Starved for a victory, the Northern press decided that one had occurred. The New York Herald called the action at Belmont a success “as clear as ever warriors gained,” and The New York Times said that “the success of the brilliant movement is due to Gen. Grant.” In fact, the good news for the North was not the mixed results at Belmont. The first part of the good news was that the Union Army had a general who was eager to attack the enemy. The Battle of Belmont was the foundation of Grant’s reputation for taking the war to the enemy, but it also demonstrated something subtler but equally important. Grant never escaped his image as a bluff soldier who smashed ahead when he could, but in him the Union had a man of the West, a man who had spent years near the Mississippi and viscerally understood the strategic importance of that river and its tributaries. In addition to that, while Grant was a general and not an admiral, he saw that he could work with warships and transport vessels to use a mighty river as part of a battlefield.
In Lancaster, Sherman’s health and spirits began to improve during his twenty-day leave, but the press was not yet through with him. On December 9, The New York Times spoke of him as a general “whose disorders have removed him, perhaps permanently, from his command.” The impact of this on Sherman, Ellen said in a letter she quickly wrote to his brother John, was that “it seemed to affect him more than anything that has hitherto appeared.” Once again, Senator John Sherman went to work on behalf of his brother, this time having a long conversation with President Lincoln at the White House. Gently, Lincoln went through a recitation of facts, including, as John told Ellen, Lincoln’s statement that “then came telegraphic dispatches from Cump that were unaccountable.” John wrote that he himself was “well convinced that Cump made serious mistakes in Ky … . It is idle for him—for you or any of his friends to overlook the fact that his own fancies create enemies & difficulties where none exist.” As for Lincoln’s view of Sherman, John said that “the President evinced the kindest feelings for him & suggested that he come here on a visit,” to which John had replied that Sherman was coming to the end of his leave back in Ohio and would be returning to Halleck’s command in St. Louis.
Two days after the piece in The New York Times that so upset Sherman, the Cincinnati Commercial came out with an article on Sherman’s time in Kentucky:
GENERAL WILLIAM T. SHERMAN INSANE
The painful intelligence reaches us, in such form that we are not at liberty to disclose it, that General William T. Sherman, late commander of the Department of the Cumberland, is insane. It appears that he was at the time while he was commanding in Kentucky, stark mad … He has of course been relieved altogether from command. The harsh criticisms that have been lavished on this gentleman, provoked by his strange conduct, will now give way to feelings of deepest sympathy for him in his great calamity. It seems providential that the country has not to mourn the loss of an army through the loss of mind of a general into whose hands was committed the vast responsibility of the command of Kentucky.
This eclipsed all that came before. From Lancaster, Ellen wrote John:
Nature will paint to your mind & heart what I felt when Tommy came in to us just now to say that a boy had told him that it was published in the paper that “Papa was Crazy.”
I cannot persuade Cump to go to Washington. He is feeling terribly about this matter. If there were no kind of hereditary insanity in your family & if his feelings were not already in a marked state I would feel less concern about him but as it is I cannot bear to have him go back to St. Louis haunted by the spectre, dreading the effects of it in any apparent insubordination of officers and men.
The day after the Commercial story appeared, Sherman poured out his heart in a letter to his father-in-law and stepfather Thomas Ewing, who was on one of his frequent trips to Washington as one of the nation’s most prominent lawyers. Sherman always felt both a great sense of obligation to the family who had taken him in when his father had died when he was nine, and a desire to impress Thomas Ewing in particular with whatever he could achieve. “Sir,” he began, “Among the keenest feelings of my life is that arising from a consciousness that you will be mortified beyond measure at the disgrace which has befallen me—by the announcement in the Cincinnati Commercial that I am insane.” Then followed twenty-five hundred words justifying his actions and pessimistic views of the war.
