 | V.
SHARPSBURG. Hammer and rapier |  |
5. V.
SHARPSBURG.
Sharpsburg was the first and last great battle on the
soil of Maryland. In the hours of one September day
was decided the fate of Baltimore and Washington.
Tactically a drawn battle, it was strategically a Confederate
defeat. Add to these notable features the
further circumstance that it was the last fight of McClellan.
That ought, of itself, to make it interesting.
Let us follow the steps of the two athletes who had
already crossed swords on the banks of the Chickahominy,
and who now advanced to a final trial of each
other's muscle on the soil of Maryland. These hardy
adversaries were Lee, commanding the Army of Northern
Virginia, and McClellan, commanding the Army
of the Potomac.
On the last day of August, the fate of Gen. Pope
had been decided. His shattered battalions had retreated
from the fields of Manassas, and Lee pressed
on to complete the victory which had cost him so much
blood. Gen. Pope had but one ambition now—to save
the remnant of his army,—and to this work he sedulously
addressed himself, on Monday, the 1st of September,
by doing what he ought to have done before
of Summer and Franklin.
These had pushed out as rapidly as possible from
Alexandria, and now, on this 1st of September, were
at Germantown—a small village a mile or two west
of Fairfax Court House. Here line of battle was
formed, with the right at Germantown, and the left
toward Centreville, and the troops were hardly in position
when the men of Jackson were seen advancing by
the Little River turnpike.
Their commander was worn out, and had sat down
under a tree, leaned his back against the trunk, folded
his hands across his breast, and was asleep. The crack
of the skirmishers awoke him soon; he rose, mounted
his horse, and in fifteen minutes was at the head of his
column, then advancing upon the enemy.
This battle was a strange one. No sooner had the
artillery begun to roar, than, as if in response, the
heavens echoed it. The cheers of the men were responded
to by the rushing sound of a great wind in
the trees; the glare of the cannon, by dazzling flashes
of lightning; the thunder of the guns, by crash after
crash from the black and lowering clouds. In the
midst of this conflict of the elements, the human conflict
commenced, and the huge torrents of rain, which
soon began to fall, seemed the protest of the inanimate
world against this revel of man's passions. So heavy
was the rain, that one of Jackson's commanders sent
him word that the powder of the men could not be
kept dry; he would soon be compelled to abandon his
position. But that thing of abandoning a position
rarely suited Jackson.
“Tell him to hold his ground,” he said, in brief accents,
to the messenger; “if his guns will not go off,
neither will the enemy's!”
And the line remained firm; the enemy made no
headway, and yet they fought well. They were fresh,
and commanded by the brave Kearney and others.
This day was to be the last of the old foe of Fremont.
Kearney rushed forward to rally his lines, mistook a
Confederate party for his own men, turned and galloped
away; but a bullet overtook him.
On the next morning I was riding along the turnpike,
and saw a crowd gathering at a small house by
the wayside.
“What are those men looking at?” I inquired of a
soldier.
“At the body of Gen. Kearney, which Gen. Lee
is just going to send, with a flag of truce, to his
friends.”
After the fall of this gallant soldier, the enemy did
not continue the contest with much ardor. At night
they still were there, in the dark and dripping woods,
which the storm lashed as before; at dawn they had
disappeared. Behind that friendly rampart, covering
the Warrenton road to Centreville, Gen. Pope had
retreated. At sunrise Stuart's cavalry rushed with
cheers into Fairfax, but the Federal columns were as
far as Annandale. In the debris—guns, oilcloth, and
knapsacks—scattered along the road, you read plainly,
“Exit Pope.”
And now the unskilled soldiers, on that 2d of September,
1862, thought “We are going straight to
Washington.” No less a personage than Jackson
the Oxhill ridge, surrounded by the curious, he said
briefly to an officer:
“What roads lead to Vienna and——?”
The latter words were spoken too low to be caught.
Receiving a reply, he nodded, reflected an instant, and
then rode away. Taking the head of his column, he
pushed on—toward Leesburg. Leesburg meant not
Washington, but the Cumberland Valley.
Gen. Lee had, it seems, determined to enter Maryland
above, and fight his second battle in Pennsylvania.
No time was lost. The men were worn to exhaustion
by the heavy marching and fighting, without
rations, of the last few weeks; but there was no time
to pause. Before the smoke had drifted away from
the great field of conflict, the column was in motion;
in three days, it passed the Potomac at Leesburg—
the men cheering, and the bands playing “Maryland,
my Maryland!” On the 7th of September, Lee had
massed his army in the vicinity of Frederick City.
