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One hundred fifty years ago today – America’s bloodiest day, the Battle of Antietam

by Mojambo ( 247 Comments › )
Filed under History at September 17th, 2012 - 7:00 pm

The bloodiest day in American history (September 17, 1862) at Antietam Creek (next to the town of Sharpsburg, Maryland), is a battle that symbolized the futility of just about all Civil War battles. Two armies coming together, butting heads, inflicting horrific losses on each other, limping away, regrouping and coming back later to fight again (two months later at Fredericksburg) to inflict more bloodshed. Civil War armies lacked that ability to annihilate each other, the ability to inflict their will totally on the other side to make them cease fighting (until late in 1864).  Although a tactical draw, Antietam turned out to be a strategic victory for the Federals (note that I say “Federals” and not “Union”. That’s because they were not called “Union soldiers” during the war. They were called “Federal” or “U.S. troops” during the Civil War, the use of the term “Union soldiers” was more post-war) since it put a monkey wrench in any hope of the Confederacy receiving foreign recognition.

From the Civil War Trust – Antietam

23,000 casualties

 

Antietam

Sharpsburg

September 16 – 18, 1862

Washington County, Maryland

Gen. George McClellan

On September 16, 1862, Maj. Gen. George B. McClellan and his Union Army of the Potomac confronted Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia at Sharpsburg, Maryland.  At dawn on September 17, Maj. General Joseph Hooker’s Union corps mounted a powerful assault on Lee’s left flank that began the Battle of Antietam, and the single bloodiest day in American military history. Repeated Union attacks, and equally vicious Confederate counterattacks, swept back and forth across Miller’s cornfield and the West Woods. Despite the great Union numerical advantage, Stonewall Jackson’s forces near the Dunker Church would hold their ground this bloody morning. Meanwhile, towards the center of the battlefield, Union assaults against the Sunken Road would pierce the Confederate center after a terrible struggle for this key defensive position.  Unfortunately for the Union army this temporal advantage in the center was not followed up with further advances.

Late in the day, Maj. General Ambrose Burnside’s corps pushed across a bullet-strewn stone bridge over Antietam Creek and with some difficulty managed to imperil the Confederate right. At a crucial moment, A.P. Hill’s division arrived from Harpers Ferry, and counterattacked, driving back Burnside and saving the day for the Army of Northern Virginia. Despite being outnumbered two-to-one, Lee committed his entire force at the Battle of Antietam, while McClellan sent in less than three-quarters of his Federal force. McClellan’s piecemeal approach to the battle failed to fully leverage his superior numbers and allowed Lee to shift forces from threat to threat.  During the night, both armies tended to their wounded and consolidated their lines. In spite of crippling casualties, Lee continued to skirmish with McClellan on the 18th, while removing his wounded south of the Potomac. McClellan, much to the chagrin of Abraham Lincoln, did not vigorously pursue the wounded Confederate army. While the Battle of Antietam is considered a draw from a military point of view, Abraham Lincoln and the Union claimed victory.  This hard-fought battle, which drove Lee’s forces from Maryland, Antietam Bridge

would give Lincoln the “victory” that he needed before delivering the Emancipation Proclamation — a document that would forever change the geopolitical course of the American Civil War.

The Maryland Campaign of 1862

By D. Scott Hartwig

Robert E. Lee
Robert E. Lee (Library of Congress)

September 1862 was a momentous month, a period of crisis for the United States and exciting opportunity for the Confederate States of America. The bright hopes of Northerners that the rebellion could be crushed that summer had wilted like the leaves of fall. In July, the grand campaign of Major General George B. McClellan’s magnificent Army of the Potomac to capture the Confederate capital of Richmond ended in defeat. Then, at the end of August, Major General John Pope’s Army of Virginia, with heavy reinforcements from the Army of the Potomac, was soundly thrashed in the Second Battle of Manassas. The Union armies stumbled back to Washington seeking shelter within the capital’s fortifications. In the western theater, two Confederate armies mounted an offensive that carried into Kentucky. Disgust and discouragement prevailed across the North. Inside the nation’s capital one Union soldier, reflecting the mood of many in the army, wrote: “The whole army is disgusted . . . you need not be surprised if success falls to the rebels with astonishing rapidity.”

