 | XI.
EARLY'S BATTLES. Hammer and rapier |  |
11. XI.
EARLY'S BATTLES.
On the afternoon of July 11, 1864, any one who had
ascended the dome of the Capitol at Washington, a
pair of field-glasses in hand, might have seen to the
northward, beyond Fort Stevens, through the hot air,
rising and rippling, like the breath of a furnace, long,
gray lines of infantry, tipped with flashing bayonets,
grim cannon coming steadily into position, and red
flags clinging to their staffs in the sultry evening, but
not so closely as to be taken for the banners of the
United States.
In fact, those were Confedetate infantry, Confederate
artillery, and Confederate flags. St. Andrew's
Cross, instead of Stars and Stripes, gray instead of
blue, was there in front of Washington. The capitol
was threatened; all was in commotion; when a cloud
of skirmishers advanced, and cannon began to roar, a
Northern writer declares that “the hope at head-quarters
that the capital could be saved from capture was
very slender.”
The aim of this sketch is to describe in rapid summary
the events which preceded and followed this
event.
Lee was fighting Grant on the Chickahominy when
Shenandoah Valley, burning and destroying mills,
barns and dwelling houses, on his way to Lynchburg.
It was absolutely necessary to protect that place; it
was an important depot, and commanded Lee's communications
with the south-west—thus a strong detachment
was sent forward from the Chickahominy to
check Hunter's advance.
This force was placed under command of Gen.
Early, and his orders were brief and explicit. They
were to “move to the Valley through Swift Run
Gap, or Brown's Gap, attack Hunter, and then cross
the Potomac and threaten Washington.”[1]
The column placed at the disposition of Early was
about eight thousand men.
Without delay he pushed after Hunter, who was already
near Lynchburg. At his approach the Federal
commander made a feeble effort to defend himself,
but, before Early's resolute attack, his lines gave way.
Then once in motion they did not stop. Gen. Hunter
had mercilessly harried the women and children of
the Valley, but when bayonets came, he disappeared.
Early was on his track, destroyed great masses of his
stores, drove him rapidly—soon Gen. Hunter was
fleeing wildly through the Alleghanies, westward, like
a planet hurled from its orbit into space. When he
reached the Ohio, far from all connection with the
main army, he commanded only a handful. Early
was advancing on Washington.
The march of the Confederate commander was
drove Siegel into Maryland. On the 8th of July, he
was at Monocacy, near Frederick City, and had defeated
Gen. Wallace in a battle of great fury. On
the afternoon of the 11th of July, as we have said, his
troops came in sight of Washington.
Considering the condition of the weather, this march
was tremendous. Under the burning sun of July, the
men had tramped on steadily, scarce pausing at night;
and, though thousands could not keep up and hundreds
dropped by the way, there at last was the long-coveted
dome of the capitol in sight; under those
roofs, President, heads of departments, citizens, were
trembling for the safety of the city.
Such had been Lee's great coup de main to deplete
Grant's army. He was hemmed in at Petersburg, but
one hundred and fifty miles from that great arena,
voices called upon Gen. Grant for succor against impending
destruction from the very adversary whom he
had driven to bay.
The blow failed, the reader will say. Yes, but it
very nearly succeeded—nearly accomplished a double
object. Washington narrowly escaped capture—
Grant narrowly escaped a peremptory order from the
President of the United States to evacuate his lines at
Petersburg, and return to the defence of the capital.
That was the moment when a single trait of the
Federal commander was worth to his government a
thousand millions. He clung to his earthworks still,
in front of Lee, sending only a detachment. And that
detachment arrived in time, and was sufficient.
On the afternoon of July 11th, it seems possible that
was small, from the rapidity of his march under that
burning sun; but the enemy's was smaller. This was
probably unknown to him, however, and he waited
until the next day. But then the Sixth and Nineteenth
Corps of Grant's army had arrived, and when
the Confederates pushed up to the works, they saw in
front of them the serried ranks, and the familiar
hedge of bayonets, of their old foe, the Army of the
Potomac.
Then they knew what to expect. War is better
than an introduction in saloons. Men who fight know
each other, and there never were more intimate acquaintances
than the Army of the Potomac and the
Army of Northern Virginia.