As Sherman headed back to St. Louis by himself to report for duty and face whatever awaited him there, other newspaper reports around the country started to echo the Cincinnati story. Ellen began to defend him like a tigress. She sent her lawyer brother Philemon, who thought that Sherman was “distressed almost to death,” to Cincinnati to demand a retraction, possibly with the threat of a lawsuit. The Commercial published Philemon’s point-by-point denials and corrections of much that its article said, but the Ewing-Sherman counterattack was just getting under way. As Sherman began his new assignment in St. Louis—Halleck assigned him to train the thousands of recruits at nearby Benton Barracks, where he could keep an eye on him while Sherman served in a position in which he was not engaging the enemy—he received a letter from Ellen. It began, “I feel desolate in my room now, without you, dearest Cump,” and was followed by one in which she laid out the reasons for a lawsuit against the Commercial: Ellen felt the family would win; the attendant publicity would frighten off other newspapers from writing similar stories; a successful verdict would clear his name with readers throughout the nation. In a letter she wrote three days later, Ellen emphasized that both her father and Sherman’s senator brother agreed on the course to be taken. “So now my dearest Cump, as Father so strongly recommends a suit & John concurs with him in judgment you will not refuse it when you know it to be my most earnest wish. Not because I feel so vindictive against the miserable Editors but because I believe it will be a complete vindication of you & it will enable us to discover who is in the conspiracy against you. Do not let Halleck or anyone else (who is not affected by it & can thus treat it with great indifference) induce you to overlook the request of one who suffers keenly with you & for you.” As for Halleck, she felt that he had no intention of ever giving her husband a post more significant than the training of recruits. Halleck was now writing people that Sherman had been exhausted, certainly not insane, but Ellen thought that his words displayed “true lawyer-like ambiguity.”
Ellen was by no means done. While Sherman suffered in his humiliation and expressed his disapproval of a lawsuit that would inevitably bring repetitions of the insanity stories, Ellen wrote President Lincoln, beginning with, “Mr. Lincoln, Dear Sir,” and pursued her idea of a conspiracy, asking, “Will you not defend him from the enemies who have combined against him, by removing him to the army of the East?” When she had no answer to this from Lincoln, she went to Washington with her father, who was trying an important case there.
By the time the two of them were ushered in to see Lincoln, things had changed in helpful ways. Secretary of War Cameron was going off in the ambassadorial position of minister to Russia, being replaced by one of Thomas Ewing’s good friends, Edwin M. Stanton. In addition, Ellen’s influential father was in Lincoln’s particularly good graces because of his wise counsel in settling the recent Trent affair, in which the United States Navy had nearly brought England into the war on the Southern side by stopping a British vessel to seize two Confederate emissaries bound for London. The meeting went well: Ellen wrote her husband that Lincoln “seemed very anxious that we believe that he felt kindly towards you. He and Father are great friends just now.” After a most successful tour of Washington society, during which Ellen spread the word that the president had confidence in her husband, she returned to Ohio, ready to acquiesce in Sherman’s desire to drop all lawsuits.
Out in St. Louis, Halleck was balancing his own interests. As commander of the Department of the Missouri, he had mixed feelings about his subordinate Grant; when they had occasion to confer, both of them felt ill at ease. Halleck saw Grant as an able and aggressive general, but he wan
ted to bring the favorable attention of the nation’s leaders to himself, not Grant, and win the position of top commander in all of the Western theater. With no special friends or influence to help him in Washington, Halleck was mindful of recent letters from Senator John Sherman and former senator and secretary of the interior Thomas Ewing, requesting that the man who was the senator’s brother and Ewing’s son-in-law be given a second chance. He was also aware that Lincoln had asked John Sherman’s ally, Secretary of the Treasury Salmon P. Chase, to keep an eye on the political and military situation in the Western military departments that included Halleck’s command.
While Halleck was considering whether Sherman could again be trusted with important responsibilities, Sherman was still trying to come to terms with his recent crisis. On New Year’s Day of 1862 he wrote to his wife:
Dearest Ellen:
Again I have failed to write you as promised. Again have I neglected the almost only remaining chain of love & affection that binds me to earth. I have attempted to write you several times but feared to add to the feelings that already bear on you too heavily. Could I live over the last year I think I would do better, but my former associations with the South have rendered me almost crazy as one by one all links of hope [of averting war] were parted.
