BATTLES AND SIEGES: DECEMBER, 1862-DECEMBER, 1863
The clouds of gloom and discouragement, which shut so heavily about the
President in the autumn of 1862, did not disperse as winter advanced.
That dreary season, when nearly all doubted and many despaired, is
recognized now as an interlude between the two grand divisions of the
drama. Before it, the Northern people had been enthusiastic, united, and
hopeful; after it, they saw assurance of success within reach of a
reasonable persistence. But while the miserable days were passing, men
could not see into the mysterious future. Not only were armies beaten,
but the people themselves seemed to be deserting their principles. The
face and the form of the solitary man, whose position brought every part
of this sad prospect fully within the range of his contemplation, showed
the wear of the times. The eyes went deeper into their caverns, and
seemed to send their search farther than ever away into a receding
distance; the furrows sank far into the sallow face; a stoop bent the
shoulders, as if the burden of the soul had even a physical weight. Yet
still he sought neither counsel, nor strength, nor sympathy from any
one; neither leaned on any friend, nor gave his confidence to any
adviser; the problems were his and the duty was his, and he accepted
both wholly. "I need success more than I need sympathy," he said; for it
was the cause, not his own burden, which absorbed his thoughts. The
extremists, who seemed to have more than half forgotten to hate the
South in the intensity of their hatred of McClellan, had apparently
cherished a vague faith that, if this procrastinating spirit could be
exorcised, the war might then be trusted to take care of itself. But
after they had accomplished their purpose they were confronted by facts
which showed that in this matter, as in that of emancipation, the
President's deliberation was not the unpardonable misdoing which they
had conceived it to be. In spite of McClellan's insolent arrogance and
fault-finding, his unreasonable demands, and his tedious squandering of
invaluable time, Mr. Lincoln, being by nature a man who contemplated the
consequence of an action, did not desire to make a vacancy till he could
fill it with a better man. "I certainly have been dissatisfied," he
said, "with Buell and McClellan; but before I relieved them I had great
fears I should not find successors to them who would do better; and I am
sorry to add I have seen little since to relieve those fears." One
bloody and costly experiment had already failed at Manassas. Two others
were soon to result even more disastrously; and still another leader
was to be superseded, before the "man of destiny" came. McClellan had
thrown away superb opportunities; but to turn him out was not to fill
his place with an abler man.
On the evening of November 7, 1862, the dispatch came which relieved
McClellan and put Burnside in command. The moment was not well chosen.
McClellan seemed in an unusually energetic temper. He had Lee's army
divided, and was conceivably on the verge of fighting it in detail.[43]
On the other hand, Burnside assumed the charge with reluctance and
self-distrust. A handsome, popular gentleman, of pleasing manners and
with the prestige of some easily won successes, he had the misfortune to
be too highly esteemed.
The change of commanders brought a change of scheme, which was now to
advance upon Richmond by way of Fredericksburg. When this was submitted
to the President he said that it might succeed if the movement was
rapid, otherwise not. The half of this opinion which concerned success
was never tested; the other half was made painfully good. Instead of
rapidity there was great delay, with the result that the early days of
December found Lee intrenching strongly upon the heights behind
Fredericksburg on the south bank of the Rappahannock, having his army
now reunited and reinforced to the formidable strength of 78,288 men
"present for duty." Burnside lay upon the north bank, with 113,000 men,
but having exchanged the promising advantages which had existed when he
took command for very serious disadvantages. He had the burden of
attacking a position which he had allowed his enemy not only to select
but to fortify. Happily it is not our task to describe the cruel and
sanguinary thirteenth day of December, 1862, when he undertook this
desperate task. When that night fell at the close of a fearful combat,
which had been rather a series of blunders than an intelligent plan,
10,208 Federal soldiers were known to be lying killed or wounded, while
2145 more were "missing." Such was the awful price which the brave
Northern army had paid, and by which it had bought--nothing! Nothing,
save the knowledge that General Burnside's estimate of his capacity for
such high command was correct. Even the mere brutal comparison of
"killed and wounded" showed that among the Confederates the number of
men who had been hit was not quite half that of the Federal loss. The
familiar principle, that in war a general should so contrive as to do
the maximum of injury to his adversary with a minimum of injury to
himself, had been directly reversed; the unfortunate commander had done
the maximum of injury to himself with the minimum of injury to his foe.
The behavior of Burnside in so bitter a trial was such as to attract
sympathy. Yet his army had lost confidence in his leadership, and
therefore suffered dangerously in morale. Many officers whispered their
opinions in Washington, and, as usual, Congress gave symptoms of a
desire to talk. Influenced by these criticisms and menacings, on
December 30 the President ordered Burnside not to enter again upon
active operations without first informing him. Burnside, much surprised,
hastened to see Mr. Lincoln, and learned what derogatory strictures were
in circulation. After brief consideration he proposed to resign. But Mr.