The architect of the Confederate victories in the east, General Robert E. Lee, sought to exploit the opportunity his victory at Second Manassas offered. Lee understood from the beginning of the war that the Confederacy’s best hope for independence rested upon the morale of the Northern people. If they believed the war could not be won, or could only be won at too high a cost, then Southern independence became a real possibility. Confederate military successes were the means to erode morale and create this political climate. The fall elections in the North were approaching. England and France stood on the sidelines watching closely, carefully weighing whether they should recognize the Confederacy. Lee sensed a great opportunity was at hand. He believed the Union army was disorganized and demoralized. He also knew that it was receiving many reinforcements in the form of newly raised regiments in answer to President Lincoln’s July call for 300,000 volunteers. Only one move would force the Federals to place their army in the field before they had reorganized and offered the best chance to do further damage to Northern morale: Invade the border state of Maryland.

“The army is not properly equipped for an invasion of an enemy’s territory,” Lee wrote Confederate President Jefferson Davis, but he nevertheless understood that this was his best move. He determined to enter Maryland east of the Blue Ridge Mountains, and advance to Frederick, Maryland. Here his army would threaten Baltimore and Washington, as well as Pennsylvania. The Federals would have no choice but to leave the Washington fortifications to confront him. When they did, he planned to march west from Frederick, crossing the Catoctin Mountains and South Mountain, to Hagerstown. The idea was to draw the Union army far from its supply depots and fortifications, where they might be dealt a more decisive blow. By September 3 Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia numbered some 70,000 troops of all arms, but logistically the army was in possibly the worst condition it would be in during the entire war. The troops were poorly fed and uniformed, which contributed to long sick lists. Lax discipline combined with the chronically short and poor rations issued to the men encouraged massive straggling, and the army would leak thousands of stragglers as it moved across Maryland.

On September 4, advance elements of the army crossed the Potomac into Maryland near Leesburg, Virginia. Over the next three days the main body of the army forded the river and advanced without opposition to Frederick.

In Washington, news that the Confederates were pouring into Maryland in large numbers created a crisis for President Lincoln. The defeat at Manassas had resulted in ugly accusations and finger pointing. Pope claimed that McClellan and the Army of the Potomac had not sustained him as they should have, and he even levied charges against several key officers. Lincoln understood that the army had lost confidence in Pope and he needed to go, but he hoped to have some breathing space to select a new field commander. As a temporary measure he placed McClellan in command of all the troops within the capital’s fortifications. Feelings against McClellan were so strong among members of Lincoln’s cabinet, that several of them presented a declaration for the President stating that they did not believe it was safe to entrust McClellan with the command of “any of the armies of the United States.” But Lee gave Lincoln no respite and the Confederate invasion of Maryland forced him to place an army in the field. Given the pace of events, Lincoln had no choice but to place McClellan in command. McClellan had the army’s confidence. As one of his soldiers put it, “the effect of this man’s presence upon the Army of the Potomac – in sunshine or rain, in darkness or in daylight, in victory or defeat – was electrical.”

George B. McClellan
Major General George B. McClellan (National Archives)

There was great irony in Lincoln’s decision for he hoped that McClellan and the army would serve as a tool to not only turn back the Confederate tide, but to provide the opportunity for a war-changing measure. Sensing that the time had come that he might up the ante in the war, Lincoln had prepared an Emancipation Proclamation, a document presaging profound change by adding emancipation to the North’s heretofore single objective of preserving the Union. Lincoln knew that many Northern soldiers and civilians opposed emancipation, on grounds of race, or because of their ambivalence towards slavery or the belief that introducing such an objective would only encourage Southerners to fight more desperately. The Democrats were firmly in this camp and one of the staunchest supporters of this viewpoint was McClellan. Earlier in the war, he expressed his opinion, “I am fighting to preserve the integrity of the Union and the power of the Govt – on no other issue. To gain that end we cannot afford to mix up the negro question – it must be incidental and subsidiary.” But the issue of slavery was hardly incidental or subsidiary. It entangled itself with nearly everything about this war. Slaves formed the economic backbone of the Confederacy. Slaves enabled the Confederacy to mobilize more of its young white men for military service. Even setting the emotional issue of slavery aside, an attack upon slavery struck at the underpinnings of the Southern economy and the Confederates’ ability to wage war. But Lincoln needed to issue his proclamation from a position of strength, or else risk having his measure look like a desperate act of a sinking administration. He needed a battlefield victory and he counted on McClellan and the Army of the Potomac to deliver it.

