Lincoln had good reason for hesitating to change commanders, for,
unsatisfactory as McClellan had proved, the President was by no means
sure that any of his other generals would do better. In fact, with
all his defects, there was much to be said in McClellan's favor. As an
organizer of troops or chief of staff he had displayed talents of the
highest possible order, transforming the armed mob which had flocked to
the defense of the Union at the opening of the war into a well-drilled
and disciplined army. That he had not accomplished much with this great
engine of war after it had been constructed, had not been wholly his
fault, for he had never been entirely free from interference at the
hands of incompetent superiors, and he had had the misfortune to be
pitted against a past master of the art of war. Moreover, he had been
called to the chief command at a moment of panic and peril and, if he
had not succeeded in defeating Lee, he had, at Antietam, given the
North the only semblance of victory which it could claim in all its
campaigning in the South. But that one taste of triumph had whetted the
public appetite for more. Despite McClellan's continuous talk about the
overpowering numbers of his foes, the supporters of the Union knew
that they outmatched the Confederacy in men, arms, ships, money, and
resources of every kind. They accordingly insisted that the immense army
which had lain idle in its camps for almost two months after the drawn
battle at Antietam should be set to work.
In response to this popular demand, General Ambrose Burnside was
appointed to take McClellan's place, and a more utterly unfitted man for
prosecuting a successful campaign against Lee could scarcely have been
selected. He himself fully realized this. Indeed, he had already twice
refused the chief command on the ground that he did not feel competent
to conduct a great campaign. But the public, which had become disgusted
with boasters, admired his modesty, and his preparations for carrying
the war again into Virginia were followed with high hopes for his
success. The officers of the army, however, did not share the popular
confidence in their new chief and some of those highest in authority
gave him only a half-hearted support.
But nothing could have saved Burnside's extraordinary campaign. Had he
been assigned to lead a forlorn hope, regardless of consequences, his
plan, if it can be called a plan, might have been justified, but under
the existing circumstances it was reckless to the point of madness. His
first moves, however, were characterized by an excess of caution and so
slowly did he advance that before he was fairly started for the South,
Lee blocked the road, concentrating his whole army on the hills behind
the City of Fredericksburg in a position practically defying attack.
To attempt a direct assault against this fortress-like post was
suicidal, but apparently no thought of maneuvering crossed Burnside's
mind. His one idea was to brush aside the foe. But before he could even
reach him his army had to cross the Rappahannock, a formidable river,
and march over an open plain, absolutely at the mercy of its intrenched
opponents, who could, as one of their artillery officers expressed it,
"comb the ground" with their cannon. Nevertheless, into this death trap
the Union troops were plunged on the 13th of December, 1862, and they
advanced to destruction with a dash and courage that won the admiration
of friends and foes alike. The result was, of course, inevitable. No
human beings could withstand the storm of shot and shell which burst
upon them, and though some of the devoted columns actually reached the
foot of the Confederate breastworks, they could do no more, and over
12,000 men fell victims to the disastrous attack.
For once, Lee was at an utter loss to comprehend his adversary's plan.
He could not believe that this wanton butchery of men was all there was
to the contest. To his mind such an awful sacrifice of human life
would never have been made unless for the purpose of paving the way for
another enterprise absolutely certain of success. But nothing more was
attempted and the battle of Fredericksburg, reflecting the conception of
a disordered brain rather than the trained intelligence of a graduate
of West Point, was added to the already long list of blunders which
prolonged the war.
Burnside brought severe charges against several of his generals for
their failure to support his sorry tactics, and even went so far as to
demand their dismissal from the army. There was undoubtedly some ground
for his complaints, but such obviously incompetent leadership was enough
to demoralize any army, and not long after his crippled battalions
retreated behind the Rappahannock he was relieved of his command,
which was given to General Joseph Hooker, one of the officers he most
seriously accused.
