← catalogue

On the Trail of Grant and Lee

by Frederick Trevor Hill · English · Gutenberg #4098 · 341,429 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of On the Trail of Grant and Lee
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: On the Trail of Grant and Lee

Author: Frederick Trevor Hill


        
Release date: May 1, 2003 [eBook #4098]
                Most recently updated: July 9, 2013

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4098

Credits: Text file produced by William Fishburne and Jenny Francisco
        
        HTML file produced by David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON THE TRAIL OF GRANT AND LEE ***




Produced by William Fishburne and Jenny Francisco








ON THE TRAIL OF GRANT AND LEE

By Frederick Trevor Hill


To Howard Ogden Wood, Jr.




Forward


During the early years of the Civil War someone tauntingly asked Mr.
Charles Francis Adams, the United States Minister to England, what he
thought of the brilliant victories which the confederate armies were
then gaining in the field. "I think they have been won by my fellow
countrymen," was the quiet answer.

Almost half a century has passed since that reproof was uttered, but
its full force is only just beginning to be understood. For nearly fifty
years the story of the Civil War has been twisted to suit local pride or
prejudice in various parts of the Union, with the result that much which
passes for American history is not history at all, and whatever else it
may be, it is certainly not American.

Assuredly, the day has now arrived when such historical "make-believes"
should be discountenanced, both in the North and in the South. Americans
of the present and the coming generations are entitled to take a common
pride in whatever lent nobility to the fraternal strife of the sixties,
and to gather equal inspiration from every achievement that reflected
credit on American manhood during those years when the existence of the
Union was at stake. Until this is rendered possible by the elimination
of error and falsehood, the sacrifices of the Civil War will, to a large
extent, have been endured in vain.

In some respects this result has already been realized. Lincoln is no
longer a local hero. He is a national heritage. To distort or belittle
the characters of other men who strove to the end that their land "might
have a new birth of freedom," is to deprive the younger generations of
part of their birthright. They are entitled to the facts from which
to form a just estimate of the lives of all such men, regardless of
uniforms.

It is in this spirit that the strangely interwoven trials of Grant and
Lee are followed in these pages. Both were Americans, and widely as they
differed in opinions, tastes and sympathies, each exhibited qualities
of mind and character which should appeal to all their fellow countrymen
and make them proud of the land that gave them birth. Neither man, in
his life, posed before the public as a hero, and the writer has made no
attempt to place either of them on a pedestal. Theirs is a very human
story, requiring neither color nor concealment, but illustrating a
high development of those traits that make for manhood and national
greatness.

The writer hereby acknowledges his indebtedness to all those historians
whose scholarly research has made it possible to trace the careers of
these two great commanders with confidence in the accuracy of the facts
presented. Where equally high authorities have differed he has been
guided by those who, in his judgment, have displayed the most scrupulous
impartiality, and wherever possible he has availed himself of official
records and documents.

The generous service rendered by Mr. Samuel Palmer Griffin in testing
the vast record upon which these pages are based, his exhaustive
research and scientific analysis of the facts, have given whatever of
authority may be claimed for the text, and of this the writer hereby
makes grateful acknowledgment. To Mr. Arthur Becher he is likewise
indebted for his careful studies at West Point and elsewhere which have
resulted in illustrations conforming to history.

Frederick Trevor Hill.

New York, September, 1911.





Contents




Chapter

      I.--Three Civil Wars . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   1
     II.--Washington and Lee . . . . . . . . . . . . .   6
    III.--Lee at West Point  . . . . . . . . . . . . .  10
     IV.--The Boyhood of Grant . . . . . . . . . . . .  15
      V.--Grant at West Point  . . . . . . . . . . . .  24
     VI.--Lieutenant Grant Under Fire  . . . . . . . .  35
    VII.--Captain Lee at the Front . . . . . . . . . .  44
   VIII.--Colonel Lee After the Mexican War  . . . . .  52
     IX.--Captain Grant in a Hard Fight  . . . . . . .  59
      X.--Grant's Difficulties in Securing a Command .  67
     XI.--Lee at the Parting of the Ways . . . . . . .  75
    XII.--Opening Moves  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  83
   XIII.--Grant's First Success  . . . . . . . . . . .  93
    XIV.--The Battle of Shiloh . . . . . . . . . . . . 106
     XV.--Lee in the Saddle  . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116
    XVI.--A Game of Strategy . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125
   XVII.--Lee and the Invasion of Maryland . . . . . . 133
  XVIII.--The Battle of Antietam or Sharpsburg . . . . 141
    XIX.--Lee Against Burnside and Hooker  . . . . . . 148
     XX.--In the Hour of Triumph . . . . . . . . . . . 163
    XXI.--Grant at Vicksburg . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171
   XXII.--The Battle of Gettysburg . . . . . . . . . . 180
  XXIII.--In the Face of Disaster  . . . . . . . . . . 193
   XXIV.--The Rescue of Two Armies . . . . . . . . . . 201
    XXV.--Lieutenant-General Grant . . . . . . . . . . 213
   XXVI.--A Duel to the Death  . . . . . . . . . . . . 224
  XXVII.--Check and Countercheck . . . . . . . . . . . 238
 XXVIII.--The Beginning of the End . . . . . . . . . . 248
   XXIX.--At Bay . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 256
    XXX.--The Surrender  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 269
   XXXI.--Lee's Years of Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . 280
  XXXII.--The Head of the Nation . . . . . . . . . . . 294





List of Illustrations



  Illustrations in Color


  Grant running the gauntlet of the Mexicans at Monterey
    in riding to the relief of his comrades . . Frontispiece
            September 23, 1846.

  Lee with Mrs. Lewis (Nellie Custis) applying to General
    Andrew Jackson to aid in securing his cadetship at
    West Point . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  10
                  1825.

  Grant on his horse, "York," making exhibition jump in
    the Riding Academy at West Point . . . . . . . . . .  32
               June, 1843.

  Lee sending the Rockbridge battery into action for the
    second time at Antietam or Sharpsburg  . . . . . . . 144
            September 17, 1862.

  Lee rallying his troops at the Battle of the
    Wilderness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 232
                May 6, 1864.

  Grant at the entrenchments before Petersburg . . . . . 260
                March, 1865.


  Illustrations in the Text


  Signature of Grant on reporting at West Point  . . . .  25
    (From the original records of the U. S. Military
     Academy.)

  First signature of Grant as U. S. Grant  . . . . . . .  27
    (From the original records of the U.S. Military
     Academy.)

  Grant's letter demanding unconditional surrender of
    forces at Fort Donnelson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103

  Diagram map (not drawn to scale) showing strategy of
    the opening of the Battle of Chancellorsville, May
    1 and 2, 1863  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157

  Diagram map (not drawn to scale) showing Grant's series
    of movements by the left flank from the Wilderness
    to Petersburg  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229

  Facsimile of telegraphic message drafted by Lieutenant-
    General Grant, announcing Lee's surrender, May 9,
    1865 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275

  Lee's letter of August 3, 1866, acknowledging receipt of
    the extension of his furlough  . . . . . . . . . . . 283





Chapter I. -- Three Civil Wars


England was an uncomfortable place to live in during the reign of
Charles the First. Almost from the moment that that ill-fated monarch
ascended the throne he began quarreling with Parliament; and when he
decided to dismiss its members and make himself the supreme ruler of
the land, he practically forced his subjects into a revolution.
Twelve feverish years followed--years of discontent, indignation and
passion--which arrayed the Cavaliers, who supported the King, against
the Roundheads, who upheld Parliament, and finally flung them at each
other's throats to drench the soil of England with their blood.

Meanwhile, the gathering storm of civil war caused many a resident of
the British Isles to seek peace and security across the seas, and among
those who turned toward America were Mathew Grant and Richard Lee. It is
not probable that either of these men had ever heard of the other, for
they came from widely separated parts of the kingdom and were even more
effectually divided by the walls of caste. There is no positive proof
that Mathew Grant (whose people probably came from Scotland) was a
Roundhead, but he was a man of humble origin who would naturally have
favored the Parliamentary or popular party, while Richard Lee, whose
ancestors had fought at Hastings and in the Crusades, is known to have
been an ardent Cavalier, devoted to the King. But whether their opinions
on politics differed or agreed, it was apparently the conflict between
the King and Parliament that drove them from England. In any event
they arrived in America at almost the same moment; Grant reaching
Massachusetts in 1630, the year after King Charles dismissed his
Parliament, and Lee visiting Virginia about this time to prepare for his
permanent residence in the Dominion which began when actual hostilities
opened in the mother land.

The trails of Grant and Lee, therefore, first approach each other from
out of the smoke of a civil war. This is a strangely significant fact,
but it might be regarded merely as a curious coincidence were it not for
other and stranger events which seem to suggest that the hand of Fate
was guiding the destinies of these two men.

Mathew Grant originally settled in Massachusetts but he soon moved to
Connecticut, where he became clerk of the town of Windsor and official
surveyor of the whole colony--a position which he held for many years.
Meanwhile Richard Lee became the Colonial Secretary and a member of
the King's Privy Council in Virginia, and thenceforward the name of his
family is closely associated with the history of that colony.

Lee bore the title of colonel, but it was to statesmanship and not to
military achievements that he and his early descendants owed their fame;
while the family of Grant, the surveyor, sought glory at the cannon's
mouth, two of its members fighting and dying for their country as
officers in the French and Indian war of 1756. In that very year,
however, a military genius was born to the Virginia family in the person
of Harry Lee, whose brilliant cavalry exploits were to make him known to
history as "Light Horse Harry." But before his great career began, the
house of Grant was represented in the Revolution, for Captain Noah Grant
of Connecticut drew his sword in defense of the colonies at the outbreak
of hostilities, taking part in the battle of Bunker Hill; and from that
time forward he and "Light Horse Harry" served in the Continental army
under Washington until Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown.

Here the trails of the two families, AGAIN DRAWN TOGETHER BY A CIVIL
STRIFE, merge for an historic moment and then cross; that of the
Grants turning toward the West, and that of the Lees keeping within the
confines of Virginia.

It was in 1799 that Captain Noah Grant migrated to Ohio, and during the
same year Henry Lee delivered the memorial address upon the death of
Washington, coining the immortal phrase "first in war, first in peace
and first in the hearts of his countrymen."

Ulysses Grant, the Commander of the Union forces in the Civil War, was
the grandson of Captain Grant, who served with "Light Horse Harry" Lee
during the Revolution; and Robert Lee, the Confederate General, was
"Light Horse Harry's" son.

Thus, for the THIRD time in two and a half centuries, a civil conflict
between men of the English-speaking race blazed the trails of Grant and
Lee.




Chapter II. -- Washington and Lee


"Wakefield," Westmoreland County, Virginia, was the birthplace of
Washington, and at Stratford in the same county and state, only a few
miles from Wakefield, Robert Edward Lee was born on January 19, 1807.
Seventy-five years had intervened between those events but, except in
the matter of population, Westmoreland County remained much the same as
it had been during Washington's youth. Indians, it is true, no longer
lurked in he surrounding forests or paddled the broad Potomac in their
frail canoes, but the life had much of the same freedom and charm which
had endeared it to Washington. All the streams and woods and haunts
which he had known and loved were known and loved by Lee, not only for
their own sake, but because they were associated with the memory of the
great Commander-in-Chief who had been his father's dearest friend.

It would have been surprising, under such circumstances, if Washington
had not been Lee's hero, but he was more than a hero to the boy. From
his father's lips he had learned to know him, not merely as a famous
personage of history, but as a man and a leader of men. Indeed, his
influence and example were those of a living presence in the household
of "Light Horse Harry;" and thus to young Lee he early became the ideal
of manhood upon which, consciously or unconsciously, he molded his own
character and life. But quite apart from this, the careers of these two
great Virginians were astonishingly alike.

Washington's father had been married twice, and so had Lee's; each was
a son of the second marriage, and each had a number of brothers and
sisters. Washington lost his father when he was only eleven years old,
and Lee was exactly the same age when his father died. Mrs. Washington
had almost the entire care of her son during his early years, and Lee
was under the sole guidance of his mother until he had almost grown to
manhood. Washington repaid his mother's devotion by caring for her
and her affairs with notable fidelity, and Lee's tenderness and
consideration for his mother were such that she was accustomed to remark
that he was both a son and a daughter to her.

Washington's ancestors were notable, if not distinguished, people in
England; while Lee could trace his descent, through his father, to
Lancelot Lee, who fought at the battle of Hastings, and through his
mother to Robert the Bruce of Scotland. Neither man, however, prided
himself in the least on his ancestry. Indeed, neither of them knew
anything of his family history until his own achievements brought the
facts to light.

Washington was a born and bred country boy and so was Lee. Both
delighted in outdoor life, loving horses and animals of all kinds and
each was noted for his skillful riding in a region which was famous
for its horsemanship. There was, however, a vast difference between
Washington's education and that of Lee. The Virginian schools were
very rudimentary in Washington's day; but Lee attended two excellent
institutions of learning, where he had every opportunity, and of this
he availed himself, displaying much the same thoroughness that
characterized Washington's work, and the same manly modesty about any
success that he achieved.

By reason of his father's death and other circumstances Washington was
burdened with responsibility long before he arrived at manhood, making
him far more reserved and serious-minded than most school boys. This was
precisely the case with Lee, for his father's death, the ill health of
his mother and the care of younger children virtually made him the head
of the family, so that he became unusually mature and self-contained
at an early age. Neither boy, however, held aloof from the sports and
pastimes of his schoolmates and both were regarded as quiet, manly
fellows, with no nonsense about them, and with those qualities of
leadership that made each in turn the great military leader of his age.

Never has history recorded a stranger similarity in the circumstances
surrounding the youth of two famous men, but the facts which linked
their careers in later years are even stranger still.




Chapter III. -- Lee at West Point


As his school days drew to a close, it became necessary for Lee to
determine his future calling. But the choice of a career, often so
perplexing to young men, presented no difficulty to "Light Horse
Harry's" son. He had apparently always intended to become a soldier
and no other thought had seemingly ever occurred to any member of his
family. Appointments to the United States Military Academy were far more
a matter of favor than they are to-day, and young Lee, accompanied by
Mrs. Lewis (better known as Nellie Custis, the belle of Mount Vernon
and Washington's favorite grandchild), sought the assistance of General
Andrew Jackson. Rough "Old Hickory" was not the easiest sort of person
to approach with a request of any kind and, doubtless, his young visitor
had grave misgivings as to the manner in which his application would be
received. But Jackson, the hero of the battle of New Orleans in the
War of 1812, only needed to be told that his caller was "Light Horse
Harry's" son to proffer assistance; and in his nineteenth year, the boy
left home for the first time in his life to enroll himself as a cadet at
West Point.

Very few young men enter that institution so well prepared for military
life as was Lee, for he had been accustomed to responsibility and had
thoroughly mastered the art of self-control many years before he stepped
within its walls. He was neither a prig nor a "grind," but he regarded
his cadetship as part of the life work which he had voluntarily chosen,
and he had no inclination to let pleasure interfere with it. With his
comrades he was companionable, entering into all their pastimes with
zest and spirit, but he let it be understood, without much talk, that
attention to duty was a principle with him and his serious purpose soon
won respect.

Rigid discipline was then, as it is to-day, strictly enforced at West
Point, and demerits were freely inflicted upon cadets for even the
slightest infraction of the rules. Indeed, the regulations were so
severe that it was almost impossible for a cadet to avoid making at
least a few slips at some time during his career. But Lee accomplished
the impossible, for not once throughout his entire four years did he
incur even a single demerit--a record that still remains practically
unique in the history of West Point. This and his good scholarship won
him high rank; first, as cadet officer of his class, and finally, as
adjutant of the whole battalion, the most coveted honor of the
Academy, from which he graduated in 1829, standing second in a class of
forty-six.

Men of the highest rating at West Point may choose whatever arm of
the service they prefer, and Lee, selecting the Engineer Corps, was
appointed a second lieutenant and assigned to fortification work at
Hampton Roads, in his twenty-second year. The work there was not hard
but it was dull. There was absolutely no opportunity to distinguish
oneself in any way, and time hung heavy on most of the officers' hands.
But Lee was in his native state and not far from his home, where he
spent most of his spare time until his mother died. Camp and garrison
life had very little charm for him, but he was socially inclined and,
renewing his acquaintance with his boyhood friends, he was soon in
demand at all the dances and country houses at which the young people of
the neighborhood assembled.

Among the many homes that welcomed him at this time was that of Mr.
George Washington Parke Custis (Washington's adopted grandson), whose
beautiful estate known as "Arlington" lay within a short distance of
Alexandria, where Lee had lived for many years. Here he had, during
his school days, met the daughter of the house and, their boy-and-girl
friendship culminating in an engagement shortly after his return from
West Point, he and Mary Custis were married in his twenty-fifth year.
Lee thus became related by marriage to Washington, and another link was
formed in the strange chain of circumstances which unite their careers.

A more ideal marriage than that of these two young people cannot be
imagined. Simple in their tastes and of home-loving dispositions, they
would have been well content to settle down quietly to country life in
their beloved Virginia, surrounded by their family and friends. But the
duties of an army officer did not admit of this, and after a few years'
service as assistant to the chief engineer of the army in Washington,
Lee was ordered to take charge of the improvements of the Mississippi
River at St. Louis, where, in the face of violent opposition from the
inhabitants, he performed such valuable service that in 1839 he was
offered the position of instructor at West Point. This, however, he
declined, and in 1842 he was entrusted with the task of improving the
defenses of New York harbor and moved with his family to Fort Hamilton,
where he remained for several years. Meanwhile, he had been
successively promoted to a first lieutenancy and a captaincy, and in his
thirty-eighth year he was appointed one of the visitors to West Point,
whose duty it was to inspect the Academy and report at stated intervals
on its condition. This appointment, insignificant in itself, is notable
because it marks the point at which the trails of Grant and Lee first
approach each other, for at the time that Captain Lee was serving as an
official visitor, Ulysses Grant was attempting to secure an assistant
professorship at West Point.




Chapter IV. -- The Boyhood of Grant


Deerfield, Ohio, was not a place of any importance when Captain Noah
Grant of Bunker Hill fame arrived there from the East. Indeed, it was
not then much more than a spot on the map and it has ever won any great
renown. Yet in this tiny Ohio village there lived at one and the same
time Owen Brown, the father of John Brown, who virtually began the
Civil War, and Jesse Grant, the father of Ulysses Grant, who practically
brought it to a close.

It is certainly strange that these two men should, with all the world to
choose from, have chanced upon the same obscure little village, but it
is still stranger that one of them should have become the employer of
the other and that they should both have lived in the very same house.
Such, however, is the fact, for when Jesse Grant first began to earn his
living as a tanner, he worked for and boarded with Owen Brown, little
dreaming that his son and his employer's son would some day shake the
world.

It was not at Deerfield, however, but at Point Pleasant, Ohio, that
Jesse Grant's distinguished son was born on April 27, 1822, in a cottage
not much larger than the cabin in which Abraham Lincoln first saw the
light. Mr. and Mrs. Grant and other members of their family differed
among themselves as to what the boy should be called, but they settled
the question by each writing his or her favorite name on a slip of paper
and then depositing all the slips in a hat, with the understanding that
the child should receive the first two names drawn from that receptacle.
This resulted in the selection of Hiram and Ulysses, and the boy
was accordingly called Hiram Ulysses Grant until the United States
government re-christened him in a curious fashion many years later. To
his immediate family, however, he was always known as Ulysses, which
his playmates soon twisted into the nickname "Useless," more or less
good-naturedly applied.