When the Army of Northern Virginia occupied Frederick, Lee expected the Union garrisons at Harper’s Ferry and Martinsburg would be withdrawn, clearing the way for him to establish communications through the Shenandoah Valley. But Union General-in-Chief Henry W. Halleck ordered the garrisons to remain, leaving them both isolated but astride Lee’s intended line of communications. Confident that the Army of the Potomac would advance slowly from Washington, Lee conceived a bold plan to destroy or capture these garrisons. The plan called for three columns to converge upon them. Walker’s division would re-cross the Potomac and capture Loudoun Heights, overlooking Harper’s Ferry south of the junction of the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers. Lafayette McLaws with his own and Richard Anderson’s division was tasked with capturing Maryland Heights, the key to the possession of Harper’s Ferry. Major General Thomas J. “Stonewall” Jackson commanded the strongest column, consisting of three divisions. Their mission was to march west from Frederick, cross the Potomac, capture or smash the Martinsburg garrison, or drive it back upon Harper’s Ferry, then complete the capture or destruction of the Harper’s Ferry garrison by sealing off its escape routes to the west. The balance of the army would march to Boonsboro, a village nestled against the western side of South Mountain. The army marched on September 10. Lee expected the operation could be wrapped up by September 12.

As the Confederate columns made their way across western Maryland, the Army of the Potomac advanced slowly out of Washington. McClellan assembled a force of some 80,000 men of all arms, although nearly 20,000 of his infantry were raw recruits, most of whom had little training. Later in the campaign reinforcements would raise his strength to around 85,000. The army moved out from Washington between September 4 and 6 in three columns along a line of advance designed to screen both Baltimore and Washington. On September 12 advance elements of the army entered Frederick. McClellan possessed a plenitude of reports about Confederate activity but they left him utterly baffled as to Lee’s intentions. “From all I can gather secesh is skedadelling,” he concluded in a letter to his wife. But on September 13 several non-commissioned officers of the 27th Indiana discovered a copy of Lee’s orders for the Harper’s Ferry operation, Special Orders no. 191, lying on the ground wrapped around three cigars in a recently abandoned Confederate camp. The discovery of the orders cleared much of the fog from the operational picture. Harper’s Ferry was in grave danger, but Lee’s army was divided and ripe for defeat in detail. McClellan drew up a plan up for a two-pronged offensive on September 14. Some 19,000 men from the Sixth Corps and Fourth Corps, under Major General William B. Franklin would spearhead the effort to relieve Harper’s Ferry, by smashing their way through Crampton’s Gap in South Mountain and attacking McLaws’s rear. The rest of the army, the First, Second, Ninth, and Twelfth Corps, and George Sykes’s Fifth Corps division – nearly 60,000 men – would cross South Mountain at Turner’s Gap, descend to Boonsboro and interpose themselves between Lee’s forces at Boonsboro and the rest of the Army of Northern Virginia. The plan had merit but it presumed that Turner’s Gap, which was only some two miles from Boonsboro, could be easily secured, and Franklin’s force was light considering the importance of its mission.

Unknown to McClellan, Lee was even more vulnerable than Special Orders no. 191 suggested. The Confederate had further divided his army after leaving Frederick, marching to Hagerstown with Major General James Longstreet’s command of two divisions and leaving Major General D. H. Hill’s division alone at Boonsboro. And, the Harper’s Ferry operation had not met its timetable. Although the Confederates managed to bottle up both Union garrisons at Harper’s Ferry, and held all the key positions around that place by September 13, the Federals continued to hold out. That same day Lee learned that elements of the Army of the Potomac were advancing toward South Mountain. He dispatched a warning to Jackson and McLaws to hasten the capture of Harper’s Ferry and he ordered D. H. Hill to defend Turner’s Gap. He also decided to take the added precaution of marching Longstreet’s command back to Boonsboro the next morning.