Hooker was familiarly known to the country as "Fighting Joe," a name he
had well earned on many a hard-fought field. He, like his predecessors,
was a graduate of West Point and his record, in many respects worthy of
the best traditions of that famous school, inspired the army with
the belief that it had, at last, found a leader who would pilot it to
victory.
Certainly, the new commander was not troubled with Burnside's
self-distrust. His confidence in himself and in his plans was unbounded,
and there was no little justification for his hopes, for his campaign
was well thought out and he had a force of over 130,000 men under his
orders--fully 70,000 more than his adversary could bring into the field.
Lee still lay intrenched on the hills behind Fredericksburg, and there
Hooker ordered General Sedgwick to hold him with part of the army
while he himself, with another and more powerful part, crossed the
Rappahannock River by a ford twenty-seven miles above. By this move he
hoped to get behind Lee and then crush him, as nut-crackers would crush
a nut, by closing in on him with a front and rear attack.
This was not a strikingly original plan. It was in fact merely
a flanking movement on a huge scale, but compared to Burnside's
performance it was highly scientific and the vast superiority of the
Union forces almost insured its success. Hooker was certainly convinced
that he had at last solved the great problem of the war and that Lee was
practically in his power. Indeed, as his flanking army forded the river,
he issued an address of congratulation in which he informed his troops
that they had the Confederates in a position from which they must either
"ingloriously fly" or come out in the open where certain defeat awaited
them. But "Fighting Joe" was soon to learn the folly of crowing until
one is out of the woods, for as he emerged from the forests sheltering
the fords, he discovered that Lee's army had not remained tamely in its
intrenchments, but had quietly slipped away and planted itself squarely
across his path.
For a moment the Union commander was fairly astounded. He had prophesied
that his adversary would fly from Fredericksburg, but he had not
expected him to move so soon or in this direction. Indeed, his
well-matured plans were based on the supposition that Lee would remain
where he wanted him to be until he was ready to spring his trap, quite
forgetting that though it is easy to catch birds after you have put salt
on their tails, it is rather difficult to make them wait while you salt
them. As a matter of fact, Lee had taken alarm the moment his cavalry
scouts reported his opponent's movement towards the fords and, realizing
that he would be caught if he remained where he was, he had rapidly
departed from Fredericksburg, leaving only enough force to occupy
Sedgwick's attention. Even then he was in a precarious position, for
Hooker's flanking army alone outnumbered him and the force threatening
Fredericksburg would certainly start in pursuit of him as soon as it
discovered that the bulk of his army had withdrawn from that city. All
this was equally clear to Hooker after his first gasp of astonishment,
and as he hurriedly ordered Sedgwick to attack Fredericksburg with part
of his forces and to send the rest as reënforcement against Lee, he
confidently believed that his foe had delivered himself into his hands.
But Lee, though cornered, was not yet caught. He had to think and act
quickly but though he had only 45,000 men and Hooker had 70,000 on the
spot, his idea was not to escape but to attack. A close examination
of the opposing lines in front and at the Federal left disclosed no
weakness, but the right beyond Chancellorsville looked more hopeful.
Then a brilliant idea suddenly occurred to his mind. The Union commander
was evidently awaiting or meditating a direct attack and had no fear
except that his prey might escape him. Might it not be possible to keep
him busily occupied in front, while a force stole behind his right wing
and caught it between two fires?
This was precisely what Hooker had been endeavoring to do to him, but
Lee was well aware that what was safe for a large army might be ruinous
for a small one and that his proposed maneuver would require him to
divide his small army into two smaller parts, both of which would be
annihilated if the move was discovered. But capture or destruction
stared him in the face any way, so, learning from a certain Colonel
Welford that a road used by him in former years for transporting
materials to a local furnace could be utilized to swing a considerable
force behind Hooker's right, he determined to take the desperate chance.
