could have no complicity with it without
outraging the sense of justice of the civilized world. We would
create great sympathy for the rebels abroad, and God knows they have
too much already.”
Lincoln gave the matter his attention, and the slave revolt never took
place in any magnitude. It was an ambitious scheme on paper, and yet was
not utterly impracticable. It was a thing to be crushed in its infancy,
and Garfield’s action was the proper way to do it.
While Garfield was with Rosecrans, he was addressed by some prominent
Northerners upon the subject of running Rosecrans for the Presidency.
Greeley and many leading Republicans were dissatisfied with Lincoln in
1862–’63, and wanted to work up another candidate for the campaign of
’64. Attracted by Rosecrans’s successes, they put the plan on foot by
opening communication with Garfield, in whom they had great confidence,
upon the feasibility of defeating Mr. Lincoln in the convention, with
Rosecrans. Garfield, however, put his foot on the whole ambitious
scheme. He said that no man on earth could equal Lincoln in that trying
hour. To take Rosecrans was to destroy both a wonderful President and an
excellent soldier. So effectually did he smother the plan, that it is
said Rosecrans never heard a whisper of it.
A most important work of General Garfield, as chief of staff, was his
attack upon the corrupting vice of smuggling, and his defense of the
army police. When an army is in an active campaign, marching, fighting,
and fortifying, there is but little corruption developed. But in a large
volunteer army, with its necessarily lax discipline when lying idle for
a long time, its quarters become infested with all the smaller vices.
The men are of every sort; and, as soon as they are idle, their heads
get full of mischief. The Army of the Cumberland, during its long
inactivity at Murfreesboro, soon began to suffer. The citizens were
hostile, and had but two objects—one to serve the Confederacy, the other
to make money for themselves. They thus all became spies and smugglers.
Smuggling was the great army vice. The profits of cotton, smuggled
contraband through the Union lines to the North, and of medicines, arms,
leather, whisky, and a thousand Northern manufactures, through to the
South, were simply incalculable. Bribery was the most effective, but not
the only way of smuggling articles through the lines. The Southern
women, famous the world over for their beauty and their captivating and
passionate manners, would entangle the officers in their meshes in order
to extort favors. To break up this smuggling, and get fresh information
of any plots or pitfalls for the Union army, a system of army police had
been organized at Nashville and Murfreesboro. This was in a fair state
of efficiency when Garfield was appointed chief of staff. To improve it
and make its work more available, General Garfield founded a bureau of
military information, with General D. G. Swaim for its head. For
efficiency, it was never again equaled or approached during the war.
Shortly after the establishment of this bureau of information, a
determined attack was made on the whole institution. “It marshaled its
friends and enemies in almost regimental numbers. Even in the army it
has been violently assailed, not only by the vicious in the ranks, but
by officers whose evil deeds were _not_ past finding out.” The
accusations which were laid before Garfield were always investigated
immediately, and always to the vindication of the police department. A
special officer was at last detailed to investigate the entire
department. His report of the wonderful achievements of the army police
is monumental. Garfield was inexorable. Every officer guilty of
smuggling had to come down, no matter how prominent he was. The chief of
staff set his face like brass against the corruptions. The opportunities
open to him for wealth were immense. All that was necessary for him to
do was to wink at the smuggling. He had absolute power in the matter.
But he fought the evil to its grave. He broke up stealing among the men.
He established a system of regular reports from spies on the enemy. His
police furnished him with the political status of every family in that
section of the State. He knew just the temper of Bragg’s troops, and had
a fair idea of their number. He knew just what corn was selling at in
the enemy’s lines. Located in a hostile country, honeycombed with a
system of rebel spies, he out-spied the enemy, putting spies to watch
its spies. In every public capacity, civil or military, virtue is more
rare and more necessary than genius. General Garfield’s incorruptible
character alone saved the army police from destruction, and restored the
Army of the Cumberland to order and honesty. He had, long before
entering the army, shown wonderful ability for using assistants to
accumulate facts for him. The police institution was an outcropping of
the same thing. No commander during the war had more exact and detailed
information of the enemy than Garfield had at this time.
When General Garfield reached the Army of the Cumberland, it was in a
shattered and exhausted condition. It had no cavalry, the arms were
inferior, and the terrible pounding at Stone River had greatly weakened
it. General Rosecrans insisted on its recuperation and reinforcement
before making another advance. The Department at Washington and Halleck,
Commander-in-chief of the Union forces, were of the opinion that an
advance should be made. Rosecrans, though possessing some high military
skill, was sensitive, headstrong, absorbed in details, and violent of
speech. He demanded cavalry, horses, arms, equipments. Dispatch after
dispatch came insisting on an advance. Sharper and sharper became the
replies. Garfield undertook to soften the venomous correspondence. Angry
messages were sometimes suppressed altogether. But he could not control
the wrathy commander. Rosecrans held a different, and, as it turned out,
an erroneous theory of the best military policy. At first, Garfield’s
views harmonized with those of his superior; but, as the month of April
passed without movement, as his secret service informed him of the
condition and situation of the enemy, he joined his own urgent advice to
that of the Department for an advance. Rosecrans was immovable. The army
of 60,000 men had been in quarters at Murfreesboro since January 6th
without striking a blow at the rebellion. The month of May, with its
opening flowers, its fragrant breezes and blue skies, came and went
without a move. General Garfield was sick at heart, but he could do
nothing. The more Rosecrans was talked to, the more obstinate he became.
Garfield had certain information that Bragg’s army had been divided by
sending reinforcements to Richmond, but nobody believed it. Besides,
Rosecrans was supported in his position by all the generals of his army.
Two of these were incompetent—Crittenden and McCook. They had behaved
shamefully at Stone River. General Garfield urged their removal, and the
substitution of McDowell and Buell. Rosecrans admitted their
inefficiency, but said he hated to injure “two such good fellows.” He
kept them till the “good fellows” injured him.
At last, on the 8th of June, 1863, Rosecrans, yielding somewhat to the
pressure without, and still more to the persuasion of his chief of
staff, laid the situation before the seventeen corps, division and
cavalry generals of his army, and requested a written opinion from each
one upon the advisability of an advance. It is to be remembered that
among the seventeen generals were _Thomas_, _Sheridan_, _Negley_, _Jeff.
C. Davis_, _Hazen_ and _Granger_. Each of these studied the situation,
and presented a written individual opinion. _With astonishing unanimity,
every one of the seventeen opposed an advance._ Rosecrans read the
opinions. They coincided with his own. But there was a man of genius at
his side. Garfield, his confidential adviser, looked at the opinions of
the generals in utter dismay. He saw that a crisis had arrived. The
Department of War peremptorily demanded an advance; and to let the vast
army, with its then excellent equipment, lie idle longer, meant not only
the speedy removal of Rosecrans from command, but the greatest danger to
the Union cause. He asked Rosecrans time to prepare a written reply to
the opinions opposing an advance. Permission was given, though Rosecrans
told him it would be wasted work. Collecting all his powers, he began
his task. Four days and nights it occupied him. At the end of that time,
on June 12th, he presented to Rosecrans the ablest opinion known to have
been given to a commanding officer by his chief of staff during the
entire war. The paper began with a statement of the questions to be
discussed. Next it contained, in tabulated form, the opinions of the
generals upon each question. Then followed a swift summary of the
reasons presented in the seventeen opinions against the advance. Then
began the answer. He presented an elaborate estimate of the strength of
Bragg’s army, probably far more accurate and complete than the rebel
general had himself. It was made up from the official report of Bragg
after the battle of Stone River, from facts obtained from prisoners,
deserters, refugees, rebel newspapers, and, above all, from the reports
of his army police. The argument showed a perfect knowledge of the rules
of organization of the Confederate army. The mass of proofs accompanying
the opinion was overwhelming. Then followed a summary and analysis of
the Army of the Cumberland. Summing up the relative strength of the two
armies, he says, after leaving a strong garrison force at Murfreesboro,
“there will be left sixty-five thousand one hundred and thirty-seven
bayonets and sabers to throw against Bragg’s forty-one thousand six
hundred and eighty.”
He concludes with the following general observations:
“1. Bragg’s army is now weaker than it has been since the battle of
Stone River, or is likely to be again for the present, while our
army has reached its maximum strength, and we have no right to
expect reinforcements for several months, if at all.
“2. Whatever be the result at Vicksburg, the determination of its
fate will give large reinforcements to Bragg. If Grant is
successful, his army will require many weeks to recover from the
shock and strain of his late campaign, while Johnston will send back
to Bragg a force sufficient to insure the safety of Tennessee. If
Grant fails, the same result will inevitably follow, so far as
Bragg’s army is concerned.