On the evening of the 12th the Federal infantry
sallied forth, and the blades clashed. Early's loss was
nothing, but he saw that the capture of the city was
impossible—that Hunter, Siegel, and their compeers
were ready to close in on his rear from Harper's Ferry
—that, front and rear, he was menaced by an overpowering
force. He determined, therefore, like a
good soldier, to withdraw, and that very night his
lines were in motion for the Shenandoah Valley.
Retreating toward Frederick with the supplies which
he had collected, he recrossed the Potomac, near Leesburg,
pushed on through the Blue Ridge, where he
had a heavy skirmish with the enemy, and was once
more back in the Shenandoah Valley, whither the
Tenth and Nineteenth Corps of the Federal army,
under General Hunter, were sent to keep the daring
raider in check.
Hunter's success was mediocre. It was an admirable
exhibition of partisan warfare on a large scale
—that series of movements which followed on the
part of Early. Gen. Hunter had no rest. He dared
not advance beyond Charlestown, and, with an army
about four times the size of Early's, was completely
checkmated. Unhappily, this bad fortune reacted
on the inhabitants. Gen. Hunter seemed to have
woes to avenge on somebody. He burned, near
Charlestown—it was his own order—the handsome
dwelling house of his cousin, Andrew Hunter, while
the daughters of that gentleman occupied it. Ten
minutes were given them to retire. Why this was
done, it is impossible for the present writer to say.
The problem is curious, for men are not generally willing
to make their names execrated without reason.
At the end of July, it was seen that Gen. Hunter
could do nothing, and Gen. Sheridan replaced him.
The campaign of the summer and fall, which attracted
so much attention to the Shenandoah Valley—which
blazed with the fights of the Opequon, Fisher's Hill,
and Cedar Creek—then commenced.
Early's force was under twelve thousand men of all
arms. Of this statement, we will speedily present the
proof. What was the enemy's?
“To the column of active operation under Sheridan's
command,” says an able Northern writer,[2]
“consisting
of the Sixth and Nineteenth Corps, and the infantry
and cavalry of West Virginia, under Generals Crook
and Averill, were added two divisions of cavalry from
This gave him an effective force in the field of forty
thousand men, whereof ten thousand consisted of
excellent cavalry—an arm for the use of which the
Shenandoah regions affords a fine field.”
Sheridan assumed command early in the month of
August, but did little or nothing with his large force
until late in September. Why he thus remained inactive,
it is hard to say. He had forty thousand men
and Early about ten thousand effective. Gen. Early
describes his adversary as constitutionally cautious and
timid, but he acted with vigor and decision afterwards.
However this may be, Gen. Sheridan did nothing
until Gen. Grant came to visit him.
This was in September, and Sheridan's lines were
along the Opequon, threatening Early's opposite, and
covering Winchester. He urged an attack on the
Confederate forces. Grant looked at the situation,
came to a decision, and said to him, “Go in.”[3]
On the 19th, Sheridan accordingly went in, and the
battle of the Opequon followed.
So much has been written about this action, and
events at the moment attracted so much attention to
it, and gave it such celebrity at the North, that we
fear our sketch will appear unworthy of the subject.
Calmly looked at now, in the light of all the facts, it
seems the greatest burlesque of the war.
Gen. Sheridan had from thirty thousand to thirty-five
thousand infantry, and about ten thousand cavalry,
the best mounted and equipped that had yet taken the
field.
Early had eight thousand five hundred infantry,
and less than three thousand cavalry, the worst
equipped and mounted that had yet fronted an enemy
on the soil of the continent.
This great disproportion was indignantly denied,
afterwards, by Gen. Sheridan, and Early insulted in
his exile for stating the truth. Here are some data
to form an opinion upon. It is worth stopping for a
moment to look at them.
“I know of my own personal knowledge,” wrote a
Confederate States officer, in the New Orleans Pica
yune, Jan. 13, 1866, “that Gen. Early's statement is
correct, when he states that he had about eight thousand
five hundred muskets in the second engagement
with Gen. Sheridan. I was a staff officer for four
years in the Army of Northern Virginia. I was a
division staff officer, Second Army Corps, under Gen.