Grant's father moved to Georgetown, Ohio, soon after his son's birth,
and there his boyhood days were passed. The place was not at that
time much more than a frontier village and its inhabitants were mostly
pioneers--not the adventurous, exploring pioneers who discover new
countries, but the hardy advance-guard of civilization, who clear the
forests and transform the wilderness into farming land. Naturally, there
was no culture and very little education among these people. They were
a sturdy, self-respecting, hard-working lot, of whom every man was the
equal of every other, and to whom riches and poverty were alike unknown.
In a community of this sort there was, of course, no pampering of the
children, and if there had been, Grant's parents would probably have
been the last to indulge in it. His father, Jesse Grant, was a stern and
very busy man who had neither the time nor the inclination to coddle the
boy, and his mother, absorbed in her household duties and the care of a
numerous family, gave him only such attention as was necessary to
keep him in good health. Young Ulysses was, therefore, left to his
own devices almost as soon as he could toddle, and he quickly became
self-reliant to a degree that alarmed the neighbors. Indeed, some of
them rushed into the house one morning shouting that the boy was out
in the barn swinging himself on the farm horses' tails and in
momentary danger of being kicked to pieces; but Mrs. Grant received the
announcement with perfect calmness, feeling sure that Ulysses would
not amuse himself in that way unless he knew the animals thoroughly
understood what he was doing.

Certainly this confidence in the boy's judgment was entirely justified
as far as horses were concerned, for they were the joy of his life
and he was never so happy as when playing or working in or about the
stables. Indeed, he was not nine years old when he began to handle a
team in the fields. From that time forward he welcomed every duty that
involved riding, driving or caring for horses, and shirked every other
sort of work about the farm and tannery. Fortunately, there was plenty
of employment for him in the line of carting materials or driving the
hay wagons and harrows, and his father, finding that he could be trusted
with such duties, allowed him, before he reached his teens, to drive a
'bus or stage between Georgetown and the neighboring villages entirely
by himself. In fact, he was given such free use of the horses that when
it became necessary for him to help in the tannery, he would take a team
and do odd jobs for the neighbors until he earned enough, with the aid
of the horses, to hire a boy to take his place in the hated tan-yard.

This and other work was, of course, only done out of school hours, for
his parents sent him as early as possible to a local "subscription"
school, which he attended regularly for many years. "Spare the rod and
spoil the child" was one of the maxims of the school, and the first duty
of the boys on assembling each morning was to gather a good-sized bundle
of beech-wood switches, of which the schoolmaster made such vigorous use
that before the sessions ended the supply was generally exhausted. Grant
received his fair share of this discipline, but as he never resented it,
he doubtless got no more of it than he deserved and it probably did him
good.

Among his schoolmates he had the reputation of talking less than any
of the other boys and of knowing more about horses than all of them put
together. An opportunity to prove this came when he was about eleven,
for a circus appeared in the village with a trick pony, and during the
performance the clown offered five dollars to any boy who could ride
him. Several of Ulysses' friends immediately volunteered, but he sat
quietly watching the fun while one after another of the boys fell victim
to the pony's powers. Finally, when the little animal's triumph seemed
complete, Grant stepped into the ring and sprang upon his back. A
tremendous tussle for the mastery immediately ensued, but though he
reared and shied and kicked, the tricky little beast was utterly unable
to throw its fearless young rider, and amid the shouts of the audience
the clown at last stopped the contest and paid Ulysses the promised
reward.

From that time forward his superiority as a horseman was firmly
established, and as he grew older and his father allowed him to take
longer and longer trips with the teams, he came to be the most widely
traveled boy in the village. Indeed, he was only about fifteen when he
covered nearly a hundred and fifty miles in the course of one of his
journeys, taking as good care of his horses as he did of himself, and
transacting the business entrusted to him with entire satisfaction
to all concerned. These long, and often lonely, trips increased his
independence and so encouraged his habit of silence that many of the
village people began to think him a dunce.

His father, however, was unmistakably proud of the quiet boy who did
what he was told to do without talking about it, and though he rarely
displayed his feelings, the whole village knew that he thought "Useless"
was a wonder and smiled at his parental pride. But the smile almost
turned to a laugh when it became known that he proposed to send the boy
to West Point, for the last cadet appointed from Georgetown had failed
in his examinations before he had been a year at the Academy, and few
of the neighbors believed that Ulysses would survive as long. Certainly,
the boy himself had never aspired to a cadetship, and when his father
suddenly remarked to him one morning that he was likely to obtain the
appointment, he receive the announcement with uncomprehending surprise.

"What appointment?" he asked

"To West Point," replied his father. "I have applied for it."

"But I won't go!" gasped the astonished youth.

"I think you will," was the quiet but firm response, and Grant, who had
been taught obedience almost from his cradle, decided that if his father
thought so, he did, too.

But, though the young man yielded to his parent's wishes, he had no
desire to become a soldier and entirely agreed with the opinion of the
village that he had neither the ability nor the education to acquit
himself with credit. In fact, the whole idea of military life was
so distasteful to him that he almost hoped he would not fulfill the
physical and other requirements for admission. Indeed, the only thought
that reconciled him to the attempt was that it necessitated a trip from
Ohio to New York, which gratified his longing to see more of the world.
This was so consoling that it was almost with a gay heart that he set
out of the Hudson in the middle of May, 1839.

For a boy who had lived all his life in an inland village on the
outskirts of civilization the journey was absolutely adventurous, for
although he was then in his eighteenth year, he had never even as much
as seen a railroad and his experiences on the cars, canal boats and
steamers were all delightfully surprising. Therefore, long as the
journey was, it was far too short for him, and on May 25th he reached
his destination. Two lonely and homesick weeks followed, and then, much
to his astonishment and somewhat to his regret, he received word that he
had passed the examination for admission and was a full-fledged member
of the cadet corps of West Point.




Chapter V. -- Grant at West Point


Grant's father had obtained his son's appointment to the Academy through
the intervention of a member of Congress, who, remembering that the boy
was known as Ulysses and that his mother's name before her marriage was
Simpson, had written to the Secretary of War at Washington, requesting
a cadetship for U. S. Grant. This mistake in his initials was not
discovered until the young man presented himself at West Point, but when
he explained that his name was Hiram Ulysses Grant and not U. S. Grant,
the officials would not correct the error. The Secretary of War had
appointed U. S. Grant to the Academy and U. S. Grant was the only person
they would officially recognize without further orders. They, therefore,
intimated that he could either enroll himself as U. S. Grant or stay out
of the Academy, making it quite plain that they cared very little
which course he adopted. Confronted with this situation, he signed the
enlistment paper as U. S. Grant and the document, bearing his name,
which thus became his, can be seen to-day among the records at West
Point. This re-christening, of course, supplied his comrades with
endless suggestions for nicknames and they immediately interpreted his
new initials to suit themselves. "United States," "Under Sized" and
"Uncle Sam" all seemed to be appropriate, but the last was the favorite
until the day arrived when a more significant meaning was found in
"Unconditional Surrender" Grant.

The restrictions and discipline of West Point bore much more harshly
on country-bred boys in those years than they do to-day when so many
schools prepare students for military duties. But to a green lad
like Grant, who had been exceptionally independent all his life, the
preliminary training was positive torture. It was then that his habitual
silence stood him in good stead, for a talkative, argumentative boy
could never have survived the breaking-in process which eventually
transformed him from a slouchy bumpkin into a smart, soldier-like young
fellow who made the most of his not excessive inches. Still, he hated
almost every moment of his first year and ardently hoped that the bill
for abolishing the Academy, which was under discussion in Congress,
would become a law and enable him to return home without disgrace. But
no such law was passed and more experience convinced him that West Point
was a very valuable institution which should be strengthened rather than
abolished. He had not reached this conclusion, however, at the time of
his first furlough, and when he returned to his more and found that
his father had procured a fine horse for his exclusive use during
his holiday, it was hard to tear himself away and resume his duties.
Nevertheless, he did so; and, considering the fact that he was not fond
of studying, he made fair progress, especially in mathematics, never
reaching the head of his class, but never quite sinking to the bottom.
Indeed, if he had not been careless in the matter of incurring demerits
from small infractions of the rules, he might have attained respectable,
if not high rank in the corps, for he was a clean living, clean spoken
boy, without a vicious trait of any kind. Even as it was, he became a
sergeant, but inattention to details of discipline finally cost him his
promotion and reduced him again to the ranks. At no time, however, did
he acquire any real love for the military profession. His sole ambition
was to pass the examinations and retire from the service as soon as he
could obtain a professorship at some good school or college. At this,
he might easily have succeeded with his unmistakable talent for
mathematics, and it is even conceivable that he might have qualified as
a drawing master or an architect, if not as an artist, for he was
fond of sketching and some of his works in this line which have been
preserved shows a surprisingly artistic touch.

Graduation day at the Academy brought no distinguished honors to Grant,
where he stood twenty-first in a class of thirty-nine, but it did win
him one small triumph. As almost everyone knows, the West Point cadets
are trained for all arms of the service, sometimes doing duty as
infantry, sometimes as artillery and at other times acting as engineers
or cavalry; and during the closing week of the year, they give public
exhibitions of their proficiency before the official visitors. On this
particular occasion the cavalry drill was held in the great riding hall,
and after the whole corps had completed their evolutions and were
formed in line ready to be dismissed, the commanding officer ordered
an extraordinarily high hurdle to be placed in position, and while the
great throng of spectators were wondering what this meant they heard the
sharp command, "Cadet Grant."

A young man of slight stature, not weighing more than a hundred and
twenty pounds, and mounted on a powerful chestnut horse, sprang from the
ranks with a quick salute, dashed to the further end of the hall and,
swinging his mount about, faced the hurdle. There was a moment's pause
and then the rider, putting spurs to his steed, rushed him straight at
the obstruction and, lifting him in masterly fashion, cleared the bar as
though he and the animal were one. A thunder of applause followed as the
horseman quietly resumed his place in the ranks, and after the corps had
been dismissed Grant was sought out and congratulated on his remarkable
feat. But his response was characteristic of the boy that was, and the
man that was to be. "Yes, 'York' is a wonderfully good horse," was all
he said.

A lieutenancy in the engineers or cavalry was more than a man of low
standing in the Academy could expect, and Grant was assigned to the
Fourth Infantry, with orders to report for duty at Jefferson Barracks,
St. Louis, Missouri, at the end of a short leave of absence. The
prospect of active service, far from his native state, was anything but
pleasing to the new officer; but he had come home with a bad cough,
and had he not been ordered to the South, it is highly probable that he
would have fallen a victim to consumption, of which two of his uncles
had already died. The air of Camp Salubrity, Louisiana, where his
regiment was quartered, and the healthy, outdoor life, however, quickly
checked the disease, and at the end of two years he had acquired a
constitution of iron.

Meanwhile, he had met Miss Julia Dent, the sister of one of his
classmates whose home was near St. Louis, and had written to the
Professor of Mathematics at West Point, requesting his aid in securing
an appointment there as his assistant, to which application he received
a most encouraging reply. Doubtless, his courtship of Miss Dent made him
doubly anxious to realize his long-cherished plan of settling down
to the quiet life of a professor. But all hope of this was completely
shattered by the orders of the Fourth Infantry which directed it to
proceed at once to Texas. Long before the regiment marched, however, he
was engaged to "the girl he left behind him" and, although his dream
of an instructorship at West Point had vanished, he probably did not
altogether abandon his ambition for a career at teaching. But Fate had
other plans for him as he journeyed toward Mexico, where the war clouds
were gathering. Lee was moving in the same direction and their trails
were soon to merge at the siege of Vera Cruz.




Chapter VI. -- Lieutenant Grant Under Fire


The movement of the United States troops towards Mexico did not take the
country by surprise. It was the direct result of the action of Congress
admitting Texas to the Union. Ever since it had won its independence
from Mexico, Texas had been seeking to become part of the United States;
but there had been violent objection in the North to the admission of
any new slave state, and this opposition had effectually prevented its
annexation. At the last election (1844), however, a majority of the
voters apparently favored the admission of Texas, which was accordingly
received into the Union, and the long-standing dispute which it had
waged with Mexico as to its proper boundaries was assumed by the United
States.

Texas claimed to own far more territory than Mexico was willing to
concede, but the facts might easily have been ascertained had the United
States government desired to avoid a war. Unfortunately, it had no
such desire, and General Zachary Taylor was soon ordered to occupy the
disputed territory with about 3,000 men. This force, of which Grant's
regiment formed a part, was called the Army of Observation, but it might
better have been called the Army of Provocation, for it was obviously
intended to provoke an attack on the part of Mexico and to give the
United States an excuse for declaring war and settling the boundary
question to suit itself.

Probably, there were not many in the army who thought much about the
rights or the wrongs of the impending war. There had been no fighting in
the United States for more than thirty years, and most of the officers
were more interested in seeing real service in the field than they
were in discussing the justice or injustice of the cause. Grant was as
anxious for glory as any of his comrades, but he cherished no illusions
as to the merits of the dispute in which his country was involved. With
the clear vision of the silent man who reads and thinks for himself,
he saw through the thinly disguised pretenses of the politicians and,
recognizing that force was being used against a weaker nation in order
to add more slave states to the Union, he formed a very positive
opinion that the war was unjustifiable. But though he was forced to this
disagreeable conclusion, the young Lieutenant was not the sort of man to
criticize his country once she was attacked, or to shirk his duty as
a soldier because he did not agree with his superiors on questions of
national policy. He thought and said what he liked in private, but he
kept his mouth closed in public, feeling that his duties as an officer
were quite sufficient without assuming responsibilities which belonged
to the authorities in Washington.

War was inevitable almost from the moment that Texas was annexed, but
with full knowledge of this fact neither the President nor Congress made
any effective preparations for meeting the impending crisis, and when
hostilities actually began, General Taylor was directed to advance under
conditions which virtually required him to fight his way to safety.
Indeed, he was practically cut off from all hope of reënforcement as
soon as the first shot was fired, for his orders obliged him to move
into the interior of the country, and had his opponents been properly
commanded, they could have overwhelmed him and annihilated his whole
force. The very audacity of the little American army, however, seemed
to paralyze the Mexicans who practically made no resistance until Taylor
reached a place called Palo Alto, which in Spanish means "Tall Trees."

Meanwhile Grant had been made regimental quartermaster, charged with
the duty of seeing that the troops were furnished with proper food and
caring for all property and supplies. Heartily as he disliked this task,
which was not only dull and difficult, but also bade fair to prevent him
from taking active part in the prospective battles, he set to work with
the utmost energy. By the time the enemy began to dispute the road,
he had overcome the immense difficulty of supplying troops on a march
through a tropical country and was prepared to take part in any fighting
that occurred. But the Mexicans gathered at TALL TREES on May 8, 1846,
were not prepared for a serious encounter. They fired at the invaders,
but their short-range cannon loaded with solid shot rarely reached the
Americans, and when a ball did come rolling towards them on the ground,
the troops merely stepped to one side and allowed the missile to pass
harmlessly through their opened ranks. After the American artillery
reached the field, however, the enemy was driven from its position
and the next day the advance was resumed to Resaca de la Palma, where
stronger opposition was encountered.

Grant was on the right wing of the army as it pressed forward through
dense undergrowth to drive the Mexicans from the coverts in which
they had taken shelter. It was impossible to give any exact orders
in advancing through this jungle, and the men under Grant's command
struggled forward until they reached a clearing where they caught sight
of a small body of Mexicans. The young Lieutenant instantly ordered a
charge and, dashing across the open ground, captured the party only to
discover that they were merely stragglers left behind by other American
troops who had already charged over the same ground. No one appreciated
the humor of this exploit more than Grant. It reminded him, he said, of
the soldier who boasted that he had been in a charge and had cut off the
leg of one of the enemy's officers. "Why didn't you cut off his head?"
inquired his commander. "Oh, somebody had done that already," replied
the valiant hero.

Slight as the fighting was at Resaca, it completely satisfied the
Mexicans, and for over three months they left the Americans severely
alone. Meanwhile, General Taylor received reënforcements and in August,
1846, he proceeded against the town of Monterey, which the enemy had
fortified with considerable skill and where they were evidently prepared
to make a desperate resistance. Grant was again quartermaster, and
the terrific heat which forced the army to do its marching at night or
during the early hours of the morning, greatly increased his labors and
severely tested his patience. Almost all the transportation animals were
mules, and as very few of them were trained for the work, they were hard
to load and even harder to handle after their burdens were adjusted.
One refractory animal would often stampede all the rest, scattering
provisions and ammunition in their tracks, driving the teamsters to the
point of frenzy and generally hurling confusion through the camp. Even
Grant, who never uttered an oath in his life, was often sorely tried by
these exasperating experiences, but he kept command of his temper and by
his quiet persistence brought order out of chaos in spite of beasts and
men.

His disappointment was bitter, however, when the attack on Monterey
began and he found himself left without any assignment in the field.
Lieutenant Meade, destined at a later date to command the Union forces
at Gettysburg, was one of the officers entrusted with the preliminary
reconnoissance against the city, and when the fighting actually
commenced on September 21st, 1846, the deserted Quartermaster mounted
his horse and rode to the scene of the action, determined to see
something of the battle even if he could not take part in it. He arrived
at the moment when his regiment was ordered to charge against what was
known as the Black Fort, and dashed forward with his men into the very
jaws of death. Certainly "someone had blundered," for the charge which
had been intended merely as a feint was carried too far and scores
of men were mowed down under the terrible fire of the enemy's guns.
Temporary shelter was at last reached, however, and under cover of it
the Adjutant borrowed Grant's horse; but he fell soon after the charge
was renewed and the Colonel, noticing the impetuous Quartermaster,
promptly appointed him to take the fallen officer's place. By this time
the troops had fought their way into the town and the enemy, posted in
the Plaza or Principal Square, commanded every approach to it. As long
as the Americans kept in the side streets they were comparatively safe,
but the moment they showed themselves in any of the avenues leading to
the Plaza, they encountered a hail of bullets. This was serious enough;
but at the end of two days the situation became critical, for the
ammunition began to run low, and it was realized that, if the Mexicans
discovered this, they would sweep down and cut their defenseless
opponents to pieces. Face to face with this predicament, the Colonel
on September 23rd, called for a volunteer to carry a dispatch to
Headquarters, and Grant instantly responded.

To reach his destination it was necessary to run the gantlet of the
enemy, for every opening from the Plaza was completely exposed to their
fire. But trusting in the fleetness of his horse, the young lieutenant
leaped into the saddle and, swinging himself down, Indian fashion, on
one side of his steed so as to shield himself behind its body, he dashed
away on his perilous mission. A roar of muskets greeted him at every
corner, but he flashed safely by, leaping a high wall which lay across
his path and then, speeding straight for the east end of the town,
reached the commanding General and reported the peril of his friends.

Meanwhile the Americans began one of the most curious advances ever
made by an army, for General Worth, finding that he could not force his
troops through the streets leading to the Plaza without great loss of
life, ordered them to enter the houses and break down the intervening
walls, so that they could pass from one adjoining house to another under
cover, directly to the heart of the city. This tunneling maneuver was
executed with great skill, and when the walls of the houses nearest the
Plaza were reached and masses of men stood ready to pour through the
openings into the Square, its astonished defenders gave up the fight and
promptly surrendered the city.




Chapter VII. -- Captain Lee at the Front


Astonishing as General Taylor's success had been, the authorities at
Washington decided, largely for political reasons, to appoint a new
commander, and three months after the battle of Monterey, General
Winfield Scott, the Commander-in-Chief of the United States army, was
ordered to the seat of the war.