“3. No man can predict with certainty the result of any battle,
however great the disparity in numbers. Such results are in the
hands of God. But, viewing the question in the light of human
calculation, I refuse to entertain a doubt that this army, which in
January last defeated Bragg’s superior numbers, can overwhelm his
present greatly inferior forces.
“4. The most unfavorable course for us that Bragg could take would
be to fall back without giving us battle; but this would be very
disastrous to him. Besides, the loss of _matériel_ of war and the
abandonment of the rich and abundant harvest now nearly ripe in
Middle Tennessee, he would lose heavily by desertion. It is well
known that a widespread dissatisfaction exists among his Kentucky
and Tennessee troops. They are already deserting in large numbers. A
retreat would greatly increase both the desire and the opportunity
for desertion, and would very materially reduce his physical and
moral strength. While it would lengthen our communications, it would
give us possession of McMinnville, and enable us to threaten
Chattanooga and East Tennessee; and it would not be unreasonable to
expect an early occupation of the former place.
“5. But the chances are more than even that a sudden and rapid
movement would compel a general engagement, and the defeat of Bragg
would be in the highest degree disastrous to the rebellion.
“6. The turbulent aspect of politics in the loyal States renders a
decisive blow against the enemy at this time of the highest
importance to the success of the Government at the polls, and in the
enforcement of the conscription act.
“7. The Government and the War Department believe that this army
ought to move upon the enemy. The army desires it, and the country
is anxiously hoping for it.
“8. Our true objective point is the rebel army, whose last reserves
are substantially in the field; and an effective blow will crush the
shell, and soon be followed by the collapse of the rebel government.
“9. You have, in my judgment, wisely delayed a general movement
hitherto, till your army could be massed and your cavalry could be
mounted. Your mobile force can now be concentrated in twenty-four
hours; and your cavalry, if not equal in numerical strength to that
of the enemy, is greatly superior in efficiency. For these reasons I
believe an immediate advance of all our available forces is
advisable, and, under the providence of God, will be successful.”
Rosecrans read the opinion, examined the proofs, and was convinced.
“Garfield,” said he, “you have captured me, but how shall the advance be
made?”
The situation was about as follows: Imagine an isosceles triangle, with
its apex to the north at Murfreesboro. Here the Army of the Cumberland
was situated. The base of the triangle was about fifty miles long, and
constituted the enemy’s front, with its right terminating at
McMinnville, the south-east corner of the triangle, and its left at
Columbia, the south-west corner of the figure. At the middle of the base
was the village of Wartrace; and almost due west of Wartrace, but a
little below the base of the triangle, was Shelbyville, where the
enemy’s center was situated, behind massive fortifications. Between
Shelbyville and Wartrace was massed the enemy’s infantry, the extreme
wings being composed of cavalry. At a little distance north of the
enemy’s front, and forming the base of the triangle, was a “range of
hills, rough and rocky, through whose depressions, called gaps, the main
roads to the South passed. These gaps were held by strong detachments
with heavy columns within supporting distance.” Any one can see the
enormous strength of the enemy’s position for defense. But it had still
other sources of strength. Behind the enemy’s left and center was Duck
River, a deep torrent, with tremendous banks. If they were pressed in
front, the rebel army could fall back south of the river, burn the
bridges, and gain ample time for retreat to the lofty range of the
Cumberland Mountains, which were only a day’s march to the rear. On a
direct line with Murfreesboro and Wartrace, and at the same distance
south of Wartrace, as Murfreesboro was north of it, was Tullahoma, the
dépôt of the enemy’s supplies, and hence the key to the situation.
Posted in this almost impregnable situation, Bragg’s army was the master
of Central Tennessee. It is evident that the campaign, which Garfield so
powerfully urged, was a great undertaking. The narrow mountain gaps
heavily fortified; behind the range of hills the great body of the rebel
army intrenched in heavy fortifications; behind them the natural defense
of Duck River, and still to the south, the Cumberland Mountains, formed
an aggregation of obstacles almost insuperable. The plan of the campaign
which followed must, in military history, be accredited to Rosecrans,
because he was the General in command; but biography cares not for
military custom, and names its author and originator the chief of staff.
The reason Garfield urged the advance, was that he had a plan, the
merits of which we will examine hereafter, by which he was convinced it
might be successfully made.
There were substantially three ways by which the Union army might
advance: one lay along the west side of the triangle to Columbia, there
attacking the enemy’s left wing; another to march directly south to
Shelbyville, and fall upon the enemy’s center; a third, to advance by
two roads, cutting the base of the triangle about midway between the
enemy’s center and extreme right. A fourth route was possible, along the
eastern side of the triangle to McMinnville; but if the enemy’s right
was to be attacked, the Manchester roads were every way preferable, as
being more direct. General Garfield’s selection was the third route. His
plan was to throw a heavy force forward on the road to Shelbyville, as
if intending to attack the rebel center. Then, under cover of this
feint, swiftly throw the bulk of the army upon the enemy’s right, turn
the flank, cross Duck River, and march swiftly to the enemy’s rear,
threatening his supplies, thus compelling Bragg to fall back from his
tremendous stronghold at Shelbyville, and either give battle in the open
country or abandon the entire region.
On the 23d of June the movement was begun by the advance of General
Granger’s division toward Shelbyville. At the same time a demonstration
was made toward the enemy’s left, to create the belief that feints were
being made to distract the enemy’s attention from what would be supposed
the main attack on Shelbyville. Meanwhile the bulk of the army was
advanced along the two roads leading to the middle of the enemy’s
right—the east road leading through Liberty Gap, and the west through
Hoover’s Gap, a defile three miles long. On the twenty-fourth a terrible
rain began, continuing day and night, for over a week. It rendered the
wretched roads almost impassable, and terribly increased the
difficulties of the army. The artillery sunk hub-deep in the almost
bottomless mire. Great teams of twelve and fourteen powerful horses
“stalled” with small field-pieces. Never a minute did the rain let up.
The men’s clothing was so drenched that it was not dry for two weeks.
The army wagons, hundreds in number, carrying the precious bacon and
hard-tack, stuck fast on the roads. So fearful was the mire that on one
day the army only advanced a mile and a-half.
But the advance was pushed as rapidly as possible. Liberty Gap and
Hoover’s were both captured. The demonstrations on the enemy’s left and
center were kept up with great vigor. Bragg was wholly deceived by the
numerous points of attack. On the twenty-seventh the entire army was
concentrated, and passed rapidly through Hoover’s Gap, and on to
Manchester. While the army was concentrating at Manchester, General
Thomas, on the twenty-eighth, began the final move in the game—the
advance upon Tullahoma. Bragg had retreated from Shelbyville, owing to
the danger which threatened his supplies. On the twenty-ninth he
evacuated Tullahoma for the same reason. An attempt was made to
intercept his retreat and force him to battle. But the terrible
condition of the roads and rivers rendered the effort futile. Bragg
crossed the Cumberland Mountains, and Central Tennessee was once more in
the hands of the Union army. Had the Tullahoma campaign been begun a
week earlier, before the rains set in, Bragg’s army would inevitably
have been destroyed. The rebel army, of 50,000 veterans, had been driven
from a natural stronghold of the most formidable character; and had lost
all the fruits of a year’s victories by a single campaign of nine days,
conducted in one of the most extraordinary rains ever known in
Tennessee. There were 1,700 rebel prisoners taken, several parks of
artillery, and an enormous amount of Confederate army stores at
Tullahoma. This campaign and its victory was not the result of battle,
but of pure strategy, confessedly the highest art in war.
As to whom the credit of the plan of the campaign belonged, there could
be no question. As we have shown, it is impossible to separate the
double star of Garfield and Rosecrans by military etiquette. But aside
from the facts that the campaign was begun as a result of Garfield’s
argument, in the face of unanimous opposition, the following fact is
conclusive as to whom belongs the glory. On the morning of the
twenty-third, when the movement was begun, General Thomas L. Crittenden,
one of the corps commanders, went to head-quarters and said to General
Garfield: “_It is understood, sir, by the general officers of the army
that this movement is your work. I wish you to understand that it is a
rash and fatal move, for which you will be held responsible._”
The lips of an enemy are now made to bear unwilling testimony to the
glory and the credit of the chief of staff. In his report to the War
Department, just as this campaign was getting started, General Rosecrans
says: “I hope it will not be considered invidious if I specially mention
Brigadier-General James A. Garfield, an able soldier, zealous, devoted
to duty, prudent and sagacious. I feel much indebted to him both for his
counsel and assistance in the administration of this army. He possesses
the instincts and energy of a great commander.”
