Burnside--Fredericksburg--A Tangle of Cross-Purposes--Hooker Succeeds
Burnside--Lincoln to Hooker--Chancellorsville--Lee's Second
Invasion--Lincoln's Criticisms of Hooker's Plans--Hooker
Relieved--Meade--Gettysburg--Lee's Retreat--Lincoln's Letter to
Meade--Lincoln's Gettysburg Address--Autumn Strategy--The Armies go into
Winter Quarters
It was not without well-meditated reasons that Mr. Lincoln had so long
kept McClellan in command of the Army of the Potomac. He perfectly
understood that general's defects, his want of initiative, his
hesitations, his delays, his never-ending complaints. But he had long
foreseen the difficulty which would and did immediately arise when, on
November 5, 1862, he removed him from command. Whom should he appoint as
McClellan's successor? What officer would be willing and competent to
play a better part? That important question had also long been
considered; several promising generals had been consulted, who, as
gracefully as they could, shrank from the responsibility even before it
was formally offered them.
The President finally appointed General Ambrose E. Burnside to the
command. He was a West Point graduate, thirty-eight years old, of
handsome presence, brave and generous to a fault, and McClellan's
intimate friend. He had won a favorable reputation in leading the
expedition against Roanoke Island and the North Carolina coast; and,
called to reinforce McClellan after the Peninsula disaster, commanded
the left wing of the Army of the Potomac at Antietam. He was not
covetous of the honor now given him. He had already twice declined it,
and only now accepted the command as a duty under the urgent advice of
members of his staff. His instincts were better than the judgment of his
friends. A few brief weeks sufficed to demonstrate what he had told
them--that he "was not competent to command such a large army."
The very beginning of his work proved the truth of his self-criticism.
Rejecting all the plans of campaign which were suggested to him, he
found himself incapable of forming any very plausible or consistent one
of his own. As a first move he concentrated his army opposite the town
of Fredericksburg on the lower Rappahannock, but with such delays that
General Lee had time to seize and strongly fortify the town and the
important adjacent heights on the south bank; and when Burnside's army
crossed on December 11, and made its main and direct attack on the
formidable and practically impregnable Confederate intrenchments on the
thirteenth, a crushing repulse and defeat of the Union forces, with a
loss of over ten thousand killed and wounded, was the quick and direful
result.
It was in a spirit of stubborn determination rather than clear,
calculating courage that he renewed his orders for an attack on the
fourteenth; but, dissuaded by his division and corps commanders from the
rash experiment, succeeded without further damage in withdrawing his
forces on the night of the fifteenth to their old camps north of the
river. In manly words his report of the unfortunate battle gave generous
praise to his officers and men, and assumed for himself all the
responsibility for the attack and its failure. But its secondary
consequences soon became irremediable. By that gloomy disaster Burnside
almost completely lost the confidence of his officers and men, and
rumors soon came to the President that a spirit akin to mutiny pervaded
the army. When information came that, on the day after Christmas,
Burnside was preparing for a new campaign, the President telegraphed
him:
"I have good reason for saying you must not make a general movement of
the army without letting me know."
This, naturally, brought Burnside to the President for explanation, and,
after a frank and full discussion between them, Mr. Lincoln, on New
Year's day, wrote the following letter to General Halleck:
"General Burnside wishes to cross the Rappahannock with his army, but
his grand division commanders all oppose the movement. If in such a
difficulty as this you do not help, you fail me precisely in the point
for which I sought your assistance. You know what General Burnside's
plan is, and it is my wish that you go with him to the ground, examine
it as far as practicable, confer with the officers, getting their
judgment and ascertaining their temper; in a word, gather all the
elements for forming a judgment of your own, and then tell General
Burnside that you do approve, or that you do not approve, his plan. Your
military skill is useless to me if you will not do this."
Halleck's moral and official courage, however, failed the President in
this emergency. He declined to give his military opinion, and asked to
be relieved from further duties as general-in-chief. This left Mr.
Lincoln no option, and still having need of the advice of his
general-in-chief on other questions, he indorsed on his own letter,
"withdrawn because considered harsh by General Halleck." The
complication, however, continued to grow worse, and the correspondence
more strained. Burnside declared that the country had lost confidence in
both the Secretary of War and the general-in-chief; also, that his own
generals were unanimously opposed to again crossing the Rappahannock.