It would be impossible to imagine two officers more utterly different
than Taylor and Scott, but each in his own way exerted a profound
influence upon the careers of Grant and Lee. Taylor was a rough,
uncultivated man, fearless, shrewd and entirely capable, but with
nothing to suggest the soldier in his appearance, dress or dignity. On
the contrary, he usually appeared sitting slouchily on some woe-begone
old animal, his long legs dangling on one side of the saddle, the
bridle rein looped over his arm and a straw hat on his head, more like
a ploughman than an officer of high rank. Indeed, he seldom donned a
uniform of any description, and his only known appearance in full dress
occurred during an official meeting with an admiral, when, out of regard
for naval etiquette, he attired himself in his finest array. But this
effort at politeness was not calculated to encourage him, for the
admiral, knowing his host's objection to uniforms, had been careful to
leave his on his ship and appeared in civilian attire.

Scott, on the other hand, was a fussy and rather pompous individual,
who delighted in brass buttons and gold lace and invariably presented
a magnificent appearance. But, like Taylor, he was an excellent officer
and thoroughly competent to handle an army in the field. He was,
moreover, entirely familiar with the material of which the American
army was composed, and his first move on assuming command was to order
practically all the regular United States troops and their officers to
join him near Vera Cruz, leaving Taylor virtually nothing but volunteer
regiments. The Fourth Infantry accordingly parted with its old commander
and reported to Scott, where it was assigned to the division of General
Worth, and for the first time Grant met many of the men with and against
whom he was to be thrown during the Civil War.

It was certainly a remarkable body of officers that Scott gathered about
him at the outset of his campaign, for it included such men as Stonewall
Jackson, Jefferson Davis, McClellan, Joseph Johnson, Jubal Early, A. P.
Hill, Meade, Beauregard, Hooker, Longstreet, Hancock, Thomas and, last
but not least, Ulysses Grant and Robert Lee. Lee had arrived in Mexico
soon after the battle of Monterey, but he had no opportunity for
distinction until the spring of 1847, when preparations were begun
for the siege of Vera Cruz. He had, however, already demonstrated his
ability as an engineer, and with Lieutenant Beauregard who, fourteen
years later, commanded the attack on Fort Sumter, he was entrusted
with posting the American batteries at Vera Cruz. This he did to such
advantage that they made short work of the city which fell into the
invaders' hands, March 29, 1847, after a week's siege. Scott was quick
to recognize the merit of officers, and Lee was straightway attached to
his personal staff, with the result that when the army began its forward
movement most of the difficult and delicate work was confided to his
care.

Scott's object was the capture of the City of Mexico, the capital of the
Republic, and against this stronghold he moved with energy and skill.
At Cerro Gordo the Mexicans opposed him with considerable force, but
maneuvers, suggested by Lee, enabled him to outflank the enemy and drive
them, without much trouble, from his path. Again at Contreras a check
occurred, part of the army having advanced over a well-nigh impassable
country and lost touch with the Commander-in-Chief. One after another
seven officers were dispatched to carry the necessary orders, but all
returned without effecting their purpose. But at midnight, in the midst
of a torrential storm Lee arrived from the front, having overcome all
difficulties--an achievement which Scott subsequently described as "the
greatest feat of physical and moral courage performed by any individual
in my knowledge, pending the campaign."

But Lee was more than merely brave and daring. He was thorough. When
work was entrusted to his care he performed it personally, never relying
on others further than was absolutely necessary, and never resting
satisfied until he was certain that he had accomplished his task. On one
of his most important reconnoissances he rode into the interior of the
country at night to locate the position of the enemy, and after he had
proceeded a considerable distance his guide informed him that if he
went any further he would be a prisoner, for the whole Mexican army lay
directly in his path. He, accordingly, advanced more cautiously, but the
guide again begged him to halt, declaring that he could already see the
enemies' tents lying on the hillside below. Peering through the darkness
in the direction indicated, Lee discovered what appeared to be an
encampment of many thousand men, and for the moment he was tempted to
accept his companion's conclusion that this was the main force of the
Mexicans. Second thoughts, however, convinced him that he ought not to
make a report based upon the eyes of the guide, and, despite the
man's frightened protests, he decided to stay where he was and see
the situation for himself by daylight. But, before the morning fairly
dawned, it was apparent that the supposed army of Mexicans was nothing
but a huge flock of sheep and, galloping back with the news that the
road was clear, he led a troop of cavalry forward and located the enemy
posted many miles away in an entirely different position.

The Mexicans stubbornly, though unsuccessfully, resisted the American
army as it pushed toward their capital, and in the battles which ensued
Lee was so active that his gallant conduct was praised in almost every
dispatch of his Chief, who subsequently attributed much of his success
"to the skill and valor of Robert E. Lee," whom he did not hesitate to
describe as "the greatest military genius in America." Continuous praise
from such a source would have been more than sufficient to turn the
average officer's head, but Lee continued to perform his duties without
showing the least sign of vanity or conceit. Quiet, thoughtful, quick
to take advantage of any opportunity, but greedy of neither honors nor
personal distinction of any kind, he won the admiration of his comrades
as well as the confidence of his superiors, and his promotion, first
to the rank of major and then to that of lieutenant-colonel, was
universally approved.

Meanwhile, Grant had been acquitting himself with high credit in all the
work which fell to his share. He was in no position to render service of
anything like the importance of Lee's, but he did what he was ordered to
do and did it well, being brevetted a first lieutenant for conspicuous
gallantry at the battle of Molino del Rey, September 8, 1847. Again,
on September 13, in the fighting around Chapultepec, where Lee, though
wounded, remained in the saddle until he fell fainting from his horse,
Grant gained considerable distinction by his quick action in relieving a
dangerous pressure on part of the American lines by posting a small gun
in the belfry of a church and galling the enemy with his deadly accurate
fire. It was characteristic of the man that when complimented upon
this achievement and told that a second gun would be sent to him, Grant
merely saluted. He might, with truth, have informed his commanding
officer that the belfry could not accommodate another gun, but it was
not his habit to talk when there was no need of it, or to question the
wisdom of his superior officer. He, therefore, quietly accepted the
praise and the superfluous gun and, returning to his post, resumed
his excellent service. This and other similar conduct won him further
promotion, and on September 14, 1847, when the Americans marched
triumphantly into the Mexican capital, he was brevetted a captain.

The war practically ended with this event and within a year Grant was
married to Miss Julia Dent and stationed at Sackett's Harbor, New York,
while Lee was assigned to the defenses of Baltimore, not far from his
old home.




Chapter VIII. -- Colonel Lee After the Mexican War


It is probable that Lee would have been well content to remain
indefinitely at Baltimore, for his duties there enabled him to be more
with his family than had been possible for some years. To his boys and
girls he was both a companion and a friend and in their company he took
the keenest delight. In fact, he and his wife made their home the center
of attraction for all the young people of the neighborhood, and no
happier household existed within the confines of their beloved Virginia.

It was not to be expected, however, that an officer of Lee's reputation
would be allowed to remain long in obscurity, and in 1852, he was
appointed Superintendent at West Point. A wiser selection for this
important post could scarcely have been made, for Colonel Lee, then
in his forty-sixth year, possessed rare qualifications for the duties
entrusted to his charge. He was not only a man whose splendid presence,
magnificent physique and distinguished record were certain to win the
admiration and respect of young men, but he combined in his character
and temperament all the qualities of a tactful teacher and an inspiring
leader. Quiet and dignified, but extremely sympathetic, he governed
the cadets without seeming to command them and, as at his own home, he
exerted a peculiarly happy influence upon all with whom he came into
personal contact. Among the cadets during his service at West Point were
J. E. B. Stuart, who was to prove himself one of the greatest cavalry
leaders that this country has ever produced, and his elder son, Custis
Lee, who, improving on his father's almost perfect record, graduated
first in his class.

About this time certain important changes were effected in the
organization of the regular army, and the popular Superintendent of West
Point was immediately appointed Lieutenant-Colonel of the newly formed
Second Cavalry, with orders to proceed to Texas and protect the settlers
against the attacks of hostile Indians. It was with keen regret that
Lee received this assignment, for, though intended as a promotion, it
removed him from the corps of engineers to which he had always been
attached and obliged him to break all his home ties for what was
practically police duty in the wilderness. Nevertheless, no thought of
resigning from the army apparently crossed his mind. He soon joined
his regiment in Texas, where, for almost three years, he patrolled the
country, ruling the Indians by diplomacy or force, as occasion required,
practically living in the saddle and experiencing all the discomforts
and privations of garrison life at an outpost of civilization.

Almost his only relaxation during this lonely and exhausting service was
his correspondence with his wife and children, and his letters to them,
written in rough camps and on the march, show that his thoughts were
constantly with his home and loved ones. "It has been said that our
letters are good representations of our minds," he wrote his youngest
daughter from Texas in 1857; and certainly Lee's correspondence,
exhibiting as it does, consideration for others, modesty,
conscientiousness, affection and a spirit of fun, affords an admirable
reflection of the writer.

"Did I tell you that 'Jim Nooks,' Mrs. Waite's cat, was dead?" he wrote
one of his girls. "He died of apoplexy. I foretold his end. Coffee
and cream for breakfast, pound cake for lunch, turtle and oysters for
dinner, buttered toast for tea and Mexican rats, taken raw, for supper!
He grew enormously and ended in a spasm. His beauty could not save
him.... But I saw 'cats as is cats' at Sarassa.... The entrance of
Madame [his hostess] was foreshadowed by the coming in of her stately
cats with visages grim and tails erect, who preceded, surrounded and
followed her. They are of French breed and education, and when the
claret and water were poured out for my refreshment they jumped on the
table for a sit-to.... I had to leave the wild-cat on the Rio Grande;
he was too savage and had grown as large as a small sized dog. He would
pounce on a kid as Tom Tita [his daughter's cat] would on a mouse and
would whistle like a tiger when you approached him."

But it was not always in this chatty fashion that he wrote, for in 1856,
when the question of slavery was being fiercely discussed throughout
the country, he expressed his views on the subject with a moderation and
broadmindedness exceedingly rare in those excited times.

"In this enlightened age," he wrote his wife, "there are few, I believe,
but will acknowledge that slavery as an institution is a moral and
political evil in any country. I think it, however, a greater evil to
the white than to the black race; and while my feelings are strongly
interested in behalf of the latter, my sympathies are stronger for
the former. The blacks are immeasurably better off here than in
Africa--morally, socially and physically. The painful discipline they
are undergoing is necessary for their instruction as a race and I hope
it will prepare and lead them to better things. How long this subjection
may be necessary is known and ordered by a wise and merciful Providence.
Their emancipation will sooner result from a mild and melting influence
than from the storms and contests of fiery controversy. This influence
though slow is sure."

Such were the views of Robert Lee on this great question of the day, and
even as he wrote the country was beginning to notice a country lawyer
named Abraham Lincoln, who was expressing almost identically the same
opinions in no uncertain terms.

But the calm advice of Lincoln and Lee did not appeal to the hot-heads
who were for abolishing slavery instantly at any and every cost. In
October, 1859, when Lee was on a short visit to Arlington, John Brown,
whose father had once lived with Grant's father, attempted to take
the whole matter into his already blood-stained hands. It is a strange
coincidence that Lee should have chanced to be in Virginia just at this
particular crisis, and still stranger that the errand which had called
him home should have related to the emancipation of slaves. But the
facts were that Mr. Custis, his father-in-law, had died a few weeks
previously, leaving him as the executor of his will, which provided,
among other things, for the gradual emancipation of all his slaves.
Lee had accordingly obtained leave of absence to make a flying trip to
Virginia for the purpose of undertaking this duty, and he was actually
making arrangements to carry out Mr. Custis's wishes in respect to his
slaves when the news of John Brown's raid on Harper's Ferry reached
Arlington. Word of this reckless attempt to free the slaves by force
reached him in the form of a dispatch from the Secretary of War,
ordering him to take immediate charge of the United States marines who
were being hurried to the scene of action. He instantly obeyed and,
with Lieutenant J. E. B. Stuart as his second in command, hastened to
Harper's Ferry and, directing his troops to storm the engine-house where
Brown and his followers had taken refuge, effected their capture almost
without striking a blow. Then, after delivering his prisoners to the
proper authorities, he completed his work at Arlington and returned to
Texas and the rough life of guarding the frontier line.

From this duty he was recalled to Washington in March, 1861, when the
Southern States were rapidly forming the Confederacy, the whole country
was in wild confusion and the nation was facing the prospect of a
terrific civil war.




Chapter IX. -- Captain Grant in a Hard Fight


Meanwhile, what had become of Grant? The War Department did not know
and apparently did not care. Jefferson Davis, the Secretary of War,
responded to his father's anxious inquiry that Captain U. S. Grant
had resigned from the army in July, 1854, but that he had no official
knowledge as to why he had taken this action. Mr. Grant, however, soon
learned the facts from other sources, and in his bitter disappointment
was heard to exclaim that "West Point had ruined one of his boys for
him."

It was natural enough that the stern and proud old gentleman should have
blamed West Point for the heart-breaking failure of his favorite son,
but, as a matter of fact, West Point was in no way responsible for what
had occurred. Neither during his cadetship at the Academy nor for some
years after his graduation from that institution had Ulysses Grant
touched wine or stimulants in any form. He had, indeed, tried to learn
to smoke during his West Point days but had merely succeeded in making
himself ill. During his hard campaigning in Mexico, however, he had
learned not only to smoke, but to drink, though it was not until some
years after the war closed that he began to indulge to excess. As a
matter of fact, he ought never to have touched a drop of any intoxicant,
for a very little was always too much for him, and the result was that
he soon came to be known in the army as a drinking man. Had he been at
home, surrounded by his wife and children and busily engaged, perhaps
he might not have yielded to his weakness. But his orders carried him
to lonely posts on the Pacific, many hundreds of miles away from his
family, with no duties worthy of the name, and the habit grew on him
until the exasperated Colonel of his regiment at last gave him the
choice of resigning or being court-martialed for conduct unbecoming an
officer and a gentleman. Face to face with this ugly alternative, he
chose resignation, and the army, officially, knew him no more.

It was not only social and professional disgrace, but financial ruin
which confronted the broken officer as he bade good-bye to his regiment
at its desolate quarters in California, after fifteen years of service
to the army. He was absolutely without money and, at the age of
thirty-two, it was by no means easy for him to begin life all over again
and earn his own living at a new calling. His fellow officers provided
him with enough cash for his immediate wants, and with their help he
managed to find his way back to Sackett's Harbor, New York, where there
was a little money owing him. But he failed to collect this and remained
hopelessly stranded until another officer came to his rescue and
provided him with sufficient funds to take him to his home. This friend
in time of need was Simon B. Buckner, whom he was to meet again under
strange and dramatic circumstances.

It was hardly to be expected, under such conditions, that stern
old Jesse Grant would welcome the home-coming of his eldest son.
Nevertheless, he helped him on his way to his wife and children, and,
sick at heart and broken in health, the young man joined his family and
began a desperate struggle to earn his own living. Mrs. Grant's father
was a slave owner and a sympathizer with the South in the growing
trouble between that section of the country and the North. But the
quarrel had not yet reached the breaking point, and although he did not
approve of his son-in-law's northern views and heartily disapproved of
his conduct, he gave him a start as a farmer and then left him to work
out his own salvation.

Farming was the only occupation at which Grant could hope to make a
living, but he soon found that he did not know enough about this to make
a success of it, and gradually fell back on his youthful experience as
a teamster, hauling wood to the city where he sold it to the railroad
or to anyone that would buy. At this he was fairly successful and,
encouraged by his wife who stood bravely by him, he built a house with
his own hands, which, although it was not much more than a log cabin,
was sufficiently large to shelter his small family. All this time he
was making a hard fight to conquer his drinking habits, but the vice had
taken a terrible hold on him and he could not easily shake it off. It
was only a matter of time, therefore, before his experiment at farming
failed and with the aid of his father-in-law he entered business as
a real estate broker in St. Louis. But for this calling he had no
qualification whatsoever, and after a disheartening experience in
attempting to secure the post of county engineer, he accepted his
father's suggestion that he join his brothers in the leather business
in Galena, Illinois, and retired there with his family in the spring of
1860.

The position which his father had made for him was not much more than
a clerkship and the work was dull for a man who had been accustomed to
active, outdoor life; but he was received with tact and kindness, no
reference was made to his past record of failure and all this helped
him to continue the successful struggle which he was making to regain
control of himself and his habits.

Indeed, from the time he began his residence in Galena he already had
the battle well in hand and he fought it out with such grim resolution
that before a year had passed his victory was complete. Scarcely anyone
in the little town knew of this silent struggle for self-mastery.
Indeed, very few people knew anything at all about the newcomer, save
that he was a quiet, hard-working man who occasionally appeared on the
streets wearing a blue army overcoat which had seen rough service. This
weather-stained garment, however, forced Grant to break his habitual
silence, for he fully shared General Taylor's prejudice against a
uniform and felt obliged to apologize for wearing even part of one. So
one day he explained to a neighbor that he wore the coat because it was
made of good material and he thought he ought to use it as long as it
lasted. That was all the citizens of Galena then learned of the record
of the man who had served with high honor in well-nigh every battle
of the Mexican War. Had it depended upon him, their information would
probably have begun and ended there.

During all this time the feeling between the North and the South was
growing more and more bitter, but Galena was a town divided against
itself on the slavery question. Grant himself was a Democrat. If he
was not in favor of slavery, he certainly was not opposed to it, for he
favored Douglas and not Lincoln in the contest for the Presidency, and
Douglas was strongly against any interference with slavery. Indeed, it
is a curious coincidence that at or about the time when Lee's family was
ceasing to own slaves, Grant's family acquired some. Such, however, is
the fact, for on the death of her father, Mrs. Grant inherited several
Negroes and there is some evidence that Grant himself sold or attempted
to sell them.

But, though he was at that time no champion of the black race, Grant was
always a strong Union man, opposed heart and soul to secession. Indeed,
when news of the attack upon Fort Sumter arrived in Galena, he arrayed
himself with the defenders of the flag gathered at a mass meeting held
in the town to form a company in response to the President's call for
75,000 volunteers. Moreover, this meeting had no sooner been called
to order than someone proposed him as chairman, and to his utter
astonishment, he found himself pushed from the rear of the room to the
front and from the front to the platform. Probably few in the audience
knew who or what he was, and his embarrassment was such that for a
few minutes no words came to his lips. Finally, however, he managed to
announce the object of the meeting, warning those who intended to enlist
that they would be engaged in serious business involving hard work
and privation, expressing his willingness to aid in forming the Galena
Company and ending with a simple statement of his own intention to
reënter the army.

There was nothing eloquent about his short speech but it had the tone
of a man who knew what he was talking about, and the audience, availing
itself of his military experience, immediately voted to entrust the
organization and drilling of the volunteers to his care, and from that
moment he never again entered his father's place of business.




Chapter X. -- Grant's Difficulties in Securing a Command


The command of the local company was, of course, offered to Grant as
soon as it was formed, but he declined, believing himself qualified for
somewhat higher rank than a captaincy of volunteers. Nevertheless, he
did all he could to prepare the recruits for active service in the field
and when they were ordered to Springfield, the capital of Illinois, he
journeyed there to see them properly mustered into the service of the
state.

Springfield was a hubbub of noise and a rallying point for well-meaning
incompetence when he arrived upon the scene. New officers in new
uniforms swaggered in every public meeting place, bands of music played
martial airs at every street corner and volunteers sky-larked and
paraded in all sorts of impossible uniforms and with every form of
theatric display. But system and order were absolutely lacking, and the
adjutant-general's office, littered with blanks and well-nigh knee deep
with papers, was the most helpless spot in the welter of confusion. All
the material for a respectable army was at hand, but how to form it
into an effective force was more than anyone seemed to know. The mass of
military forms and blanks intended for that purpose was mere waste paper
in the hands of the amiable but ignorant insurance agent who bore
the title of adjutant-general, and no one of the patriotic mob had
sufficient knowledge to instruct him in his duties. In the midst of all
this hopeless confusion, however, someone suggested that a man by the
name of Grant, who had come down with the Galena Company, had been in
the army and ought to know about such things. The Governor accordingly
sought out "the man from Galena" just as he was starting for his home,
with the result that he was soon at a desk in the adjutant's office,
filling out the necessary papers at three dollars a day, while the brand
new captains, colonels and generals posed in the foreground to the tune
of popular applause.