Historians are unanimous in their opinion that the Tullahoma campaign
was one of the most masterly exhibitions of strategic genius possible to
the commander of a great army. Mahan, author of the _Critical History of
the Civil War_, who is ever ready to attack and expose the blunders of
the Union generals, declares that this Tullahoma campaign shows “_as
skillful combinations as the history of war presents_.”
But the Tullahoma campaign was not the conclusion of the advance which
General Garfield had so persistently urged, and the success of which had
been so triumphantly demonstrated. An important line of defense had been
broken through; an enormous piece of territory had been captured. But
Bragg still held Chattanooga, which was the objective point of the Army
of the Cumberland. In his argument of June 12, to induce an advance,
Garfield had said: “While it would lengthen our communications, it would
give us possession of McMinnville, and _enable us to threaten
Chattanooga_ and East Tennessee; _and it would not be unreasonable to
expect an early occupation of the former place_.” It is yet to be seen
what fulfillment there was of this prophecy.
After the Tullahoma victory, and Bragg’s retreat behind the Tennessee
River, Rosecrans stopped. Again, the War Department ordered an advance.
Again, the commander-in-chief refused. Again, Garfield urged that no
delay take place. Rosecrans was immovable. The Department waited; the
army waited; the country waited. At last the following dispatch was
received:
“WASHINGTON, August 5, 1863.
“The orders for the advance of your army, and that its progress be
reported daily, are peremptory.
H. W. HALLECK.”
The thing required was stupendous, but the results show it was not
impossible. Sixty miles from the Union army was the Tennessee River and
Cumberland Mountains. Both run from north-east to south-west. There are
in these lofty mountain ranges occasional gaps, through which the great
east and west traffic of the country takes place. Chattanooga, in 1863 a
town of fifteen hundred inhabitants, is in the most important of these
gaps—the one through which passes the Tennessee River and an important
net-work of railroads. The town is right in the mountains, twenty-five
hundred feet above the sea-level, and was strongly fortified, and
practically impregnable to assault. Along the north-west front of the
town runs the river, which would have to be crossed by the Union forces.
On the southern side of the river, below Chattanooga, are three parallel
ranges: Sand Mountain, Lookout Mountain, and Pigeon Ridge,—the valleys
between the ridges running up to the gap at Chattanooga. North-east of
the town the ridges begin again, and the general configuration of the
country is similar. Chattanooga was south-east from where the Union army
was situated. The town was the lock, and Bragg’s army the key, to the
door to Georgia, Virginia, and the Carolinas. To unlock this door was
the task before the Army of the Cumberland.
But the problem of Rosecrans’s advance contained other complications
beside the deep river, the lofty mountains, and the heavy
fortifications. His army had to depend for its supplies upon Louisville,
Kentucky, and the slender line of railway from that place. Every advance
necessitated the weakening of his army by leaving strong detachments to
preserve this communication; while, on the other hand, Bragg, already
reinforced, would grow stronger all the time as he fell back on his
reserves.
It is reasonable to suppose that the reason Garfield had urged the
advance toward Chattanooga was that he saw a way in which it could be
made. When the peremptory order came, a plan for the advance was
projected, which, though vaster and more complicated than that of the
Tullahoma campaign, contains the same elements, and shows itself to have
been the work of the same mind. It was, indeed, a continuation of the
same campaign. The plan was Rosecrans’s, because he adopted it. It was
Garfield’s, because he originated it. The theory of the advance was to
pass the enemy’s flank, march to his rear, threaten his line of supplies
and compel him, by military strategy, to evacuate Chattanooga, as he had
Shelbyville and Tullahoma. The door would thus be unlocked, and Bragg’s
army driven from its last fortification to the open country. The details
of the plan, as prepared by Garfield, will appear as the advance is
explained. On August 16th began the movement of the army across the
mountains toward the Tennessee River. The paramount effort in the manner
of the advance was to deceive the enemy as to the real intention.
The army made the movement along three separate routes. Crittenden’s
corps, forming the left, was to advance by a circuitous route, to a
point about fifteen miles south-west of Chattanooga, and make his
crossing of the Tennessee River there. Thomas, as our center, was to
cross a little farther down stream, and McCook, thirty miles farther to
the right. These real movements were to be made under the cover of an
apparent one. About seven thousand men marched directly to the river
shore, opposite Chattanooga, as if a direct attack were to be made on
the place. “The extent of front presented, the show of strength, the
vigorous shelling of the city by Wilder’s artillery, the bold expression
of the whole movement, constituted a brilliant feint.” Bragg was
deceived again. Absorbed in the operations in front of the place, he
offered no resistance to the crossing of the Tennessee River by the main
army.
By September 3d, the Union forces were all on the southern side of the
Tennessee. Sand Mountain, the first of the ridges on that side of the
river, rises abruptly from the bank. The repair and construction of
roads occupied a little time; but Thomas and McCook pushed forward
vigorously, and by the evening of the 6th of September had crossed Sand
Mountain, and occupied the valley between it and the Lookout Range. Each
of these corps had crossed the range at points opposite their crossings
of the river, and, though in the same valley, were thirty-five miles
apart. Crittenden, instead of crossing, turned to his left, and marched
up the river bank toward Chattanooga, and crossed into the Lookout
Valley by a pass near the town. On the 7th the next stage of the
movement began, viz: the crossing of Lookout Range, in order to pass to
the enemy’s rear, and, by endangering his supplies, compel him to
abandon Chattanooga.
As soon as Bragg’s spy-glasses on Lookout Mountain, at Chattanooga,
disclosed this movement, the order to evacuate the place was given.
Shelbyville and Tullahoma were repeated, and on the morning of September
9th Crittenden marched in and took the place without the discharge of a
gun. Strategy had again triumphed. The door was unlocked. The fall of
Chattanooga was accomplished. The plan of the campaign had been carried
out successfully. The North was electrified. The South utterly
discomfited. Of the fall of Chattanooga, which, as we have shown, was
but the continuation of the plan of the Tullahoma campaign, and was
predicted by Garfield, even to the manner of its accomplishment, in his
argument to Rosecrans in favor of an advance, Pollard, the Confederate
historian, writes:
“Thus we were maneuvered out of this strategic stronghold. Two-thirds of
our niter beds were in this region, and a large proportion of the coal
which supplied our foundries. It abounded in the necessaries of life. It
was one of the strongest mountain countries in the world; so full of
lofty mountains that it has been not inaptly called the Switzerland of
America. As the possession of Switzerland opened the door to the
invasion of Italy, Germany, and France, so the possession of East
Tennessee gave easy access to Virginia, North Carolina, Georgia, and
Alabama.”
It is easy to see that behind this masterly strategy there was a
masterly strategist. That man was Rosecrans’s chief of staff.
What had become of Bragg’s army of fifty thousand men? Rosecrans thought
it was in full retreat. Halleck, Commander-in-chief, telegraphed from
Washington, on the 11th, that information had been received that
_Bragg’s army was being used to reinforce Lee_, a certain indication of
retreat. The fact was that Lee was reinforcing Bragg. Halleck also
telegraphed on the same day that reinforcements were coming to
Rosecrans, and that it would be decided whether he should _move further_
into Georgia and Alabama. This telegram completed the delusion of
Rosecrans. He believed Bragg was many miles to the south. The campaign
planned by Garfield had been completed. But Rosecrans made a fatal
blunder. Instead of marching the corps of Thomas and McCook up the
Lookout Valley to Chattanooga, and uniting them with Crittenden’s, he
ordered the crossing of the range as a flank movement to be continued in
order to intercept Bragg’s supposed retreat. Accordingly, on the 11th
and 12th, Thomas recommenced to push over Lookout Mountain through a
pass, twenty-five miles south-east of Chattanooga; and thirty-five miles
beyond Thomas, McCook was doing the same thing.