Halleck, on the contrary, urged another crossing, but that it must be
made on Burnside's own decision, plan, and responsibility. Upon this the
President, on January 8, 1863, again wrote Burnside:
"I understand General Halleck has sent you a letter of which this is a
copy. I approve this letter. I deplore the want of concurrence with you
in opinion by your general officers, but I do not see the remedy. Be
cautious, and do not understand that the government or country is
driving you. I do not yet see how I could profit by changing the command
of the Army of the Potomac; and if I did, I should not wish to do it by
accepting the resignation of your commission."
Once more Burnside issued orders against which his generals protested,
and which a storm turned into the fruitless and impossible "mud march"
before he reached the intended crossings of the Rappahannock. Finally,
on January 23, Burnside presented to the President the alternative of
either approving an order dismissing about a dozen generals, or
accepting his own resignation, and Mr. Lincoln once more had before him
the difficult task of finding a new commander for the Army of the
Potomac. On January 25, 1863, the President relieved Burnside and
assigned Major-General Joseph Hooker to duty as his successor; and in
explanation of his action wrote him the following characteristic letter:
"I have placed you at the head of the Army of the Potomac. Of course I
have done this upon what appear to me to be sufficient reasons, and yet
I think it best for you to know that there are some things in regard to
which I am not quite satisfied with you. I believe you to be a brave and
skilful soldier, which, of course, I like. I also believe you do not mix
politics with your profession, in which you are right. You have
confidence in yourself, which is a valuable, if not an indispensable
quality. You are ambitious, which, within reasonable bounds, does good
rather than harm; but I think that during General Burnside's command of
the army you have taken counsel of your ambition and thwarted him as
much as you could, in which you did a great wrong to the country, and to
a most meritorious and honorable brother officer. I have heard, in such
a way as to believe it, of your recently saying that both the army and
the government needed a dictator. Of course it was not for this, but in
spite of it, that I have given you the command. Only those generals who
gain successes can set up dictators. What I now ask of you is military
success, and I will risk the dictatorship. The government will support
you to the utmost of its ability, which is neither more nor less than it
has done and will do for all commanders. I much fear that the spirit
which you have aided to infuse into the army, of criticizing their
commander and withholding confidence from him, will now turn upon you. I
shall assist you as far as I can to put it down. Neither you nor
Napoleon, if he were alive again, could get any good out of an army
while such a spirit prevails in it; and now beware of rashness. Beware
of rashness, but with energy and sleepless vigilance go forward and give
us victories."
Perhaps the most remarkable thing in this letter is the evidence it
gives how completely the genius of President Lincoln had by this, the
middle of his presidential term, risen to the full height of his great
national duties and responsibilities. From beginning to end it speaks
the language and breathes the spirit of the great ruler, secure in
popular confidence and official authority, equal to the great
emergencies that successively rose before him. Upon General Hooker its
courteous praise and frank rebuke, its generous trust and distinct note
of fatherly warning, made a profound impression. He strove worthily to
redeem his past indiscretions by devoting himself with great zeal and
energy to improving the discipline and morale of his army, recalling its
absentees, and restoring its spirit by increased drill and renewed
activity. He kept the President well informed of what he was doing, and
early in April submitted a plan of campaign on which Mr. Lincoln
indorsed, on the eleventh of that month:
"My opinion is that just now, with the enemy directly ahead of us, there
is no eligible route for us into Richmond; and consequently a question
of preference between the Rappahannock route and the James River route
is a contest about nothing. Hence, our prime object is the enemy's army
in front of us, and is not with or about Richmond at all, unless it be
incidental to the main object."