Early's command, from the time the Second Corps
was detached from the Army of Northern Virginia,
June, 1864, to the time it was ordered to Petersburg,
December 1864. I was present at the battles of Winchester,
(or Opequon,) Fisher's Hill, and Cedar Creek.
I know from the official reports which I myself made,
and from actual observation at reviews, drills, inspections
in camp, and on the march, the effective strength
of every brigade and division of infantry under Gen.
Early's command, (of the cavalry and artillery I cannot
speak so authoritatively,) and I can therefore
assert that in neither one of these actions, above
mentioned, did Gen. Early carry nine thousand men
(infantry) into the fight.”
“One who served on Early's staff,” writing in the
this statement.
A writer in the Richmond Times says: “Of Gen.
Early's actual force on the 19th of September, 1864,
the day of the battle of Winchester, his first defeat,
we can give statistics nearly official, procured from an
officer of rank, who held a high command during the
campaign, and who had every opportunity of knowing.
[4]
Early's infantry consisted of—total infantry,
eight thousand three hundred; total cavalry, three
thousand eight hundred; total artillery, fifty-two guns
—about one thousand artillerists.”
We omit the detailed statement of the strength of
divisions, brigades, and batteries. The number of the
cavalry is overestimated. Gen. Early states it at “less
than three thousand.”
The fact is, Early's force of all arms was about
twelve thousand. It was thus regarded as truly astounding
when Gen. Sheridan wrote that he had captured
thirteen thousand men in his campaign, and that
Early's casualties in the last months of 1864 could be
“safely estimated at twenty-six thousand eight hundred
and eighty-one men.”
Perhaps the satirical comments of the Richmond
Times may contain the truth. “There must be some
error,” says the Times, “in Gen. Sheridan's statement
of the number of prisoners captured. Thirteen thousand
will hardly include the number actually taken by
him. His numerous and powerful cavalry swept the
country, and captured nearly everything that wore
captured during the period must be much greater.
Probably prisoners under five years old were not registered
at head-quarters, and few of the women retained
in captivity.”
To return to the narrative of events. On the 19th
of September Sheridan crossed the Opequon, and threw
his thirty thousand infantry against Early's eight thousand
five hundred. The battle was a desperate one,
and after hours of stubborn fighting, Sheridan had not
driven the Southerners a foot.
This statement, greeted with incredulity by some
readers, is nevertheless the truth. The resistance
made by Early's infantry, and his heroically served
artillery, was so obstinate, that, after repeated and
vigorous assaults, Gen. Sheridan's infantry had failed
completely in forcing back the thin line opposed to
them. Whether they would have succeeded ultimately
with their infantry alone, it is hard to say. Thirty
thousand men ought always to defeat eight or nine
thousand—three or four ought to drive one. But did
they, in the late war? Answer, Sharpsburg, Chancellorsville,
Spottsylvania!
Early held his ground with stubborn courage until
four in the afternoon. Then the fatal moment came.
Sheridan massed two crack divisions of cavalry, under
Generals Merritt and Averill, on his right; drew up
his powerful infantry, with a third division of cavalry
covering his left; and at four o'clock, made a general
attack. The day was to be decided by the cavalry.
From this arm of Sheridan now came the coup de
grace.
While the infantry lines closed in, in obstinate
combat, and Early's entire resources were needed to
repulse the assault on his front, the two divisions of
Federal cavalry, on Sheridan's right, moved to the
Martinsburg road, enveloped the Confederate left,
drove before them the badly equipped cavalry there,
and at the moment when the hard pressed infantry of
Early were breasting the hurricane in front, which
threatened to sweep them away, the great force of
Federal horse thundered down, with drawn sabres and
loud cheers, upon their left flank and rear.
That decided the fate of the day. The battle was
lost. The infantry gave back, and nothing but the
magnificent fighting of the artillery under those brave
spirits, Braxton and Carter, saved the army from rout.
The guns were fought to the muzzles. In the midst
of a storm of shot, shell, canister, and bullets, the cannoneers
stood to their pieces, and the infantry were
thus enabled to retire in something like order.
Honour to whom honour is due. At the battle of
the Opequon, the infantry made a stubborn, splendid
fight; but more stubborn, and more splendid, was the
fight of the artillery!