D.H. Hill
D.H. Hill

On the morning of the September 14, advance elements of the Army of the Potomac attempting to clear Turner’s Gap encountered part of D. H. Hill’s division. A confusing and sharp action developed, in the rough mountain terrain of South Mountain, and although Longstreet reinforced Hill in the afternoon, by nightfall the Union First and Ninth Corps had captured the key positions that rendered the Confederates’ position untenable. Five miles to the south, at Crampton’s Gap, the Sixth Corps overcame fierce resistance by a small Confederate force, and smashed their way through Crampton’s Gap into Pleasant Valley on the west side. Union losses for the day were 2,346. The Confederates lost more than 4,100 men. That night as Lee assessed the situation he decided his campaign had failed and he made plans to withdraw Longstreet and D. H. Hill to Virginia by way of Sharpsburg and to break off the Harper’s Ferry operation, which he knew still had not concluded.

McLaws ignored Lee’s orders to retreat to Virginia and during the early morning hours of September 15 he assembled a defensive line across Pleasant Valley, facing Franklin’s Sixth Corps. Even before he received Lee’s orders to break off the operations against Harper’s Ferry, Jackson had sent a courier speeding through the night with news that the surrender of the Union garrison was imminent. When Lee received Jackson’s report on the morning of the 15th, he had already modified his plan to withdraw Longstreet and D. H. Hill to Virginia immediately, and ordered both commands to halt behind Antietam Creek, near Sharpsburg. Here he would wait to see how McClellan responded to his success at South Mountain. If he pressed hard, Longstreet and Hill could still withdraw to Virginia. But if he moved cautiously, Lee might be able to concentrate his army and offer battle in Maryland. The reasons and the wisdom of Lee’s decision to try and make a stand in Maryland have been debated ever since. He never fully explained his reasons but by remaining in Maryland and hazarding a battle he kept alive the possibilities the Maryland invasion had promised. If he could check McClellan and the Federals withdrew, then operations could be maintained on the Confederate frontier north of the Potomac and pressure continued on the North. If he withdrew to Virginia those opportunities were lost.

The early morning of September 15 at Harpers Ferry opened with a heavy artillery bombardment. By 8 a.m. the Union garrison of some 13,000 men, out of long-range ammunition for their artillery, were forced to surrender. At a cost of perhaps 400 casualties Stonewall Jackson won one of the most complete victories of the war for the Confederates. Meanwhile, McClellan learned that Lee had retreated from South Mountain, and reports from the front led him to believe that the Rebels had been badly thrashed and were in rapid retreat for Virginia. He commenced an immediate pursuit of what he presumed was a fleeing enemy. But his euphoria was dashed that afternoon when reports came in of an enemy line of battle forming behind Antietam Creek, and Franklin reported a strong Confederate force standing defiantly across the approach to Harper’s Ferry.

Severe straggling had reduced Longstreet’s command and Hill’s division to about 11,000 men, but Lee and Longstreet skillfully deployed them on the undulating terrain around Sharpsburg so that the Federals who observed them estimated their strength at four times that. All day on September 15 the Army of the Potomac poured over South Mountain and massed around Keedysville. Lee watched and waited anxiously. It was now a matter of time. Could his scattered divisions reunite before McClellan struck?

Within hours of arranging for the surrender of the garrison at Harper’s Ferry, Jackson set out with two of his three divisions, leaving A. P. Hill’s division behind to carry out the details of the surrender. Walker’s division followed Jackson, and McLaws withdrew his two divisions unmolested by Franklin from Pleasant Valley to Harper’s Ferry.

McClellan spent the morning of September 16 waiting for a fog to lift, and then when it did, he busied himself with reconnaissance of the Confederate positions. While the hours ticked by Jackson’s two divisions and Walker’s division joined Lee at Sharpsburg. Straggling had reduced their strength by thousands, but they raised Lee’s manpower to about 21,000. McClellan had about 60,000 effectives on hand. The odds were still long and Lee sent urgent messages to McLaws to hurry to Sharpsburg. The Georgian, whose men were desperately short of rations, marched through the night, losing perhaps one-third of his strength to straggling, but he reached Sharpsburg before daylight on the 17th. With McLaws and Anderson up, Lee had about 35,000 men. His army held a strong position with one flank anchored on the Potomac and the other on Antietam Creek.