Having raised his effective force to about one hundred and thirty
thousand men, and learning that Lee's army was weakened by detachments
to perhaps half that number, Hooker, near the end of the month, prepared
and executed a bold movement which for a while was attended with
encouraging progress. Sending General Sedgwick with three army corps to
make a strong demonstration and crossing below Fredericksburg, Hooker
with his remaining four corps made a somewhat long and circuitous march
by which he crossed both the Rappahannock and the Rapidan above the
town without serious opposition, and on the evening of April 30 had his
four corps at Chancellorsville, south of the Rappahannock, from whence
he could advance against the rear of the enemy. But his advantage of
position was neutralized by the difficulties of the ground. He was in
the dense and tangled forest known as the Wilderness, and the decision
and energy of his brilliant and successful advance were suddenly
succeeded by a spirit of hesitation and delay in which the evident and
acknowledged chances of victory were gradually lost. The enemy found
time to rally from his surprise and astonishment, to gather a strong
line of defense, and finally, to organize a counter flank movement under
Stonewall Jackson, which fell upon the rear of the Union right and
created a panic in the Eleventh Corps. Sedgwick's force had crossed
below and taken Fredericksburg; but the divided Union army could not
effect a junction; and the fighting from May 1 to May 4 finally ended by
the withdrawal of both sections of the Union army north of the
Rappahannock. The losses suffered by the Union and the Confederate
forces were about equal, but the prestige of another brilliant victory
fell to General Lee, seriously balanced, however, by the death of
Stonewall Jackson, who was accidentally killed by the fire of his own
men.
In addition to his evident very unusual diminution of vigor and will,
Hooker had received a personal injury on the third, which for some hours
rendered him incapable of command; and he said in his testimony before
the Committee on the Conduct of the War:
"When I returned from Chancellorsville I felt that I had fought no
battle; in fact, I had more men than I could use, and I fought no
general battle for the reason that I could not get my men in position to
do so probably not more than three or three and a half corps on the
right were engaged in the fight."
Hooker's defeat at Chancellorsville had not been so great a disaster as
that of Burnside at Fredericksburg; and while his influence was greatly
impaired, his usefulness did not immediately cease. The President and
the Secretary of War still had faith in him. The average opinion of his
qualities has been tersely expressed by one of his critics, who wrote:
"As an inferior he planned badly and fought well; as a chief he planned
well and fought badly." The course of war soon changed, so that he was
obliged to follow rather than permitted to lead the developments of a
new campaign.
The brilliant victories gained by Lee inspired the Confederate
authorities and leaders with a greatly exaggerated hope of the ultimate
success of the rebellion. It was during the summer of 1863 that the
Confederate armies reached, perhaps, their highest numerical strength
and greatest degree of efficiency. Both the long dreamed of possibility
of achieving Southern independence and the newly flushed military ardor
of officers and men, elated by what seemed to them an unbroken record of
successes on the Virginia battle-fields moved General Lee to the bold
hazard of a second invasion of the North. Early in June, Hooker gave it
as his opinion that Lee intended to move against Washington, and asked
whether in that case he should attack the Confederate rear. To this
Lincoln answered on the fifth of that month:
"In case you find Lee coming to the north of the Rappahannock, I would
by no means cross to the south of it. If he should leave a rear force at
Fredericksburg tempting you to fall upon it, it would fight in
intrenchments and have you at disadvantage, and so, man for man, worst
you at that point, while his main force would in some way be getting an
advantage of you northward. In one word, I would not take any risk of
being entangled upon the river, like an ox jumped half over a fence and
liable to be torn by dogs front and rear, without a fair chance to gore
one way or kick the other."
Five days later, Hooker, having become convinced that a large part of
Lee's army was in motion toward the Shenandoah valley, proposed the
daring plan of a quick and direct march to capture Richmond. But the
President immediately telegraphed him a convincing objection:
"If left to me, I would not go south of the Rappahannock upon Lee's
moving north of it. If you had Richmond invested to-day, you would not
be able to take it in twenty days; meanwhile, your communications, and
with them your army, would be ruined. I think Lee's army, and not
Richmond, is your true objective point. If he comes toward the upper
Potomac, follow on his flank and on his inside track, shortening your
lines while he lengthens his. Fight him, too, when opportunity offers.
If he stays where he is, fret him and fret him."
The movement northward of Lee's army, effectually masked for some days
by frequent cavalry skirmishes, now became evident to the Washington
authorities. On June 14, Lincoln telegraphed Hooker:
"So far as we can make out here, the enemy have Milroy surrounded at
Winchester, and Tyler at Martinsburg If they could hold out a few days,
could you help them? If the head of Lee's army is at Martinsburg, and
the tail of it on the plank road between Fredericksburg and
Chancellorsville, the animal must be very slim somewhere. Could you not
break him?"