Lincoln said: "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." So Burnside
undertook further manoeuvres. These, however, did not turn out well, and
he conceived that a contributing cause lay in the half-heartedness of
some of his subordinates. Thereupon he designed against them a defensive
or retaliatory move in the shape of an order dismissing from the service
of the United States four generals, and relieving from command four
others, and one colonel. This wholesale decapitation was startling, yet
was, in fact, soundly conceived. In the situation, either the general,
or those who had lost faith in the general, must go. Which it should be
was conclusively settled by the length of the list of condemned. The
President declined to ratify this, and Burnside's resignation inevitably
followed. His successor was the general whose name led the list of those
malcontent critics whom he had desired to displace, and was also the
same who had once stigmatized McClellan as "a baby." Major-General
Joseph Hooker, a graduate of West Point, was now given the opportunity
to prove his own superiority.
The new commander was popularly known as "Fighting Joe." There was
inspiration in the nickname, and yet it was not quite thus that a great
commander, charged with weighty responsibility, should be appropriately
described. Upon making the appointment, January 26, 1863, the President
wrote a letter remarkable in many points of view:--
"GENERAL,--I have placed you at the head of the army of the Potomac. Of
course, I have done this upon what appears 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 skillful 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 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 as 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 criticising 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."
Hooker was of that class of generals who show such capacity as
lieutenants that they are supposed to be capable of becoming independent
chiefs, until their true measure is ascertained by actual trial. In two
months he had restored to good shape an army which he had found
demoralized and depleted by absenteeism, and at the end of April he had
under him about 124,500 men. He still lay on the north bank of the
Potomac, facing Lee's army in its intrenchments about Fredericksburg.
His plan of campaign, says General Doubleday, was "simple, efficacious,
and should have been successful." Diverting the attention of Lee, he
threw the chief part of his army across the Rappahannock several miles
above Fredericksburg; then, marching rapidly to Chancellorsville, he
threatened the left flank and rear of the Confederates. Pushing a short
distance out upon the three roads which led from Chancellorsville to
Fredericksburg, he came to the very edge and brink, as it were, of
beginning a great battle with good promise of success. But just at this
point his generals at the front were astounded by orders to draw back to
Chancellorsville. Was it that he suddenly lost nerve in the crisis of
his great responsibility?[44] Or was it possible that he did not
appreciate the opportunity which he was throwing away? No one can say.
Only the fact can be stated that he rejected the chance which offended
Fortune never offers a second time. Back came the advanced columns, and
took position at Chancellorsville, while Lee, who had not the Northern
habit of repudiating fair opportunity, pressed close upon them.
On May 1 manoeuvring for position and some fighting took place. On
Saturday, May 2, a brilliant flanking movement by "Stonewall" Jackson
wrecked the Federal right. But the dangerous Southerner, accidentally
shot by his own soldiers, was carried from the field a dying man. Upon
Sunday, May 3, there was a most sanguinary conflict. "The Federals
fought like devils at Chancellorsville," said Mahone. Still it was again
the sad and wearisome story of brave men so badly handled that their
gallantry meant only their own slaughter. The President had expressly
urged Hooker to be sure to get all his troops at work. Yet he actually
let 37,000 of them stand all day idle, not firing a shot, while their
comrades were fighting and falling and getting beaten. On May 4, Hooker,
whose previous "collapse" had been aggravated by a severe personal hurt,
"seemed disposed to be inactive;" and Lee seized the chance to turn upon
Sedgwick, who was coming up in the rear of the Confederates, and to
drive him across the river. General Hooker now made up his mind that he
had been beaten; and though a majority of his corps commanders were
otherwise minded and were for renewing the conflict, he returned to the
northern bank, leaving behind him his wounded soldiers, 14 guns, and
20,000 stand of arms. Another ghastly price had been paid to settle
another experiment and establish the value of another general. The North
lost in killed and wounded 12,197 men, with 5000 others "missing," and
found out that General Hooker was not the man to beat General Lee. The
Confederate loss was 10,266 killed and wounded, 2753 missing.
The days in which the news from Chancellorsville was spreading among the
cities and villages of the North were the darkest of the war. In those
countless households, by whose generous contributions the armies had
been recruited, the talk began to be that it was folly, and even
cruelty, to send brave and patriotic citizens to be slaughtered
uselessly, while one leader after another showed his helpless
incompetence. The disloyal Copperheads became more bodeful than ever
before; while men who would have hanged a Copperhead as gladly as they
would have shot a Secessionist felt their hearts sink before the
undeniable Southern prestige. But the truth was that Pope and Burnside
and Hooker, by their very defeats, became the cause of victory; for the
elated Southerners, beginning to believe that their armies were
invincible, now clamored for "invasion" and the capture of Washington.
Apparently General Lee, too, had drunk the poison of triumph, and
dreamed of occupying the national capital, Baltimore, and Philadelphia,
and dictating the terms of peace to a disheartened North. The
fascinating scheme--the irretrievable and fatal blunder--was determined
upon.
To carry out this plan Swell's corps was covertly moved early in June
into the Shenandoah Valley. Hooker, anticipating some such scheme, had
suggested to Mr. Lincoln that, if it were entered upon, he should like
to cross the river and attack the Southern rear corps in Fredericksburg.