The necessary orders were accordingly issued during the night of May 1,
1863, and by daylight the next morning Jackson started off on the
back trail with about 30,000 men, leaving Lee with only 15,000 to
face Hooker's overwhelming array. The success of the whole enterprise
depended upon the secrecy and speed with which it was conducted, but
Jackson had already proved his ability in such work and his men set off
at a brisk pace well screened by vigilant cavalry. It was not possible,
however, wholly to conceal the march, and not long after it began
several quite definite reports of its progress reached Hooker. But
though he duly warned his Corps Commanders to be on their guard against
a flank movement, he himself evidently interpreted it as the beginning
of a retreat. Indeed, by four o'clock in the afternoon of May 2nd
he became convinced that his victims were striving to escape, for he
advised Sedgwick, "We know that the enemy is fleeing, trying to save his
trains." But even as he dispatched this message Jackson was behind at
the Union right and his men were forming in line of battle under cover
of a heavy curtain of woods.
Meanwhile, some of the division commanders at the threatened position
had become disquieted by the reports that a large body of Confederates
was marching somewhere, though just where no one seemed to know. Two
of them accordingly faced their men toward the rear in readiness for an
attack from that direction. But the assurances which reached them from
headquarters that the enemy was in full flight discouraged precautions
of this kind, and when Jackson crept up a neighboring hill to examine
the Union position, he found most of the troops had their backs turned
to the point of danger. In fact, the camp, as a whole presented a most
inviting spectacle, for the soldiers were scattered about it, playing
cards or preparing their evening meal, with their arms stacked in the
rear, little dreaming that one of their most dreaded foes was watching
them from a hilltop, behind which crouched thousands of his men. Every
detail of the scene was impressed on Jackson's memory when he quietly
slipped back into the woods, and for the next two hours he busied
himself posting his troops to the best advantage.
It was six o'clock when the order to attack was given and most of the
Union soldiers were still at their suppers when deer, foxes, rabbits and
other animals, alarmed by a mass of men advancing through the forest,
began to tear through the camp as though fleeing from a prairie fire.
But before the startled soldiers could ask an explanation of this
strange stampede, the answer came in the form of a scattering musketry
fire and the fearsome yells of 26,000 charging men.
The panic that followed beggars description. Regiments huddled against
regiments in helpless confusion; artillery, infantry and cavalry became
wedged in narrow roads and remained hopelessly jammed; officers and men
fought with one another; generals were swept aside or carried forward
on the human waves, hoarsely bellowing orders which no one heeded, while
into the welter the Confederates poured a deadly fire and rounded up
masses of bewildered prisoners. It was well-nigh dusk before even the
semblance of a line of defense could be formed to cover the disorganized
masses of men, but the gathering darkness increased the terror of the
hapless fugitives, who, stumbling and crashing their way to safety,
carried confusion in their wake.
Meanwhile Lee, advised of what was happening at the Union right,
vigorously attacked Hooker's left, and a fierce conflict at that point
added to the general turmoil until the contending forces could no longer
distinguish each other, save by the flashing of their guns. The fighting
then ceased all along the line and both sides busied themselves with
preparations for renewing the struggle at the earliest possible
moment. Jackson, accompanied by some of his staff, instantly began a
reconnoissance of the Union position. He had just completed this and was
returning to his lines when some of his own pickets, mistaking his party
for Union cavalry, fired on them killing a captain and a sergeant. The
Confederate commander immediately turned his horse and sought safety at
another point, but he had not progressed far before he drew the fire of
another picket squad and fell desperately wounded.
General A. P. Hill then assumed command, but fighting had scarcely been
resumed the next morning before he was wounded and Jeb Stuart took his
place. Meanwhile, Hooker had been injured and the next day Lee fiercely
assailed Sedgwick. For the best part of two days the battle raged with
varying success. But, little by little, the Confederates edged their
opponents toward the Rappahannock, and by the night of May 5th, 1863,
Hooker withdrew his exhausted forces across the river.
The battle of Chancellorsville cost Lee over 12,000 men; but with a
force which never exceeded 60,000, he had not only extricated himself
from a perilous position, but had inflicted a crushing blow on an army
of 130,000, an achievement which has passed into history as one of the
most brilliant feats of modern warfare.