While Lee, without halting, crossed the Potomac above Harper's Ferry,
and continued his northward march into Maryland and Pennsylvania, Hooker
prudently followed on the "inside track" as Mr. Lincoln had suggested,
interposing the Union army effectually to guard Washington and
Baltimore. But at this point a long-standing irritation and jealousy
between Hooker and Halleck became so acute that on the
general-in-chief's refusing a comparatively minor request, Hooker asked
to be relieved from command. The President, deeming divided counsel at
so critical a juncture more hazardous than a change of command, took
Hooker at his word, and appointed General George G. Meade as his
successor.
Meade had, since Chancellorsville, been as caustic a critic of Hooker as
Hooker was of Burnside at and after Fredericksburg. But all spirit of
insubordination vanished in the exciting stress of a pursuing campaign
and the new and retiring leaders of the Army of the Potomac exchanged
compliments in General Orders with high chivalric courtesy, while the
army continued its northward march with undiminished ardor and unbroken
step. When Meade crossed the Pennsylvania line, Lee was already far
ahead, threatening Harrisburg. The Confederate invasion spread terror
and loss among farms and villages, and created almost a panic in the
great cities. Under the President's call for one hundred thousand six
months' militia six of the adjoining States were sending hurried and
improvised forces to the banks of the Susquehanna, under the command of
General Couch. Lee, finding that stream too well guarded, turned his
course directly east, which, with Meade marching to the north, brought
the opposing armies into inevitable contact and collision at the town of
Gettysburg.
Meade had both expected and carefully prepared to receive the attack
and fight a defensive battle on the line of Pipe Creek. But when, on the
afternoon of July 1, 1863, the advance detachments of each army met and
engaged in a fierce conflict for the possession of the town, Meade, on
learning the nature of the fight, and the situation of the ground,
instantly decided to accept it, and ordering forward his whole force,
made it the principal and most decisive battle-field of the whole war.
The Union troops made a violent and stubborn effort to hold the town of
Gettysburg; but the early Confederate arrivals, taking position in a
half-circle on the west, north, and east, drove them through and out of
it. The seeming reverse proved an advantage. Half a mile to the south it
enabled the Union detachments to seize and establish themselves on
Cemetery Ridge and Hill. This, with several rocky elevations, and a
crest of boulders making a curve to the east at the northern end, was in
itself almost a natural fortress, and with the intrenchments thrown up
by the expert veterans, soon became nearly impregnable. Beyond a wide
valley to the west, and parallel with it, lay Seminary Ridge, on which
the Confederate army established itself with equal rapidity. Lee had
also hoped to fight a defensive battle; but thus suddenly arrested in
his eastward march in a hostile country, could not afford to stand still
and wait.
On the morning of July 2, both commanding generals were in the field.
After careful studies and consultations Lee ordered an attack on both
the extreme right and extreme left of the Union position, meeting some
success in the former, but a complete repulse in the latter. That night,
Meade's council of war, coinciding with his own judgment, resolved to
stand and fight it out; while Lee, against the advice of Longstreet,
his ablest general, with equal decision determined to risk the chance of
a final and determined attack.
It was Meade who began the conflict at dawn on the morning of July 3,
but only long enough to retake and hold the intrenchments on his extreme
right, which he had lost the evening before; then for some hours an
ominous lull and silence fell over the whole battle-field. But these
were hours of stern preparation At midday a furious cannonade began from
one hundred and thirty Confederate guns on Seminary Ridge, which was
answered with promptness and spirit by about seventy Union guns from the
crests and among the boulders of Cemetery Ridge; and the deafening roar
of artillery lasted for about an hour, at the end of which time the
Union guns ceased firing and were allowed to cool, and to be made ready
to meet the assault that was sure to come. There followed a period of
waiting almost painful to officers and men, in its intense expectancy;
and then across the broad, undulating, and highly cultivated valley
swept the long attacking line of seventeen thousand rebel infantry, the
very flower of the Confederate army. But it was a hopeless charge.
Thinned, almost mowed down by the grape-shot of the Union batteries and
the deadly aim of the Union riflemen behind their rocks and
intrenchments the Confederate assault wavered, hesitated, struggled on,
and finally melted away before the destructive fire. A few rebel
battle-flags reached the crest, only, however, to fall, and their
bearers and supporters to be made prisoners. The Confederate dream of
taking Philadelphia and dictating peace and separation in Independence
Hall was over forever.