With the Union army thus divided, Bragg was waiting his terrible
opportunity. Instead of being in full retreat, many miles away, his
entire army occupied Pigeon Ridge along the valley on the southern side
of Lookout Range, into which Thomas and McCook must descend from the
Mountain passes. Down the center of this valley runs a little river, the
CHICKAMAUGA. On the southern side of this stream, just opposite the pass
from which Thomas’s corps of eighteen thousand devoted men would emerge,
was concentrated the entire rebel army, waiting to destroy the isolated
parts of the Army of the Cumberland in detail. The region occupied by
Bragg was covered with dense forests, and he was further concealed by
the low heights of Pigeon Ridge. When Thomas’s corps should have
debouched from the pass through Lookout Range, and crossed the
Chickamauga to ascend Pigeon Ridge, it was to be overwhelmed. Then
McCook and Crittenden, sixty-five miles apart, would be separately
destroyed. It fortunately happened that General Negley’s division
descended from the gap on the 12th, and crossed the Chickamauga several
miles in advance of the main body of Thomas’s corps. Unexpectedly,
finding the enemy in great force on the opposite ridge, he swiftly
withdrew, checked Thomas from further advance, and enabled the corps to
take up an impregnable position in the gap through Lookout Range.
Thus foiled, Bragg then resolved to strike Crittenden, but eventually
failed in this also. These failures gave the alarm. Bragg’s army was not
ready for flight but for fight. It was now a matter of life and death
for Rosecrans to concentrate his army before battle. Couriers were
dispatched at break-neck speed to McCook, sixty-five miles away, and to
Crittenden who had pushed on twenty miles beyond Chattanooga, in
imaginary pursuit of Bragg. In some absolutely inexplicable way, Bragg
failed for four days to make the attack. In those precious days, from
September 13th to 17th, Garfield worked night and day, as chief of
staff, to reach the scattered divisions, explore the shortest roads
through those lofty mountains, and hasten that combination which alone
could save the army from destruction. The suspense was terrible. But
Bragg lost his opportunity by delaying too long. Heavy reinforcements
for him were arriving, and he thought he was growing stronger. On the
17th and 18th Bragg was found to be moving his army up the valley toward
Chattanooga, thus extending his right far beyond Rosecrans’s left, with
the evident object of throwing his army upon the roads between the Union
army and Chattanooga. To meet this, the Union army was moved in the same
direction.
These movements of both armies up the valley, Bragg being south of the
Chickamauga and Rosecrans north, were continued until the position was
almost south of Chattanooga, instead of south-west. Parallel with our
army, and immediately in its rear, were two roads leading to
Chattanooga,—the one immediately in the rear known as the Lafayette or
Rossville road; the other a little further back, as the Dry Valley road.
At the junction of these roads, half way to Chattanooga, itself eight
miles distant, was the town of Rossville. These roads were the prizes
for which was to be fought one of the most bloody and awful battles of
the war. The loss of either was equally fatal, but the main Rossville
road, being the most exposed, was the principal object of the enemy’s
attacks. The efforts of the enemy at first were to overlap or turn the
left flank. This would have given them the Rossville road. Failing in
this they drove the center back, the center and left turning like a door
upon the hinge at the extreme left, until the line of battle was formed
directly across the roads instead of parallel with them. This was
accomplished during the second day’s fight.
General Thomas commanded the left wing, Crittenden the center, and
McCook the right. The front of the army, facing almost east, was ranged
up and down the valley from north to south, with the river in front and
the roads in their rear. The whole valley was covered with dense
forests, except where a farm had been made, and was full of rocky hills
and ridges. So much concealed was one part of the valley from another,
that the rebel army of fifty thousand men was formed in line of battle
within a mile of the union lines on the same side of the river, without
either army suspecting the other’s presence.
Such was the situation on the morning of September 19th, 1863. The world
knows of the awful conflict which followed. General Garfield was located
at Widow Glenn’s house, in the rear of the right wing. This was
Rosecrans’s head-quarters. General Thomas located himself at Kelley’s
farm-house in the rear of the left wing. For three nights General
Garfield had not slept as many hours. Every anxious order, for the
concentration of the army, had come from him; every courier and aid
during those days and nights of suspense reported to him in person;
before him lay his maps; each moment since the thirteenth he had known
the exact position of the different corps and divisions of our vast
army. Looking for the attack at any moment, it was necessary to
constantly know the situation of the enemy among those gloomy mountains
and sunless forests. When the red tide of battle rolled through the
valley, each part of the line was ignorant of all the rest of the line.
The right wing could not even guess the direction of the left wing. The
surrounding forests and the hills shut in the center so completely that
it did not know where either of the wings were. Every division commander
simply obeyed the orders from head-quarters, took his position, and
fought. The line of battle was formed in the night. To misunderstand
orders and take the wrong position was easy. But so lucid were the
commands, so particular the explanations which came from the man at
head-quarters, that the line of battle was perfect. Many battles of the
war were fought with but few orders from head-quarters; some without any
concerted plan at all. Pittsburgh Landing, of the latter sort;
Gettysburg, of the former sort. At Gettysburg, the commander-in-chief,
General Meade, had little to do with the battle. The country was open,
the enemy’s whereabouts was visible, and each division commander placed
his troops just where they could do the most good. Not so at
Chickamauga. No battle of the war required so many and such incessant
orders from head-quarters. The only man in the Union army who knew the
whole situation of our troops was General Garfield. Amid the forests,
ravines and hills along the five miles of battle front, the only
possible way to maintain a unity of plan and a concert of action was for
the man at head-quarters to know it all. General Garfield knew the
entire situation as if it had been a chess-board, and each division of
the army a man. At a touch, by the player, the various brigades and
divisions assumed their positions.
Every thing thus far said has been of the combatants. But there were
others on the battle-field. There were the inhabitants of this valley,
non-combatants, inviolate by the rules of civilized warfare. Of this
sort were the rustic people at Widow Glenn’s, where General Garfield
passed the most memorable days of his life. The house was a Tennessee
cabin. Around it lay a little farm with small clearings. Here the widow
lived with her three children, one a young man, the others a girl and
boy of tender age. As General Garfield took up his head-quarters there
it is said to have reminded him powerfully of his own childhood home
with his toiling mother. All the life of these children had been passed
in this quiet valley. Of the outside world they knew little, and cared
less. They did not know the meaning of the word war. They were ignorant
and poverty-stricken, but peaceful. Shut in by the mountains of
ignorance, as well as the lofty ranges along the valley, they had known
no event more startling than the flight of birds through the air or the
rustle of the wind through the forest. The soil was rocky and barren
like their minds; yet, unvisited by calamity, they were happy.
But suddenly this quiet life was broken into. The forests were filled
with armed men. The cabin was taken possession of by the officers. A
sentinel stood at the door. Outside stood dozens of horses, saddled and
bridled. Every moment some one mounted and dashed away; every moment
some other dismounted from his breathless and foam-flecked steed and
rushed into the cabin. The widow, stunned and frightened, sat in the
corner with an arm around each of her children. The little girl cried,
but the boy’s curiosity got somewhat the better of his fear. A time or
two General Garfield took the little fellow on his knee, and quieted his
alarm. The fences were torn down and used for camp fires. Great trees
were hastily felled for barricades. In front of the house passed and
repassed bodies of troops in uniform, and with deadly rifles. Now and
then a body of cavalry dashed by in a whirlwind of dust. Great cannon,
black and hideous, thundered down the rocky road, shaking the solid
earth in their terrible race. The cabin-yard was filled with soldiers.
The well was drained dry by them to fill their canteens. It was like a
nightmare to the trembling inhabitants of the cabin. Their little crops
were tramped into dust by the iron tread of war. On a hill in front of
the cabin, where nothing more dangerous than a plow had ever been, a
battery frowned. The valley which had never been disturbed by any thing
more startling than the screech of an owl, or the cackle of the
barn-yard, was filled with a muffled roar from the falling trees and the
shouts of men.
When morning broke on the 19th of September, 1863, on this secluded
spot, the clarion of the strutting cock was supplanted by the
bugle-call. The moaning of the wind through the forest was drowned in
the incessant roll of the drums. The movement of troops before the cabin
from right to left became more rapid. The consultations within became
more eager and hurried. Mysterious notes, on slips of white paper, were
incessantly written by General Garfield and handed to orderlies, who
galloped away into the forest. Spread out before him, on an improvised
table, lay his maps, which he constantly consulted. At one time, after a
long study of the map, he said to General Rosecrans: “Thomas will have
the brunt of the battle. The Rossville road must be held at all
hazards.” Rosecrans replied: “It is true. Thomas must hold it, if he has
to be reinforced by the entire army.” At another time, a messenger
dashed into the room, and handed the chief of staff an envelope. Quietly
opening it, he calmly read aloud: “Longstreet has reinforced Bragg with
seventeen thousand troops from Lee’s Virginia army.”