Disappointment awaited here those conficing gray
people, who supposed that the Marylanders would rush
to arms. Most of them rushed into their houses, and
slammed the doors. The “rebels” were regarded not
as friends, but enemies. The inhabitants were
“Union,” and will doubtless take pride in the statement
here made, that, as soon as they found they had
nothing to fear, they exhibited unmistakable hostility.
Those fears, indeed, speedily vanished. They discovered
that in Gen. Lee they had to deal with a
gentleman, and a “Christian warrior”—a commander
“If Gen. Lee saw the top rail of a fence pulled off,
as he passed by, he would dismount and replace it with
his own hands.” The result was simple, as the logic
was obvious. A man who would put back the rails of
a fence was not apt to burn dwellings, and plunder
larders à la Pope. Consequent defiance of him, and
more resolute adherence than before to “the best
government the world ever saw.” The general sentiment,
“Wait, wearers of the gray! The patriots in
blue are coming!”
These statements may seem strange to some readers.
“Can it be possible,” they may say, “that Lee was
so greeted on that soil—thus received in the great and
illustrious Commonwealth of Maryland, where, in
Baltimore—the elegant, the aristocratic, the defiant
Baltimore—a large Federal force could alone hold
down the almost irrepressible sympathy with the
South; where, in the lower counties, the gentlemen
throughout the war denounced the North, and cheered
the South, in the most public places? Could Maryland
have thus acted—Maryland, the proud, the
thorough-bred, the bitterly Southern Maryland, who
had sent her heroic sons to bleed for Virginia—
smuggled medicines, cloths, and words of cheer,
through the blockade—prayed, with sobs and tears,
for the Southern success—whose very women and girls
turned away with scorn in their faces, drawing their
skirts close to their persons, when Federal officers
passed, that they might not be soiled by the contact?”
The explanation is simple. The Southern troops
were in Maryland, and they were not in Maryland.
North-western Virginia. Lord Baltimore settled eastern,
William Penn western Maryland. That is to say,
that eastern Maryland was English—which is Virginian—western
Maryland Pennsylvanian, that is
northern. That explains the whole.
And yet there were some, even here, whose whole
hearts went forth to meet and greet the Red Cross flag.
In locked-up rooms ladies sewed day and night for the
ragged soldiers. In many houses Confederate flags
were ready to be produced. From some houses white
handkerchiefs were waved—from a few, cheers were
heard. Let us not blame very bitterly the owners of
these flags, which were never unfolded and given to
the air. The “blue patriots” were coming, and the
Union neighbors of the Southern sympathizers were
sure to denounce them to the Federal vengeance.
Hearts were warm, but life and property were dear.
It is hard to expect that husbands and fathers should
bring beggary and exile on wife and children for any
cause. So those flags were never waved, or waved
timidly for an instant, and then quietly withdrawn.
The stormy winds of that reign of terror blew them
away.
On the day after his arrival at Frederick City, Gen.
Lee issued an address to the people of Maryland.
That calm and admirable paper will present a terrible
contrast in history, to the brutal “expatriation order”
of Gen. Pope in Culpeper, which the very authorities
at Washington had to disown. Lee declared to the
people that he had come to aid them “in regaining
the rights of which they had been despoiled,” but no
by martial law; to each and all would be accorded the
right “to decide his destiny freely, and without constraint.”
When that paper was made public, a few cheers
arose, a few halloos resounded; then followed an ominous
silence. No enthusiasm was exhibited—only a
few recruits appeared—it was obvious that the dream
of thousands rushing to the Southern flag was a complete
hallucination.
If the result disappointed the great commander of
the Confederates, he did not show it. That invincible
calmness which characterized him never changed. He
knew what he could depend upon, and to that he
turned—his old Army of Northern Virginia.
And yet only about one-half of that army was at his
orders, a fact which it is absolutely essential to remember
in following the events which we are about to record.
That is the key-note, and we beg that it will be
kept in view. Nearly half of Lee's army was still limping
along, barefooted and exhausted, far in rear, on the
Virginia side. Not once, but a hundred times, has the
statement been made, that these men were stragglers,
intending desertion. That statement is an injustice to
the brave soldiers of the army. The immense marches
and desperate combats of the last month had exhausted
them. Barefooted, in rags, unfed, worn out,
they dragged their feet along, trying to keep up. And
they would have arrived, but for one circumstance.