Lee knew he would be attacked on the 17th. On the afternoon of September 16 McClellan at last set his army in motion, sending Major General Joseph Hooker’s 1st Corps across Antietam Creek to find Lee’s left flank. Just at dusk Hooker bumped into Hood’s division and the two forces skirmished until dark. The night was pitch dark with a slight drizzle. “I shall not, however, soon forget that night,” wrote Union General Alpheus Williams, “so dark, so obscure, so mysterious, so uncertain.”

Garry Adelman at the Hagerstown Pike
Historian Garry Adelman holds up a historic Civil War photo at the place of its capture – the Hagerstown Pike (Robert Shenk)

The Battle of Antietam commenced at first light on the 17th. Because McClellan fed his army corps into the battle piecemeal the battle developed into three distinct phases. All shared one common characteristic. It was the bloodiest and most shocking battle any of the combatants had yet seen. “The roar of the infantry was beyond anything conceivable to the uninitiated,” wrote General Williams. The action opened on Lee’s left, where the battle raged from first light to about 10 a.m., then the main action shifted to the center until early afternoon, when it moved to the Confederate right. Lee came perilously close to defeat several times, but McClellan’s uncoordinated attacks enabled him to parry blows by shifting troops from quiet sectors to threatened points. The battle ended in high drama, when Lee’s right flank began to crumble under an attack by the Union Ninth Corps. A. P. Hill’s division arrived from Harper’s Ferry at this critical moment, counterattacked the Federals and restored the line. By sunset, 2,108 Union soldiers were dead, 9,549 wounded and 753 missing. Incomplete Confederate figures gave their losses at 10,291. Some 23,000 men were casualties; most of them killed or wounded, in a single day. The battlefield, wrote one Union officer, was “indescribably horrible.” No other day of the war would surpass Antietam in carnage.

During the night thousands of stragglers rejoined Lee, nearly making good his losses of the 17th. Lee decided to stand his ground again on the 18th. He had little to gain by doing so. McClellan also received reinforcements, but he chose not to renew the battle, a decision endorsed by nearly all his generals. Lee ordered a retreat on the night of the September 18 and by the next morning the Confederates were across the Potomac and in Virginia. McClellan ordered a cautious pursuit and on September 20, elements of the Fifth Corps crossed the Potomac near Shepherdstown. Lee reacted vigorously and sent A. P. Hill to drive them back, which he did, inflicting 363 casualties.

The Maryland Campaign was over. Although the Confederates could celebrate a brilliant victory at Harper’s Ferry, the campaign had failed. At a cost of thousands of battle and non-battle casualties, no real damage had been done to Northern morale and the odds of European recognition grew dimmer. For the Union, despite the Harper’s Ferry disaster and the indecisive nature of Antietam, the campaign and battle proved a crucial strategic victory. The Confederate invasion was turned back and Antietam seemed enough of a success that Lincoln felt confident to issue his preliminary Emancipation Proclamation on September 22. Antietam marked a watershed in American history. Lincoln’s proclamation sounded the trumpets that after this bloody battle the country would never be the same again. It would be a revolution now, a grim war to the finish. Either the Confederacy would prevail or they would be conquered and slavery destroyed. Any chance for a negotiated settlement that preserved slavery had gone up in the smoke and flame of Antietam.

 