It is doubtful whether Lee immediately realized the full measure of his
defeat, or Meade the magnitude of his victory. The terrible losses of
the battle of Gettysburg--over three thousand killed, fourteen thousand
wounded, and five thousand captured or missing of the Union army; and
twenty-six hundred killed, twelve thousand wounded, and five thousand
missing of the Confederates--largely occupied the thoughts and labors of
both sides during the national holiday which followed. It was a surprise
to Meade that on the morning of July 5 the Confederate army had
disappeared, retreating as rapidly as might be to the neighborhood of
Harper's Ferry. Unable immediately to cross because the Potomac was
swollen by heavy rains, and Meade having followed and arrived in Lee's
front on July 10, President Lincoln had the liveliest hopes that Meade
would again attack and capture or destroy the Confederate army. Generous
praise for his victory, and repeated and urgent suggestions to renew his
attack and end the rebellion, had gone to Meade from the President and
General Halleck. But Meade hesitated, and his council of war objected;
and on the night of July 13 Lee recrossed the Potomac in retreat. When
he heard the news, Mr. Lincoln sat down and wrote a letter of criticism
and disappointment which reflects the intensity of his feeling at the
escape of Lee:
"The case, summarily stated, is this: You fought and beat the enemy at
Gettysburg, and, of course, to say the least, his loss was as great as
yours. He retreated and you did not, as it seemed to me, pressingly
pursue him; but a flood in the river detained him till, by slow degrees,
you were again upon him. You had at least twenty thousand veteran troops
directly with you, and as many more raw ones within supporting distance,
all in addition to those who fought with you at Gettysburg, while it was
not possible that he had received a single recruit, and yet you stood
and let the flood run down, bridges be built, and the enemy move away
at his leisure, without attacking him.... Again, my dear general, I do
not believe you appreciate the magnitude of the misfortune involved in
Lee's escape. He was within your easy grasp, and to have closed upon him
would, in connection with our other late successes, have ended the war.
As it is, the war will be prolonged indefinitely. If you could not
safely attack Lee last Monday, how can you possibly do so south of the
river, when you can take with you very few more than two thirds of the
force you then had in hand? It would be unreasonable to expect, and I do
not expect [that] you can now effect much. Your golden opportunity is
gone, and I am distressed immeasurably because of it."
Clearly as Mr. Lincoln had sketched and deeply as he felt Meade's fault
of omission, so quick was the President's spirit of forgiveness, and so
thankful was he for the measure of success which had been gained, that
he never signed or sent the letter.
Two memorable events are forever linked with the Gettysburg victory: the
surrender of Vicksburg to Grant on the same fourth of July, described in
the next chapter, and the dedication of the Gettysburg battle-field as a
national cemetery for Union soldiers, on November 19, 1863, on which
occasion President Lincoln crowned that imposing ceremonial with an
address of such literary force, brevity, and beauty, that critics have
assigned it a high rank among the world's historic orations. He said:
"Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this
continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the
proposition that all men are created equal.
"Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation,
or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met
on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion
of that field as a final resting-place for those who here gave their
lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper
that we should do this.
"But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate--we cannot consecrate--we
cannot hallow--this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who
struggled here have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or
detract. The world will little note nor long remember what we say here,
but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living,
rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who
fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be
here dedicated to the great task remaining before us--that from these
honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they
gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here highly resolve that
these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under God,
shall have a new birth of freedom; and that government of the people, by
the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."
Having safely crossed the Potomac, the Confederate army continued its
retreat without halting to the familiar camps in central Virginia it had
so long and valiantly defended. Meade followed with alert but prudent
vigilance, but did not again find such chances as he lost on the fourth
of July, or while the swollen waters of the Potomac held his enemy as in
a trap. During the ensuing autumn months there went on between the
opposing generals an unceasing game of strategy, a succession of moves
and counter-moves in which the opposing commanders handled their great
armies with the same consumate skill with which the expert
fencing-master uses his foil, but in which neither could break through
the other's guard. Repeated minor encounters took place which, in other
wars, would have rated as heavy battles; but the weeks lengthened into
months without decisive results, and when the opposing armies finally
went into winter quarters in December, 1863, they again confronted each
other across the Rapidan in Virginia, not very far south of where they
lay in the winter of 1861.