Such was this action. The news flashed northward,
and hallelujahs saluted the soap-bubble as it rose,
decked out with splendid colours, in the sunshine of
victory. But soap-bubbles are fleeting. The day
comes when they are pricked and vanish. This one
was pricked by Early's pen, from his place of exile,
and has disappeared.
Forty thousand men had driven about twelve thousand
from the field. There was the whole affair.
But a victory is always a victory. The world at large
looks to “results.” They laugh when the “details”
are discussed.
“It is well for you who are conquered,” says the
world, “to grumble about everything; but whipped
you are.”
So be it. Might is right—is it not? Is there any
other theory of government existing to-day on North
American soil?
So that “Valley of Humiliation,” as the North had
long called the Shenandoah region, was suddenly
changed into a parterre of roses and laurels. Early
was retreating—Sheridan was pursuing.
Three days after the Opequon fight, the second act
of the bustling drama was played at Fisher's Hill,
above Strasburg.
It would be a misuse of terms to call this a battle.
It was the attack of a victorious enemy upon a handful,
retreating after defeat.
A few words will convey an accurate idea of the
affair.
Pushing rapidly on, after the battle of the Opequon,
Sheridan came up with Early on the morning of September
22, at Fisher's Hill, near Strasburg. This is a
lofty hill, stretching across the valley, from the left
bank of the Shenandoah to the North Mountain, and
affords an excellent position for a force sufficient to
reach from mountain to mountain.
Unfortunately, Early had only about four thousand
bayonets—a number painfully unequal to the emergency.
The heavy blow on the Opequon had greatly
disorganized him; hundreds of his troops were scattered;
best informed officers declare that his force was
scarcely four thousand bayonets. As to his cavalry, a
large portion was detached to defend the Luray Valley;
it is doubtful if the Southern force reached five
thousand effective.
Gen. Sheridan's must have touched upon thirty thousand,
allowing him ten thousand lost at the Opequon.
The attack followed.
We have said that the affair could scarcely be called
a battle. Early had no sort of intention of fighting
there. He had decided to retreat again as soon as
night came, for a powerful Federal force was pushing
up the Luray Valley to cut off his retreat. The men
knew that; and it was this which made the affair so
disastrous.
Sheridan repeated his movement of the 19th. Turning
Early's left, by the Brock Road, with cavalry, he
followed up the blow with a powerful infantry force;
swept down the works, and assaulting in front, while
the Confederates were thus looking to their flank, carried
the whole position. Early was driven in disorder
from the ground, and retreated up the valley, pursued
by his opponent.
Sheridan pushed on to Staunton, forcing Early to
take refuge in the Blue Ridge, with the remnant of
his army; and then commenced that work of wanton
destruction which has made his name more bitterly
execrated by the inhabitants than even the name of
Hunter.
Before the torches in the hands of his troops, houses,
barns, mills, farming implements, all disappeared in
light of burning dwellings; corn, wheat, and forage—
the only supplies left the inhabitants—were seized or
destroyed; the very ploughs and rakes were broken
up, and rendered useless. From the women, gray-beards,
and children, threatened with starvation, went
up a cry to God for vengeance on the author of this
enormity.
“I have destroyed,” said Gen. Sheridan, in his official
report, “two thousand barns filled with wheat and hay,
and farming implements; over seventy mills filled
with flour and wheat; have driven in front of the
army over four thousand head of stock; and have
killed and issued to the troops not less than three thousand
sheep. This destruction embraces the Luray Valley,
and the Little Fort Valley, as well as the main
valley.”
By whose orders was that done? Answer, history!
Gen. Sheridan, having thus laid waste the whole valley,
fell back to Strasburg, and here, for the moment,
the campaign ended.
It was not, however, to terminate for the year. There
was this enormous difference between the year 1864
and those which had preceded it, that whereas, in the
former years, McClellan, Pope, Burnside, and Hooker
had fought pitched battles and then rested, in this year,
1864, Grant never rested, never went into camp, never
ceased hammering. The old plan had been tried and
had failed. Pitched battles, once or twice a year, accomplished
nothing. The Confederate armies must be
fought every day; kept eternally under arms; deprived
of their very sleep at night.
See how the great drama at Petersburg was played.