From this time forward order gradually took the place of chaos and the
political generals and comic-opera soldiers were slowly shifted from the
scene. But scarcely anyone noticed the silent man, hard at work in his
shirt sleeves in a corner of the adjutant's room, and such inquiries as
were made concerning him elicited the information that he was a cast-off
of the regular army, with a dubious reputation for sobriety, who had
been hired as a clerk. But the Governor of Illinois was an intelligent
man, and he was well aware of the service which the ex-Captain of
regulars was performing for the State, and on the completion of his work
in the adjutant's office Grant was given a nominal title and assigned to
visit the various regiments at their encampments to see that they were
properly mustered in. He, accordingly, straightway set to work at
this task, and his brisk, business-like manner of handling it made
an impression upon those with whom he came in contact, for one of the
temporary camps became known as Camp Grant.

Meanwhile, seeing his duties coming to an end without much hope
of further employment, he wrote the following letter to the
Adjutant-General of the United States Army at Washington:


"Sir:

"Having served for fifteen years in the regular army, including four
years at West Point, and feeling it the duty of every one who has been
educated at the Government expense to offer their services for the
support of that Government, I have the honor, very respectfully, to
tender my services until the close of the war in such capacity as may be
offered. I would say in view of my present age and length of service,
I feel myself competent to command a regiment, if the President, in his
judgment, should see fit to entrust one to me. Since the first call of
the President I have been serving on the staff of the Governor of this
State, rendering such aid as I could in the organization of our State
militia, and am still engaged in that capacity. A letter addressed to me
at Springfield, Ill., will reach me."


But the authorities at Washington took no notice whatsoever of
this modest letter, which was evidently tossed aside and completely
forgotten. Indeed, it was so completely buried in the files of the
War Department that it disappeared for years and, when it was at last
discovered, the war was a thing of the past.

This silent rebuff was enough to discourage any sensitive man and Grant
felt it keenly, but he did not entirely despair of accomplishing
his end. He tried to gain an interview with General Frémont who was
stationed in a neighboring state and, failing in this, sought out
McClellan, his comrade in the Mexican War, who had been made a
major-general and was then in the vicinity of Covington, Kentucky, where
Grant had gone to visit his parents. But McClellan either would not or
could not see him. Indeed, he had about reached the conclusion that his
quest was hopeless, when he happened to meet a friend who offered to
tell the Governor of Ohio that he wished to reenter the army, with
the result that before long he was tendered the colonelcy of an Ohio
regiment. In the meantime, however, he had unexpectedly received a
telegram from the Governor of Illinois, appointing him to the command of
the 21st Illinois regiment, and this he had instantly accepted. Had he
known the exact circumstances under which this post was offered him,
perhaps he might not have acted so promptly, but he knew enough to make
him aware that the appointment was not altogether complimentary and it
is quite likely that he would have accepted it in any event.

The facts were, however, that the Colonel of the 21st Regiment had
proved to be an ignorant and bombastic adventurer, who had appeared
before his troops clothed in a ridiculous costume and armed like a
pirate king, and there was such dissatisfaction among both the officers
and men that a new commander was urgently demanded. Of this Grant
already knew something, but he was not advised that the regiment had
become so utterly demoralized by its incompetent leader that it was
nothing less than a dangerous and unruly mob, of which the Governor
could not induce any self-respecting officer to take charge. He had,
indeed, offered the command to at least half a dozen other men before
he tendered it to Grant, and he must have been intensely relieved to
receive his prompt acceptance.

The new Colonel did not wait to procure a new uniform before reporting
for duty, but, hastening to the Fair Grounds close to Springfield where
his troops were stationed, ordered them to assemble for inspection.
But incompetent leadership had played havoc with the discipline of the
regiment, and the men shambled from their tents without any attempt at
military formation, more from curiosity than in obedience to orders.

The new Colonel stepped to the front, wearing a rusty suit of civilian's
clothes, his trousers tucked into his dusty boots, a battered hat on his
head, a bandanna handkerchief tied around his waist in place of a sash
and carrying a stick in place of a sword. Altogether he presented a
most unimpressive figure and it would not have been surprising if a wild
guffaw of laughter had greeted him, but the troops, studying his strong,
calm face, contented themselves with calling for a speech. Then they
waited in silence for his response and they did not have to wait long.

"Men!" he commanded sharply. "Go to your quarters!"

The regiment fairly gasped its astonishment. It had never heard a speech
like that before and, taken completely by surprise, it moved quietly
from the field.

Sentries were instantly posted, camp limits established and preparations
made for enforcing strict discipline. It was not to be supposed that
such prompt reforms would pass unchallenged, but arrests followed the
first signs of disobedience and punishment swiftly followed the arrests.

"For every minute I'm kept here I'll have an ounce of your blood!"
threatened a dangerous offender whom the Colonel had ordered to be tied
up.

"Gag that man!" was the quiet response. "And when his time is up I'll
cut him loose myself."

Before night, all was quiet in the camp of the 21st Regiment of Illinois
Volunteers.

Grant was in command.




Chapter XI. -- Lee at the Parting of the Ways


While Grant was thus striving to reënter the army, Lee was having a
struggle of a very different sort. Summoned from his distant post in
Texas, where only an occasional rumble of the coming tempest reached
his ears, he suddenly found himself in the center of the storm which
threatened to wreck the Republic. In the far South seven states had
already seceded; in Washington, Congressmen, Senators, and members
of the Cabinet were abandoning their posts; in the army and navy his
friends were daily tendering their resignations; and his own state,
divided between love for the Union and sympathy with its neighbors, was
hovering on the brink of secession.

The issue in Lee's mind was not the existence of slavery. He had long
been in favor of emancipation, and Virginia had more than once come
so close to abolishing slavery by law that its disappearance from her
borders was practically assured within a very short period. All his own
slaves he had long since freed and he was gradually emancipating his
father-in-law's, according to the directions of Mr. Custis's will. But
the right of each state to govern itself without interference from the
Federal Government seemed to Lee essential to the freedom of the people.
He recognized, however, that secession was revolution and, calmly and
conscientiously examining the question, he concluded that, if force were
used to compel any state to remain in the Union, resistance would
be justifiable. Most Virginians reached this decision impulsively,
light-heartedly, defiantly or vindictively, and more or less angrily,
according to their temperaments and the spirit of the times, but not so
Lee. He unaffectedly prayed God for guidance in the struggle between his
patriotism and his devotion to a principle which he deemed essential to
liberty and justice. He loved his country as only a man in close touch
with its history and with a deep reverence for its great founder,
Washington, could love it; he had fought for its flag; he wore its
uniform; he had been educated at its expense; and General Scott, the
Commander of the army, a devoted Union man, was his warm personal
friend. Patriotism, personal pride, loyalty and even gratitude,
therefore, urged him toward the support of the Union, and only his
adherence to a principle and the claims of his kinsmen and friends
forbade.

For a time Virginia resisted every effort to induce her to cast her lot
with the Confederacy. Indeed she actually voted against secession when
the question was first presented. But when Fort Sumter resisted attack
on April 12, 1861, and the President called upon the various states
to furnish troops to enforce the national authority, practically all
affection for the Union disappeared and by a decisive vote Virginia
determined to uphold the Southern cause.

At that crisis President Lincoln made a strong effort to induce Lee to
support the Union, for he actually offered him the command of the United
States Army which was about to take the field. The full force of this
remarkable tribute to his professional skill was not lost upon Lee.
He had devoted his whole life to the army, and to be a successor of
Washington in the command of that army meant more to him than perhaps
to any other soldier in the land. Certainly, if he had consulted his own
ambition or been influenced by any but the most unselfish motives, he
would have accepted the call as the highest honor in the gift of the
nation. But to do so he would have been obliged to surrender his private
principles and desert his native state, and it is impossible to imagine
that a man of his character would, even for an instant, consider such
a course. Gravely and sadly he declined the mighty office, and two days
later he tendered his resignation from the service he had honored for
almost six and thirty years.

For this and his subsequent action Lee has been called a traitor and
severely criticized for well-nigh fifty years. But, when a nation has
been divided against itself upon a great issue of government, millions
upon one side and millions upon the other, and half a century has
intervened, it is high time that justice be given to the man who did
what he thought right and honorably fought for a principle which he
could have surrendered only at the expense of his conscience and his
honor. Lee was a traitor to the United States in the same sense that
Washington was a traitor to England. No more and no less. England takes
pride to-day in having given Washington to the world. Americans deprive
their country of one of her claims to greatness when they fail to honor
the character and the genius of Robert Lee.

It was in a letter to his old commander, Scott, that Lee announced his
momentous decision, and its tone well indicated what the parting cost
him.


"Arlington, Va., April 20, 1861.

"General:

"Since my interview with you on the 18th inst., I have felt that I ought
not longer to retain my commission in the army. I, therefore, tender my
resignation, which I request you will recommend for acceptance. It
would have been presented at once but for the struggle it has cost me to
separate myself from a service to which I have devoted the best years
of my life and all the ability I possessed. During the whole of that
time...I have experienced nothing but kindness from my superiors and
a most cordial friendship from my comrades. To no one, General, have
I been as much indebted as to yourself for uniform kindness and
consideration.... Save in the defense of my native State, I never desire
again to draw my sword."


Lee was fully aware of the serious nature of the conflict in which
the country was about to engage. Americans were to be pitted against
Americans and he knew what that meant. Wise men, both North and South,
were prophesying that the war would not last more than ninety days,
and foolish ones were bragging of their own powers and questioning the
courage of their opponents, quite oblivious of the adage that when Greek
meets Greek there comes a tug of war. But Lee did not concern himself
with such childish exhibitions of judgment and temper.

"Do not put your faith in rumors of adjustment," he wrote his wife
before serious fighting had begun. "I see no prospect of it. It cannot
be while passions on both sides are so infuriated. MAKE YOUR PLANS FOR
SEVERAL YEARS OF WAR. I agree with you that the inflammatory articles
in the papers do us much harm. I object particularly to those in the
Southern papers, as I wish them to take a firm, dignified course,
free from bravado and boasting. The times are indeed calamitous. The
brightness of God's countenance seems turned from us. It may not always
be so dark and He may in time pardon our sins and take us under his
protection."

Up to this time his son Custis, who had graduated first in his class
at West Point, was still in the service of the United States as a
lieutenant in the Engineers and of him Lee wrote to his wife in the same
comradely spirit that he had always shown toward his boys. "Tell Custis
he must consult his own judgment, reason and conscience, as to the
course he may take. The present is a momentous question which every man
must settle for himself, and upon principle. I do not wish him to be
guided by my wishes or example. If I have done wrong let him do better."

Virginia was not slow in recognizing that she had within her borders the
soldiers whom the chief general of the United States described as
the greatest military genius in America, and within three days of his
resignation from the old army, Lee was tendered the command of all the
Virginia troops. Convinced that the brunt of the heavy fighting would
fall on his native state, to whose defense he had dedicated his sword,
he accepted the offer and thus there came to the aid of the Confederacy
one of the few really great commanders that the world has ever seen.




Chapter XII. -- Opening Moves


It was to no very agreeable task that Lee was assigned at the outset of
his command. The forces of the Confederacy were even less prepared to
take the field than those of the United States, and for three months
Lee was hard at work organizing and equipping the army for effective
service. This important but dull duty prevented him from taking any
active part in the first great battle of the War at Bull Run (July 21,
1861), but it was his rare judgment in massing the troops where
they could readily reënforce each other that enabled the Confederate
commanders on that occasion to form the junction which resulted in the
overwhelming defeat of the Union army. This fact was well recognized by
the authorities and, when the situation in western Virginia assumed a
threatening aspect, he was ordered there with the highest hopes that he
would repeat the success of Bull Run and speedily expel the Union forces
from that part of the state.

A more unpromising field of operation than western Virginia could
scarcely have been selected for the new commander. The people of that
region generally favored the Union, and the Federal troops had already
obtained possession of the strongest positions, while some of the
Confederate commanders were quarreling with each other and otherwise
working at cross purposes. For a time, therefore, Lee had to devote
himself to smoothing over the differences which had arisen among his
jealous subordinates, but when he at last began an aggressive movement,
bad weather and a lack of coöperation between the various parts of his
small army defeated his designs, and in October, 1861, the three-months'
campaign came to an inglorious close.

This complete failure was a bitter disappointment to the Confederate
hopes and Lee was severely blamed for the result. Indeed, for the
time being he was regarded as an overrated individual who had had his
opportunity and had proved unequal to the task of conducting military
operations on a large scale. It was not easy to suffer this unjust
criticism to pass unnoticed, but the discipline of the army life had
taught Lee to control his tongue, and he made no protest even when he
found himself removed from the front to superintend the fortifying
of the coast. A small-minded man would probably have retired in sulky
silence under such circumstances, but Lee entered upon his new duties
with cheerful energy, and in four months he devised such skillful
defenses for Charleston, Savannah and other points on the Confederate
coast line, that they were enabled to defy all assaults of the Union
army and navy until almost the close of the war. This invaluable service
attracted no public attention, but it was fully appreciated by the
Confederate authorities, who in no wise shared the popular opinion
concerning Lee's talents. On the contrary, President Jefferson Davis,
himself a graduate of West Point, continued to have the highest regard
for his ability, and in March, 1862, he reappointed him as his chief
military adviser at Richmond.

It was about this time that the roar of cannon in the West attracted the
attention of the country, making it realize for the first time how far
flung was the battle line of the contending armies; and on hard-fought
fields, hundreds and hundreds of miles away from Washington and
Richmond, the mud-splashed figure of Grant began to loom through heavy
clouds of smoke.

It was by no brilliant achievement that Grant regained his standing in
the army. The unruly 21st Illinois had been sufficiently disciplined
within a fortnight after he assumed command to take some pride in
itself as an organization and when its short term of service expired,
it responded to the eloquence of McClernand and Logan, two visiting
orators, by reënlisting almost to a man. Then the Colonel set to work in
earnest to make his regiment ready for the field, drilling and hardening
the men for their duties and waiting for an opportunity to show that
this was a fighting force with no nonsense about it. The opportunity
came sooner than he expected, for about two weeks after he had assumed
command, his regiment was ordered to northern Missouri, and a railroad
official called at his camp to inquire how many cars he would need
for the transportation of his men. "I don't want any," was the bluff
response; and, to the astonishment of the local authorities who, at
that period of the war, never dreamed of moving troops except by rail
or river, the energetic Colonel assembled his regiment in marching order
and started it at a brisk pace straight across country.

But, though he had moved with such commendable promptness, Grant was not
nearly so confident as his actions seemed to imply. In fact, before he
reached his destination, he heartily wished himself back again, and by
the time he arrived at the point where the enemy was expected his
nerves were completely unstrung. It was not the fright of cowardice that
unmanned him, but rather the terror of responsibility. Again and again
he had braved death in battle but now, for the first time, the safety of
an entire regiment depended solely upon him as he approached the summit
of the hill from which he expected to catch sight of his opponents he
dreaded to fight them, lest he prove unequal to the emergency. But,
while he was tormenting himself with this over-anxiety, he suddenly
remembered that his opponent was just as new at his duties as he was and
probably quite as nervous, and from that moment his confidence gradually
returned. As a matter of fact, Colonel Harris, who commanded the
Confederate force, displayed far more prudence than valor, for, on
hearing of the advance of the Union troops, he speedily retreated and
the 21st Illinois encountered no opposition whatever. But the march
taught Grant a lesson he never forgot and, thereafter, in the hour of
peril, he invariably consoled himself by remembering that his opponents
were not free from danger and the more he made them look to their own
safety the less time they would have for worrying him.

It was in July, 1861, when Grant entered Missouri, and about a month
later the astonishing news reached his headquarters that President
Lincoln had appointed him a Brigadier General of Volunteers. The
explanation of this unexpected honor was that the Illinois Congressmen
had included his name with seven others on a list of possible
brigadiers, and the President had appointed four of them without
further evidence of their qualifications. Under such circumstances, the
promotion was not much of an honor, but it placed Grant in immediate
command of an important district involving the control of an army of
quite respectable size.

For a time the new General was exclusively occupied with perfecting the
organization of his increased command, but to this hard, dull work he
devoted himself in a manner that astonished some of the other brigadiers
whose ideas of the position involved a showy staff of officers and a
deal of picturesque posing in resplendent uniforms. But Grant had no
patience with such foolery. He had work to do and when his headquarters
were established at Cairo, Illinois, he took charge of them himself,
keeping his eyes on all the details like any careful business man. In
fact he was, as far as appearances were concerned, a man of business,
for he seldom wore a uniform and worked at his desk all day in his shirt
sleeves, behind ramparts of maps and papers, with no regard whatever for
military ceremony or display.

A month of this arduous preparation found his force ready for active
duty and about this time he became convinced that the Confederates
intended to seize Paducah, an important position in Kentucky at the
mouth of the Tennessee River, just beyond the limits of his command.
He, accordingly, telegraphed his superiors for permission to occupy the
place. No reply came to this request and a more timid man would have
hesitated to move without orders. But Grant saw the danger and, assuming
the responsibility, landed his troops in the town just in time to
prevent its capture by the Confederates. Paducah was in sympathy with
the South, and on entering it the Union commander issued an address to
the inhabitants which attracted far more attention than the occupation
of the town, for it contained nothing of the silly brag and bluster so
common then in military proclamations on both sides. On the contrary,
it was so modest and sensible, and yet so firm, that Lincoln, on reading
it, is said to have remarked: "The man who can write like that is fitted
to command."

Paducah was destined to be the last of Grant's bloodless victories,
for in November, 1861, he was ordered to threaten the Confederates near
Belmont, Missouri, as a feint to keep them from reënforcing another
point where a real assault was planned. The maneuver was conducted with
great energy and promised to be completely successful, but after Grant's
raw troops had made their first onslaught and had driven their opponents
from the field, they became disorderly and before he could control them
the enemy reappeared in overwhelming numbers and compelled them to fight
their way back to the river steamers which had carried them to the scene
of action. This they succeeded in doing, but such was their haste to
escape capture that they actually tumbled on board the boats and pushed
off from the shore without waiting for their commander. By this time the
Confederates were rapidly approaching with the intention of sweeping the
decks of the crowded steamboats before they could get out of range,
and Grant was apparently cut off from all chance of escape. Directly
in front of him lay the precipitous river bank, while below only
one transport was within hail and that had already started from its
moorings. Its captain, however, caught sight of him as he came galloping
through a corn field and instantly pushed his vessel as close to the
shore as he dared, at the same time throwing out a single plank about
fifteen feet in length to serve as an emergency gangway. To force a
horse down the cliff-like bank of the river and up the narrow plank to
the steamer's deck, was a daring feat, but the officer who was riding
for his life had not forgotten the skill which had marked him at West
Point and, compelling his mount to slide on its haunches down the
slippery mud precipice, he trotted coolly up the dangerous incline to
safety.

The battle of Belmont (November 7, 1861), as this baptism of fire was
called, is said to have caused more mourning than almost any other
engagement of the war, for up to that time there had been but little
loss of life and its list of killed and wounded, mounting into the
hundreds, made a painfully deep impression. In this respect, it was
decidedly ominous of Grant's future record, but it accomplished his
purpose in detaining the Confederates and he was soon to prove his
willingness to accept defeats as necessary incidents to any successful
campaign and to fight on undismayed.