Toward nine o’clock in the morning, the movement of troops along the
road ceased. The roar in the forest subsided. No more orders were sent
by General Garfield. There was suspense. It was as if every one were
waiting for something. The drums no longer throbbed; the bugle-call
ceased from echoing among the mountains. A half hour passed. The silence
was death-like. As the sun mounted upward it seemed to cast darker
shadows than usual. The house-dog gave utterance to the most plaintive
howls. The chickens were gathered anxiously together under a shed, as if
it were about to rain. It was. But the rain was to be red. Passing over
through the forest, one saw that the troops were drawn up in lines, all
with their backs toward the road and the cabin, and facing the direction
of the river. That was half a mile away, but its gurgle and plashing
could be easily heard in the silence. It sent a shudder through one’s
frame, as if it were the gurgle and plashing of blood. The only other
sound that broke the quiet was the whinnying of cavalry horses far off
to the right. The dumb brutes seemed anxious, and nervously answered
each other’s eager calls.
Just as the hand of the clock reached ten there was a report from a gun.
It came from the extreme left, miles away. General Garfield stepped
quickly to the door, and listened. There was another gun, and another,
and fifty more, swelling to a roar. Turning to Rosecrans, Garfield said:
“It has begun.” To which the commander replied: “Then, God help us.”
Heavier and heavier became the roar. The engagement on the left was
evidently becoming heavier. A quarter of an hour later messengers began
to arrive. The enemy was endeavoring to turn the left-flank, but was
being repulsed with heavy loss. A few moments later came the word that
the enemy had captured ten pieces of artillery. The order had been given
for one division of the troops to fall back. It was obeyed. But the
artillerymen had been unable to move the guns back in time. The heavy
undergrowth in the forest, the fallen and rotting logs, had made it slow
work to drag back the ponderous cannon. The red-shirted cannoneers were
still bravely working to move their battery to the rear after the line
had fallen back from them a long distance. Suddenly, with a fierce yell,
the rebel column poured in upon them. Guns and gunners were captured.
At 11:30 came a call from General Thomas for reinforcements. General
Garfield swiftly wrote an order for divisions in the center to march to
the left and reinforce General Thomas. Another courier was dispatched to
the right, ordering troops to take the place of those removed from the
center. At half-past twelve these movements were completed. So far, the
only attack had been on the left, though the tide of battle was rolling
slowly down the line. General Rosecrans and General Garfield held an
earnest consultation. It was decided to order an advance on the right
center, in order to prevent the enemy from concentrating his whole army
against our left wing.
Before long the din of conflict could be heard opposite the cabin. The
advance was being fiercely contested. Messengers one after another came
asking for reinforcements. General Garfield received their messages,
asked each one a question or two, turned for a few moments to his map,
and then issued orders for support to the right center. As the battle
raged fiercer in front of the cabin, the sounds from the extreme left
grew lighter. At two o’clock they ceased altogether. The battery had
been recaptured, and the enemy silenced for the time being. Meanwhile,
the battle at the center became more terrible. Ambulances hurried along.
Poor fellows, pale and bleeding, staggered back to the road.
Occasionally a shell dropped near the cabin, exploding with frightful
force. The roar was deafening. General Garfield had to shout to General
Rosecrans in order to be understood. The domestic animals around the
cabin were paralyzed with fright. No thunder-storm, rattling among the
mountain peaks, had ever shaken the earth like the terrific roar of the
shotted guns. A half mile in front of the cabin, a dense smoke rose over
the tops of the trees. All day long it poured upward in black volumes.
The air became stifling with a sulphurous smell of gunpowder. The
messengers hurrying to and from the cabin had changed in appearance. The
bright, clean uniforms of the morning were torn and muddy. Their faces
were black with smoke; their eyes bloodshot with fever. Some of them
came up with bleeding wounds. When General Garfield called attention to
the injury, they would say: “It is only a scratch.” In the excitement of
battle men receive death wounds without being conscious that they are
struck. Some of the messengers sent out came back no more forever. Their
horses would gallop up the road riderless. The riders had found the
serenity of death. “They were asleep in the windowless palace of rest.”
It was impossible to predict the issue of the conflict in the center. At
one minute, a dispatch was handed Garfield, saying that the line was
broken, and the enemy pouring through. Before he had finished the
reading, another message said that our troops had rallied, and were
driving the enemy. This was repeated several times.
The scene of this conflict was Vineyard’s farm. It was a clearing,
surrounded on all sides by the thickest woods. The troops of each army,
in the alternations of advance and retreat, found friendly cover in the
woods, or fatal exposure in the clearing. It was this configuration of
the battle-field which caused the fluctuations of the issue. Time after
time a column of blue charged across the clearing, and was driven back
to rally in the sheltering forest. Time after time did the line of gray
advance from the shade into the sunlight only to retire, leaving half
their number stretched lifeless on the field. It was a battle within a
battle. The rest of the army could hear the terrific roar, but were
ignorant of the whereabouts of the conflict. The farm and the
surrounding woods was a distinct battle-field. The struggle upon it,
though an important element in a great battle on a vast field, was,
during the later hours of its continuance, a separate battle, mapped
upon the open field and forest in glaring insulation by the bodies of
the slain.
Meanwhile, in hurrying reinforcements to this portion of the line of
battle, a chasm was opened between the center and left. Troops were
thrown forward to occupy it, but the enemy had discovered the weakness,
and hurled forward heavy columns against the devoted Union lines. The
struggle here was the counterpart of the one at the Vineyard farm. At
the latter place the line was, at one time in the afternoon, driven back
to the Lafayette road; but, towards evening, the divisions which had
repulsed the attack on General Thomas’s extreme left were shifted down
to the scene of these other conflicts, and the enemy was finally driven
back with heavy loss.
When this was accomplished, the sun had already sunk behind the western
range. Night swiftly drew her mantle over the angry field, and spread
above the combatants her canopy of stars. The firing became weaker; only
now and then a sullen shot was fired into the night. The first day of
Chickamauga was done. In a little while ten thousand camp-fires blazed
up in the forest, throwing somber shadows back of every object. At every
fire could be seen the frying bacon and the steaming coffee-pot, singing
as merrily as if war and battle were a thousand miles away. The men had
eaten nothing since five o’clock in the morning. They had the appetites
of hungry giants. Many a messmate’s place was empty. Many a corpse lay
in the thicket, with a ball through the heart. But in the midst of
horror the men were happy. The coffee and bacon and hard-tack tasted to
the heroes like a banquet of the gods. With many a song and many a jest
they finished the meal, rolled up in their blankets, and, lying down on
the ground, with knapsacks for pillows, were fast asleep in the
darkness. The red embers of the camp-fires gradually went out. The
darkness and the silence were unbroken, save by the gleam of a star
through the overarching branches, or the tramp of the watchful sentinels
among the rustling leaves.
But at Widow Glenn’s cabin there was no sleep. General Garfield
dispatched messengers to the different generals of the army to assemble
for a council of war. It was eleven o’clock before all were present.
Long and anxious was the session. The chief of staff marked out the
situation of each division of the army upon his map. The losses were
estimated, and the entire ground gone over. On the whole, the issue of
the day had been favorable. The army having been on the defensive, might
be considered so far victorious in that it had held its own. The line of
battle was now continuous, and much shorter than in the morning. The
general movement of troops during the day had been from right to left.
The battle front was still parallel with the Chattanooga roads. General
Thomas still held his own. The losses had been heavy, but not so severe
as the enemy’s. But it was evident that the battle would be renewed on
the morrow. The troops, already exhausted by forced marches in the
effort to concentrate before attack, had all been engaged during the
day. It was tolerably certain, General Garfield thought, from the
reports of his scouts, that the enemy would have fresh troops to oppose
to the wearied men. This would necessitate all the army being brought
into action again on the next day. In case the enemy should succeed in
getting the roads to Chattanooga, there was no alternative but the
entire destruction of the splendid Army of the Cumberland. Still further
concentration of the forces on the left, to reinforce General Thomas,
was decided on. Many of the tired troops had to be roused from their
sleep for this movement. There was no rest at head-quarters. When
morning dawned the light still shone from the cabin window.