The President suggested that the intrenched Southerners would be likely
to worst the assailants, while the main Southern army "would in some way
be getting an advantage northward." "In one word," he wrote, "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." Yet, very soon, when
the attenuation of Lee's line became certain, Lincoln sent to Hooker one
of his famous dispatches: "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?" But the "animal" was moving rapidly, and the breaking
process did not take place.
Hooker now conceived a plan seductive by its audacity and its possible
results. He proposed by a sudden movement to capture Richmond,
presumably garrisoned very scantily, and to get back before Lee could
make any serious impression at the North. It _might_ have been done,
and, if done, it would more than offset all the dreary past; yet the
risk was great, and Mr. Lincoln could not sanction it. He wrote: "I
think Lee's army, and not Richmond, is your sure objective point. If he
comes towards 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_."
This was good strategy and was adopted for the campaign. Ewell's corps
crossed the Upper Potomac, and on June 22 was in Pennsylvania. The
corps of Longstreet and Hill quickly followed, and Lee's triumphant
army, at least 70,000 strong, marched through the Cumberland Valley to
Chambersburg and Carlisle, gathering rich booty of herds and grain as
they went, with Harrisburg as an immediate objective, Philadelphia in no
remote distance, Baltimore and Washington in a painfully distinct
background. The farmers of western Pennsylvania, startled by the
spectacle of gray-coated cavalry riding northward towards their state
capital, cumbered the roads with their wagons. The President called from
the nearest States 120,000 militia. General Hooker, released from his
waiting attitude by the development of his adversary's plan, manoeuvred
well. He crossed the Potomac at Edwards' Ferry, June 25-26, and drew his
forces together at Frederick. It was then decided to move northward and
to keep Lee as well to the westward as possible, thereby reserving, for
the bearing of future events, the questions of cutting the Confederate
communications or bringing on a battle.
An unfortunate element in these critical days was that Halleck and
Hooker disliked each other, and that their ideas often clashed. Mr.
Lincoln was at last obliged to say to Hooker: "To remove all
misunderstanding, I now place you in the strict military relation to
General Halleck of a commander of one of the armies to the
general-in-chief of all the armies. I have not intended differently; but
as it seems to be differently understood, I shall direct him to give
you orders, and you to obey them." At the same time he wrote him a
"private" letter, endeavoring to allay the ill-feeling. He closed it
with words of kindness, of modesty, and with one of his noble appeals
for subjection of personal irritation and for union of effort on behalf
of the country:--
"I believe you are aware that, since you took command of the army, I
have not believed you had any chance to effect anything till now. As it
looks to me, Lee's now returning towards Harper's Ferry gives you back
the chance that I thought McClellan lost last fall. Quite possibly I was
wrong both then and now; but, in the great responsibility resting upon
me, I cannot be entirely silent. Now, all I ask is that you will be in
such mood that we can get into our action the best cordial judgment of
yourself and General Halleck, with my poor mite added, if, indeed, he
and you shall think it entitled to any consideration at all."
The breach, however, could not be closed. Hooker, finding his army
seriously weakened by the withdrawal of the two years' and the nine
months' troops, asked for the garrison of Harper's Ferry, which seemed
useless where it was. Halleck refused it, and, June 27, Hooker requested
to be relieved of the command. His request was instantly granted, and
Major-General George G. Meade was appointed in his place. Swinton says
that command was given to Meade "without any lets or hindrances, the
President expressly waiving all the powers of the executive and the
Constitution, so as to enable General Meade to make, untrammeled, the
best dispositions for the emergency." One would like to know the
authority upon which so extraordinary a statement is based; probably it
is a great exaggeration, and the simple fact would prove to be that,
since the situation was such that new developments were likely to occur
with much suddenness, the President wisely and even necessarily placed
the general in full control, free from requirements of communication and
consultation. But to represent that Mr. Lincoln abdicated his
constitutional functions is absurd! Be this as it may, the fact is that
the appointment brought no change of plan. For three days the armies
manoeuvred and drew slowly together. Finally it was betwixt chance and
choice that the place and hour of concussion were determined. The place
was the village of Gettysburg, and the time was the morning of July 1.
Then ensued a famous and most bloody fight! During three long, hot days
of midsummer those two great armies struggled in a desperate grapple,
and with not unequal valor, the Confederates fiercely assailing, the
Federals stubbornly holding, those historic ridges, and both alike,
whether attacking or defending, whether gaining or losing ground, always
falling in an awful carnage of dead and wounded. It was the most
determined fighting that had yet taken place at the East, and the names
of Cemetery Ridge, Little Round Top, and Culp's Hill are written deep
in blood in American memories. When the last magnificent charge of the
Southerners was hurled back in the afternoon of July 3, the victory was
decided. The next day Lee began to send away his trains, his wounded and
prisoners. It is indeed true that during the day he held his army in
position on Seminary Ridge, hoping that Meade would attack, and that,
with an exchange of their relative parts of assailants and defenders, a
change of result also might come about. But Meade made no advance, and
with the first hours of darkness on the evening of July 4 the Southern
host began its retreat.