McClellan's rapid advance uncovered the fords near
Leesburg; crossing these, the “stragglers” would have
found McClellan, not Lee. In fact, Gen. Lee issued
or more unfortunate, not criminal, men, who filled the
fields of Loudoun, or crouched on the heights near
Leesburg, were pointed at and stigmatized as stragglers.
So it then appeared; and their stronger comrades
even, who had been able to keep up, joined in the
statement. But time sets everything right. The
causes of the larger part of that “straggling” are now
known. It was hunger, exhaustion, bleeding feet, and
wounds which prevented the majority of those men
from being present at the bitter wrestle of Sharpsburg.
Lee was left with about forty thousand men, of all
arms, to oppose McClellan's one hundred thousand,
then advancing.
The marshalling of that army was one of the most
marvellous phenomena of the war. On the 1st day of
September, Gen. Pope was defeated—his forces disorganized
and demoralized beyond the power of words
—and the Government at Washington was looking
every moment for the coming of Lee, as it had looked
after the Manassas of July, 1861, for the coming of
Johnston.
Twelve days afterwards McClellan was at Frederick
City with a force of nearly one hundred thousand
men, and was pushing after Lee, who was retiring.
Read the Federal documents relating to that period,
and see what was thought of McClellan in reality.
They thwarted him, denounced him, professed to
despise him, and removed him, to put Pope in his
place; but, when the dark hour came, they cried, “Pro
that the axe of the headsman was being sharpened even
then for him. When he had perfected the great crime
of defeating Lee, his head was to roll, and a voice was
to cry aloud from the Bureau of War—a voice marvellously
resembling that of Maj. Gen. Halleck:
“So perish all who oppose our policy!”
Meanwhile, however, the services of the skilful soldier
were needed—were indispensable. The country
confided in him. The troops adored him. He summoned
the men to return to their standards; they
obeyed him with alacrity; he took the head of the
army, and advanced upon Lee. To have believed on
the 1st of September that this was possible, would
have been to fall into the fantastic. In a week the
world had only to look and see. McClellan had under
him nearly one hundred thousand troops, and without
a scrap of orders[1]
beyond “Protect the capital,” began
an offensive campaign in the direction of Pennsylvania.
On the 12th, as we have said, he had reached Frederick
City. His advance had struck Lee's rear—the
adversaries were in view of each other—the thunders
of battle again resounded.
Lee had fallen back from Frederick, and his gray
columns were defiling through the passes of the Catoctan
and South Mountains. What did he design?
Were those ragged Southerners, tramping on gayly,
with their bright muskets, and exclaiming “Pennsylvania!
Pennsylvania!” as they had exclaimed “Maryland!
army deceived in their anticipations, and had Lee
brought them thither only, as some said, to capture
Harper's Ferry? The thing was incredible, and remains
incredible to-day. Little doubt exists now that
his object then, in September, 1862, was the same as
in June, 1863—namely, to advance into Pennsylvania,
keeping open his communications by the Shenandoah
Valley—draw the Federal army as far as possible
from its base, bring on a battle, defeat and pursue his
opponent, and dictate peace at Baltimore or Washington.
Gen. Lee may have failed, sometimes, to make the
best movements during the progress of a battle; he
never failed to adopt the greatest, soundest, and most
comprehensive combinations to bring on battle. Both
in 1862 and 1863, he failed to accomplish his object.
But, study those campaigns, and the causes of these
failures will be seen. It was not that the profound
brain of Lee erred—Providence interposed, and defeated
him.
His plan now was, first to reduce Harper's Ferry,
which was held by eleven thousand men, with seventy-three
pieces of artillery; and Jackson had been already
sent thither, by way of Boonsboro,' Williamsport, and
Martinsburg—thus taking the Ferry in rear. As soon
as this hornet's nest was destroyed, he was to push on
and join Longstreet, in the vicinity of Hagerstown;
then the whole army, massed, would commence moving
toward the Cumberland Valley, drawing McClellan
toward Westminster and Gettysburg, as Meade was
drawn thither in the month of June, 1863.
Let us turn now to a circumstance so trifling that
it seems insignificant, but which overthrew the whole
campaign of Lee.
Up to the 12th of September, when McClellan
reached Frederick, that commander had moved at
the gait of the tortoise. Cautious and deliberate by
organization, he was rendered still more cautious and
deliberate upon this occasion by the telegrams of his
superiors, who wrote constantly, “Take care—you are
going too fast—keep nearer the Potomac—Lee is
drawing you on—only a small part of his army is
north of the Potomac; and, as soon as you are far
enough away from the capital, he will attack us from
the Virginia side, and all will be over.” Those are
not the words employed by Gen. Halleck, but they express
the exact substance of his orders.