Chapter XIII. -- Grant's First Success


Up to this time the war in the West had been largely an affair of
skirmishes. A body of Union troops would find itself confronting a
Confederate force, one of the two commanders would attack and a fight
would follow; or the Confederates would march into a town and their
opponents would attempt to drive them out of it, not because it was
of any particular value, but because the other side held it.
"See-a-head-and-hit-it" strategy governed the day and no plan worthy
of the name had been adopted for conducting the war on scientific
principles.

But Grant had studied the maps to some purpose in his office at Cairo
and he realized that the possession of the Mississippi River was the
key to the situation in the West. As long as the Confederates controlled
that great waterway which afforded them free access to the ocean
and fairly divided the Eastern from the Western States, they might
reasonably hope to defy their opponents to the end of time. But, if they
lost it, one part of the Confederacy would be almost completely cut off
from the rest. Doubtless, other men saw this just as clearly and quite
as soon as Grant did; but having once grasped an idea he never lost
sight of it, and while others were diverted by minor matters, he
concentrated his whole attention on what he believed to be the vital
object of all campaigning in the West.

The Tennessee River and the Cumberland River both flow into the Ohio,
not far from where that river empties into the Mississippi. They,
therefore, formed the principal means of water communication with the
Mississippi for the State of Tennessee, and the Confederates had created
forts to protect them at points well within supporting distance of each
other. Fort Henry, guarding the Tennessee River, and Fort Donelson,
commanding the Cumberland River, were both in Grant's district, and in
January, 1862, he wrote to General Halleck, his superior officer in St.
Louis, calling attention to the importance of these posts and offering
suggestions for their capture. But Halleck did not take any notice of
this communication and Grant thereupon resolved to go to St. Louis and
present his plans in person. This was the first time he had been in the
city since the great change in his circumstances and those who had known
him only a few years before as a poverty-stricken farmer and wagoner
could scarcely believe that he was the same man. He had, as yet, done
nothing very remarkable, but he held an important command, his name was
well and favorably known and he had already begun to pay off his old
debts. All this enabled his father and mother to regain something of the
pride they had once felt for their eldest son, and his former friends
were glad to welcome him and claim his acquaintance.

Pleasant as this was, the trip to St. Louis was a bitter disappointment
in other respects, for Halleck not only rejected his subordinate's
proposition for the capture of Fort Henry and Fort Donelson, but
dismissed him without even listening to the details of his plan. Most
officers would have been completely discouraged by such treatment, but
Grant had been accustomed to disappointments for many years and did not
readily despair. Meeting Flag-Officer Foote who had charge of a fleet
of gun boats near Cairo, he explained his idea and finding him not only
sympathetic, but enthusiastic, he and Foote each sent a telegram to
Halleck assuring him that Fort Henry could be taken if he would only
give his consent. These messages brought no immediate response, but
Grant continued to request permission to advance until, on the 1st of
February, 1862, the necessary order was obtained and within twenty-four
hours the persistent officer had his expedition well upon its way.

His force consisted of some 15,000 men and seven gun boats, and Halleck
promised him reënforcements, sending a capable officer to see that they
were promptly forwarded. This officer was Brigadier General Sherman who
thus, for the first time, came in touch with the man with whom he was
destined to bring the war to a close. Four days after the troops started
they were ready to attack and the gun-boats at once proceeded to
shell the fort, with the result that its garrison almost immediately
surrendered (February 6, 1862), practically all of its defenders having
retreated to Fort Donelson as soon as they saw that their position was
seriously threatened.

Grant promptly notified his Chief of this easy conquest, at the same
time adding that he would take Fort Donelson within forty-eight hours,
but he soon had reason to regret this boast--one of the few of which
he was ever guilty. Indeed, his troops had scarcely started on their
journey when rapid progress became impossible, for the rain descended
in torrents, rendering the roads impassable for wagons and cannon, and
almost impracticable for infantry or cavalry. Moreover, many of the men
had foolishly thrown away their blankets and overcoats during the march
from Fort Henry and their suffering under the freezing winter blasts was
exceedingly severe, especially as camp fires were not permitted for
fear that their smoke would attract the gunners in the fort. Under these
circumstances the advance was seriously delayed, and it was February
14, 1862--six days after he had prophesied that he would take the
place--before Grant had his army in position. By this time, however,
the gun-boats had arrived and he determined to attack at once, although
Halleck had advised him to wait for reënforcements to occupy Fort Henry,
lest the Confederates should recapture it while his back was turned.
There was, of course, a chance of this, but Grant felt sure that if he
delayed the Confederates would seize the opportunity to strengthen
Fort Donelson, and then 50,000 men would not be able to accomplish what
15,000 might immediately effect. He, accordingly, directed Foote
to bombard the fort at once from the river front and try to run its
batteries. Desperate as this attempt appeared his orders were instantly
obeyed, the fearless naval officer forcing his little vessels into the
very jaws of death under a terrific fire, to which he responded with a
hail of shot and shell.

Grant watched this spectacular combat with intense interest, waiting for
a favorable moment to order an advance of his troops, but to his bitter
disappointment one after another of Foote's vessels succumbed to the
deadly fire of the water batteries and drifted helplessly back with the
current. Indeed, the flagship was struck more than sixty times and Foote
himself was so severely wounded that he could not report in person,
but requested that the General come on board his ship for a conference,
which disclosed the fact that the fleet was in no condition to continue
the combat and must retire for repairs.

There was nothing for Grant to do, therefore, but prepare for a siege,
and with a heavy heart he returned from the battered gun-boat to give
the necessary orders. He had scarcely set his foot on shore, however,
before a staff officer dashed up with the startling intelligence that
the Confederates had sallied forth and attacked a division of the army
commanded by General McClernand and that his troops were fleeing in a
panic which threatened to involve the entire army. Grant knew McClernand
well. He was one of the Congressmen who had made speeches to the 21st
Illinois and, realizing that the man was almost wholly ignorant of
military matters and utterly incapable of handling such a situation, he
leaped on his horse and, spurring his way across the frozen ground to
the sound of the firing, confronted the huddled and beaten division just
in the nick of time. Meanwhile, General Lew Wallace--afterwards famous
as the author "Ben Hur"--had arrived and thrown forward a brigade to
cover the confused retreat, so that for the moment the Confederate
advance was held in check. But despite this, McClernand's men continued
to give way, muttering that their ammunition was exhausted. There were
tons of ammunition close at hand, as the officers ought to have known
had they understood their duties, but even when assured of this the
panic-stricken soldiers refused to return to the field. They were in no
condition to resist attack, they declared, and the enemy was evidently
intending to make a long fight of it, as the haversacks of those who had
fallen contained at least three days' rations. This excuse was overheard
by Grant and instantly riveted his attention.

"Let me see some of those haversacks," he commanded sharply, and one
glance at their contents convinced him that the Confederates were not
attempting to crush his army, but were trying to break through his lines
and escape. If they intended to stay and defend the fortress, they would
not carry haversacks at all; but if they contemplated a retreat, they
would not only take them, but fill them with enough provisions to last
for several days. In reaching this conclusion Grant was greatly aided
by his knowledge of the men opposing him. He had served in Mexico with
General Pillow, the second in command at Fort Donelson, and, knowing him
to be a timid man, felt certain that nothing but desperation would ever
induce him to risk an attack. He also knew that Floyd, his immediate
superior, who had recently been the United States Secretary of War,
had excellent reasons for avoiding capture and, putting all these facts
together, he instantly rose to the occasion.

"Fill your cartridge boxes, quick, and get into line," was his order to
the men as he dashed down the wavering lines. "The enemy is trying to
escape and he must not be permitted to do so!"

The word flew through the disordered ranks, transforming them as it
passed, and at the same time orders were issued for the entire left
wing to advance and attack without a moment's delay. This unexpected
onslaught quickly threw the Confederates back into the fortress, but
before they again reached the shelter of its walls the Union forces had
carried all the outer defenses and had virtually locked the door behind
their retreating adversaries.

From that moment the capture of the imprisoned garrison was only
a question of time, and within twenty-four hours Grant received a
communication from the Confederate commander asking for a truce to
consider the terms of surrender. To his utter astonishment, however,
this suggestion did not come from either General Floyd or General
Pillow but from Simon Buckner, his old friend at West Point, who had so
generously aided him when he reached New York, penniless and disgraced
after his resignation from the army. This was an embarrassing situation,
indeed, but while he would have done anything he could for Buckner
personally, Grant realized that he must not allow gratitude or
friendship to interfere with his duty. He, therefore, promptly answered
the proposal for a truce in these words:


"No terms except an unconditional and immediate surrender can be
accepted. I propose to move immediately upon your works."


[NOTE from Brett: The full letter is also shown in Grant's handwriting
which leaves something to be desired. I will do my best to transcribe it
below:

Hd Qrs. Army in the Field Camp Fort Donelson, Feb. 16th 1862

Cmdr. S. B. Buckner Confed. Army.

Sir,

Yours of this inst. proposing armistice, and appointment of
Commissioners to settle terms of Capitulation is just received. No terms
except an unconditional and immediate surrender can be accepted.

I propose to move immediately upon your works.

I am Sir, very respectfully, your obt. svt. [obedient servant], U. S.
Grant Brig. Gen.]


But no more fighting was necessary, for Buckner yielded as gracefully as
he could, and on February 16, 1862, he and the entire garrison of
about 15,000 men became prisoners of war. Generals Pillow and Floyd, it
appeared, had fled with some 4,000 men the night before, leaving Buckner
in charge and as Grant's force had by that time been increased to 27,000
men, further resistance would have been useless.

The capture of these two forts gave the Union forces command of the
Tennessee and the Cumberland Rivers, and to that extent cleared the way
for the control of the Mississippi. It was the first real success which
had greeted the Union cause and it raised Grant to a Major-Generalship
of Volunteers, gave him a national reputation and supplied a better
interpretation of his initial than West Point had provided, for from the
date of his letter to Buckner he was known as "Unconditional Surrender"
Grant.




Chapter XIV. -- The Battle of Shiloh


Grant did not waste any time in rejoicing over his success. The capture
of Fort Henry and Fort Donelson was an important achievement but it was
only one step toward the control of the Mississippi River, which was the
main object of the campaign. The next step in that direction was
toward Corinth a strategically important point in Mississippi, and he
immediately concentrated his attention upon getting the army in position
to attack that stronghold. Some of his fellow commanders, however, were
extremely cautious and he had to labor for days before he could persuade
General Buell, who was stationed at Nashville, Tennessee, with a large
army, to advance his troops to a point where they could be of service.
But in the midst of this work he was suddenly interrupted by an order
which removed him from his command and virtually placed him under arrest
on charges of disregarding instructions and of being absent from his
department without permission.

These astonishing accusations were caused by his failure to answer
dispatches from Headquarters which had never reached him, and by his
visit to General Buell which had obliged him to travel beyond the
strict limits of his command. The whole matter was soon explained by the
discovery that a Confederate had been tampering with the dispatches in
the telegraph office, but it was exceedingly annoying to Grant to find
himself publicly condemned without a hearing. Nevertheless, it supplied
a very fair test of his character, for he neither lost his temper
nor displayed any excitement whatsoever. On the contrary, he remained
perfectly calm in the face of grave provocation, replying firmly but
respectfully to the harsh criticisms of his superiors, and behaving
generally with a dignity and composure that won the silent approval of
all observers.

Of course, as soon as the facts were known he was restored to his
command with an ample apology, but his preparations for the advance
against Corinth had been seriously interrupted and it was some time
before he again had the work in hand. Nevertheless, within five weeks
of the surrender of Fort Donelson, he was headed toward Mississippi
with over 30,000 men, having arranged with General Buell to follow and
support him with his army of 40,000, the combined forces being amply
sufficient to overpower the Confederates who were guarding Corinth. This
vast superiority, however, probably served to put Grant off his guard,
for on March 16, 1862, his advance under General Sherman reached
Pittsburg Landing, not far from Corinth, and encamped there without
taking the precaution to intrench. Sherman reported on April 5th that
he had no fear of being attacked and Grant, who had been injured the day
before by the fall of his horse and was still on crutches, remained some
distance in the rear, feeling confident that there would be no serious
fighting for several days.

But the Union commander, who had studied his opponents with such good
results at Fort Donelson, made a terrible mistake in failing to do so on
this occasion, for he knew, or ought to have known, that General Albert
Sidney Johnston and General Beauregard, the Confederate commanders
were bold and energetic officers who were well advised of the military
situation and ready to take advantage of every opportunity. Indeed,
their sharp eyes had already noted the gap between Grant's and Buell's
armies and at the moment Sherman was penning his dispatch to his
superior, informing him that all was well, a force of 40,000 men was
preparing to crush his unprotected advance guard before Buell could
reach the field.

It was Sunday morning, April 6, 1862, when the ominous sound of firing
in the direction of Shiloh Church smote Grant's ears. For a few moments
he could not believe that it indicated a serious attack, but the roar
of heavy guns soon convinced him that a desperate battle had begun and,
directing his orderlies to lift him into the saddle, he dashed to the
nearest boat landing and proceeded to the front with all possible speed.
Before he reached the ground, however, the Confederates had driven the
Union outposts from the field in frightful disorder and were hurling
themselves with ferocious energy upon those who still held fast. The
surprise had been well-nigh complete and the first rush of the gray
infantry carried everything before it, leaving the foremost Union camp
in their hands. Indeed, for a time the Federal army was not much more
than a disorganized mob, completely bewildered by the shock of battle,
and thousands of men blindly sought refuge in the rear, heedless of
their officers who, with a few exceptions, strove valiantly to organize
an effective defense.

The tumult and confusion were at their worst when Grant reached the
field and it seemed almost hopeless to check the panic and prevent
the destruction of his entire army. But in the midst of the maddening
turmoil and wild scenes of disaster he kept his head and, dashing from
one end of the line to the other, ordered regiments into position with
a force and energy that compelled obedience. There was no time to
formulate any plan of battle. Each officer had to do whatever he thought
best to hold back the Confederates in his immediate front, and for hours
the fight was conducted practically without orders. But Grant supplied
his gallant subordinates with something far more important than orders
at that crisis. Undismayed by the chaos about him he remained cool and
inspired them with confidence. Not for one instant would he admit the
possibility of defeat, and under his strong hand the huddled lines were
quickly reformed, the onrush of the Confederates was gradually checked
and a desperate conflict begun for every inch of ground.

For a time the victorious gray-coats continued to push their opponents
back and another line of tents fell into their hands. But their advance
was stubbornly contested and knowing that Buell was at hand, Grant
fought hard for delay, using every effort to encourage his men to stand
fast and present the boldest possible front to the foe. Meanwhile,
however, Sherman was wounded, and when darkness put an end to the
furious combat the shattered Union army was on the verge of collapse. So
perilous, indeed, was the situation that when Buell arrived on the field
his first inquiry was as to what preparations Grant had made to effect
a retreat. But the silent commander instantly shook his head and
announced, to the intense astonishment of his questioner, that he did
not intend to retreat but to attack at daylight the next morning with
every man at his disposal, leaving no reserves.

Such was Grant at one of the darkest moments of his career. Behind him
lay the battered remnants of regiments, screening a welter of confusion
and fear; before him stretched the blood-soaked field of Shiloh held
by the confident Confederate host; while at his elbow stood anxious
officers, well satisfied to have saved the army from destruction and
ready to point out a convenient line of retreat. All his surroundings,
in fact, were calculated to discourage him and the intense pain of his
injured leg, which allowed him neither rest nor sleep, was a severe
strain upon his nerves. Yet he would not yield to weakness of any kind.
He was responsible for the position in which the Union army found itself
and he determined to retrieve its fortunes. Therefore, all night long
while reënforcements were steadily arriving, he developed his plans for
assuming the offensive, and at break of day his troops hurled themselves
against the opposing lines with dauntless energy.

Meanwhile the Confederates had sustained an irreparable loss, for Albert
Sidney Johnston, their brilliant leader, had fallen. Moreover, they
had no reserves to meet the Union reënforcements. Nevertheless, they
received the vigorous onslaught with splendid courage and another
terrible day of carnage followed. Again and again Grant exposed himself
with reckless daring, narrowly escaping death from a bullet which
carried away the scabbard of his sword as he reconnoitered in advance
of his men, but despite his utmost efforts the gray lines held fast, and
for hours no apparent advantage was gained. Then, little by little, the
heavy Union battalions began to push them back until all the lost ground
was recovered, but the Confederates conducted their retreat in good
order and finally reached a point of safety, leaving very few prisoners
in their pursuers' hands.

Grant had saved his army from destruction and had even driven his
adversary from the field, but at a fearful cost, for no less than
10,000 Union soldiers were killed or wounded in the two days' desperate
fighting at Shiloh and almost 3,000 had been captured. The Confederates,
it is true, had lost nearly 10,000 men, but their army, which should
have been crushed by the combined efforts of Grant and Buell, was still
in possession of Corinth and had come dangerously near to annihilating
half of the Union forces.

The results of the battle were, therefore, received at Washington
with surprise and indignation; the country at large, horrified at the
frightful slaughter, denounced it as a useless butchery; Halleck hastily
assumed charge of all the forces in the field and from that time forward
Grant, though nominally the second in command, was deprived of all power
and virtually reduced to the rôle of a mere spectator. Indeed, serious
efforts were made to have him dismissed from the service, but Lincoln
after carefully considering the charges, refused to act. "I can't spare
this man," was his comment. "He FIGHTS."

Lincoln intended to imply by that remark that there were generals in the
army who did not fight, and Halleck was certainly one of them, for he
took thirty-one days to march the distance that the Confederates had
covered in three. Indeed, he displayed such extraordinary caution that
with an army of 100,000 at his back he inched his way toward Corinth,
erecting intrenchments at every halt, only to find, after a month, that
he had been frightened by shadows and dummy guns and that the city had
been abandoned by the Confederates. No commander responsible for such
a ridiculous performance could retain the confidence of an army in the
field, and Sherman assured Grant that Halleck would not long survive
the fiasco. This advice was sorely needed, for Grant had grown tired of
being constantly humiliated and had already requested Halleck to
relieve him from duty when Sherman persuaded him to remain and wait for
something to happen.

Something happened sooner then either man expected, for Halleck was
suddenly "kicked up stairs" by his appointment to the chief command with
headquarters in Washington, and on July 11, 1862, about three months
after the battle of Shiloh, Grant found himself again at the head of a
powerful army.




Chapter XV. -- Lee in the Saddle


While Grant was earning a reputation as a fighting general in the West,
Lee had been at a desk in Richmond attending to his duties as chief
military adviser to the Confederate President, which prevented him from
taking active part in any operations in the field. As a matter of fact,
however, there had been no important engagements in the East, for "On to
Richmond!" had become the war cry of the North, and all the energies of
the Federal government had been centered on preparations for the capture
of the Southern capital. Indeed, if Richmond had been the treasure house
and last refuge of the Confederacy, no greater efforts could have been
made to secure it, although it was by no means essential to either the
North or the South and the war would have continued no matter which flag
floated above its roofs. Nevertheless, the idea of marching into the
enemy's capital appealed to the popular imagination and this undoubtedly
dictated much of the early strategy of the war.

At all events, while the opening moves in the campaign for the
possession of the Mississippi were being made, a vast army was being
equipped near Washington for the express purpose of capturing Richmond.
The preparation of this force had been entrusted to General George B.
McClellan whose ability in organizing, drilling and disciplining the
troops had made him a popular hero and given him such a reputation as a
military genius that he was universally hailed as "the young Napoleon."
He had, indeed, created the most thoroughly equipped army ever seen in
America, and when he advanced toward Virginia in April, 1862, at the
head of over 100,000 men the supporters of the Union believed that the
doom of the Confederacy was already sealed.