The losses at Gettysburg were appalling. The estimate is 2834 killed,
13,709 wounded, 6643 missing, a total of 23,186 on the Federal side; the
figures were only a trifle less on the Confederate side. But if such
bloodshed carried grief into many a Northern household, at least there
was not the cruel thought that life and limb, health and usefulness, had
been sacrificed through incompetence and without advantage to the cause.
It was true that the Northern general ought to have won, for he
commanded more troops,[45] held a very strong defensive position, and
fought a strictly defensive battle. But such had been the history of the
war that when that which _ought_ to be done _was_ done, the people felt
that it was fair cause for rejoicing. Later there was fault-finding and
criticism; but that during so many days so many troops on unfamiliar
ground should be handled in such a manner that afterward no critic can
suggest that something might have been done better, hardly falls among
possibilities. The fact was sufficient that a most important and
significant victory had been won. On the battlefield a stone now
undertakes to mark the spot and to name the hour where and when the
flood tide of rebellion reached its highest point, and where and when it
began its slow and sure ebb. Substantially that stone tells the truth.
Nevertheless the immediately succeeding days brought keen, counteracting
disappointment. Expectation rose that the shattered army of Lee would
never cross the Potomac; and the expectation was entirely reasonable,
and ought to have been fulfilled. But Meade seemed to copy McClellan
after Antietam. Spurred on by repeated admonitions from the President
and General Halleck, he did, on July 10, catch up with the retreating
army, which was delayed at Williamsport on the north bank of the river
by the unusually high water. He camped close by it, and received
strenuous telegrams urging him to attack. But he did not,[46] and on
the night of July 13 the Southern general successfully placed the
Potomac between himself and his too tardy pursuer. Bitter then was the
resentment of every loyal man at the North. For once the President
became severe and sent a dispatch of such tenor that General Meade
replied by an offer to resign his command. This Mr. Lincoln did not
accept. Yet he was too sorely pained not to give vent to words which in
fact if not in form conveyed severe censure. He was also displeased
because Meade, in general orders, spoke of "driving the invaders from
our soil;" as if the whole country was not "_our soil_"! Under the
influence of so much provocation, he wrote to General Meade a letter
reproduced from the manuscript by Messrs. Nicolay and Hay. It is true
that on cooler reflection he refrained from sending this missive, but it
is in itself sufficiently interesting to deserve reading:--"I have just
seen your dispatch to General Halleck, asking to be relieved of your
command because of a supposed censure of mine. I am very grateful to you
for the magnificent success you gave the cause of the country at
Gettysburg; and I am sorry now to be the author of the slightest pain to
you. But I was in such deep distress myself that I could not restrain
some expression of it. I have been oppressed nearly ever since the
battle of Gettysburg by what appeared to be evidences that yourself and
General Couch and General Smith were not seeking a collision with the
enemy, but were trying to get him across the river without another
battle. What these evidences were, if you please, I hope to tell you at
some time when we shall both feel better. 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. And
Couch and Smith,--the latter left Carlisle in time, upon all ordinary
calculation, to have aided you in the last battle at Gettysburg, but he
did not arrive. At the end of more than ten days, I believe twelve,
under constant urging, he reached Hagerstown from Carlisle, which is not
an inch over fifty-five miles, if so much; and Couch's movement was very
little different.
"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.
"I beg you will not consider this a prosecution or persecution of
yourself. As you had learned that I was dissatisfied, I have thought it
best to kindly tell you why."
* * * * *
There was an odd coincidence during this momentous first week in July.
During the preceding winter Mr. Lincoln had been exceedingly bothered by
certain Democrats, notably that gentleman of unsavory repute, Fernando
Wood, who had urged upon him all sorts of foolish schemes for
"compromising" or "settling the difficulties,"--phrases which were
euphemisms of the peace Democracy to disguise a concession of success to
the South. The President endured these sterile suggestions with his
wonted patience. But toward the close of June, Alexander H. Stephens,
Vice-President of the Confederacy, was seized with the notion that, if
he should go to Washington on a personal mission to Mr. Lincoln,
purporting to be about prisoners of war, he might then "indirectly ...
turn attention to a general adjustment." Accordingly he set forth on his
way to Fortress Monroe; but very inopportunely for his purposes it fell
out that the days of his journey were the very days in which General
Lee was getting so roughly worsted at Gettysburg. So it happened that it
was precisely on the day of the Southern retreat, July 4, that he
notified the admiral in Hampton Roads that he was the "bearer of a
communication in writing from Jefferson Davis, commander-in-chief of the
land and naval forces of the Confederate States, to Abraham Lincoln,
commander-in-chief of the land and naval forces of the United States;"
and he asked for leave to proceed to Washington. But his ingenious
phraseology was of no avail. Mr. Lincoln said: "The request of A.H.
Stephens is inadmissible. The customary agents and channels are adequate
for all needful communication and conference between the United States
forces and the insurgents." Thus the shrewd instinct of the Northerner
brought to naught a scheme conceived in the spirit of the old-time
Southern politics, a scheme which was certainly clever, but which,
without undue severity, may also be called a little artful and
insidious; for Mr. Stephens himself afterward confessed that it had, for
its ulterior purpose, "not so much to act upon Mr. Lincoln and the then
ruling authorities at Washington as through them, when the
correspondence should be published, upon the great mass of the people in
the Northern States." The notion, disseminated among the people, that
Mr. Lincoln would not listen to proposals for peace, would greatly help
malcontents of the Fernando Wood school.