He went on to refer to “having so signally failed in Kentucky,” and added, “I am about in the same health as at Lancaster but the idea of having brought disgrace on all associated with me is so horrible to contemplate that I cannot really endure it.”
If he had ever been less than appreciative of Ellen, that was certainly no longer the case. “I will try & be more punctual in writing you my Dearest wife who has been true & noble and generous & comforting always. That She should thus be repaid is too bad—and our Dear Children—may God in his mercy keep them in his mind, and not let them Suffer for my faults … Bless you and keep you as their guide till they care for themselves.”
Three days later, he wrote his brother John, “I am so sensible of my disgrace in having exaggerated the force of our enemy in Kentucky that I do think I Should have committed suicide were it not for my children. I do not think that I can again be entrusted with command.” Sherman went on to say that he felt he could at least be useful as a high-level paymaster and added, “Suppose you see McClellan and ask him if I could not serve the Government better in such a capacity than the one I now hold.”
While he slowly came out of his blackest moods, Sherman was doing an excellent job training twelve thousand soldiers at Benton Barracks. His idea of a uniform was sometimes worse than Grant’s; during one of his frequent inspections of the camp, wearing a completely unmilitary coat and a tall civilian hat, he found a soldier beating a mule. When the man ignored Sherman’s order to stop, Sherman asked, “Do you know who I am? I am General Sherman.” The miscreant answered, “That’s played out! Every man who comes along here with an old brown coat and stove-pipe hat, claims to be General Sherman.”
Halleck slowly began to bring Sherman into a closer relationship, at one point sitting down with him to study a map and discuss the right line of advance for a future offensive, while still resisting Grant’s efforts to resume just such a campaign. During this time, while Grant’s wife and children were visiting him for several weeks at Cairo, with Julia nursing him through a number of migraine headaches, Grant suddenly had the chance to pull off a bold move. As with Belmont, where he attacked at just the moment between Frémont’s departure and the arrival of the new commander Halleck, Grant found his opportunity in the form of Lincoln’s President’s General War Order No. I issued on January 27, 1862. This unprecedented order represented the frustrated Lincoln’s determination to make his commanders take the offensive on every front. Lincoln’s order gave every department a month in which to start advancing on the enemy and made it clear that generals who failed to move might be replaced. Among the forces specifically named as being expected to act were “the Army and Flotilla at Cairo.”
Grant saw the mandate he needed. Halleck had been holding him back since Belmont, and a previous suggestion by Grant in a meeting with Halleck that he try to capture Fort Henry, eighty miles southeast of Cairo up the waterway formed by the Ohio and then the Tennessee River, “was cut short as if my plan was preposterous.” Now he pressed Halleck for specific authorization to make that attack, and three days after Lincoln’s order became public, Halleck telegraphed, “Make your preparations to take and hold Fort Henry.” Within seventy-two hours, Grant organized twenty-three regiments totaling seventeen thousand men and all the supplies to sustain them, assembled a fleet of transports led by seven of the navy’s gunboats, and headed off at six in the morning.
Halleck’s previous reluctance turned to panic, coupled with grim determination to support this effort at all costs. Arranging for reinforcements for Grant if he needed them, and redeploying units to replace those now on vessels steaming with Grant, during forty-eight hours Halleck sent or received twenty-two telegrams involving the general in chief McClellan in Washington and Sherman’s successor Don Carlos Buell at Louisville.
Among the officers Halleck sent to support Grant was James B. McPherson, an exceptionally able lieutenant colonel of engineers who had graduated from West Point nine years before and whose peacetime Regular Army career had included fortifying Alcatraz Island in San Francisco Bay. Still worried about the old army stories of Grant’s drinking, Halleck gave McPherson added instructions to report unusual behavior.