Thus, up to the 12th, McClellan moved snailwise,
feeling for Lee, and in utter darkness as to his plans.
On that day, however, he found upon a table in Frederick
City, where it had been left by the carelessness
of some officer, General Lee's “Order of March.” That
order was a complete revelation of Lee's designs.
Longstreet was to advance by way of Boonsboro,' to
Hagerstown.
McLaws was to push for Maryland Heights.
Walker was to cross back, and hasten to Loudoun
Heights.
Jackson was then to storm and capture Harper's
Ferry, hastening afterwards to join Longstreet.
Then,—the order stopped there. Nothing more,
however, was necessary. Then, Lee's army would advance
upon Pennsylvania.
Such were the revelations of the Confederate campaign,
given in that document. That poor little sheet
of paper, which a puff of wind would have carried
away,—which a housewife might have used to kindle
her fire,—a soldier to light his pipe,—that little scrap
of paper would have been cheaply purchased by the
Federal commander at a cost of a hundred millions,
and it cost nothing. It is true that it cost Lee his
campaign.
From that moment, Gen. McClellan had no longer
any fears. He could act with energy, for he knew
what he was doing. Before, he had advanced with
caution, because every step might lose the capital; now
he pushed on with vigor, because Pennsylvania was the
known object of his opponent. Every card in the hand
of Lee was known; his whole game exposed; his combinations
defeated in advance. Unless the fighting of
the Southern army changed the result, the campaign
was as good as decided.
The obvious policy of McClellan was to push vigorously
forward, break through the passes of South
Mountain, relieve Harper's Ferry, and attack Lee while
his army was divided into two parts. He set about his
task with rapidity and energy; that he did not succeed
was not his fault. Human nerve conquers fate sometimes;
hard fighting more than makes up for numbers.
McClellan ought to have forced the mountain
passes on the 13th. He could not do so until the 14th.
He ought to have cut Lee to pieces before Jackson arrived.
He could not come up with him. He ought to
have routed the Southern army on the field of Sharpsburg,—and
that fight, three to one, was the clearest
more than made up for numbers. We shall prove
that.
On the 14th of September the great game of chess
had commenced in earnest. From that time forward
every hour was to be big with events: every movement
of the adversaries counted. McClellan was pushing
after Lee, intent on relieving Harper's Ferry, and cutting
his great opponent to pieces. The hard and stubborn
muscle of the Virginian had turned many a
sword's edge,—but it seemed that at last the weapon
was heavy and sharp enough to accomplish its object,
—“to cut even to the dividing asunder of the joints
and marrow.”
In utter ignorance, meanwhile, of the great misfortune
which had befallen him, Gen. Lee was pressing
forward to the execution of his plans, wondering doubtless
at the unwonted confidence of his adversary, but
expecting to catch him tripping before long. The Confederates
were in excellent spirits; jest and laughter
prevailed. The cavalry were engaged near Frederick;
where Hampton charged and captured a battery, but
the infantry were marching quietly, caring little.
On the evening of the 14th, Lee's “Order of March”
was in full process of accomplishment. Longstreet was
at Hagerstown with the advance force of the army.
D. H. Hill was holding the gap near Boonsboro', and
a small force was at Crampton's; Walker was on Loudoun,
and McLaws on Maryland Heights; Jackson
was south of Harper's Ferry, and would attack it at
early dawn. Unless relieved that night, good-bye to
cannon.
Then began the struggle. McClellan thundered in
front of Boonsboro' and Crampton's gaps, listening
anxiously for the cannon of Jackson. At every step
of his advance—which the cavalry, under Stuart, obstinately
opposed—the Federal commander fired signal
guns, which said to the officer commanding at Harper's
Ferry: “I am coming!” Every hour he dispatched
scouts to penetrate the lines, reach the Ferry, and
say: “Hold on; do not surrender; I will soon release
you!”
That assurance seemed reliable. The enormous advantage
of knowing an adversary's plans and position
was never in all the annals of war better shown. With
Longstreet at Hagerstown and Jackson at Harper's
Ferry, McClellan knew well that his movements were
free,—and he pressed on with ardor to attain the prize.
Soon the thunders of an obstinate combat rose from
Boonsboro' gap, where Hooker attacked Hill, succeeded
in turning his flank, and at nightfall had virtual
possession of the gap—for which the worthy Gen.