It is necessary now to turn from the Eastern field of operations to the
Middle and Western parts of the country, where, however, the control
exercised by Mr. Lincoln was far less constant than at the East. After
the series of successes which culminated at Corinth, the Federal good
fortune rested as if to recuperate for a while. A large part of the
powerful army there gathered was carried away by Buell, and was soon
given occupation by General Bragg. For Jefferson Davis had long chosen
to fancy that Kentucky was held in an unwilling subjection to the Union,
and from this thralldom he now designed to relieve her, and to make the
Ohio River the frontier of Secession. Accordingly cavalry raids in
considerable force were made, Cincinnati was threatened, and General
Bragg, with a powerful army, started northward from Gainesville. At the
same time the Federals left Murfreesboro', and the two armies raced for
Louisville. Bragg, with a handsome start, should have won, but on
September 29, 1862, Buell entered the city ahead. The winning of the
goal, however, was not the end. Two hostile armies, which had come so
far and got so close together, were bound to have a fight. This took
place at Perryville, October 8, with the result that on the next day
Bragg began a rapid retreat. He had brought 20,000 stand of arms for the
Kentuckians who were to flock to his camp; but they had not flocked, and
the theory of Kentuckian disloyalty was no longer tenable.
So soon as Bragg was out of Kentucky, Halleck, probably at the
instigation of the President, recurred to the project of a campaign in
Eastern Tennessee. Buell said that it was not feasible, and since by
this opinion he placed himself at odds with the authorities at
Washington, he asked to be relieved from his command. At the close of
October, Major-General William S. Rosecrans succeeded him. But the new
commander would not, any more than his predecessor, fall in with
Halleck's schemes, and what Cist contemptuously describes as "Halleck's
brilliant paper campaign into East Tennessee" did not take place.
General Rosecrans took command of the army at Bowling Green, November 2,
1862. Bragg fell back to Murfreesboro', in Tennessee, and the city of
Nashville, now in Federal possession, became the gage of battle. On
December 26 Rosecrans moved out from that city towards Murfreesboro',
and on January 2, 1863, the battle of Stone's River took place. It was
desperately contested, and the losses were heavy. At the close of the
day the advantage rested with the Confederates; but it was
inconsiderable, and both sides considered the battle only begun. On the
next day, however, Bragg found such dangerous demoralization among his
troops that he decided to withdraw. Although he always persisted in
describing himself as the victor in the engagement, yet he now left his
wounded in the hospitals, and fell back to Shelbyville. In these
positions, not far apart, the two armies lay for a long while watching
each other; there were a few raids and small encounters, but
substantially, during the first six months of 1863, quietude reigned in
the region which they dominated.
But quietude was not what the government wished, and Mr. Lincoln and
General Halleck soon fell into much the same relationship with Rosecrans
which they had previously occupied towards McClellan. Whenever Rosecrans
had taken the field he had shown himself a skillful strategist and an
able commander in battle; but his propensity seemed to be to remain in
quarters, and thence to present extravagant exactions, and to conduct
endless disputes with the President and the general-in-chief. He seemed
like a restive horse, the more he was whipped and spurred the more
immovably he retained his balking attitude. Mr. Lincoln was sorely tried
by this obstinacy, and probably had been pushed nearly to the limits of
his patience, when at last Rosecrans stirred. It was on June 24 that he
set his army in motion to settle with Bragg those conclusions which had
been left open for half a year. With this purpose he moved upon
Shelbyville, but when he arrived there he found that Bragg had gone back
to Tullahoma; and when he pushed on to Tullahoma, Bragg had left there
also. Thus it came to pass that on the same famous Fourth of July on
which Lee started to get out of Pennsylvania, Bragg in like manner was
getting over the southern boundary line of Tennessee and putting the
mountain range between himself and the pursuing Federal commander. The
converging lines of Federal good luck came together on this great day of
the nation, in a way that touches the superstitious chord; for still
farther west another and a momentous event was taking place.