On the morning of September 20, 1863, a dense fog rose from the
Chickamauga River, and, mixing with the smoke from the battle of the day
before, filled the valley. This fact delayed the enemy’s attack. The sun
rose, looking through the fog like a vast disk of blood. General
Garfield noticed it, and, pointing to the phenomenon, said: “It is
ominous. It will indeed be a day of blood.” By nine o’clock the fog
lifted sufficiently for the attack. As on the day before, it began on
the left, rolling down the line. From early morning General Thomas
withstood the furious assaults of the constantly reinforced enemy. The
change of the line in the night had been such that it was the right wing
instead of the center which was now in front of the Widow Glenn’s. The
battle was fierce and more general than the day before. The demands for
reinforcements on the left came faster and faster. Division after
division was moved to the left. In the midst of a battle these movements
are dangerous. A single order, given from head-quarters without a
perfect comprehension of the situation of the troops, a single ambiguous
phrase, a single erroneous punctuation mark in the hastily-written
dispatch, may cost thousands of lives in a few minutes. In a battle like
Chickamauga, where the only unity possible is by perfect and swift
obedience to the commands from head-quarters, a single misunderstood
sentence may change the destiny of empires.
The information received at Widow Glenn’s up to ten o’clock of the 20th
showed that the troops, though wearied, were holding their own. Up to
this time General Garfield, appreciating each emergency as it occurred,
had directed every movement, and written every order during the battle.
Not a blunder had occurred. His clear, unmistakable English, had not a
doubtful phrase or a misplaced comma. Every officer had understood and
executed just what was expected of him. The fury of the storm had so far
spent itself in vain.
At half-past ten, an aid galloped up to the cabin and informed General
Rosecrans that there was a chasm in the center, between the divisions of
General Reynolds on the left and General Wood on the right. Unfortunate
moment! Cruel fate! In a moment a blunder was committed which was almost
to destroy our heroic army. In the excitement of the crisis, Rosecrans
varied from his custom of consulting the chief of staff. General
Garfield was deeply engaged at another matter. Rosecrans called another
aid to write an order instantly directing Wood to close the gap by
moving to his left. Here is the document as it was dashed down at that
memorable and awful moment:
“HEAD-QUARTERS DEPARTMENT OF CUMBERLAND, }
“September 20th—10.45 A. M. }
“_Brigadier-General Wood, Commanding Division:_
“The general commanding directs that you close up on Reynolds as
fast as possible, and support him. Respectfully, etc.,
“FRANK S. BOND, Major and Aid-de-camp.”
Had General Garfield been consulted that order would never have been
written. _Wood was not next to Reynolds. General Brannan’s division was
in the line between them._ Brannan’s force stood back from the line
somewhat. The aid, galloping rapidly over the field, did not know that a
little farther back in the forest stood Brannan’s division. It looked to
him like a break in the line. General Rosecrans was either ignorant, or
forgot that Brannan was there. General Garfield alone knew the situation
of every division on the battle-field. _This fatal order was the only
one of the entire battle which he did not write himself._ On receipt of
the order, General Wood was confused. He could not close up on Reynolds
because Brannan was in the way. Supposing, however, from the words of
the order, that Reynolds was heavily pressed, and that the intention was
to reinforce him, and knowing the extreme importance of obeying orders
from head-quarters, in order to prevent the army from getting
inextricably tangled in the forest, he promptly marched his division
backward, passed to the rear of Brannan, and thus to the rear of and
support of Reynolds.
The fatal withdrawal of Wood from the line of battle was simultaneous
with a Confederate advance. Failing in his desperate and bloody attacks
upon the left, Bragg ordered an advance all along the line. Right
opposite the chasm left by Wood was Longstreet, the most desperate
fighter of the Confederacy, with seventeen thousand veteran troops from
Lee’s army. Formed in solid column, three-quarters of a mile long, on
they came right at the gap. Two brigades of Federal troops, under
General Lytle, reached the space first, but were instantly ground to
powder beneath this tremendous ram. Right through the gap came the
wedge, splitting the Union army in two. In fifteen minutes the entire
right wing was a rout. One-half the army was in a dead run toward
Rossville. Guns, knapsacks, blankets, whatever could impede them, was
hastily thrown away.
So sudden was the rout that the stream of fugitives, swarming back from
the woods, was the first information received at Widow Glenn’s that the
line had been pierced. There was no time to be lost. Behind the fleeing
troops came the iron columns of the enemy. In five minutes more the
cabin would be in their hands. Hastily gathering his precious maps,
Garfield followed Rosecrans on horseback, over to the Dry Valley road.
Here General Garfield dismounted, and exerted all his powers to stem the
tide of retreat. Snatching a flag from a flying color-bearer, he shouted
at the deaf ears of the mob. Seizing men by their shoulders he would
turn them around, and then grasp others to try and form a nucleus to
resist the flood. It was useless. The moment he took his hands off of a
man he would run.
Rejoining Rosecrans, who believed that the entire army was routed, the
commander said: “Garfield, what can be done?” Undismayed by the
panic-stricken army crowding past him, which is said to be the most
demoralizing and unnerving sight on earth, Garfield calmly said, “One of
us should go to Chattanooga, secure the bridges in case of total defeat,
and collect the fragments of the army on a new line. The other should
make his way, if possible, to Thomas, explain the situation, and tell
him to hold his ground at any cost, until the army can be rallied at
Chattanooga.” “Which will you do?” asked Rosecrans. “Let me go to the
front,” was General Garfield’s instant reply. “It is dangerous,” said
he, “but the army and country can better afford for me to be killed than
for you.” They dismounted for a hurried consultation. With ear on the
ground, they anxiously listened to the sound of Thomas’s guns. “It is no
use,” said Rosecrans. “The fire is broken and irregular. Thomas is
driven. Let us both hurry to Chattanooga, to save what can be saved.”
But General Garfield had a better ear. “You are mistaken. The fire is
still in regular volleys. Thomas holds his own, and must be informed of
the situation. Send orders to Sheridan, and the other commanders of the
right wing, to collect the fragments of their commands and move them
through Rossville, and back on the Lafayette road, to Thomas’s support.”
There were a few more hurried words; then a grasp of the hand and the
commander and his chief of staff separated, the one to go to the rear,
the other to the front. Rosecrans has said that he felt Garfield would
never come back again.
[Illustration: GARFIELD AT THE BATTLE OF CHICKAMAUGA.]
Then began that world-famous ride. No one knew the situation of the
troops, the cause of the disaster, and the way to retrieve it like the
chief of staff. To convey that priceless information to Thomas, Garfield
determined to do or to die. He was accompanied by Captain Gano, who had
come from General Thomas before the disaster, and knew how to reach him;
besides these two, each officer had an orderly. On they galloped up the
Dry Valley road, parallel with, but two miles back of, the morning’s
line of battle. After reaching a point opposite the left wing, they
expected to cross to General Thomas. But Longstreet’s column, after
passing the Union center, had turned to its right at Widow Glenn’s, to
march to the rear of General Thomas, and thus destroy that part of the
army which still stood fighting the foe in its face. The course of
Longstreet was thus parallel with the road along which Garfield
galloped. At every effort to cross to the front he found the enemy
between him and General Thomas.
It was a race between the rebel column and the noble steed on which
Garfield rode. Up and down along the stony valley road, sparks flying
from the horse’s heels, two of the party hatless, and all breathless,
without delay or doubt on dashed the heroes. Still the enemy was between
them and Thomas. They were compelled to go almost to Rossville. At last
General Garfield said: “We must try to cross now or never. In a half
hour it will be too late for us to do any good.” Turning sharply to
their right, they found themselves in a dark-tangled forest. They were
scratched and bleeding from the brier thickets and the overhanging
branches. But not a rider checked his horse. General Garfield’s horse
seemed to catch the spirit of the race. Over ravines and fences, through
an almost impenetrable undergrowth, sometimes through a marsh, and then
over broken rocks, the smoking steed plunged without a quiver.
Suddenly they came upon a cabin, a Confederate pest-house. A crowd of
unfortunates, in various stages of the small-pox, were sitting and lying
about the lonely and avoided place. The other riders spurred on their
way, but General Garfield reined in sharply, and, calling in a kind tone
to the strongest of the wrecks, asked, “Can I do any thing for you, my
poor fellow?” In an instant the man gasped out, “Do not come near. It is
small-pox. But for God’s sake give us money to buy food.” Quick as
thought the great-hearted chief of staff drew out his purse and tossed
it to the man, and with a rapid but cheerful “good-bye” spurred after
his companions. Crashing, tearing, plunging, rearing through the forest
dashed the steed. Poet’s song could not be long to celebrate that daring
deed.