Reno and fifteen hundred men, however, paid. At
the same time an engagement took place at Crampton's
gap, nearer to the Potomac, with the same object
—to break through to the succor of Harper's Ferry.
Boonsboro' was a combat—division against division
—the fight at Crampton's was a fiasco. Federal
writers tell how Gen. Franklin's corps, with Slocum's
division on the right and Smith's division on the
left, attacked “a greatly superior force of Confederates
in the pass, forced them up the slope, and after
hundred prisoners.” The “greatly superior force”
thus assailed by two divisions was Colonel Tom Munford,
with about two hundred dismounted cavalry, and
one piece of artillery. When the three brigades of
General Cobb—all the infantry that at any time was
any where near the gap—arrived from Maryland
Heights, the crest had been carried, and Colonel Munford
was moving down the west side of the mountain.
The enemy held the gap—General Cobb's troops were
badly put in, and made little fight—the “four hundred
prisoners” were of his command. The facts
stated here are surprising—but they are facts. The
reports of Gen. Stuart will establish them. Two hundred
men held in check two divisions.
When night fell on the 14th, McClellan had broken
through the mountain—or, to speak more accurately,
he held the gaps at Boonsboro' and Crampton's, ready
to march at dawn. At dawn he marched; but suddenly
a long continuous thunder arose from Harper's
Ferry. Jackson was attacking.
McClellan pushed forward; the ominous roar of
artillery continued without cessation. Then all at
once it stopped—for Jackson was preparing to storm
the works with his infantry. That silence was worse
than the thunder of the cannon, and the Federal commander
must have comprehended its meaning. In
fact Jackson had thrown forward Pender—the assault
had just begun—the men were rushing on with shouts
to carry the Federal defences at the point of the bayonet—when
all at once a white flag was seen to flutter
upon the breastworks. Colonel Miles had surrendered
stand of arms, and seventy-three pieces of artillery.
Harper's Ferry had fallen.
Fallen at the moment when McClellan was only a
short march from it, with almost nothing between—
at the moment when Miles could almost hear the
shouts of the troops coming to his relief; when in a
few hours McLaws, on Maryland Heights, would have
been captured; Jackson would have been cut off from
a junction with the main body, and Lee would have
been defeated or driven across the Potomac.
At that supreme moment, when victory and failure
were suspended in the balance, the heavy arm of Jackson
fell. “Too late” was written, as in words of
flame, against the Southern sky, toward which the
Federal commander gazed. Soon he knew that his
second and greatest aim was in like manner defeated.
Lee had fallen back with Hill, by way of Boonsboro',
toward Sharpsburg; Longstreet was summoned
to the same point from Hagerstown.
On the morning of the 16th, when McClellan, pushing
forward, had reached the Antietam, opposite
Sharpsburg, he had, there in front of him, on the
hills beyond the stream, both Longstreet and Jackson
—returned from Hagerstown and Harper's Ferry.
The two halves of the army were once more united.
Lee was massed and ready to deliver battle.
Such were the strategic movements which culminated
in the obstinately disputed battle of Sharpsburg,
or Antietam, as it is called by writers of the North.
They have been noticed at some length, being essential
to a proper understanding of the action.
Harper's Ferry had retarded Lee, since he could not
leave that fortress in his rear; McClellan had advanced
with unexpected rapidity; thus Lee was compelled
to retire to Virginia or mass his army and accept
battle on the north bank of the Potomac.
What force did that army number, and what were
the numbers of General McClellan? Alas! little is
left to the South save to show that she made a “good
fight” and died hard! Let us pause for a moment,
then, and establish the truth upon this point. It is
curious.
“We fought pretty close upon one hundred thousand
men,” said Gen McClellan? when interrogated by
the War Committee.
“This great battle was fought by less than forty
thousand men on our side,” said Lee, in his report;
and Colonel Walter H. Taylor, that high-toned officer
and gentleman, then A. A. G. of the army, states Lee's
numbers at thirty-seven thousand of all arms.[2]
What were Gen. McClellan's?
“Our forces,” he says, “at the battle of Antietam,
were, total in action, eighty-seven thousand one hundred
and sixty-four.”
Deduct “cavalry division, four thousand three hundred
eight hundred and fourty-four Federal infantry and
artillery in action.
Deduct four thousand cavalry from Gen. Lee's total,
and we have Confederate infantry and artillery in action,
thirty-three thousand.