General Grant, at Corinth, had been pondering a great scheme which he
meant to undertake so soon as his scanty army should be sufficiently
reinforced. If Richmond had an artificial value as a token of final
triumph, the Mississippi River had scarcely less value of a practical
character. Vicksburg and Port Hudson cut out a mid-section of about 200
miles of the great stream, which section still remained under
Confederate control. Vicksburg was General Grant's objective point. Even
to conceive the capture of this stronghold seemed in itself evidence of
genius; no mere pedant in warfare could have had the conception. Every
difficulty lay in the way of the assailant. The Confederates had spared
no skill, no labor, no expense in fortifying the town; yet after all had
been done that military science could do, human achievement counted for
little in comparison with the surpassing arrangements of Nature. If what
she intended could be inferred from what she had done, she clearly had
designed this town to be through all time a veritable "virgin fortress;"
she had made for its resting-place a great bluff, which jutted
insolently out into the channel of the Mississippi River, and upon the
summit of which the cluster of buildings resembled rather an eyrie of
eagles than a place of human habitation; the great stream, as if
confounded by the daring obstruction, before it could recover its
interrupted course spread itself far over the surrounding country in a
tangle of bayous and a vast expanse of unwholesome, impassable swamp;
the high ridges which lay inland around the place were intersected by
frequent long, deep, and precipitous ravines, so that by this side also
hostile approach had apparently been rendered impossible. Nevertheless,
that one of the Northern generals to whom nothing ever seemed
impossible, having cast the eye of desire upon this especial spot, now
advanced upon it, and began operations in his silent, enduring,
pertinacious way, which no men and no intrenchments could permanently
withstand. His lieutenant, Sherman, made one desperate assault,--not, as
it seemed, because there was a possibility of taking the place, but
rather to demonstrate that it could not be taken. Then slower and more
toilsome methods were tried. It was obvious that a siege must be
resorted to; yet it was not easy to get near enough even to establish a
siege.
General Grant had early decided that the city would remain impregnable
until by some means he could get below it on the river and approach it
from the landward side. Ingenious schemes of canals were tried, and
failed. Time passed; the month of April was closing, and all that had
been done seemed to amount to nothing better than an accumulation of
evidence that the Confederacy had one spot which the Federals could
never touch. At last ingenuity was laid aside for sheer daring. The
fleet, under Admiral Porter, transported the army down-stream, athwart
the hostile batteries, and set it ashore on the east bank, below the
fortifications. Yet this very success seemed only to add peril to
difficulty. The Confederates, straining every nerve to save the place,
were gathering a great force in the neighborhood to break up the
besieging army. With a base of supplies which was substantially useless,
in a hostile country, with a powerful army hovering near him, and an
unapproachable citadel as his objective, Grant could save himself from
destruction only by complete and prompt success. Desperate, indeed, was
the occasion, yet all its exorbitant requirements were met fully,
surely, and swiftly by the commander and the gallant troops under him.
In the task of getting a clear space, by driving the Confederates from
the neighborhood for a considerable distance around, the army penetrated
eastward as far as Jackson, fighting constantly and living off the
country. Then, returning westward, they began the siege, which, amid
hardship and peril and infinite difficulty, was pushed with the
relentless vigor of the most relentless and most vigorous leader of the
war. At last, on July 3, General Pemberton, commanding within the city,
opened negotiations for a surrender. He knew that an assault would be
made the next day, and he knew that it must succeed; he did not want to
illustrate the Fourth of July by so terrible a Confederate loss, so
magnificent a Federal gain. Yet he haggled over the terms, and by this
delay brought about a part of that which he had wished to avoid. It was
due to his fretfulness about details, that the day on which the Southern
army marched out and stacked their arms before the fortifications of
Vicksburg, and on which the Northern army, having generously watched the
operation without a cheer, then marched in and took possession of the
place, was that same Fourth of July on which two other defeated generals
were escaping from two other victorious Northern armies.
In a military point of view this campaign and siege have been pronounced
by many competent critics the greatest achievement of the war; but the
magnificent and interesting story must, with regret, be yielded to the
biographer of Grant; it does not belong to the biographer of Lincoln.
The whole enterprise was committed to Grant to be handled by him without
let or hindrance, and it was conducted by him from beginning to end
without interference, and almost even without suggestion. Yet this very
fact was greatly to the credit of the administration. In the outset the
President passed judgment upon the man; and it was a correct judgment.
Afterward he stood to it gallantly. In the middle of the business, when
the earlier expedients went wrong, a great outcry against Grant arose.
Editors and politicians, even the secretary of the treasury himself,
began to hound the President with importunate demands for the
displacement of a general whom they fervently alleged to be another of
the incompetents; in short, there was the beginning of just such a
crusade as that which had been made against McClellan. But by this time
the President had had opportunity to measure the military capacity of
editors and politicians, and he was not now so much disquieted by their
clamor as he once had been. He simply, in his quiet way, paid no
attention to them whatsoever. Only when one of them reiterated the
gossip about Grant being drunk at Shiloh, he made his famous reply, that
he should like to send to some other generals a barrel of the whiskey
which Grant drank. In a word, the detractors of the silent general made
little impression on the solitary President, who told them shortly and
decisively: "I can't spare this man; he fights." They wholly failed to
penetrate the protecting fence which the civilian threw around the
soldier, and within the shelter of which that soldier so admirably
performed the feat which more than any other illustrates the national
arms. Certainly the President comes in for his peculiar share of the
praise. When the news came to Mr. Lincoln he wrote to General Grant this
letter:--
"July 16, 1863.
"My DEAR GENERAL,--I do not remember that you and I ever met personally.
I write this now as a grateful acknowledgment for the almost
inestimable services you have done the country.
"I wish to say a word further. When you reached the vicinity of
Vicksburg, I thought you should do what you finally did,--march the
troops across the neck, run the batteries with the transports, and thus
go below; and I never had any faith, except in a general hope that you
knew better than I, that the Yazoo Pass expedition and the like would
succeed.