Seven bloody days outside of Richmond in 1862

by Mojambo ( 163 Comments › )
Filed under History at July 12th, 2012 - 7:00 pm

The Seven Days Battles  (June 25 – July 1, 1862) which ended at the Battle of Malvern Hill (July 1, 1862, 150 years ago this month) where Robert E. Lee  ordered a frontal assault on the Federal position costing him 5, 560 men with Federal losses at 2,100  (anticipating almost a year to the day – July 3,1863 – when he would do the same at Gettysburg at the Federal position on Cemetery Ridge – “Pickett’s Charge”) showed bravery in the ranks of both Federal (notice that I refer to them as Federal and not Union soldiers. That is because they were rarely referred to as Union soldier’s during the war. They were called “Federal soldiers” or “United States soldiers”) and Confederate soldiers as well as  massive blundering by the two commanders: Major General George B. McClellan and General Robert E. Lee and his newly arrived corps commander from the Shenandoah Valley, Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson.  General McClellan was a terrific administrator and organizer but he was promoted too soon to the high command.   If there was one Federal hero of the Seven Days it was V Corps commander Major General Fitz-John Porter who was a rock throughout the  seven sanguinary days outside of Richmond  (and would later be rewarded with a court martial and cashiering from the U.S. Army for political reasons, his court martial would later be overturned in 1886). As for General Lee he was new to the command and was unfamiliar with a lot of his subordinates, but his aggressiveness although the South paid heavily for it in terms of blood, saved Richmond. Ironically even though the Confederacy  only won one of the Seven Days Battles (at Gaines’s  Mill on June 27 – Gaines’s Mill is right next door to Cold Harbor where Ulysses S. Grant  two years later would order his men forward into a bloody failed frontal  attack), McClellan would pull back after every battle.  It is unfortunate that the various battlefields of the Seven Days (also referred to as “the Peninsula Campaign”) are only partially preserved as the Richmond urban landscape has sprawled all over them. I had the honor to visit them in the summer of 1992 and as the author states you pretty much can visit them and have them to yourself.

Total casualties for the  Seven Days battles:

Federals – 15, 8955

Confederate – 20,204

Had Lincoln put in a more  aggressive commander, the Federal Army might have bulldozed its way into Richmond. The Army of the Potomac would not get that close to Richmond again until June 1864.

by Geoffrey Norman

Richmond, Va.
It doesn’t take long to walk the Malvern Hill battlefield. Less than an hour. And there is not much to see. There are a few cannons at the top of the hill, where they were on July 1, 1862, firing remorselessly into the lines of assaulting Confederate infantry that never came close to reaching them and took appalling casualties in the effort. Alongside a trail that meanders through the mature hardwood trees at the base of the hill, there are some shallow depressions in the ground that a plaque describes as hasty graves where some of the Confederate dead had been buried. There is one structure at the top of the hill that looks, more or less, the way it did on the day of the battle. Some split rail fences for verisimilitude. And that is about it.

General George McClellanGeneral George McClellan

Measured against, say, the 4,000 acres of Shiloh or Gettysburg with its 1,300 monuments, Malvern Hill is decidedly minor league as Civil War battlefields go. And sparsely visited in comparison to the other, better known and better tended sites. When I walked Malvern Hill on a hot morning three weeks before the 150th anniversary of the battle, I had the place entirely to myself.

But the battle was no minor affair. Neither in terms of what was called, in those days, “the butcher’s bill,” nor in military and historical consequences. Malvern Hill was the last of what came to be known as the “Seven Days Battles,” a running series of fights that resulted in casualties to both sides of 36,059 killed, wounded, and missing. More than had been lost a couple of months earlier at Shiloh, a battle whose casualties matched those of the entire Revolutionary War and put both sides in the Civil War on notice.

In spite of the slaughter, Seven Days was, as so many of the great Civil War battles were, depressingly inconclusive. At least in the sense that when the battle was over, the war went on. But in almost no other engagement of the entire war did both sides miss such an opportunity to finish the whole thing in a stroke. As Major-General J. F. C. Fuller writes in his magisterial A Military History of the Western World: “The importance of the Seven Days Battle [sic] lies in what it did not accomplish.”

Each army, Fuller writes, “might easily” have destroyed its opponent had it not been for “blunderings.” But neither army could accomplish the coup de grâce, and so “the political importance of [the Seven Days] is that, instead of shortening the war it prolonged it by nearly three years.”

The Seven Days is, in this regard, analogous to the Battle of the Marne in the First World War: Confused, inconclusive, and a tragically missed opportunity for both sides, after which the war would not merely go on, but take over and become a force beyond human control.

The story of the Seven Days and the Peninsula Campaign that preceded it is, in large part, a tale of one man’s hubris.

General George McClellan liked to think of himself as a kind of American Napoleon, and in at least one regard there was a similarity. Both men were short.

Napoleon, though, was a master of war. He loved war and thrived on its challenges, and he was a gambler. It could have been said of him, as it was of a general who became McClellan’s adversary in the Seven Days, “his name might be Audacity.”