From this office in Richmond Lee watched these formidable preparations
for invading the South with no little apprehension. He knew that the
Confederates had only about 50,000 available troops with which to oppose
McClellan's great army and had the Union commander been aware of this he
might have moved straight against the city and swept its defenders from
his path. But McClellan always believed that he was outnumbered and on
this occasion he wildly exaggerated his opponents' strength. In fact,
he crept forward so cautiously that the Confederates, who had
almost resigned themselves to losing the city, hastened to bring
up reënforcements and erect defensive works of a really formidable
character. The best that was hoped for, however, was to delay the Union
army. To defeat it, or even to check its advance, seemed impossible,
and doubtless it would have proved so had it not been for the brilliant
exploits of the man who was destined to become Lee's "right hand."

This man was General Thomas Jonathan Jackson, who had earned the
nickname of "Stonewall" at Bull Run and was at that time in command of
about 15,000 men guarding the fertile Shenandoah Valley, the "granary
of Virginia." Opposing this comparatively small army were several
strong Union forces which were considered amply sufficient to capture
or destroy it, and McClellan proceeded southward, with no misgivings
concerning Jackson. But the wily Confederate had no intention of
remaining idle and McClellan's back was scarcely turned before he
attacked and utterly routed his nearest opponents. A second, third and
even a fourth army was launched against him, but he twisted, turned and
doubled on his tracks with bewildering rapidity, cleverly luring his
opponents apart; and then, falling on each in turn with overwhelming
numbers, hurled them from his path with astonishing ease and suddenly
appeared before Washington threatening its capture.

Astounded and alarmed at this unexpected peril, the Federal authorities
instantly ordered McDowell's corps of 40,000 men, which was on the
point of joining McClellan, to remain and defend the capital. This was
a serious blow to McClellan who had counted upon using these troops,
though even without them he greatly outnumbered the Confederates. But
the idea that he was opposed by an overwhelming force had taken such a
firm hold on his mind that he was almost afraid to move, and while he
was timidly feeling his way General Joseph Johnston, commanding the
defenses at Richmond, attacked his advance corps at Seven Pines, May
31, 1862. A fierce contest followed, during which Johnston was severely
wounded, and Jefferson Davis, who was on the field, promptly summoned
General Lee to the command.

It was a serious situation which confronted Lee when he was thus
suddenly recalled to active duty, for McClellan's army outnumbered his
by at least 40,000 men and it was within six miles of Richmond, from
the roofs of whose houses the glow of the Union campfires was plainly
visible. Nevertheless, he determined to put on a bold front and attack
his opponent at his weakest point. But how to discover this was a
difficult problem and the situation did not admit of a moment's delay.
Under ordinary circumstances the information might have been secured
through spies, but there was no time for this and confronted by the
necessity for immediate action, Lee thought of "Jeb" Stuart, his son's
classmate at West Point, who had acted as aide in the capture of John
Brown.

Stuart was only twenty-nine years old but he had already made a name for
himself as a general of cavalry, and Lee knew him well enough to feel
confident that, if there was any one in the army who could procure the
needed information, he was the man. He, accordingly, ordered him to take
1,200 troopers and a few field guns and ride straight at the right flank
of the Union army until he got near enough to learn how McClellan's
forces were posted at that point.

This perilous errand was just the opportunity for which Stuart had been
waiting, and without the loss of a moment he set his horsemen in motion.
Directly in his path lay the Federal cavalry but within twenty-four
hours he had forced his way through them and carefully noted the exact
position of the Union troops. His mission was then accomplished, but by
this time the Federal camp was thoroughly aroused and, knowing that if
he attempted to retrace his steps his capture was almost certain, he
pushed rapidly forward and, passing around the right wing, proceeded to
circle the rear of McClellan's entire army. So speedily did he move that
the alarm of his approach was no sooner given in one quarter than he
appeared in another and thus, like a boy disturbing a row of hornets'
nests with a long stick, he flashed by the whole line, reached the Union
left, swung around it and reported to Lee with his command practically
intact.

That a few squadrons of cavalry should have been able to ride around
his army of 100,000 men and escape unscathed astonished and annoyed
McClellan but he utterly failed to grasp the true purpose of this
brilliant exploit, and Lee took the utmost care to see that his
suspicions were not aroused. Stuart's information had convinced him that
the right wing of the Union army was badly exposed and might be attacked
with every prospect of success, but to insure this it was necessary
that McClellan's attention should be distracted from the real point of
danger. The Confederate commander thoroughly understood his opponent's
character and failings, for he had taken his measure during the Mexican
War and knowing his cautious nature, he spread the news that heavy
reënforcements had been forwarded to Jackson in the Shenandoah Valley.
This he felt sure would confirm McClellan's belief that he had such
overwhelming numbers that he could afford to withdraw troops from
Richmond, and the ruse was entirely successful, for the Union commander
hesitated to advance, and the Federal authorities, hearing of Jackson's
supposed reënforcement, became increasingly alarmed for the safety of
Washington.

Meanwhile, a courier had been secretly hurried to Jackson, ordering him
to rush his troops from the Shenandoah Valley and attack McClellan's
right wing from the rear while Lee assaulted it from the front. But the
Union right wing numbered fully 25,000 men and Jackson had only 15,000.
So to make the attack overwhelming it was necessary for Lee to withdraw
40,000 men from the defenses of Richmond, leaving the city practically
unprotected. Unquestionably, this was a most dangerous move, for had
McClellan suspected the truth he might have forced his way into the
capital without much difficulty. But here again Lee counted upon his
adversary's character, for he directed the troops that remained in the
trenches to keep up a continuous feint of attacking the Union left wing,
in the hope that this show of force would cause McClellan to look to his
safety in that quarter, which is precisely what he did. Indeed, he was
still busy reporting the threatening movements against his left, when
Lee and Jackson's combined force of 55,000 men fell upon his right with
fearful effect at Gaines' Mill (June 27, 1862). From that moment his
campaign for the capture of Richmond became a struggle to save his own
army from capture or destruction.

The only safety lay in flight but at the moment of defeat and impending
disaster it was not easy to extricate the troops from their dangerous
position, and McClellan showed high skill in masking his line of
retreat. Lee did not, therefore, immediately discover the direction
in which he was moving and this delay probably prevented him from
annihilating the remnants of the Union army. Once on the trail, however,
he lost no time and, loosing "his dogs of war," they fell upon the
retreating columns again and again in the series of terrible conflicts
known as the "Seven Days' Battles." But the Union army was struggling
for its life and, like a stag at bay, it fought off its pursuers with
desperate courage, until finally at Malvern Hill (July 1, 1862), it
rolled them back with such slaughter that a bolder leader might have
been encouraged to advance again toward Richmond. As it was, however,
McClellan was well content to remove his shattered legions to a point of
safety at Harrison's Landing, leaving Lee in undisturbed possession of
the field dyed with the blood of well-nigh 30,000 men.




Chapter XVI. -- A Game of Strategy


While the remnants of McClellan's fine army were recuperating from the
rough handling they had received, Lee was developing a plan to remove
them still further from the vicinity of Richmond. Harrison's Landing
was too close to the Confederate capital for comfort and the breastworks
which the Union commander erected there were too formidable to be
attacked. But, though he could not hope to drive his adversary away
by force, Lee believed that he could lure him from his stronghold by
carrying the war into another part of Virginia. The opportunity to
do this was particularly favorable, for the Union forces in front of
Washington, consisting of about 45,000 men, had been placed under
the command of General John Pope. Pope had served with Grant in the
Mississippi campaign and had begun his career in the East by boasting of
the great things he was about to accomplish, referring contemptuously
to his opponents and otherwise advertising himself as a braggart and a
babbler. He had come, so he told his soldiers in a flamboyant address,
from an army which had seen only the backs of its enemies. He had
come to lead them to victories. He wanted to hear no more of "lines of
retreat" or backward movements of any kind. His headquarters were "in
the saddle" and his mission was to terrorize the foe.

These absurd proclamations pretty thoroughly exposed Pope's character,
but he had been at West Point with General Longstreet, one of Lee's
ablest advisers, and that officer speedily acquainted his chief with the
full measure of his opponent's weaknesses. This was exceedingly useful
to Lee and when he discovered that McClellan and Pope were pulling at
different directions like balky circus horses, while Halleck with one
foot on each was in imminent peril of a fall, he determined to take
advantage of the situation and hasten the disaster.

McClellan, having 90,000 men, wanted Pope to reënforce him with his
45,000, and thus insure a renewal of his campaign against Richmond.
But this, of course, did not suit Pope who wished McClellan's army to
reënforce him and march to victory under his banner. But while each of
the rivals was insisting that his plan should be adopted and Halleck,
who held the chief of command, was wobbling between them, trying to make
up his mind to favor one or the other, Lee took the whole matter out
of his hands and decided it for him. He did not want McClellan to be
reënforced; first, because he was the abler officer and, second, because
he had or soon would have more than sufficient men to capture Richmond
and might wake to a realization of this fact at any moment. From the
Confederate standpoint it was much safer to have Pope reënforced, for he
did not have the experience necessary to handle a large army. Therefore,
the more troops he had to mismanage the better. Moreover, Lee knew that
McClellan would cease to be dangerous as soon as he was obliged to
send any part of his forces away, for, as usual, he imagined that his
opponents already outnumbered him and that the withdrawal of even a
single regiment would place him practically at their mercy.

Carefully bearing all these facts in mind and thinking that it was about
time to force Halleck to transfer some of McClellan's troops to Pope,
Lee ordered Jackson to attack the man who thus far had seen "only the
backs of his foes." But at the Battle of Cedar Mountain, which followed
(August 9, 1862), his enemies would not turn their backs and the fact
evidently alarmed him, for he immediately began shouting lustily for
help. Perhaps he called a little louder than was necessary in order to
get as many of his rival's men as possible under his own command, but
the result was that McClellan's army began rapidly melting away under
orders to hurry to the rescue.

Lee's first object was, therefore, accomplished at one stroke and,
as fast as McClellan's troops moved northward, he withdrew the forces
guarding Richmond and rushed them by shorter routes to confront Pope,
whom he had determined to destroy before his reënforcements reached
the field. Indeed, a very neat trap had already been prepared for that
gentleman who was on the point of stepping into it when he intercepted
one of his adversary's letters which gave him sufficient warning to
escape by beating a hasty retreat across the Rappahannock River. This
was a perfectly proper movement under the circumstances, but in view of
his absurd ideas concerning retreats it opened him up to public ridicule
which was almost more than a man of his character could endure. He
was soon busy, therefore, complaining, explaining, and protesting his
readiness to recross the river at a moment's notice.

But, while he was thus foolishly wearing out the telegraph lines between
his headquarters and Washington, Lee was putting into operation a plan
which would have been rash to the point of folly against a really able
soldier but which was perfectly justified against an incompetent. This
plan was to divide his army, which numbered less than 50,000 men, into
two parts, sending "Stonewall" Jackson with 25,000 to get behind the
Union forces, while he attracted their commander's attention at the
front. Of course, if Pope had discovered this audacious move, he could
easily have crushed the divided Confederate forces in turn before either
could have come to the other's rescue, for he had 70,000 at his command.
But the armies were not far from Manassas or Bull Run, where the first
important engagement of the war had been fought and Lee know every inch
of the ground. Moreover, he believed that all Pope's provisions and
supplies upon which he depended for feeding his army were behind him,
and that, if Jackson succeeded in seizing them and getting between the
Union army and Washington, Pope would lose his head and dash to the
rescue regardless of consequences.

Great, therefore, as the risk was he determined to take it, and Jackson
circled away with his 25,000 men, leaving Lee with the same number
confronting an army of 70,000 which might have swept the field. But its
commander never dreamed of the opportunity which lay before him and he
remained utterly unsuspicious until the night of August 26, 1862, when
his flow of telegrams was suddenly checked and he was informed that
there was something the matter with the wires connecting him to
Washington. There was, indeed, something the matter with them, for
Jackson's men had cut them down and were at that moment greedily
devouring Pope's provisions, helping themselves to new uniforms and
shoes and leaving facetious letters complaining of the quality of the
supplies.

For a while, however, the Union general had no suspicion of what was
happening, for he interpreted the interference with the telegraph wires
as the work of cavalry riders whom a comparatively small force could
quickly disperse. But when the troops dispatched for this purpose came
hurrying back with the news that Jackson's whole army was behind them,
he acted precisely as Lee had expected, and completely forgetting to
close the doors behind him, dashed madly after "Stonewall," whom he
regarded as safe as a cat in a bag.

The door which he should have closed was Thoroughfare Gap, for that was
the only opening through which Lee could have led his men with any hope
of arriving in time to help his friends, and a few troops could have
blocked it with the utmost ease. But it was left unguarded and Pope had
scarcely turned his back to spring on Jackson before Lee slid through
the Gap and sprang on him.

The contest that followed, called the Second Battle of Bull Run or
Manassas (August 30, 1862), was almost a repetition of the first, except
that in the earlier battle the Union soldiers had a fair chance and on
this occasion they had none at all. Indeed, Lee and Jackson had Pope so
situated that, despite the bravery of his men, they battered and
pounded him until he staggered from the field in a state of hysterical
confusion, wildly telegraphing that the enemy was badly crippled and
that everything would be well, and following up this by asking if the
capital would be safe, if his army should be destroyed. It is indeed
possible that his army would have been reduced to a mere mob, had it not
been for the proximity of the fortifications of Washington, into which
his exhausted regiments were safely tumbled on the 2nd of September,
1862.

Thus, for the second time in two months, Lee calmly confronted the
wreck of an opposing host, which, at the outset, had outnumbered him and
confidently planned for his destruction.




Chapter XVII. -- Lee and the Invasion of Maryland


Lee's masterly defense of Richmond, and his complete triumph over
McClellan and Pope had, in three months, made him the idol of the
Confederacy. In all military matters his word was law, while the army
adored him and the people of the South as a whole regarded him with
a feeling akin to reverence. This was not entirely the result of his
achievements on the field. Jackson had displayed an equal genius for the
art of war and in the opinion of many experts he was entitled to more
credit than his chief. But Jackson was regarded with awe and curiosity
rather than affection. He was hailed as a great commander, while Lee was
recognized as a great man.

It was not by spectacular efforts or assertiveness of any kind that Lee
had gained this hold upon his countrymen. He avoided everything that
even tended toward self-display. His army reports were not only models
of modesty, but generous acknowledgements of all he owed to his officers
and men. He addressed none but respectful words to his superiors
and indulged in no criticisms or complaints. He accepted the entire
responsibility for whatever reverses occurred to the forces under his
command and never attempted to place the blame on the shoulders of any
other man. In a word, he was so absolutely free from personal ambition
that the political schemers unconsciously stood abashed in his presence,
and citizens and soldiers alike instinctively saluted the mere mention
of his name.

Never by any chance did he utter a word of abuse against the North.
Even when his beloved Arlington was seized, and the swords, pictures,
silverware and other precious mementos of Washington were carried off,
his protest was couched in quiet and dignified language, well calculated
to make those to whom it was addressed (and later every American) blush
with shame. Likewise in the heat of battle, when wild tongues were
loosed and each side accused the other of all that hate could suggest,
he never forgot that his opponents were Americans. "Drive those people
back," or "Don't let those people pass you," were the harshest words he
ever uttered of his foes.

To him war was not a mere license to destroy human life. It was
a terrible weapon to be used scientifically, not with the idea of
slaughtering as many of the enemy as possible, but to protect the
State for whose defense he had drawn his sword. This was distinctly his
attitude as he watched Pope's defeated columns reeling from the field.
Neither by word nor deed did he exult over the fallen foe or indulge in
self-glorification at his expense. His sole thought was to utilize the
victory that the war would be speedily brought to a successful close;
and, spreading out his maps in the quiet of his tent, he proceeded to
study them with this idea.

Almost directly in front of his victorious army stretched the
intrenchments of Washington but, although he knew something of the panic
into which that city had been thrown by the last battle, he had not
troops enough to risk assaulting fortifications to the defense of which
well-nigh every able-bodied man in the vicinity had been called. The
fall of Washington might perhaps have ended the war, but the loss of the
neighboring state of Maryland and an attack on some of the Pennsylvania
cities, such as Harrisburg and Philadelphia, promised to prove equally
effective. The chances of wresting Maryland from the Union seemed
particularly favorable, for it had come very close to casting its lot
with the Confederacy and thousands of its citizens were serving in
the Southern ranks. He, accordingly, made up his mind to march through
Maryland, arousing its people to the support of the Confederate cause,
and then carry the war into Pennsylvania where a decisive victory might
pave the way to an acknowledgment of the independence of the Southern
States and satisfactory terms of peace.

Thus, four days after Pope's defeat at Manassas saw Lee's tattered
battle flags slanted toward the North, and on September 6, 1862,
the vanguard under "Stonewall" Jackson passed through the streets of
Frederick City, singing "Maryland, My Maryland!" This was the moment
which Whittier immortalized in his verses recording the dramatic meeting
between "Stonewall" and Barbara Frietchie [Note from Brett: The poem
is entitled "Barbara Frietchie" and there is some question as to the
accuracy of the details of the poem. In general, however, Whittier
retold the story (poetically) that he claims he heard ("from respectable
and trustworthy sources") and Barbara Frietchie was strongly against the
Confederacy and was not a fictional character. It is believed that
Ms. Frietchie, who was 95 at the time, was sick in bed on the day the
soldiers marched through, but did wave her flag when the Union army
marched through two days later. A Ms. Quantrill and her daughters,
however, did wave the Union flag as the Confederate soldiers marched
through the town, so there is some thought that the two got combined.];
but, though no such event ever took place, the poet was correctly
informed as to the condition of Jackson's men, for they certainly were a
"famished rebel horde." Indeed, several thousand of them had to be left
behind because they could no longer march in their bare feet, and those
who had shoes were sorry-looking scarecrows whose one square meal had
been obtained at Pope's expense. For all practical purposes Maryland was
the enemy's country, but into this hostile region they advanced carrying
very little in the way of provisions except salt for the ears of corn
that they might pick up in the fields.

The authorities at Washington watched Lee's movement with mingled
feelings of anxiety and relief. They were relieved because he was
evidently not aiming at the national capital. They were alarmed because
the real point of attack was unknown. Sixty thousand men, flushed with
triumph and under seemingly invincible leadership were headed somewhere,
and as the rumor spread that that "somewhere" was Harrisburg or
Philadelphia, the North stood aghast with consternation.

Face to face with this desperate crisis, McClellan, who had been
practically removed from command, was restored to duty and given charge
of all the Union forces in the field. Had he been invested with supreme
authority, at least one grievous blunder might have been avoided, for as
he proceeded to the front, calling loudly as usual for reënforcements,
he advised the evacuation of Harper's Ferry, garrisoned by some 12,000
men who were exposed to capture by Lee's advance on Frederick City.
But Halleck rejected this advice and on September 15, 1862, "Stonewall"
Jackson, with about 20,000 men, swooped down upon the defenseless post
and gobbled up almost the entire garrison with all its guns and stores.
To accomplish this, however, he was forced to separate himself from
Lee, and while McClellan, with over 87,000 men, was protesting that
his opponent had 120,000 and that it was impossible to win against such
odds, Lee's strength had been reduced to about 35,000 and his safety
absolutely depended upon his adversary's fears. It was hardly to be
hoped, however, that McClellan's imagination would cause him to see
three men for every one opposed to him, but such was the fact, and even
when one of Lee's confidential orders fell into his hands, revealing
the fact that Jackson's whole force was absent, he still thought himself
outnumbered.