"When you got below and took Port Gibson, Grand Gulf, and vicinity, I
thought you should go down the river and join General Banks; and when
you turned northward, east of the Big Black, I feared it was a mistake.
I now wish to make a personal acknowledgment that you were right and I
was wrong."
Immediately after the ceremony of surrender was over Sherman marched
away with a strong force to find and fight Johnston's army. But that
general, shunning the conflict, moved so far southward into Mississippi
that pursuit was imprudent during the hot season.
While Grant was finishing the siege of Vicksburg, General Banks was
besieging Port Hudson, which lay at the southern end of the rebel
section of the river. The fall of the northern post rendered the
southern one untenable, and it was surrendered on July 9. Henceforth the
great river was a safe roadway for unarmed craft flying the stars and
stripes.
It is time now to go back to Tennessee. By the close of the first week
in July, 1863, the Confederate force was established in Chattanooga, and
thus the hostile armies were "placed back in the relative positions
occupied by them prior to Bragg's advance into Kentucky, a little less
than one year previous." But though the Southern general had reached his
present position by a retreat at the end of a disappointing enterprise,
the issue of final success was still an open one between him and
Rosecrans, with many advantages on his side. He had a large army in the
heart of a mountainous region, with the opportunity to post it in
positions which ought to be impregnable. Moreover, he received fresh
troops under Johnston; and later the inaction of Meade in Virginia
encouraged Lee to send to him a considerable force under Longstreet,
himself no small reinforcement. These arrived just on the eve of the
impending battle.
Meantime Mr. Lincoln was sorely exercised at his inability to make his
generals carry out his plans. He desired that Burnside should move down
from the north and unite with Rosecrans, and that then the combined
force should attack Bragg promptly. But Rosecrans lay still for about
six weeks, to repair losses and fatigue, and again played the part of
the restive steed, responding to the President's spur only with
fractious kickings. It was August 16 when he moved, but then he showed
his usual ability in action. The march was difficult; yet, on September
6, he had his whole force across the Tennessee and in the mountains
south of Chattanooga. Burnside, meanwhile, had advanced to Knoxville,
but had stopped there, and was now, greatly to Mr. Lincoln's
bewilderment and annoyance, showing activity in every direction except
precisely that in which he was directed to move.
At last, after much fruitless manoeuvring, the collision took place, and
for two days there was fierce and stubborn fighting on the famous
battlefield of Chickamauga. On the second day, September 20, Longstreet,
commanding the Confederate left, thoroughly defeated the Federal right
and centre and sent them in precipitate flight to Chattanooga.
Rosecrans, overwhelmed amid the rush of fugitives, and thinking that all
was lost, also hastened thither to take charge of the fragments. In
truth all would have been lost, had it not been for Thomas. This able
and resolute commander won in this fight the rhetorical but well merited
name of "the Rock of Chickamauga." Under him the Federal left stood
immovable, though furiously assailed by odds, and tried by the rout of
their comrades. At nightfall these troops, still in position, covered
the withdrawal to Chattanooga.
Rosecrans, badly demoralized, gave the President to understand that
there had been a terrible disaster, and the President, according to his
custom in such trying moments, responded with words of encouragement and
an instant effort to restore morale. Mr. Lincoln always cheered his
generals in the hour of disaster, which he seemed to regard only as the
starting-point for a new advance, the incentive to a fresh exertion.
Yet, in fact, there had not been a disaster, but only a moderate
worsting of the Federal army, resulting in its retirement a trifling
distance to the place whence its opponents had just marched out. The
issue between the two generals was still as open after Rosecrans's
misfortune as it had been after the previous misfortunes of Bragg.
Already there was a new question, who would win that coming battle which
plainly was close at hand. The curtain had only gone down on an act; the
drama itself had not been played out.
Bragg advanced to besiege Chattanooga, and Rosecrans's communications
were so imperfect that his troops were put on short rations. On the
other hand, Mr. Lincoln bestirred himself vigorously. He promptly sent
Sherman from the West, and Hooker from the East, each with considerable
reinforcements, en route for the beleaguered town. Also he saw plainly
that, whether by fault or misfortune, the usefulness of Rosecrans was
over, and on October 16 he put Thomas in place of Rosecrans,[47] and
gave to General Grant the command of the Military Division of the
Mississippi, including the Departments of the Ohio, the Cumberland, and
the Tennessee. Grant at once telegraphed to Thomas to hold Chattanooga
at all hazards; to which Thomas replied: "We will hold the town till we
starve!" Grant well knew that they were already getting very hungry. He
showed his usual prompt energy in relieving them; and a little fighting
soon opened a route by which sufficient food came into the place.