Of these thirty-three thousand, about eight thousand
did not arrive from Harper's Ferry until the middle
of the day. The hard fighting of the whole morning
was really borne by about twenty-five thousand in line
of battle.
More still—the main assault was against the Confederate
left, where Jackson, with four thousand, met
and repulsed forty thousand.
Proof.—Gen. Jones, commanding Jackson's old division, reported:—“The
division, at the beginning of the fight, numbered not
over one thousand six hundred men.”
And Early, commanding Ewell's division of three brigades,
reported:
| Lawton's | 1,150 |
| Hayes' | 550 |
| Walker's | 700 |
| 2,400 | |
| 1,600 | |
| Total | 4,000 |
On the Federal side it is not denied that Hooker's corps numbered
eighteen thousand. At 7 A. M., Mansfield reinforced him,
and at 9, Sumner. Of the fight which ensued, Gen. Sumner
says:—“I have always believed that instead of sending these
troops into that action in driblets, had Gen. McClellan authorized
me to march these forty thousand on the left flank of the enemy,
we would not have failed to throw them,” &c.
“In driblets!” Alas! what would Lee have
thought of driblets of divisions and whole corps! One
of these driblets was eighteen thousand men.
The truth is, that until noon the Confederates fought
more than three to one; that throughout the action
they were never opposed by less than two and a-half
to one; that Jackson, on the left, remained unmoved
for hours, though the enemy threw against him about
ten to one.
These statements may be regarded as “rebel exaggerations.”
That is not important; they are on
record, and history will protect her own.
Lee might thus have retired, without imputation
upon his courage—might have recrossed into Virginia
and declined battle. He remained upon the soil of
Maryland and accepted it.
Sharpsburg followed; and this great combat we
now proceed to trace in outline.
On the afternoon of the 16th, Lee had about twenty-five
thousand men in line of battle, his back to Sharpsburg,
his left hand touching the Potomac, his right
extending into the angle formed by the river and
Antietam creek.
Sharpsburg is a village, in the midst of a rolling
country, dotted with farm houses, lost in orchards;
fields divided by stone walls; and through the valley
in front of it rolls the narrow and crooked Antietam,
spanned by rustic bridges on the Boonsboro' and other
roads.
On the high ground beyond, at the foot of the mountain,
McClellan's numerous infantry and artillery were
strike the Southern left.
The plans of a general are more interesting than
the fighting of his troops. McClallan's design here
was to turn the Confederate left, driving Lee into the
river, and he never ceased hammering at that “fatal
left,” until his right wing was nearly shattered by the
hard anvil against which this hammer struck.
On the evening of the 16th, Hooker, commanding
the Federal right, crossed the stream and gained
ground, after sharp fighting. On the morning of the
17th, the day of Sharpsburg, he attacked from this
advanced position.
At the first streak of dawn, in the clear autumn sky,
before the variegated leaves of the forest trees were
reddened by sunrise, the opposing lines began to thunder.
Hooker, with eighteen thousand men, and Mansfield's
corps hastening forward to support him, was
attacking the four thousand men of Jackson. The
woods reverberated, the echoes rolled among the hills,
the fields were full of the long rattle of musketry,
mingled with shouts and cheers. Jackson grappled
with his adversary, and held his ground so well that
Hooker was wholly unable to drive him back.
Such was the state of things when, at seven o'clock,
just as the sun was soaring above the mountain in his
rear, Gen. Mansfield arrived and threw his corps into
action. Before this great reinforcement the Confederates
were pressed back, and a point of woods beyond
the Hagerstown road was seized by the Federals;
not, however, without terrible loss and disorganization.
Gen. Mansfield was mortally wounded; Gen. Hooker
was shot and borne from the field; the Federal troops
were breaking in spite of their success, when the corps
of Sumner arrived, and was thrown forward, just in
time to prevent a thorough rout.
Hear the evidence of Gen. Sumner:
“On going upon the field, I found that Gen.
Hooker's corps had been dispersed and routed. I
passed him, some distance in the rear, where he had
been carried, wounded, but I saw nothing of his corps
at all as I was advancing with my command on the
field. I sent one of my staff officers to find where
they were, and Gen. Ricketts, the only officer we
could find, stated that he could not raise three hundred
men of the corps.”[3]
Strange result of the great assault of Hooker and
Mansfield, with their thirty thousand men, on the four
thousand of Jackson!
“I saw nothing of his corps at all!”
“He could not raise three hundred men!”