The discovery of this order was a serious blow to Lee, for it not only
exposed his immediate weakness, but actually disclosed his entire plan.
How it was lost has never been explained, for its importance was so
fully realized that one of the officers who received a copy pinned it
in the inside pocket of his coat, another memorized his copy and then
chewed it up and others took similar precautions to protect its secret.

Some officer, however, must have been careless, for when the Union
troops halted at Frederick City, through which the Confederates had just
passed, a private in an Indiana regiment found it lying on the ground
wrapped around some cigars and, recognizing its value, carried it
straight to his superiors who promptly bore it to Headquarters.

Had Lee remained ignorant of this discovery it is possible that
McClellan might have effected the capture of his army. But a civilian,
favoring the South who happened to be present when the paper reached
Headquarters, slipped through the Union lines and put the Confederate
commander on his guard.

Lee had already noted that McClellan was moving toward him at unusual
speed for so cautious an officer and, this was readily explained by
the news that his plans were known and Jackson's absence discovered. He
accordingly posted his troops so that he could form a junction with
the rest of the army at the earliest possible moment and halted in the
vicinity of Sharpsburg near Antietam Creek.




Chapter XVIII. -- The Battle of Antietam or Sharpsburg


Had McClellan not absurdly overestimated the number of troops opposed to
him when his army neared Sharpsburg on the 15th of September, 1862, he
might have defeated Lee and possibly destroyed or captured his entire
force. Never before had a Union commander had such an opportunity
to deliver a crushing blow. He had more than 80,000 men under his
control--fully twice as many as his adversary; he had the Confederate
plan of campaign in his hands and such fighting as had occurred with
the exception of that at Harper's Ferry had been decidedly in his favor.
Moreover, Lee had recently met with a serious accident, his horse having
knocked him down and trampled on him, breaking the bones of one hand,
and otherwise injuring him so severely that he had been obliged to
superintend most of the posting of his army from an ambulance. By a
curious coincidence, too, "Stonewall" Jackson had been hurt in a similar
manner a few days previously, so that if the battle had begun promptly,
it is highly probable that he, too, would have been physically
handicapped, and it is certain that his troops could not have reached
the field in time to be of any assistance.

To Lee's immense relief, however, McClellan made no serious attack
on either the 15th or 16th of September, but spent those two days
in putting his finishing touches on his preparations, and before he
completed them that Opportunity "which knocks but once at each man's
gate" had passed him by, never to return.

The battle of Antietam or Sharpsburg began at dawn of the 17th, but by
that time Jackson had arrived and both he and Lee had so far recovered
from their injuries that they were able to be in the saddle and
personally direct the movements of their men. The Confederate position
had been skillfully selected for defense on the hills back of Antietam
Creek and McClellan's plan was to break through his opponent's line,
gain his rear and cut him off from retreat. But Lee, who had closely
watched the elaborate massing of the Union forces for this attempt,
was fully prepared for it and the first assault against his line was
repulsed with fearful slaughter. No subtle strategy or brilliant tactics
of any kind marked McClellan's conduct of the battle. Time and again
he hurled his heavy battalions against his opponent's left, center and
right in a desperate effort to pierce the wall of gray, and once or
twice his heroic veterans almost succeeded in battering their way
through. But at every crisis Lee rose to the emergency and moved his
regiments as a skillful chess player manipulates his pieces on the
board, now massing his troops at the danger point and now diverting
his adversary's attack by a swift counter-stroke delivered by men
unacquainted with defeat. Both his hands were heavily swathed in
bandages and far too painful to admit of his even touching the bridle
rein, but he had had himself lifted into the saddle and for fully
fourteen hours he remained mounted on "Traveller," his famous war horse,
watching every movement with the inspiring calmness of a commander born
to rule the storm.

The situation was perilous and no one realized its dangers more keenly
than he, but not a trace of anxiety appeared upon his face. Only twice
was he betrayed into an expression of his feelings, once when he asked
General Hood where the splendid division was which he had commanded in
the morning and received the reply: "They are lying in the field where
you sent them," and again when he directed the Rockbridge battery to
go into action for a second time after three of its four guns had been
disabled. The captain of this battery had halted to make a report of
its condition and receive instructions, and Lee, gazing at the group of
begrimed and tattered privates behind the officer, ordered them to renew
their desperate work before he recognized that among them stood his
youngest son, Robert.

Very few men in the Confederate commander's position would have suffered
a son to serve in the ranks. A word from him would, of course, have
made the boy an officer. But that was not Lee's way. To advance an
inexperienced lad over the heads of older men was, to his mind, unjust
and he would not do it even for his own flesh and blood. Nor had his son
himself expected it, for he had eagerly accepted his father's permission
to enter the ranks and had cheerfully performed his full duty, never
presuming on his relationship to the Commander-in-Chief or asking favors
of any kind. All this was known to Lee but this unexpected meeting at
a moment when privates were being mowed down like grass was a terrible
shock and strain. Nevertheless, it was characteristic of the man that no
change was made in the orders of the Rockbridge battery, which continued
on its way to the post of danger and, with young Lee, gallantly
performed the work he had called on it to do.

By night the Confederates still held the field, but the struggle had
cost them nearly 11,000 men, reducing their force to less than 45,000,
while McClellan, despite even heavier losses, had more than 74,000 left.
Lee, accordingly, withdrew his army under cover of darkness to another
part of the field and again awaited attack. But McClellan neither
attacked nor attempted anything like a pursuit until his opponent
was safely out of reach, being well satisfied with having checked
the advance of his formidable foe and spoiled his plans. This he was
certainly entitled to claim, for Lee's campaign against Maryland and
Pennsylvania was effectually balked by his enforced retreat.

Indeed, it is quite possible that had McClellan been adventurous he
might have ended the war at Antietam, for the day after the battle he
outnumbered his opponents at least two to one and possessed enormous
advantage in the way of equipment and supplies. But the Union commander,
though he possessed a genius for army organization and knew the art of
inspiring confidence in his men, was no match for Lee in the field, and
he probably realized this. At all events, he displayed no anxiety to
renew hostilities and when urged, and at last positively ordered to
advance, he argued, protested, offered excuses for delay and in fact did
everything but obey.

Weeks thus slipped by and finally Lee himself became impatient to know
what his adversary was doing. He, accordingly, again summoned Stuart and
ordered him to repeat the experiment of riding around the opposing army.
News of this second, almost derisive defiance of McClellan soon reached
the North, for Stuart, swiftly circling his right flank, suddenly
appeared with 1,800 men at Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, terrorizing the
country and destroying vast quantities of stores. Stern and indignant
orders from Washington warned the Union Commander that this time he must
not permit the daring troopers to escape. But only a few scouts were
captured, and once more Stuart sped safely back to his chief with full
information as to the strength and position of the Federal lines.

Even this did not arouse McClellan, and two more weeks of inaction
passed before he again set his vast army in motion. But by this time,
the demand for his dismissal had become clamorous and, on November 5,
1862, President Lincoln reluctantly removed him from command.




Chapter XIX. -- Lee against Burnside and Hooker


Lincoln had good reason for hesitating to change commanders, for,
unsatisfactory as McClellan had proved, the President was by no means
sure that any of his other generals would do better. In fact, with
all his defects, there was much to be said in McClellan's favor. As an
organizer of troops or chief of staff he had displayed talents of the
highest possible order, transforming the armed mob which had flocked to
the defense of the Union at the opening of the war into a well-drilled
and disciplined army. That he had not accomplished much with this great
engine of war after it had been constructed, had not been wholly his
fault, for he had never been entirely free from interference at the
hands of incompetent superiors, and he had had the misfortune to be
pitted against a past master of the art of war. Moreover, he had been
called to the chief command at a moment of panic and peril and, if he
had not succeeded in defeating Lee, he had, at Antietam, given the
North the only semblance of victory which it could claim in all its
campaigning in the South. But that one taste of triumph had whetted the
public appetite for more. Despite McClellan's continuous talk about the
overpowering numbers of his foes, the supporters of the Union knew
that they outmatched the Confederacy in men, arms, ships, money, and
resources of every kind. They accordingly insisted that the immense army
which had lain idle in its camps for almost two months after the drawn
battle at Antietam should be set to work.

In response to this popular demand, General Ambrose Burnside was
appointed to take McClellan's place, and a more utterly unfitted man for
prosecuting a successful campaign against Lee could scarcely have been
selected. He himself fully realized this. Indeed, he had already twice
refused the chief command on the ground that he did not feel competent
to conduct a great campaign. But the public, which had become disgusted
with boasters, admired his modesty, and his preparations for carrying
the war again into Virginia were followed with high hopes for his
success. The officers of the army, however, did not share the popular
confidence in their new chief and some of those highest in authority
gave him only a half-hearted support.

But nothing could have saved Burnside's extraordinary campaign. Had he
been assigned to lead a forlorn hope, regardless of consequences, his
plan, if it can be called a plan, might have been justified, but under
the existing circumstances it was reckless to the point of madness. His
first moves, however, were characterized by an excess of caution and so
slowly did he advance that before he was fairly started for the South,
Lee blocked the road, concentrating his whole army on the hills behind
the City of Fredericksburg in a position practically defying attack.

To attempt a direct assault against this fortress-like post was
suicidal, but apparently no thought of maneuvering crossed Burnside's
mind. His one idea was to brush aside the foe. But before he could even
reach him his army had to cross the Rappahannock, a formidable river,
and march over an open plain, absolutely at the mercy of its intrenched
opponents, who could, as one of their artillery officers expressed it,
"comb the ground" with their cannon. Nevertheless, into this death trap
the Union troops were plunged on the 13th of December, 1862, and they
advanced to destruction with a dash and courage that won the admiration
of friends and foes alike. The result was, of course, inevitable. No
human beings could withstand the storm of shot and shell which burst
upon them, and though some of the devoted columns actually reached the
foot of the Confederate breastworks, they could do no more, and over
12,000 men fell victims to the disastrous attack.

For once, Lee was at an utter loss to comprehend his adversary's plan.
He could not believe that this wanton butchery of men was all there was
to the contest. To his mind such an awful sacrifice of human life
would never have been made unless for the purpose of paving the way for
another enterprise absolutely certain of success. But nothing more was
attempted and the battle of Fredericksburg, reflecting the conception of
a disordered brain rather than the trained intelligence of a graduate
of West Point, was added to the already long list of blunders which
prolonged the war.

Burnside brought severe charges against several of his generals for
their failure to support his sorry tactics, and even went so far as to
demand their dismissal from the army. There was undoubtedly some ground
for his complaints, but such obviously incompetent leadership was enough
to demoralize any army, and not long after his crippled battalions
retreated behind the Rappahannock he was relieved of his command,
which was given to General Joseph Hooker, one of the officers he most
seriously accused.

Hooker was familiarly known to the country as "Fighting Joe," a name he
had well earned on many a hard-fought field. He, like his predecessors,
was a graduate of West Point and his record, in many respects worthy of
the best traditions of that famous school, inspired the army with
the belief that it had, at last, found a leader who would pilot it to
victory.

Certainly, the new commander was not troubled with Burnside's
self-distrust. His confidence in himself and in his plans was unbounded,
and there was no little justification for his hopes, for his campaign
was well thought out and he had a force of over 130,000 men under his
orders--fully 70,000 more than his adversary could bring into the field.

Lee still lay intrenched on the hills behind Fredericksburg, and there
Hooker ordered General Sedgwick to hold him with part of the army
while he himself, with another and more powerful part, crossed the
Rappahannock River by a ford twenty-seven miles above. By this move he
hoped to get behind Lee and then crush him, as nut-crackers would crush
a nut, by closing in on him with a front and rear attack.

This was not a strikingly original plan. It was in fact merely
a flanking movement on a huge scale, but compared to Burnside's
performance it was highly scientific and the vast superiority of the
Union forces almost insured its success. Hooker was certainly convinced
that he had at last solved the great problem of the war and that Lee was
practically in his power. Indeed, as his flanking army forded the river,
he issued an address of congratulation in which he informed his troops
that they had the Confederates in a position from which they must either
"ingloriously fly" or come out in the open where certain defeat awaited
them. But "Fighting Joe" was soon to learn the folly of crowing until
one is out of the woods, for as he emerged from the forests sheltering
the fords, he discovered that Lee's army had not remained tamely in its
intrenchments, but had quietly slipped away and planted itself squarely
across his path.

For a moment the Union commander was fairly astounded. He had prophesied
that his adversary would fly from Fredericksburg, but he had not
expected him to move so soon or in this direction. Indeed, his
well-matured plans were based on the supposition that Lee would remain
where he wanted him to be until he was ready to spring his trap, quite
forgetting that though it is easy to catch birds after you have put salt
on their tails, it is rather difficult to make them wait while you salt
them. As a matter of fact, Lee had taken alarm the moment his cavalry
scouts reported his opponent's movement towards the fords and, realizing
that he would be caught if he remained where he was, he had rapidly
departed from Fredericksburg, leaving only enough force to occupy
Sedgwick's attention. Even then he was in a precarious position, for
Hooker's flanking army alone outnumbered him and the force threatening
Fredericksburg would certainly start in pursuit of him as soon as it
discovered that the bulk of his army had withdrawn from that city. All
this was equally clear to Hooker after his first gasp of astonishment,
and as he hurriedly ordered Sedgwick to attack Fredericksburg with part
of his forces and to send the rest as reënforcement against Lee, he
confidently believed that his foe had delivered himself into his hands.

But Lee, though cornered, was not yet caught. He had to think and act
quickly but though he had only 45,000 men and Hooker had 70,000 on the
spot, his idea was not to escape but to attack. A close examination
of the opposing lines in front and at the Federal left disclosed no
weakness, but the right beyond Chancellorsville looked more hopeful.
Then a brilliant idea suddenly occurred to his mind. The Union commander
was evidently awaiting or meditating a direct attack and had no fear
except that his prey might escape him. Might it not be possible to keep
him busily occupied in front, while a force stole behind his right wing
and caught it between two fires?

This was precisely what Hooker had been endeavoring to do to him, but
Lee was well aware that what was safe for a large army might be ruinous
for a small one and that his proposed maneuver would require him to
divide his small army into two smaller parts, both of which would be
annihilated if the move was discovered. But capture or destruction
stared him in the face any way, so, learning from a certain Colonel
Welford that a road used by him in former years for transporting
materials to a local furnace could be utilized to swing a considerable
force behind Hooker's right, he determined to take the desperate chance.

The necessary orders were accordingly issued during the night of May 1,
1863, and by daylight the next morning Jackson started off on the
back trail with about 30,000 men, leaving Lee with only 15,000 to
face Hooker's overwhelming array. The success of the whole enterprise
depended upon the secrecy and speed with which it was conducted, but
Jackson had already proved his ability in such work and his men set off
at a brisk pace well screened by vigilant cavalry. It was not possible,
however, wholly to conceal the march, and not long after it began
several quite definite reports of its progress reached Hooker. But
though he duly warned his Corps Commanders to be on their guard against
a flank movement, he himself evidently interpreted it as the beginning
of a retreat. Indeed, by four o'clock in the afternoon of May 2nd
he became convinced that his victims were striving to escape, for he
advised Sedgwick, "We know that the enemy is fleeing, trying to save his
trains." But even as he dispatched this message Jackson was behind at
the Union right and his men were forming in line of battle under cover
of a heavy curtain of woods.

Meanwhile, some of the division commanders at the threatened position
had become disquieted by the reports that a large body of Confederates
was marching somewhere, though just where no one seemed to know. Two
of them accordingly faced their men toward the rear in readiness for an
attack from that direction. But the assurances which reached them from
headquarters that the enemy was in full flight discouraged precautions
of this kind, and when Jackson crept up a neighboring hill to examine
the Union position, he found most of the troops had their backs turned
to the point of danger. In fact, the camp, as a whole presented a most
inviting spectacle, for the soldiers were scattered about it, playing
cards or preparing their evening meal, with their arms stacked in the
rear, little dreaming that one of their most dreaded foes was watching
them from a hilltop, behind which crouched thousands of his men. Every
detail of the scene was impressed on Jackson's memory when he quietly
slipped back into the woods, and for the next two hours he busied
himself posting his troops to the best advantage.

It was six o'clock when the order to attack was given and most of the
Union soldiers were still at their suppers when deer, foxes, rabbits and
other animals, alarmed by a mass of men advancing through the forest,
began to tear through the camp as though fleeing from a prairie fire.
But before the startled soldiers could ask an explanation of this
strange stampede, the answer came in the form of a scattering musketry
fire and the fearsome yells of 26,000 charging men.

The panic that followed beggars description. Regiments huddled against
regiments in helpless confusion; artillery, infantry and cavalry became
wedged in narrow roads and remained hopelessly jammed; officers and men
fought with one another; generals were swept aside or carried forward
on the human waves, hoarsely bellowing orders which no one heeded, while
into the welter the Confederates poured a deadly fire and rounded up
masses of bewildered prisoners. It was well-nigh dusk before even the
semblance of a line of defense could be formed to cover the disorganized
masses of men, but the gathering darkness increased the terror of the
hapless fugitives, who, stumbling and crashing their way to safety,
carried confusion in their wake.

Meanwhile Lee, advised of what was happening at the Union right,
vigorously attacked Hooker's left, and a fierce conflict at that point
added to the general turmoil until the contending forces could no longer
distinguish each other, save by the flashing of their guns. The fighting
then ceased all along the line and both sides busied themselves with
preparations for renewing the struggle at the earliest possible
moment. Jackson, accompanied by some of his staff, instantly began a
reconnoissance of the Union position. He had just completed this and was
returning to his lines when some of his own pickets, mistaking his party
for Union cavalry, fired on them killing a captain and a sergeant. The
Confederate commander immediately turned his horse and sought safety at
another point, but he had not progressed far before he drew the fire of
another picket squad and fell desperately wounded.

General A. P. Hill then assumed command, but fighting had scarcely been
resumed the next morning before he was wounded and Jeb Stuart took his
place. Meanwhile, Hooker had been injured and the next day Lee fiercely
assailed Sedgwick. For the best part of two days the battle raged with
varying success. But, little by little, the Confederates edged their
opponents toward the Rappahannock, and by the night of May 5th, 1863,
Hooker withdrew his exhausted forces across the river.

The battle of Chancellorsville cost Lee over 12,000 men; but with a
force which never exceeded 60,000, he had not only extricated himself
from a perilous position, but had inflicted a crushing blow on an army
of 130,000, an achievement which has passed into history as one of the
most brilliant feats of modern warfare.




Chapter XX. -- In the Hour of Triumph


Great as Lee's reputation had been before the battle of
Chancellorsville, it was immensely increased by that unexpected triumph.
But no trace of vanity or self-gratulation of any kind marked his
reception of the chorus of praise that greeted him. On the contrary, he
modestly disclaimed the honors from the very first and insisted that to
Jackson belonged the credit of the day. "Could I have directed events,"
he wrote the wounded General, "I should have chosen to have been
disabled in your stead. I congratulate you on the victory which is due
to your skill and energy." Indeed, when the news first reached him that
Jackson's left arm had been amputated, he sent him a cheery message,
saying, "You are better off than I am, for while you have only lost
your LEFT, I have lost my RIGHT arm." And when, at last, he learned that
"Stonewall" had passed away, he no longer thought of the victory but
only of his dead comrade and friend. "Any victory would be dear at such
a price," was his sorrowful comment on the day.

Jackson was indeed Lee's "right arm" and his place among the great
captains of the world is well indicated by the fact that a study of his
campaign is to-day part of the education of all English and American
officers. Nevertheless, it was unquestionably Lee's genius that enabled
his great Lieutenant to accomplish what he did, and this Jackson himself
fully realized. "Better that ten Jacksons should fall than one Lee," was
his response to his commander's generous words.