Halleck did something else: in his flurry of activity, moving officers here and there to cover the quickly developing situation, he ordered Sherman to turn over the training of recruits to someone else and proceed to the riverfront city of Paducah, ready to send men and supplies forward to Grant. It was the most important assignment Halleck would ever make.
4
GRANT MOVES FORWARD, WITH SHERMAN IN A SUPPORTING ROLE
Boldness, good luck, and the United States Navy served Grant well at Fort Henry. As his convoy went east through the February night, going up the Ohio and turning southeast into the Tennessee River at Paducah, dark clouds made the ships hard to see. There were Confederate spies at both their embarkation point in Cairo and at Paducah, but no warning messages reached Fort Henry. The defenders first knew of the impending attack when Grant’s fleet appeared downriver in the morning, and his troops began to disembark on both shores some distance away. Fully alert and by no means intimidated, the Confederate commander, Brigadier General Lloyd Tilghman, rushed his thirty-four hundred men into their entrenchments and telegraphed General Albert Sidney Johnston to the northeast at Bowling Green, Kentucky, saying, “If you can reinforce [us] strongly and quickly, there is a glorious chance to overwhelm the enemy.”
No Confederate reinforcements were dispatched, but as Grant moved his troops ashore all day in pouring rain, preparing to fight the next morning, he had no idea of how many enemy troops he faced or how many more might soon arrive. He had come to a full appreciation of what naval vessels could do in this theater of war, and he had both the right ships for the day and the right commander. Four of the seven gunboats were “mud turtle” ironclads mounting thirteen cannon apiece: these maneuverable little paddle-wheelers, 150 feet long and 50 feet wide, with flat-bottomed hulls that required only six feet of water in which to operate, could go virtually anywhere on the Mississippi and its network of large and small tributaries.
The man leading the naval force was Commodore Samuel Foote, who had entered the navy forty years before and sailed every ocean, fighting on several. As aggressive as Grant, in 1856 he became involved in the Arrow War in China. During that conflict the United States was neutral, but when Foote came under fire from Chinese artillery while his squadron evacuated American soldiers stationed at the treaty port of Canton [Guangzhou], he fired back, giving much more than he got. Sending his United States Marines and other landing parties ashore, he captured four forts and 176 Chinese cannon.
On the eve of battle, Grant wrote Julia that despite the
rainy weather, “The sight of our camp fires on both sides of the river is beautiful, and no doubt inspires the enemy with the idea that we have full 40,000 men. Tomorrow will come the tug of war. One side or the other must rest tomorrow night in possession of Fort Henry.” He closed with, “Kiss the children for me. Kisses for yourself. Ulys.”
Commodore Foote’s action at Canton six years before was the perfect rehearsal for Fort Henry. At thirty minutes after noon on February 6, having told his ship captains, “It must be victory or death,” Foote opened his barrage amid a downpour. Within an hour, his total of fifty-nine cannon destroyed all but four of the Confederate guns, and the enemy commander ran up the white flag. Because it all happened so quickly, while one wing of Grant’s force was struggling through deep mud to take up positions and encircle Fort Henry, a large part of the Confederate force escaped.
As befitted what was an inland naval victory, Commodore Foote accepted Fort Henry’s surrender, but Grant had to work out its details with a Confederate captain named Taylor, who sized up Grant as being “a modest, amiable, kind-hearted but resolute man.” As they got down to business, Taylor described one of the things that happened: “[A Union] officer came in to report that he had not yet found any papers giving him information about our forces, and, to save him further looking, I informed him that I had destroyed all the papers on the subject, at which he seemed very wroth, fussily demanding, ‘By what authority?’ Did I not know that I laid myself open to further punishment, etc., etc. Before I could fully reply, General Grant quietly broke in with, ‘I would be very much surprised and mortified if one of my subordinate officers should allow information which he could destroy to fall into the hands of the enemy.’”
Grant and Sherman: The Friendship that Won the Civil War Page 10