Stanton

by Benjamin P. Thomas

  Arriving at Aquia next morning, they transferred to the military railroad and traveled in a common baggage car equipped with camp-stools. McDowell met them at Potomac Creek and insisted on their examining the new railroad bridge, 400 feet long and almost 100 feet high, with which his chief of railroad transportation, General Herman Haupt, had spanned the ravine, and which Lincoln described afterward as having “nothing in it but beanpoles and cornstalks.” Stanton took satisfaction in the fact that it was he who had enlisted Haupt’s services for the Army.

  The footway of the bridge consisted of a line of single planks, but Lincoln said: “Let’s walk across,” and started out, McDowell, Stanton, and Dahlgren picking their way after him. Halfway across, Stanton, peering down into the forbidding chasm, said he felt dizzy and feared he would fall. Dahlgren stepped past him, took his hand, and led him the rest of the way, not admitting that he, too, felt somewhat giddy.

  At McDowell’s headquarters horses were provided so that the party could review the troops. Stanton could not mount because of his stiff knee, and Dahlgren kept him company in an army ambulance, which jounced horribly. The soldiers cheered wildly when the President went down the lines, and Stanton became irritated when the horsemen left his vehicle behind.

  McDowell told Lincoln that Shields’s division had arrived from the Valley but the men needed shoes, uniforms, and ammunition. He could have them refitted by Sunday, the twenty-fifth, but knowing Lincoln’s dislike of Sunday operations, wondered if he should put off their departure toward Richmond till Monday. Lincoln asked him to make “a good ready” on Sunday and start them early Monday morning.4

  Reaching Washington on May 24, Lincoln and Stanton found confusion rampant, and decision necessary. With Shields’s force withdrawn from the Shenandoah Valley, Thomas Jonathan Jackson, a Bible-reading Confederate general who had earned the name “Stonewall” at Bull Run, had surprised the small Union garrison at Front Royal, come in on Banks’s flank, and forced him to take off posthaste from Strasburg in the direction of Winchester to avoid destruction or capture.

  Reports put Jackson’s force at anywhere from ten to twenty thousand men. Was he merely creating a diversion to ease the pressure on Richmond or was he cutting through the scattered Union forces toward Washington? The crux of the problem was McDowell. Should all or part of his force go to the Valley, from which Shields had so recently been withdrawn, or should he be thrown forward against Richmond as planned? A powerful thrust at Richmond would be an effective counterpoise to Jackson, but would McClellan make the most of his chance?

  His record made it doubtful. At 4 p.m. Lincoln wired McClellan: “In consequence of General Banks’s critical position I have been compelled to suspend General McDowell’s movement to join you. The enemy are making a desperate push upon Harpers Ferry, and we are trying to throw Frémont’s force & part of General McDowell’s in their rear.” Danger faced the Union with its martial resources far away with McClellan.

  Stanton urged the governors of the Northern states to send forward immediately all the militia at their disposal and all the three-month volunteers they could enlist. The War Department took temporary control of the railroads to facilitate troop movements. News came that Banks, though severely cut up near Winchester, had avoided capture and was in full retreat toward the Potomac. Stanton ordered General Rufus Saxton to take command at Harpers Ferry.

  Having caused pandemonium in Washington, Jackson feinted at Harpers Ferry, then prepared to retreat; time was running out on him as the dispersed Union forces began closing in. Shields’s division, having been turned around when it reached Fredericksburg and headed back toward the Valley, was not approaching Front Royal. The rejuvenated Banks was pressing Jackson from the rear. But one detail had gone awry. Frémont, instead of marching to Harrisonburg, where he would have blocked Jackson’s escape route, misunderstood his orders and turned up far to the north. Lincoln ordered him to go at once to Strasburg, where he might still intercept Jackson. He promised to be there the next day. But that night, May 30, a terrific rainstorm swelled the mountain streams to torrents and gullied the tortuous roads. Frémont’s advance units moved into Strasburg just in time to see Jackson’s rear guard hurrying southward out of town.

  Union forces began a rapid pursuit of Jackson’s footsore men. On June 8, Jackson turned on Frémont and fought a sharp engagement at Cross Keys. Disappearing in the night, he whipped Shields’s small detachment at Fort Republic the next day. Then he slipped away. Lincoln and Stanton, recognizing that further pursuit was useless, ordered Shields back to Fredericksburg, commanded Frémont to halt at Harrisonburg, and assigned Banks to guard Front Royal.

  The amateurs in Washington had shown considerable military competence in countering the crafty and swift-footed Jackson. Successful execution of Lincoln’s orders would have brought Jackson to bay at Strasburg against a Union force three times his own, and Stanton had performed splendidly in implementing Lincoln’s strategy, co-ordinating the water, rail, and road transport by which McDowell’s troops were sent forward and maintaining swift communication between Washington and the various Union columns. But Jackson accomplished his purpose of reducing the pressure on Richmond, and an important factor in his success was the divided Union command.5

  Such a situation was deplorable from a military point of view, and, as will be seen, both Lincoln and Stanton were responsible—Lincoln for allowing political considerations to determine military policy and Stanton through distrust of McClellan that had helped deprive the Union armies of a commander in chief. But that McClellan, had he still commanded all the Union forces, could have captured Jackson seems highly improbable.