It was in reference to this portion of the action that
Gen. Sumner groaned out that the troops were sent
in “in driblets”—that is, corps after corps.
Such was the result on the Federal side—repulse
with terrible loss; Mansfield killed; Hooker wounded;
the line breaking. On the Confederate side the
mortality was truly frightful. Gen. Starke, commanding
Jackson's division, was killed; more than a half
of some brigades, more than a third of others, disabled—in
officers. Jackson had repulsed the great
assault, but the ground, on which his firm foot yet
rested, was bathed in the best blood of the South.
But this was the mere preface—the ante-chamber
to the temple of horror. Pausing only to pant and
recover their breath after the fierce struggle, the Federal
forces reformed their line; cheers rose from the
great mass, and the huge wave rolled forward—this
time bent on enveloping Jackson's left and driving
him back on the centre.
The attack was met with desperation. Each soldier
seemed to feel that on his firmness depended the fate
of Gen. Lee. Jackson half faced to the left the two
small brigades of Hood—one of them numbering, he
says, but eight hundred and sixty-four men—rushed
forward and filled the gap thus made on Jackson's
right. In an instant the fiercest wrestle of the great
day of Sharpsburg began, in the midst of cheers,
shouts, thunder, and lightning.
The brush of a grand painter could alone convey
something like a conception of that wild grapple. Jackson,
reinforced by Hood, had now about six thousand
men engaged in all, and these were stubbornly breasting
the great rush of Hooker, Mansfield, and Sumner.
The odds were beyond mortal endurance. Worn out
and decimated by the very attrition of the struggle,
Jackson was being forced back, when McLaws and
Walker at last arrived with reinforcements; then
everything suddenly changed.
Never in all the war was the value of “fresh troops,”
however small their number, more conclusively shown.
In the twinkle of an eye, the Southern lines were
reformed and ceased retiring. Cheers rose; staggering
volleys followed; Jackson's whole line advanced
with wild shouts, and drove the Federal line back.
Before he stopped the advance, Jackson had forced
back Hooker more than half a mile; had resumed the
position from which he was driven in the morning;
then he stood grim and defiant, ready to renew the
struggle. The great assault of McClellan had been
completely repulsed; the battle of Sharpsburg was
decided.
This was the grand conflict of the day, and on the
left centred the main interest—but once or twice
affairs were critical on the right and centre.
Jackson had just repulsed his opponent, when an
accident occurred which nearly resulted in Gen. Lee's
destruction.
In the centre was Rodes' brigade, and,—during the
momentary absence of that officer,—through a misconception
of orders the brigade was withdrawn. No
sooner had this occurred than the Federal forces
rushed forward; there was nothing to meet them; in
an instant Gen. Lee's centre would have been pierced
and his army cut in two.
Then, what they wanted in numbers, the Southerners
made up by reckless courage. Gen. D. H. Hill
galloped thither, and hastily collected about two hundred
men, whom he led gallantly forward. Miller's
battery hastened up, unlimbered, and opened a furious
fire. Col. Cooke, with about three hundred men of
his regiment, faced the masses rushing on, “standing
boldly in line,” says Gen. Lee, “without a catridge.”
Then a curious spectacle was presented to the soldiers
of both armies. Lieut. Gen. Hill was seen leading
against the enemy a force of two hundred men,
cheering them them on in person. Lieut. Gen. Longstreet
was seen on foot, loading and firing a piece of
artillery.
The Federal division of Gen. Richardson, imposed
upon by this bold front, came to a halt and remained
stationery until Lee had filled the gap.
So, the centre was saved.
On the right, there was also a moment of extreme
peril. Let us briefly relate how things stood there and
what was done.
Nearly east of Sharpsburg, was a bridge over the
Antietam. On the heights above this bridge rested
the right of Lee; opposite, across the stream, were
drawn up the fifteen thousand men of Burnside, with
Porter at his back.
This force was held in reserve, for “eventualities”
came soon after sunrise, when Hooker could not advance.
Then McClellan argued and acted like a good soldier.
That stubborn stand on the left must mean that
Lee had massed his main force there, leaving the right
wing weak. Burnside was thereupon ordered, at eight
o'clock, to pass the bridge, and immediately assail the
Southern right.
At half-past eight he had not moved; not at nine.
McClellan sent new orders and more urgent ones, for
the combat on his right was going against him, and a
diversion was absolutely necessary. Still Burnside
had not passed the Antietam.
Meanwhile, Lee had acted. He had thrown Walker
and McLaws from the right, to Jackson's relief—
leaving only the two thousand five hundred men of
Gen. Jones opposite Burnside.