No rest day or night. Artillery roaring, musketry
rattling, mortar-shell bursting. At midnight, at two
or three in the morning, when sleet was rattling, snow
falling, amid rain, storm, darkness, as in the sunshine,
was heard the crash of sharp-shooters and the thunders
of guns. “Attention!” was the programme, and it was
the right one. Grant's highest praise as a soldier is
that he saw this.
So in the valley as in the low-land, fighting, fighting,
fighting, was to be the order of the day. Early accepted
the programme, and it was the Confederate commander
who now, after reorganizing his army, advanced
to attack his adversary.
On the 19th of October, Early was at Cedar Creek,
near Strasburg, and had delivered a blow under which
the army of Sheridan staggered.
The opponents were separated by the waters of Cedar
Creek, and the enemy seem to have regarded themselves
as secure from attack; but this very security afforded
the opportunity of striking them to advantage.
Gen. Gordon, with two or three officers, ascended the
lofty summit of the Massinutton mountain, which here
dominates the valley, commanding a view of the whole
country for twenty miles around, and from this eagle's
eyrie, the party saw beneath them the camps of the
enemy; the position of Sheridan's army; the road by
which it could be approached—the whole “situation.”
The right of the Federal force was strongly guarded,
for there an attack from Early was possible. The left
was resting in security, for the steep side of the mountain
here seemed to render all approach impossible.
At the foot of this abrupt precipice, however, ran a
narrow mountain road, winding between the slanting
rock and the river; by this road, Gordon saw that a
column could be thrown against the Federal left.
He descended and reported to Gen. Early; the
movement was resolved upon; and under cover of
darkness the men were moved silently by the narrow
road, to the attack, which took place at dawn.
It was sudden, fierce, and completely successful.
Before the rush of the Confederates, the whole left
wing of the Federal army fled in wild confusion; the
men dashed in among the tents; a few volleys only
saluted them; the day seemed won in an instant.
Then Early, with the rest of his troops, crossed Cedar
Creek in the enemy's front; pushed on to the field;
and before the force thus concentrated, and attacking
in front and flank, the whole army of Sheridan gave
way.
Victory was in Early's grasp. The Federal lines
were driven. Their artillery was all captured, or had
rushed to the rear in hopeless, paralyzed disorder. The
infantry was stampeded—the cavalry was galloping
from the field.
Such was the spectacle which greeted the eyes of the
Confederates, at Cedar Creek, on the morning of October
19, 1864.
Unfortunately, another spectacle also saluted them
—the rich spoils of the camp—and these unwonted
luxuries of every description they paused to seize upon.
Instead of pursuing the enemy, falling back now in
utter confusion, the men were eating, drinking, and
flying Federals had left everything.[5]
That conduct was unsoldierly, you may say, reader.
Let us not attempt to defend it, but let us also note one
thing—that this army needed blankets, shoes, clothes,
every species of “quartermasters' stores.” It is easy to
recline on a velvet chair, with the feet upon the fender,
in the midst of every comfort, and to say, “disgraceful!
incredible!” But, believe me, it it hard to shiver
at night for want of a blanket—to leave, with naked
feet, bloody marks upon a turnpike—to be cold, hungry,
in rags—and not clutch at shoes, blankets and food.
Those men were brave—none were braver; but human
nature is human nature, after all.
Then came the punishment. The delay caused by
this disorder among the men, gave the enemy time to
reform their lines and come into position. This they
speedily did, under the direction of Gen. Wright, commanding
the Sixth Corps; for Sheridan was at Winchester.
Before Early could press forward, the Federal
forces were not only ready to resist his further advance,
but were prepared to attack him in their turn.
That attack quickly came. It is said to have been
the result of the presence of Gen. Sheridan, who came
at full gallop from Winchester, “on a steed shod with
fire,”—and with hurrahs, oaths, and the élan of his
bearing, brought the troops up to the mark. There
seems, however, to be some ambiguity upon this point,
thence to the newspapers.
“The dramatic incidents attending the arrival of
Sheridan,” says a Northern writer, Mr. Swinton, a
great admirer of Sheridan, “have perhaps caused Gen.
Wright to receive less credit than he really deserves.
The disaster was over by the time Sheridan arrived.