But though Lee had won an international reputation, anyone seeing him in
the field among his soldiers might well have imagined that he was wholly
unaware that the world was ringing with his fame. He steadily declined
all offers to provide comfortable quarters for his accommodation,
preferring to live in a simple tent and share with his men the
discomforts of the field. Indeed, his thoughts were constantly of
others, never of himself, and when gifts of fruit and other dainties for
his table were tendered him, he thanked the givers but suggested that
they were needed for the sick and wounded in the hospitals, where they
would be gratefully received.

"...I should certainly have endeavored to throw the enemy north of the
Potomac," he wrote his wife, "but thousands of our men were barefooted,
thousands with fragments of shoes, and all without overcoats,
blankets or warm clothing. I could not bear to expose them to certain
suffering.... I am glad you have some socks for the army. Send them to
me.... Tell the girls to send all they can. I wish they could make some
shoes, too."

Even the hardships of the dumb animals moved him to a ready sympathy,
and he was constantly planning to spare them in every possible way.

"Our horses and mules suffer most," he wrote one of his daughters. "They
have to bear the cold and rain, tug through the mud and suffer all the
time with hunger."

And again on another occasion he wrote his wife:

"This morning the whole country is covered with a mantle of snow,
fully a foot deep.... Our poor horses were enveloped. We have dug them
out...but it will be terrible.... I fear our short rations for man and
horse will have to be curtailed."

The whole army realized the great-hearted nature of its Chief, and its
confidence in his thought and care is well illustrated by a letter
which a private addressed to him, asking him if he knew upon what
short rations the men were living. If he did, the writer stated, their
privations were doubtless necessary and everyone would cheerfully accept
them, knowing that he had the comfort of his men continually in mind.

War had no illusions for this simple, God-fearing man. He regarded it as
a terrible punishment for the shortcomings of mankind. For him it had no
glory.

"The country here looks very green and pretty, notwithstanding the
ravages of war," he wrote his wife. "What a beautiful world God, in His
loving kindness to His creatures, has given us! What a shame that men
endowed with reason and knowledge of right should mar His gifts."

The awful responsibility of his public duty was almost more than any man
could bear, but he had also to endure personal anxiety and sorrow of the
keenest kind. During his absence in the field one of his daughters died,
his wife was in failing health and his three sons were in the army daily
exposed to injury and death. Fitzhugh and Custis had been made generals,
and Robert had been promoted to a lieutenancy and assigned to his elder
brother's staff. Up to the battle of Chancellorsville they had escaped
unharmed, but while the contending armies lay watching each other on
either side of the Rappahannock, Fitzhugh was severely wounded in a
cavalry engagement and Lee's first thought was to comfort and reassure
the young man's wife.

"I am so grieved," ...he wrote her, "to send Fitzhugh to you wounded....
With his youth and strength to aid him, and your tender care to nurse
him, I trust he will soon be well again. I know that you will unite with
me in thanks to Almighty God, who has so often sheltered him in the hour
of danger."

Then came the news that the young General had been captured by Federal
troops who surrounded the house to which he had been removed, and again
Lee sought, in the midst of all his cares, to cheer his daughter-in-law
who was herself becoming ill.

"I can see no harm that can result from Fitzhugh's capture except his
detention.... He will be in the hands of old army officers and surgeons,
most of whom are men of principle and humanity. His wound, I understand,
has not been injured by his removal, but is doing well. Nothing would
do him more harm than for him to learn that you were sick and sad. How
could he get well? So cheer up and prove your fortitude.... You may
think of Fitzhugh and love him as much as you please, but do not grieve
over him or grow sad."

But the young wife grew steadily worse and, when her life was despaired
of, Custis Lee offered to take his brother's place in prison, if the
authorities would allow him to visit his dying wife. But, when this
was refused and news of her death reached Lee, he refrained from all
bitterness.

"...I grieve," he wrote his wife, "...as a father only can grieve for a
daughter, and my sorrow is heightened by the thought of the anguish her
death will cause our dear son, and the poignancy it will give to
the bars of his prison. May God in His mercy enable him to bear the
blow...."

It was in the midst of such severe afflictions that Lee conducted some
of the most important moves of his campaign, and while family anxieties
were beginning to crowd on him, the condition of his army and the
political situation were already demanding another invasion of the
North. As far as spirit and discipline were concerned, his troops
were never more ready for active service and their numbers had been
so considerably increased during the weeks that followed the battle of
Chancellorsville that by the 1st of June, 1863, he could count on almost
70,000 fairly well-armed men, supported by over two hundred cannon.

But the question of supplying food for this great array was every day
becoming more urgent, and the remark of the Commissary-General that
his Chief would soon have to seek his provisions in Pennsylvania was
significant of the situation. Lee thoroughly realized that the strength
of the Confederacy was waning and that unless some great success in the
field should soon force the Union to make terms, the end of the struggle
was in sight. Great victories had already been won, but always on
Southern soil, and the news that Grant was closing in on Vicksburg
demanded that a supreme effort be made to offset that impending disaster
in the West.

If the Southern army could force its way into the North and there
repeat its triumphs, England and France would probably recognize the
Confederacy and the half-hearted supporters of the Union, already
murmuring against the war, would clamor for peace. With this idea Lee
devoted the month following the battle of Chancellorsville to recruiting
his strength and watching for some move on Hooker's part. But Hooker
remained quietly within his lines, so on June 3, 1863, his opponent,
concealing his purpose, moved rapidly and secretly toward Pennsylvania.




Chapter XXI. -- Grant at Vicksburg


While Lee had been disposing of McClellan, Pope and Burnside, Grant had
remained in comparative idleness near Corinth, Mississippi. He had,
it is true, been assigned to high command in the West when Halleck
was ordered to Washington, but the battle of Shiloh had prejudiced the
authorities against him and his troops were gradually transferred to
other commanders, leaving him with an army barely sufficient to guard
the territory it already held. This treatment seriously depressed him
and with plenty of time to brood over his troubles, he was in some
danger of lapsing into the bad habits which had once had such a fatal
hold upon him. But at this crisis his wife was by his side to steady and
encourage him, and the Confederates soon diverted his thoughts from
his own grievances by giving him plenty of work to keep them at arm's
length. Meanwhile, however, something much more disturbing occurred, for
he suddenly discovered that preparations were being made to place his
long-cherished campaign for the opening of the Mississippi River in
the hands of McClernand, the political General whose conduct at Fort
Donelson had demonstrated his ignorance of military affairs.

That aroused Grant to action and hastily summoning Admiral Porter and
General Sherman to his aid, he started towards Vicksburg, Mississippi,
on November 2, 1862, determined to be the first in the field and thus
head off any attempt to displace him from the command.

McClernand's project was accordingly nipped in the bud, for, of course,
he could not be authorized to conduct a campaign already undertaken by
a superior officer, and the troops which had been intended for him
were immediately forwarded to Grant. Doubtless, the President was not
displeased at this turn of affairs, for although McClernand was a
highly important person in the political world and had rendered valuable
services in raising troops, his defects as a general were widely
recognized, and there had been grave doubts as to the wisdom of
permitting him to attempt so difficult an undertaking as the capture of
Vicksburg. Within a few months, however, there were even graver doubts
as to the wisdom of having entrusted the enterprise to Grant, for by the
end of March, 1863, the general opinion was that no one could have
made a worse mess of it than he was making, and that it was hopeless to
expect anything as long as he was in authority.

As a matter of fact, the immense difficulty of capturing a city such as
Vicksburg had not been realized until the work was actually undertaken.
It was practically a fortress commanding the Mississippi, and whoever
held it ruled the river. The Confederate leaders understood this very
thoroughly and they had accordingly fortified the place, which was
admirably adapted for defense, with great care and skill. In front of
it flowed the Mississippi, twisting and turning in such snake-like
conditions that it could be navigated only by boats of a certain length
and build, and on either side of the city stretched wide swamp lands and
bayous completely commanded by batteries well posted on the high ground
occupied by the town. All this was formidable enough in itself, but
shortly after Grant began his campaign, the river overflowed its banks
and the whole country for miles was under water which, while not deep
enough for steamers, was an absolute barrier to the approach of an army.

Indeed, the capture of the city seemed hopeless from a military
standpoint, but Grant would not abandon the task. Finding traces of an
abandoned canal, he attempted to complete it in the hope of changing the
course of the river, or at least of diverting some of the water from the
overflowed land, but the effort was a stupendous failure almost from
the start. Then he ordered the levees of the Mississippi protecting two
great lakes to be cut, with the idea of flooding the adjacent streams
and providing a waterway for his ships. This gigantic enterprise was
actually put into operation, the dams were removed, and gun-boats were
forced on the swollen watercourses far into the interior until some of
them became hopelessly tangled in the submerged forests and their crews,
attacked by the Confederate sharpshooters, were glad to make their
escape. Week after week and month after month this exhausting work
continued, but, at the end of it all, Vicksburg was no nearer capture
than before. Indeed, the only result of the campaign was the loss of
thousands of men who died of malaria, yellow fever, smallpox, and all
the diseases which swamp lands breed. For this, of course, Grant was
severely criticized and the denunciations at last became so bitter that
an order removing him from the command was entrusted to an official who
was directed to deliver it, if, on investigation, the facts seemed to
warrant it.

But the visiting official, after arriving at the front, soon learned
that the army had complete confidence in its commander and that it would
be a mistake to interfere with him. Indeed, by this time "the silent
General," who had neither answered the numerous complaints against him
nor paid the least attention to the storm of public indignation raging
beyond his camp, had abandoned his efforts to reach Vicksburg from the
front and was busily engaged in swinging his army behind it by a long
overland route in the face of appalling difficulties, but with a grim
resolution which forced all obstructions from his path. Meanwhile, the
gun-boats under Admiral Porter were ordered to attempt to run the
land batteries, and April 16, 1863, was selected as the date for their
perilous mission. Each vessel had been carefully protected by cotton
bales, and the crews stood ready with great wads of cotton to stop
leaks, while all lights were extinguished except one in the stern of
each ship to guide the one that followed.

It was a black night when the Admiral started down the river in his
flagship, and for a while it was hoped that the fleet would slip by
the batteries under cover of darkness. The leading vessels did, indeed,
escape the lookouts of the first forts, but before long a warning rocket
shot into the sky and the river was instantly lit by immense bonfires
which had been prepared for just this emergency, and by the glare of
their flames the gunners poured shot and shell at the black hulls as
they sped swiftly by. Shot after shot found its mark, but still the
fleet continued on its course. Then, after the bonfires died down,
houses were set on fire to enable the artillerists to see their targets,
but before daylight the whole fleet had run the gauntlet and lay almost
uninjured below Vicksburg, ready to coöperate with Grant's advancing
army.

By this time the Confederates must have realized that they were facing
defeat. Nevertheless, for fully a month they stubbornly contested every
foot of ground. But Grant, approaching the rear by his long, roundabout
marches, handled his veteran troops with rare good judgment, moving
swiftly and allowing his adversaries no rest, so that by the 17th of
May, 1863, General Pemberton, commanding the defenses of Vicksburg, was
forced to take refuge in the town. Grant immediately swung his army into
position, blocking every avenue of escape and began a close siege. The
prize for which he had been struggling for more than half a year was now
fairly within his grasp, but there was still a chance that it might slip
through his fingers, for close on his heels came General Joseph Johnston
with a powerful army intent upon rescuing General Pemberton and his
gallant garrison.

If Johnston could come to Pemberton's relief or if Pemberton could break
through and unite with Johnston, they could together save Vicksburg. But
Grant had resolved that they should not join forces, and to the problem
confronting him he devoted himself body and mind. Constantly in the
saddle, watching every detail of the work as the attacking army slowly
dug its way toward the city and personally posting the troops holding
Johnston at bay, his quiet, determined face and mud-splashed uniform
became familiar sights to the soldiers, and his appearance on the lines
was invariably greeted with inspiring cheers. By July, the trenches of
the besieged and the besiegers were so close together that the opposing
pickets could take to each other, and the gun-boats threw shells night
and day into the town. Still Pemberton would not surrender and many of
the inhabitants of Vicksburg were forced to leave their houses and dig
caves in the cliffs upon which the city was built to protect themselves
and their families from the iron hail.

It was only when food of every kind had been practically exhausted and
his garrison was threatened with starvation that Pemberton yielded. On
July 3, 1863, however, he realized that the end had come and raised
the white flag. Nearly twenty-four hours passed before the terms of
surrender were agreed upon, but Grant, who had served in the same
division with Pemberton in the Mexican War, was not inclined to exact
humiliating conditions upon his old acquaintance whose men had made
such a long and gallant fight. He, accordingly, offered to free all the
prisoners upon their signing a written promise not to take arms again
unless properly exchanged, and to allow all the officers to retain their
side arms and horses. These generous terms were finally accepted, and on
July 4, 1863, the Confederate army, numbering about 30,000, marched out
in the presence of their opponents and stacked their arms, receiving the
tribute of absolute silence from the 75,000 men who watched them from
the Union ranks.

Four months before this event, Halleck, the Commander-in-Chief, had
advised Grant and other officers of his rank that there was a major
generalship in the Regular Army for the man who should first win a
decisive victory in the field. The captor of Vicksburg had certainly
earned this promotion, for with its fall the Mississippi River was
controlled by the Union and, in the words of Lincoln, "The Father of
Waters again ran unvexed to the sea."




Chapter XXII. -- The Battle of Gettysburg

The news that Grant was slowly, but surely, tightening his grip upon
Vicksburg, and that nothing but an accident could prevent its capture,
was known to the whole country for fully a week before the surrender
occurred, but it neither encouraged the North nor discouraged the South.
To the minds of many people no victory in the West could save the
Union, for Lee was already in Pennsylvania, sweeping northward toward
Harrisburg and Philadelphia, and even threatening New York. Hooker, in
the field, and Halleck, in Washington, were squabbling as to what should
be done, and the Union army was groping blindly after the invaders
without any leadership worthy of the name.

It was certainly a critical moment demanding absolute harmony on the
part of the Union leaders; but while the fate of the Union trembled in
the balance, Hooker and Halleck wrangled and contradicted each
other, apparently regardless of consequences, and the climax of this
disgraceful exhibition was a petulant telegram from Hooker (June 27,
1863) resigning his command. Had "Fighting Joe" been the greatest
general in the world this resignation, in the presence of the enemy,
would have ruined his reputation, and the moment President Lincoln
accepted it Hooker was a discredited man.

To change commanders at such a crisis was a desperately perilous move,
but the President knew that the army had lost confidence in its leader
since the battle of Chancellorsville and the fact that he could even
think of resigning on the eve of a battle demonstrated his utter
unfitness for the task at hand. It was, therefore, with something of
relief that Lincoln ordered General Meade to take immediate charge
of all the troops in the field, and the new commander assumed the
responsibility in these words, "As a soldier I obey the order placing
me in command of this army and to the utmost of my ability will execute
it."

At the moment he dispatched this manly and modest response to the
unexpected call to duty, Meade knew little of Hooker's plans and had
only a vague idea of where his troops were posted. Under such conditions
success in the coming battle was almost impossible, but he wasted no
time in complaints or excuses, but instantly began to move his forces
northward to incept the line of Lee's advance. Even up to this time,
however, the exact position of the Confederate army had not been
ascertained, for Lee had concealed his infantry behind his cavalry,
which effectually prevented his adversaries from getting near enough to
discover the direction of his march.

Another "cavalry screen," however, covered the Union forces and though
Lee dispatched Stuart to break through and discover what lay behind it,
the daring officer for once failed to accomplish his purpose and Lee had
to proceed without the information he usually possessed. This was highly
advantageous to Meade, for his forces were badly scattered and had Lee
known that fact he might have crushed the various parts of the army
before they united, or at least have prevented some of them from
reaching the field in time. He soon learned, of course, that Meade had
taken Hooker's place, but if he had not heard the news directly,
he would have guessed that some great change had occurred in the
generalship of his opponents, for within twenty-four hours of his
appointment Meade had his army well in hand, and two days later the
rapid and skillful concentration of his force was clear to Lee's
experienced eyes. By this time both armies had passed beyond their
cavalry screens, and on the 30th of June, 1863, the advance of the
Confederate troops neared the little town of Gettysburg.

But Lee was not yet ready to fight, for, although he was better prepared
than his adversary, he wanted to select the best possible ground before
joining battle. By a strange chance, however, it was not Lee but his
bare-footed followers who decided where the battle should be fought, for
as his advance-guard approached Gettysburg one of the brigade commanders
asked and received permission from his superior to enter the town and
procure shoes for his men. But Gettysburg was found to be occupied by
Union cavalry and the next day (July 1st) a larger force was ordered
forward to drive them away and "get the shoes." Meanwhile, the Union
cavalry had been reënforced and, to offset this, more Confederates were
ordered to the support of their comrades. Once more Union reënforcements
were hurried to the front, and again the Confederates responded to the
challenge, until over 50,000 men were engaged in a savage conflict, and
before noon the battle of Gettysburg, one of the greatest battles of
history, had begun.

The men in gray, who thus unwittingly forced the fighting, were veterans
of many campaigns and they attacked with a fury that carried all before
them. The Union troops fought with courage, but General Reynolds, their
commander, one of the ablest officers in the army, was soon shot through
the head and instantly killed, and from that moment the Confederates
crowded them to the point of panic. Indeed, two of Meade's most
effective fighting corps were practically annihilated and the shattered
remnants of the defenders of Gettysburg were hurled through the town in
headlong flight toward what was known as Cemetery Hill, where their new
commander, General Hancock, found them huddled in confusion.

Meade had displayed good judgment in selecting Hancock to take Reynolds'
place, for he was just the man to inspire confidence in the disheartened
soldiers and rise to the emergency that confronted him. But, though he
performed wonders in the way of restoring order and encouraging his
men to make a desperate resistance, it is more than probable that
the Confederates would have swept the field and gained the important
position of Cemetery Hill had they followed up their victory.
Fortunately for the Union cause, however, the pursuit was not continued
much beyond the limits of Gettysburg and, as though well satisfied to
have got the shoes they came for, the victors contented themselves with
the undisputed possession of the town.

Neither Lee nor Meade took any part in this unexpected battle, but Lee
arrived during the afternoon while the Union troops were in full flight
for the hills and, seeing the opportunity of delivering a crushing
blow, advised Ewell, the commanding General, to pursue. His suggestion,
however, was disregarded, and being unwilling to interfere with another
officer in the midst of an engagement, he did not give a positive order,
with the result that Cemetery Hill was left in possession of the Federal
troops. Meanwhile Meade, having learned of the situation, was hurrying
to the scene of action, where he arrived late at night, half dead
with exhaustion and on the verge of nervous collapse from the fearful
responsibilities which had been heaped upon him during the previous
days. But the spirit of the man rose superior to his physical weakness
and, keeping his head in the whirlwind of hurry and confusion, he
issued orders rushing every available man to the front, made a careful
examination of the ground and chose an admirable position for defense.

To this inspiring example the whole army made a magnificent response,
and before the 2nd of July dawned the widely scattered troops began
pouring in and silently moving into position for the desperate work
confronting them. Meade had determined to await an attack from Lee and
he had accordingly selected Cemetery Ridge as the position best adapted
for defense. This line of hills not only provided a natural breastwork,
but at the left and a little in front lay two hillocks knows as Round
Top and Little Round Top, which, when crowned by artillery, were perfect
fortresses of strength. Strange as it may seem, however, Round Top was
not immediately occupied by the Union troops and had it not been for the
quick eye and prompt action of General Warren, Little Round Top, the key
to the entire Union position, would have been similarly neglected.

Lee was reasonably assured, at the end of the first day's fighting, that
his adversary had not succeeded in getting all his troops upon the field
and, realizing what an advantage this gave him, he d

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/4098