It was now obvious that the decisive conflict between the two armies,
which had so long been striving for the advantage of strategic position,
and fighting in hostile competition, was at last to occur. Each had its
distinctive advantage. The Federals were led by Grant, with Sherman,
Thomas, Sheridan, and Hooker as his lieutenants,--a list which may
fairly recall Napoleon and his marshals. On the other hand, the
Southerners, lying secure in intrenched positions upon the precipitous
sides and lofty summits of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge, seemed
invulnerably placed. It does not belong to this narrative to describe
the terrific contest in which these two combatants furiously locked
horns on November 24 and 25. It was Hooker's brave soldiers who
performed the conspicuous feat which was conclusive of victory. Having,
by command, stormed the first line of rifle-pits on the ascent, upon the
Confederate left, they suddenly took the control into their own hands;
without orders they dashed forward, clambered upward in a sudden and
resistless access of fighting fury, and in an hour, emerging above the
mists which shrouded the mid-mountain from the anxious view of General
Grant, they planted the stars and stripes on top of Lookout Mountain.
They had fought and won what was poetically christened "the battle above
the clouds." Sherman, with seven divisions, had meanwhile been making
desperate and bloody assaults upon Missionary Ridge, and had gained the
first hilltop; but the next one seemed impregnable. It was, however, not
necessary for him to renew the costly assault; for Hooker's victory,
which was quickly followed by a handsome advance by Sheridan, on
Sherman's right, so turned the Confederate position as to make it
untenable.
The Northerners were exasperated to find, among the Confederate troops
who surrendered as captives in these two battles, prisoners of war taken
at Vicksburg and Port Hudson, who had been paroled and never exchanged.
On the eve of this battle Longstreet had started northward to cut off
and destroy Burnside in Knoxville, and no sooner was the actual fighting
over than Grant sent Sherman in all haste to Burnside's assistance.
Thereupon Longstreet fell back towards Virginia, and came to a
resting-place midway, where he afterward lay unharmed and unharming for
many months. Thus at last the long-deferred wish of the President was
fulfilled, and the chief part of East Tennessee was wrested from
Confederate occupation. Among the loyal inhabitants the great rejoicing
was in proportion to the sufferings which they had so long been
undergoing.
Meanwhile, since Gettysburg, no conspicuous event had attracted
attention in Virginia. The President had been disappointed that Meade
had not fought at Williamsport, but soon afterward he gave decisive
advice against forcing a fight at a worse place in order to cure the
blunder of having let go the chance to fight at the right place. About
the middle of September, however, when Lee had reduced his army by
leaves of absence and by dispatching Longstreet to reinforce Bragg, Mr.
Lincoln thought it a good time to attack him. Meade, on the other hand,
now said that he did not feel strong enough to assault, and this
although he had 90,000 men "between him and Washington," and by his
estimate the whole force of the enemy, "stretching as far as Richmond,"
was only 60,000. "For a battle, then," wrote Mr. Lincoln, "General Meade
has three men to General Lee's two. Yet, it having been determined that
choosing ground and standing on the defensive gives so great advantage
that the three cannot safely attack the two, the three are left simply
standing on the defensive also. If the enemy's 60,000 are sufficient to
keep our 90,000 away from Richmond, why, by the same rule, may not
40,000 of ours keep their 60,000 away from Washington, leaving us 50,000
to put to some other use?... I can perceive no fault in this statement,
unless we admit we are not the equal of the enemy man for man." But
when, a few days later, Stanton proposed to detach 30,000 men from Meade
to Rosecrans, Mr. Lincoln demurred, and would agree only to let go
13,000, whom Hooker took with him to Chattanooga. Probably he did not
wish to diminish the Federal strength in Virginia.
Late in October, Lee, overestimating the number of troops thus
withdrawn, endeavored to move northward; but Meade outmanoeuvred and
outmarched him, and he fell back behind the Rapidan. General Meade next
took his turn at the aggressive. Toward the close of November he crossed
the Rapidan with the design of flanking and attacking Lee. But an
untoward delay gave the Southerners time to intrench themselves so
strongly that an attack was imprudent, and Meade returned to the north
bank of the stream. The miscarriage hurt his reputation with the people,
though he was not to blame for it.
Now, as the severe season was about to begin, all the armies both of the
North and of the South, on both sides of the mountain ranges, turned
gladly into winter quarters. Each had equal need to rest and recuperate
after hard campaigns and bloody battles. For a while the war news was
infrequent and insignificant; and the cessation in the thunder of cannon
and the rattle of musketry gives opportunity again to hear the voices of
contending politicians. For a while we must leave the warriors and give
ear to the talkers.
FOOTNOTES:
[43] Palfrey, _The Antietam and Fredericksburg_, 132.
[44] Swinton says: "The moment he confronted his antagonist he seemed to
suffer a collapse of all his powers." _Army of Potomac_, 280.
[45] But, says Swinton, there was less disproportion than usual; for the
great army which Hooker had had before Chancellorsville had been greatly
reduced, both by casualties and by the expiration of terms of service.
On May 13 he reported that his "marching force of infantry" was "about
80,000 men." A little later the cavalry was reported at 4677. _Army of
Potomac_, 310.
[46] Swinton says that whether Meade should have attacked or not, "will
probably always remain one of those questions about which men will
differ." He inclines to think that Meade was right. _Army of Potomac_,
369, 370.
[47] Grant disliked Rosecrans, and is said to have asked for this
change.