McClellan was quite the other thing. He was a master of military organization and an exceedingly adroit player in the political contests that result in promotion. But he did not much like war, and he made a point of avoiding both battle and the battlefield. The carnage was repellent to him.

But he was supreme on the parade ground, and after the Union army had been defeated at the First Manassas he came to Washington and built a magnificent army, by far the largest in the nation’s history. He made the right political allies and was, himself, a political force. He loved the attention, and his self-confidence was nearly sublime. “I find myself in a new and strange position here,” he wrote to his wife, “President, cabinet, Gen. Scott, and all deferring to me. By some strange operation of magic I seem to have become the power of the land.”

When cautioned by President Lincoln that he might be taking on too much responsibility, he replied, “I can do it all.”

He was insubordinate in his treatment of President Lincoln and referred to him as “the original gorilla.” Lincoln, whose self-confidence rested on a sturdier foundation, seemed willing to tolerate it so long as McClellan would deliver victories.

[…….]

McClellan did, eventually, use the army, moving it by water to the peninsula between the James and York rivers, hence the name of the campaign that followed. It was militarily sound enough. The Union navy could secure the flanks while the army advanced up the peninsula to Richmond, its waterborne line of supply secure. If the Confederate army came out to fight, McClellan would destroy it in an American Waterloo. If not, he would take the Confederate capital by siege. Either way, he would win the war and, at the very least, immortality.

The movement of the army by water was a vast undertaking and done handsomely. But once they were ashore, McClellan’s forces moved not just slowly, but ponderously. In part, this was because of the weather, the poor condition of the roads, and the difficulty of the terrain. But these are the ordinary givens of war and would not have hampered, say, Stonewall Jackson. The variable that in this case accounted for the hesitancy of the army’s advance was its commander’s “caution,” to use the kindest possible term.

McClellan imagined that he was outnumbered and not just marginally so. He believed at one point in the campaign that his opponent had more than 200,000 men in the field against his meager 120,000. In truth, Confederate forces never numbered much more than 85,000, and often fewer than that. During the entire campaign, McClellan always enjoyed superior numbers on the ground.

In his mind, however, it was a different story.

So he moved slowly, when he moved at all, and pestered Washington for reinforcements. When they did not come, he sulked and indulged in episodes of self-pity which bordered on paranoia. His political enemies in Washington, he hinted, wished his defeat, and by withholding from him the men that he needed, they were, he seemed to believe, conspiring to engineer his disgrace.

Lincoln attempted to reassure his petulant general of his support and to urge him to action:

And once more let me tell you, it is indispensable to you that you strike a blow. I am powerless to help this. .  .  . I beg to assure you that I have never written you, or spoken to you, in greater kindness of feeling than now, nor with a fuller purpose to sustain you, so far as in my most anxious judgment, I consistently can; but you must act.

McClellan was not the sort of man to be consoled by a few kind words. He continued to move slowly, when he moved at all.

The Confederates, meanwhile, retreated ahead of him. Their backs were to their own capital, and they would be incapable of resisting a siege if they allowed McClellan to get that close. In what was called at the time “a battle of posts,” they would inevitably lose.

So after more than a month of steady withdrawals, punctuated by a few skirmishes, they attacked. The Confederate army was, at this time, commanded by Joseph E. Johnston. He was a capable soldier but a difficult man. He was touchy and secretive and his relations with Jefferson Davis, his civilian chief, were not much better than -McClellan’s were with Lincoln.

His plan of attack was sound. With the bulk of his army, he attacked a smaller portion of McClellan’s that was relatively isolated by its position on the south bank of a small, swampy river called the Chickahominy, which bisected the peninsula and required the extensive construction of bridges and corduroy roads by McClellan’s engineers. The river played a crucial role in what the Federals called the Battle of Fair Oaks and in every engagement for the rest of the campaign.

The battle itself was disorganized, bloody, and inconclusive. Late in the action, Johnston was severely wounded. In his place, Jefferson Davis appointed Robert E. Lee who, thus far in the war, had been a disappointment to those who had expected great things of him.