Twice they stopped. They were on dangerous ground. At any moment they
might come upon the enemy. They were right on the ground for which
Longstreet’s column was headed. Which would get there first? A third
time they stopped. The roar of battle was very near. They were in the
greatest peril. Utterly ignorant of the course of events, since he had
been driven from Widow Glenn’s, General Garfield did not know but what
the rebel column had passed completely to Thomas’s rear and lay directly
in front of them. They changed their course slightly to the left. Of his
own danger Garfield never thought. The great fear in his mind was that
he would fail to reach Thomas, with the order to take command of all the
forces, and with the previous information of the necessity of a change
of front. At last they reached a cotton field. If the enemy was near, it
was almost certain death. Suddenly a rifle-ball whizzed past Garfield’s
face. Turning in his saddle he saw the fence on the right glittering
with murderous rifles. A second later a shower of balls rattled around
the little party. Garfield shouted, “Scatter, gentlemen, scatter,” and
wheeled abruptly to the left. Along that side of the field was a ridge.
If it could be reached, they were safe. The two orderlies never reached
it. Captain Gano’s horse was shot through the lungs, and his own leg
broken by the fall. Garfield was now the single target for the enemy.
His own horse received two balls, but the noble animal kept straight on
at its terrific speed. General Garfield speaking of it afterwards said
that his thought was divided between poor Thomas and his young wife and
child in the little home at Hiram. With a few more leaps he gained the
ridge, unhurt. Captain Gano painfully crawling on the ground finally
gained the ridge himself.
General Thomas was still a mile away. In ten minutes Garfield was at his
side, hurriedly explaining the catastrophe at noon. They stood on a
knoll overlooking the field of battle. The horse which had borne
Garfield on his memorable ride, dropped dead at his feet while the chief
of staff told Thomas the situation. There was no time to be lost.
Hurrying down to his right, General Thomas found that a considerable
portion of the center had swung around like a door to oppose
Longstreet’s advance. For an hour or more his columns had flung
themselves with desperate fury on this line so unexpectedly opposed to
them. Hour after hour these lines had held him at bay. The slaughter was
terrible. But this could not last. There was no uniform plan in this
accidental battle front. There were great chasms in it. The Confederate
forces were diverging to their left toward the Dry Valley road, and
would soon flank this line. But Thomas was a great commander. Without a
moment’s delay his line of battle was withdrawn to a ridge in the form
of a horse-shoe. The main front was now at right angles with that of the
morning; that is, it lay across the Rossville road instead of parallel
with it. Thomas’s troops were now arranged in a three-quarter circle.
They scarcely numbered twenty-five thousand. Around this circle, as
around a little island, like an ocean of fire, raged a Confederate army
of sixty thousand troops. Overwhelmed by numbers, General Thomas still
held the horse-shoe ridge, through which lay the Rossville road. The
storm of battle raged with fearful power. The line of heroes seemed
again and again about to be swallowed up in the encircling fire. Again
and again Longstreet’s troops charged with unexampled impetuosity, and
as many times were beaten back bruised and bleeding. The crisis of the
battle at half past four in the afternoon, when Longstreet hurled
forward his magnificent reserve corps, is said to have rivaled, in
tragic importance and far-reaching consequences, the supreme moment in
the battle of Gettysburg, when Pickett’s ten thousand Virginians, in
solid column, charged upon Cemetery Ridge.
But all the valor and all the fury was in vain. “George A. Thomas,” in
the words of Garfield, “was indeed the ‘rock of Chickamauga,’ against
which the wild waves of battle dashed in vain.”
General Garfield, from the moment of his arrival, had plunged into the
thickest of the fray. When at last the thinned and shattered lines of
gray withdrew, leaving thousands of their dead upon the bloody field,
smoked and powder-grimed, he was personally managing a battery of which
the chief gunners had been killed at their post. Towards the close of
the fight Thomas’s ammunition ran very low. His ammunition trains had
become involved with the rout of the right, and were miles in the rear
at Rossville. This want of ammunition created more fear than the
assaults of the enemy. The last charge was repelled at portions of the
line with the bayonet alone.
But the hard-earned victory was won. The Rossville road was still held.
The masterly skill and coolness of Thomas, when General Garfield reached
him with information as to the rest of the army, which, it must be
remembered, was never visible through the dense forests and jagged
ridges of the valley, had saved the Army of the Cumberland from
destruction. After night the exhausted men withdrew to Rossville and
subsequently to Chattanooga.
A great battle is a memorable experience to one who takes part. There is
nothing like it on earth. Henceforth the participant is different from
other men. All his preceding life becomes small and forgotten after such
days as those of Chickamauga. From that day he feels that he began to
live. When the flames of frenzy with which he was possessed subside,
they have left their mark on his being. Ordinarily the flames of battle
have burnt out many sympathies. His nature stands like a forest of
charred and blackened trunks, once green and beautiful, waving in their
leafy splendor, but through which the destroying tempest of fire has
passed in its mad career of vengeance. He can neither forget nor forgive
the murderous foe. Before the battle he might have exchanged tobacco
plugs with the man with whom he would have, with equal readiness,
exchanged shots. But after the carnage of the battle, after the day of
blood and fury, all this is passed. The last gun is fired on the field
of battle. The last shattered line of heroes withdraws into the night.
The earth has received its last baptism of blood for the time-being.
Only burial parties, with white flags, may be seen picking their way
among the fallen brave. The actual battle is over forever. Not so is it
with the combatant. In his mind the battle goes on and on. He is
perpetually training masked batteries on the foe. The roar of conflict
never ceases to reverberate in his brain. Throughout his life, whenever
recalled to the subject of the war, his mental attitude is that of the
battle-field. In his thought the columns are still charging up the hill.
The earth still shakes with an artillery that is never silenced. The air
is still sulphurous with gunpowder smoke. The ranks of the brave and
true still fall around him. Forever is he mentally loading and firing;
forever charging bayonets across the bloody field; forever burying the
fallen heroes under the protection of the flag of truce.
This is the law of ordinary minds. The red panorama of the Gettysburg
and the Chickamauga is forever moving before his eyes. The wrench or
strain given to his mental being by those days is too terrific, too
awful, for any reaction in the average mind. This fact has been
abundantly proven in the history of the last twenty years. Chickamauga
thus became a new birth to many a soldier. His life, henceforward,
seemed to date from the 19th of September, 1863. His life was ever
afterward marked off by anniversaries of that day. It is found that many
soldiers die on the anniversary of some great battle in which they were
participants. Such is the influence mental states bear upon the physical
organism.
Chickamauga was all this to General Garfield. It was more than this to
him. He was not merely a participant in the battle of bullets. He was
also in the battle of brains. The field soldier certainly feels enough
anxiety. His mental experience has enough of torture to gratify the
monarch of hell himself. But the anxieties of the man at head-quarters
are unspeakable. He sees not merely the actual horrors and the
individual danger. He carries on his heart the responsibility for an
army. He is responsible for the thousands of lives. A single mistake, a
single blunder, a single defective plan, will forever desolate
unnumbered firesides. More than this he feels. Not only the fate of the
army, but the fate of the country rests in his hand. The burden is
crushing. It may be said this is only upon the Commander-in-chief. But
General Garfield, as chief of staff, we have seen, was no figure-head,
no amanuensis. He took the responsibilities of that campaign and battle
to his own heart. At every step his genius grappled with the situation.
Rosecrans was a good soldier; but in nothing was his ability so
exhibited as in selecting Garfield for his confidential adviser and
trusting so fully to his genius.
[Illustration: DIAGRAM OF THE BATTLE OF CHICKAMAUGA.]
Thus the battle of Chickamauga entered into Garfield’s mental experience
in its greatest aspects. His profoundly sympathetic nature was subjected
to an incalculable strain. The struggle of the first day, the beginning
of the second, the fatal order, the appalling catastrophe, the fearful
ride, the invincible courage of Thomas, the costly victory, all these
things were incorporated into his life. He lived years in a single hour.
He was only _thirty-one years old_. It was only nine years since the
boys at Williams College had laughed at him as a green-horn; only seven
years since he had graduated. But the education of Chickamauga gave him
age. The maturity of the mind is not measured by time, but by
experience. Previous to the Chattanooga campaign, General Garfield was a
clever man. After the battle of Chickamauga he was a great man.
Of the general results of the battle, we quote from Van Horn’s
magnificent but critical _History of the Army of the Cumberland_:
“Whatever were the immediate and more local consequences of the battle,
in its remote relations and significance, it has claims to historic
grandeur. The Army of the Cumberland, without support on either flank,
had leaped across the Tennessee River and the contiguous mountains, and
yet escaped destruction, though the armies of the enemy, east and west,
were made tributary to a combination of forces to accomplish this end.