That officer finally advanced across the bridge about
noon, and “moved with such extreme caution and
slowness” toward Lee's right, that he did not attack
the crest where it rested until three o'clock.
Then he stormed the crest and planted his artillery
upon it; but the delay had ruined everything. Just
as the crest was carried, A. P. Hill arrived from Harper's
Ferry with two thousand men.[4]
Adding these
to the two thousand five hundred of Jones, driven
back from the crest, with this force of four thousand
five hundred he attacked Burnside in turn, driving
back to the bridge his fifteen thousand troops, and
terminating the day upon the right of the field as
Jackson had terminated it upon the left.
It was at this moment that McClellan, seeing Burnside
driven back, sent him word, it is said:
“Hold your ground! If you cannot, then the bridge
to the last man! Always the bridge! If the bridge
is lost, all is lost!”
The defeat of Burnside was so decisive, that the
moment was indeed full of peril. But night came to
stop an advance.
“It was now nearly dark,” says Gen. Lee, “and the
enemy had massed a number of batteries to sweep the
which the corps of Gen. Porter, which had not been
engaged now appeared to dispute our advance. Under
these circumstances, it was deemed injudicious to push
our advantage further.”
Night descended—the thunder ceased—the great
pall of darkness fell over the bloody field, covered
with the dying and the dead.
McClellan was repulsed—thus victory belonged to
Lee.
Such was Sharpsburg, one of the most desperate and
sanguinary struggles of the war. We have endeavored
to describe it with the impartiality of truth
itself—and no statement has been made which the
record will not vouch for.
As to the numbers, the statements rest upon the
words of Lee and Jackson; and it is not probable that
the world will doubt them.
That with a force so small Lee could repulse an
army so large as his opponent's, is due to two simple
facts:
I. The troops were manoeuvered with a foresight
and promptness which characterize only the greatest
generals of history.
II. The men were the veterans of the old Army of
Northern Virginia; were officered by Jackson, Longstreet,
and Hill; and fought as the three hundred of
Leonidas fought at Thermopylae—ready to die, but
not to surrender.
Taken altogether, that fight on the left was one of
the most astonishing of any war—for four thousand
stood for hours against thirty or forty thousand, and
repulse of Burnside, four to one, on the right, was glorious—but
Burnside died easy. Jackson's repulse of
Hooker, ten to one, was grand—for Hooker died hard.
That combat indeed brought back the old ages of
mythology. This Titan stood erect, strong and defiant,
if not unscathed, when the whole magazine of thunderbolts
had been exhausted upon him.
On the next day, Gen. Lee remained in line of
battle, awaiting another attack; but none was made.
The Federal loss “and disorganization,” says Gen.
McClellan, prevented it on that day.
On the morning of the next, Lee had recrossed the
Potomac, to supply his army with rations and ammunition.
His opponent attempted to follow, and was
driven into the river.
So the Maryland campaign ended.
In October, Gen. Halleck telegraphed to McClellan:
“Cross the Potomac, and give battle to the enemy,
or drive him south.”
McClellan crossed, and at Warrenton was “relieved
from the command of the Army of the Potomac.”
Hapless McClellan! It was harsh. Lee would
have annihilated the “whipped army” of the Potomac
retreating to Malvern Hill “like a parcel of sheep.”[5]
McClellan's cool generalship saved it. Lee would
have gone to Pennsylvania, and advanced to Philadelphia—McClellan
organized Pope's remnants, advanced,
and fought, and drove his adversary from
McClellan stopped him, and by advancing into Virginia
forced his great foe to fall back Richmonward. And
after all these services, the axe fell.
“Off with his head! So much for Buckingham!”
Gen. McClellan received the fatal order while conversing,
in his tent, near Warrenton, with Gen. Burnside.
His countenance did not change, and in a voice
as calm as a May morning, he said, handing the paper
to his companion:
“Well, Burnside, you are to command the army.”
Never was a more singular freak of destiny. The
officer who had failed to cross the Antietam and drive
back Hill's four thousand five hundred, with his fifteen
thousand, at Sharpsburg, was now to cross the Rappahannock
and drive back the Army of Northern Virginia,
under Lee.
Of that appointment one might have said:—“It
will not and it cannot come to good.” But the fiat
had gone forth.
McClellan set out for New Jersey. Burnside commenced
his march toward—Fredericksburg.
| V.
SHARPSBURG. Hammer and rapier | |