McClellan, for his part, considered Lee a lightweight: “I prefer Lee to Johnston,” he said when he heard the news. “The former is too cautious and weak under grave responsibility. Personally brave and energetic to a fault, he yet is wanting in moral firmness when pressed by heavy responsibility, and is likely to be timid and irresolute in action.”

One can almost hear the voice of some modern wise guy saying, after hearing those last phrases, “Hey, man, project much?”

[…….]
It was some three weeks before the truth of these words was demonstrated. First, Lee strengthened his lines and firmed up his defenses in front of Richmond. He also sent for Stonewall Jackson, who had been busy in the Shenandoah Valley, keeping Washington so much on edge that Lincoln had continued withholding from McClellan the additional men he claimed so urgently to need. Lee sent his cavalry to scout the Union positions north of the Chickahominy, and Jeb Stuart responded by riding completely around McClellan’s lines. He reported back to Lee that the Union’s northern flank was “in the air.”

Lee determined to attack there with the bulk of his army, keeping a token force on the south side of the river, thus leaving Richmond exposed and vulner-able should McClellan move aggressively.

McClellan did move, and his army won the Battle of Oak Grove. After which he sent a message informing Washington, “The rebel force is stated at 200,000. .  .  . I regret my inferiority in numbers but feel that I am in no way responsible for it. .  .  . I will do all that a general can do with the splendid army I have the honor to command, and if it is destroyed by overwhelming numbers, can at least die with it and share its fate. But if the result of the action which will probably occur tomorrow, or within a short time, is a disaster, the responsibility cannot be thrown on my shoulders, it must rest where it belongs.” Lee had not yet attacked, but McClellan was a beaten man.

Lee did attack, the next day, on the other side of the river. The Union won that battle, too. And while McClellan’s forces on the opposite bank were merely four miles from Richmond, which was wide open to attack, he made the decision to retreat.

He was, he said, changing his base.

Lee, on the other hand, pressed his attack. The third of the Seven Days Battles, Gaines’s Mill, was the bloodiest and Lee’s first victory. It turned on an assault by Texans under the command of General John B. Hood, who was found after the battle sitting on a cracker barrel, weeping. And Hood was a hard man who would go on to lose the use of his arm at Gettysburg and have a leg amputated after a wound at Chickamauga.

After Gaines’s Mill, the Union army was in full retreat. A battle at Savage’s Station on the south bank of the river bought time. Enough to destroy vast stores of supplies but not enough to evacuate some 2,500 wounded men who were taken by the advancing Confederate armies.

During the morning I made my solitary walk around Malvern Hill, I went looking for the Savage’s Station battlefield. There is no park. The actual site of the battle is, today, partially covered by the cloverleaf interchange of I-295 and I-64 and commemorated by one of those cast iron plaques on the shoulder of a nearby two-lane blacktop.

[……]

There is nothing in any of the accounts of the Seven Days to prove one side or the other superior in bravery or fortitude or willingness to suffer and die.

When one compares generalship, however, the story is different, and vastly so.

McClellan continued his retreat. Lee pursued. Relentlessly. Intent on a battle of annihilation. And he might have had it at a battle known by various names, the most commonly used of which are Frayser’s Farm and Glendale. This was Lee’s best chance to cut the retreating Union forces off from the James River and the protection of navy gunboats. His generals—to include, conspicuously, Stonewall Jackson—failed him. The Union army escaped to the safety of Malvern Hill, where Confederate troops marched into the teeth of a powerful defensive position. It was his last chance, and his audacity became recklessness. The assaults failed.

The Union victory was so complete that some of McClellan’s subordinates urged a resumption of the offensive with the objective of taking Richmond. McClellan, who had spent most of the previous two days aboard a Federal gunboat on the James River, could not be persuaded. One of his generals, Philip Kearney, protested “against this order to retreat. We ought, instead of retreating, to follow up the enemy and take Richmond; and in full view of the responsibility of such a declaration, I say .  .  . such an order can only be prompted by cowardice or treason.”

[……]

By “failing to win,” he had made inevitable many other battles, to include Antietam, where he also failed. One feels a sense of profound sadness when visiting any of the Civil War battlefields, but there is something different about the patchwork of small sites and solitary plaques that mark and commemorate the Seven Days. A sense, perhaps, of failure compounded by futility and the eternally high price of human vanity

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