Paroled prisoners from Vicksburg, regular troops from Mississippi and
Georgia, a veteran corps from Lee’s army in Virginia, and Buckner’s
corps from East Tennessee, joined Bragg on the banks of the Chickamauga,
not simply to retake Chattanooga, but to annihilate the Army of the
Cumberland. Nearly half of Bragg’s army consisted of recent
reinforcements, sent to Northern Georgia _while the authorities at
Washington, perplexed with the military situation, were resting under
the delusion that General Bragg was reinforcing Lee_. But this heavy
draft upon the resources of the Confederacy was burdened with the
fatality which clung to all the grander efforts of the insurgents in the
west. And General Bragg’s broken and exhausted army was a symbol of the
fast-coming exhaustion of the Confederacy itself. The issue of the
battle was not thus defined to the consciousness of the Southern people,
but was, doubtless, one of the most emphatic disappointments of the
struggle, and intensified the gloom produced by previous defeats.”
In his report of the battle to the Department of War, General Rosecrans
said:
“To Brigadier-General James A. Garfield, chief of staff, I am
especially indebted for the clear and ready manner in which he
seized the points of action and movement, and expressed in orders
the ideas of the general commanding.”
In relating the history of General Garfield’s military career, no
mention has been made of a fact which was destined to affect his future.
In the fall of 1862, he had been nominated and elected to Congress from
his own district. The thing had been accomplished in his absence, and
almost without his knowledge. His term did not begin till December,
1863, and his constituents supposed the war would be over before that
time. Garfield himself looked at the thing with indifference. It did not
interfere with his service in the army, could not do so for a long time,
and there was nothing to hurry his decision in the matter. After the
Tullahoma campaign, in the summer of 1863, when he had had a taste of
successful military strategy, the Congressional question began to force
itself to the surface of his thought. There was no prospect of peace.
All his inclinations persuaded him to remain in the army. But Congress
met in December, and he would have to decide.
In this frame of mind, he had a long confidential talk with Rosecrans on
the subject. Rosecrans told him he ought to enter Congress.
“I am glad for your sake,” said Rosecrans, “that you have a new
distinction, and I certainly think you can accept it with honor;
and, what is more, I deem it your duty to do so. The war is not over
yet, nor will it be for some time to come. There will be, of
necessity, many questions arising in Congress which will require not
alone statesman-like treatment, but the advice of men having an
acquaintance with military affairs. For this, and other reasons, I
believe you will be able to do equally good service to your country
in Congress as in the field.”
Still General Garfield was undecided, except on one thing: that was to
wait. Meantime the Chattanooga campaign came on, terminating at
Chickamauga. Garfield was consumed with military zeal. He could hardly
bear to think of chaining himself up to a desk for the monotonous
sessions of Congress. All the military spirit which had blazed in his
ancestors reasserted itself in him. His mind was absorbed with the
stupendous problems of war which the Rebellion presented. Recognizing
within himself an ability superior to many around and above him for
grappling with questions of strategy, he was loath to abandon its
exercise. It was evident, too, that in the presence of the commanding
proportions of the military fame of successful Union generals, any
merely Congressional reputation would be dwarfed and overshadowed.
On the other hand, his brother officers urged him to go to Congress.
There was a painful need of military men there. The enormous necessities
of the army seemed too great to be comprehended by civilians. All men of
soldierly instincts and abilities were at the front, and there was
danger that the fountain of supplies in the Lower House of Congress
would dry up.
In the midst of these doubts, two weeks after the battle of Chickamauga,
he was summoned to Washington. The War Department demanded a full
explanation of the battle which had cost so many thousand lives.
Garfield was known at Washington, and they determined to have from him
the complete history of the campaign, and an explanation of the
necessities of the situation.
On his way to the Capital he, of course, went by the vine-covered
cottage at Hiram. After the carnage and havoc of war, the peaceful
fireside seemed a thousand times more dear than ever, worth all the
blood and all the tears that were being shed for it. During his brief
stay at home, his first born, “Little Trot,” only three years of age,
was seized with a fatal illness, and carried to the quiet village
cemetery. Oppressed with the private as well as the public sorrow, he
continued on his journey to Washington. In New York City he staid over
night with an old college friend, Henry E. Knox. Again he talked over
the Congressional question in all its bearings. The conversation lasted
far into the night. The friend knew the feeling of the country; he knew
the need for military men in Congress, and he was well acquainted with
Garfield’s ability. His advice to General Garfield was to accept the
Congressional seat as a public duty.
But never was a man so unwilling to accept a place in Congress. General
Garfield felt that he had a career before him if he remained in the
army, and he wanted to do so. At last he agreed to submit the question
to Mr. Lincoln. “I will lay it before him when I reach Washington, and
let his decision settle the matter,” said he. Garfield felt that his
mission to the Capital was to save Rosecrans. When he called on
Secretary Stanton, he was notified of his promotion to the rank of
major-general, “for gallant and meritorious services at Chickamauga.”
This added further complexity to the Congressional question. Every
detail of the movements of the Army of the Cumberland was gone through
with by him before the War Department. With the aid of maps he made an
elaborate presentation of the facts, from the long delay at Murfreesboro
clear through the Tullahoma and Chattanooga campaigns. His _exposé_ was
masterly. Every thing he could do was done to save his chief. Montgomery
Blair, one of the ablest men at the Capital, after listening to General
Garfield’s presentation of the facts, said to a friend, “Garfield is a
great man.” President Lincoln said: “I have never understood so fully
and clearly the necessities, situation, and movements of any army in the
field.”
But it was in vain. Stanton was firm. Rosecrans had to go. His obstinate
refusals to advance from Murfreesboro; his testy and almost insulting
letters; his violent temper, and uncontrollable stubbornness had ruined
him long before Chickamauga. He had broken with the Commander-in-chief
as well as with Secretary Stanton. He had said that he regarded certain
suggestions from the Department “as a profound, grievous, cruel, and
ungenerous official and personal wrong.” The powerful enemies which he
thus made only waited for an opportunity to destroy him. That
opportunity came with the fatal order at Chickamauga, the rout of the
right wing, the loss of presence of mind, and the ride to the rear. This
last stood in painful contrast with General Garfield’s dangerous and
heroic ride to the front. It was admitted that the strategy of the
campaigns was splendid, Napoleonic. It could not be denied that the
mistake as to the enemy’s whereabouts after the evacuation of
Chattanooga originated in the dispatches from Washington. No matter.
Rosecrans was relieved, and the chief of staff, whom Stanton correctly
believed to have been very largely the originator of the strategic
advance, was promoted.
His immediate duty at Washington being discharged, General Garfield laid
the question of the seat in Congress before the man who, perhaps, felt
more sympathy and appreciation for and with him than any other, because,
like himself, Garfield sprang from poverty, Abraham Lincoln. The great,
grave President thought it over, and finally said:
“The Republican majority in Congress is very small, and it is often
doubtful whether we can carry the necessary war measures; and,
besides, we are greatly lacking in men of military experience in the
House to regulate legislation about the army. It is your duty,
therefore, to enter Congress, at any rate for the present.”
This, for the time being, settled the matter. With the understanding
that his rank would be restored if he desired to return to the army,
General Garfield reluctantly resigned his new major-generalship, a
position whose salary was double that of a Congressman, in order to
enter on the following day the House of Representatives.
The greatest men seem often to have been those who were suddenly lifted
out of the career of life which they had chosen, and to which they
seemed to be preëminently adapted, and forced, as it were, by the
exigencies of the times, into a new channel. Julius Cæsar, whose lofty
character, unapproachable genius, and sorrowful death, are hardly
equalled in the annals of any age or country, had chosen for himself the
career of a civil and religious officer of state. His chosen field was
in the stately sessions of the Roman Senate, or before the turbulent
multitudes of the forum. It was said of him by his enemies, that in
speaking he excelled those who practiced no other art. It was said that,
had he continued in his chosen career, he would have outshone, in his
eloquence, every orator whose name and fame has been transmitted by Rome
to later generations. But from this career he was unexpectedly taken.
The dangers to the state from the Gallic tribes, and the restless Roman
appetite for conquest, required a military leader. Almost by accident
Cæsar was drawn away from the senate and the forum to take up the
profession of arms.
Unlike the great Roman, Garfield, under the stress of public necessity,
was almost by accident withdrawn from the career of arms, in which it
may be truly said of him that he, too, excelled those who practiced no
other art, to enter upon the career of a legislator. Cæsar exchanged the
assembly for the camp, while the great American left the camp for the
assembly. Each did so at the call of the state, and each was to become,
in his new field, the master spirit of his generation.