A compact line of battle was formed, and Wright was
on the point of opening the offensive.”
Between Generals Wright and Sheridan we do not
undertake to decide. The question is one of little
interest. What followed was the defeat of Early in the
moment of victory.
In the midst of their great triumph, when they
looked upon the Federal army as completely disorganized,
the Confederates suddenly saw that army advance
upon them in serried ranks. Artillery thundered,
musketry crashed; heavy masses of cavalry,
with drawn sabres, rushed forward on the flanks, and
before this determined attack the disorganized infantry
of Early gave back.
Then was presented a spectacle which is said to have
been ludicrous, incredible, and without a parallel.
The men did not run. There was little of what is
called disorder,—of hurry, confusion or demoralization.
The men merely looked at the enemy, seemed to come
to the conclusion that they would not fight any more
that day and simply lounged away from the field. No
other word describes it. At a slow walk, and careless,
apparently, of shot and shell, the troops abandoned
their victory, and recrossed Cedar Creek.
Early had lost, in an hour, the whole fruits of his
forward upon the track of a routed enemy, saw him
retreating, before it closed, with that enemy pushing
him.
There were strange scenes in the late war—there
were none stranger than that at Cedar Creek. In one
day the Valley was won and lost.
Thereafter there was to be no more serious fighting.
Autumn waned away; the bright October woods assumed
the russet-brown of November; winter came,
and the campaign of the Valley was over.
Lee's great diversion to relieve his lines at Petersburg
from the pressure on them, by threatening
Washington, had succeeded and it had not succeeded.
He was relieved in some measure, for an army of
thirty or forty thousand men was kept by the enemy
in the Valley; but the relief only lengthened out the
long agony which now approached its end.
The Confederacy was tottering. No reinforcements
were sent forward by the country to supply the losses
which Grant's eternal hammering, day and night, inflicted
upon Lee. All hearts desponded; all brows
were overshadowed. If there existed, as there seemed
to exist, a superstitious confidence in Lee and his poor,
gaunt skeleton of an army, that was a conviction unsupported
by reason—to expect, much longer, anything
from that handful, was hoping against hope.
So dawned the dark year 1865, and those who were
behind the scenes knew that the end was near. Sherman
had crossed Georgia, and was hastening northward,
through the Carolinas, to form a junction with
Grant, or cut off Lee's retreat. Johnston was falling
plain that the Federal poniard was at the Confederate
throat.
Then in February of this last year of the struggle,
Sheridan again grappled with Early—if the fall of a
bludgeon upon an egg-shell can be so described. The
force, small as it was, with which Early had operated,
was imperatively needed in the thin lines around
Petersburg, and had been called thither. In the Valley
now, around Staunton, was left only a small body
of about one thousand infantry,—without calvary or
artillery,—to merely keep up the show of resistance.
In February, this handful was attacked by ten thousand
cavalry under Gen. Sheridan, at Waynesboro.
Dispirited, hopeless, oppressed by the public gloom,
half-naked, one-fourth fed, and taken by surprise, this
little force broke in disorder before the charge of
Sheridan's excellent cavalry, scattered into the mountains,
and disappeared from all eyes. Early himself
narrowly escaped capture. Sheridan pushed beyond
the Ridge—the game in the Valley was played.
Then, almost unresisted, Sheridan crossed the Lowland,
joined Grant with his horsemen, who had ransacked
the whole country and seized on the best animals
everywhere—and it was on the backs of Virginia
horses that his men pursued Lee in his retreat.
In the last sketch of this series we shall finish the
picture which we have attempted to make of the great
struggle between Grant and Lee.
We have seen the Confederate Commander breasting
everywhere, throughout the stormy year 1864, the huge
obstinacy the little Army of Northern Virginia sustained
the impact of the gigantic hammer, striking at
them day and night. They stood erect, and met its
heavy blows still, but all saw that the end was near.
We have chronicled many victories. We now approach
the moment of decisive defeat—almost of annihilation.
But that did not fright the old soldiers of
Lee. They stood by their flag; surrendered only
when their great commander gave the order; and, to-day,
that thought takes away the “bitterness of death,”
—disfranchisement, and the bayonet.
| XI.
EARLY'S BATTLES. Hammer and rapier | |