  Banks, the former Massachusetts politician, had fared badly during the campaign, and the Boston Advertiser lashed out viciously at Stanton for leaving Banks alone in the Valley to withstand the full force of Jackson’s drive. Stanton’s enemies exulted in his discomfiture. Even Henry L. Dawes, normally friendly to Stanton, felt that the alarm in Washington caused by Jackson’s raid was “but the flurry of a girl who meets a cow in the street.”

  But Stanton also had defenders. Horatio Woodman, a Boston journalist, took Stanton’s part in long articles in the Boston Transcript and the New York Herald. Stanton made no effort to speak out in his own behalf, although Woodman and others felt they could prove that the debatable decisions were the products of Lincoln and the war council rather than of Stanton alone. But the journalistic defenses comforted Stanton and served to convince others on his behalf. George William Curtis congratulated Woodman for the corrections the journalist had put in the record, and commented that “the petulant criticism which dogs Stanton is as unreasonable as the evoe! which hailed his bulletin of congratulations at Mill Spring as if it had been a victory.” Curtis felt that Stanton had done well: “He understands that the conditions of war are not those of peace.”6

  The harassed Secretary found his greatest comfort in the fact that Lincoln admitted confidentially to Sumner that he had conceived the controversial orders. But only a few persons ever came to know this. One of these intimates was Hitchcock, who wrote privately of the “flippant charges” levied against Stanton, and who confirmed that it was the President who had blundered in leaving Banks unsupported and that Jackson would never have dared to attempt his movement down the Valley if Stanton had been allowed to have his way. “Be very careful that it does not get out,” warned Hitchcock. This is the story Hitchcock told, and which Stanton never revealed.

  When Hitchcock had assumed his duties at the War Department, Blenker’s division of 11,000 men, which Lincoln had ordered to join Frémont in the newly created Mountain Department, had moved only as far as Winchester. Banks, who was then at Staunton, and Shields, near Front Royal, constituted the right wing of the Union forces in

  Virginia. As an obvious move by the Confederates to relieve the pressure from the Union left at Richmond would be to strike down the Valley at the Union right, Hitchcock had deemed it of vital importance to keep Blenker’s
troops in the Valley, where they could support Banks or Shields.

  Hitchcock had explained the situation to Stanton and won his full agreement, and the two of them had so advised the President. But Lincoln was determined to send Blenker to Frémont, explaining that he had promised that general and his radical supporters that he would command an impressive force. Hitchcock had been so fearful of leaving the Shenandoah corridor inadequately defended that he returned to the War Department and put his arguments in writing, pleading that if all of Blenker’s force could not be left in the Valley, at least part of it should be. Stanton again agreed with him. But Lincoln refused to budge.

  When Shields had been moved eastward from the Valley to rejoin McDowell, Blenker’s troops had still been immobilized at Winchester. Hitchcock had pointed out to Stanton that when they moved to join Frémont, Banks would be left with no support whatever, except for the 6,000 Union troops at Harpers Ferry. There was more reason than ever for keeping Blenker where he was. Stanton had been so impressed by Hitchcock’s reasoning that he prepared an order holding Blenker at Winchester. Soon afterward, however, Blenker’s troops departed to join Frémont. Hitchcock observed: “I presume that the order of the Sec’y was never received.”7 More likely, Stanton never sent it. To do so would have been to flout the President. But now that Banks had suffered the consequences of Lincoln’s decision, Stanton was taking the blame.

  Not only was he denounced for Banks’s embarrassments but his call for troops on May 25 also brought him a lambasting. As soon as Governor Andrew received Stanton’s telegram asking for troops, he had ordered the Massachusetts militia to report on Boston Common. Then Stanton had learned that Banks had made good his retreat. With Union detachments moving to intercept Jackson, Washington was safe and short-term militia would be of little use. But the upsurge of patriotism might be used to bring about an outpouring of new troops that would put an end to the war. So Stanton telegraphed the loyal governors: “The President directs that the militia be released and the enlistments made for three years or during the war. This I think will practically be no longer than for a year.”

  By that time the number of militia on Boston Common had increased to 4,000. But there had been a feeling of utter revulsion when Governor Andrew was obliged to tell them that in order to serve they must leave their militia organizations and enlist for three years or the duration of the war. Andrew telegraphed Massachusetts congressman Samuel Hooper: “Hunker press of Boston now assumes that Sunday’s telegram ordering militia was Stanton’s personal panic, that President did not approve, that no justifiable occasion existed. It is infamous abuse. Do telegraph immediately the facts.”

  Hooper conferred with Lincoln, Stanton, and Seward. “I am authorized by the presdt,” he wired Andrew, “to say … the order for the militia and three months men was made by the president himself upon deliberate consultation with the Secretary of War & other members of the cabinet and his military advisers. You are requested not to make any public use of this.” Again the backstage happenings at the War Department were kept secret and Stanton took the blame for the confusion.

  Other governors seconded Andrew’s protests about the rejection of three-month men. Stanton would have ignored their complaints, but Lincoln, more sensitive to political pressures, thought the governors should be mollified. After considerable argument, Stanton gave in part way and agreed to accept those three-month regiments that had already been armed and equipped and were ready for immediate service. This second reversal of policy led to still further confusion, and Stanton explained to the disgruntled governors that the vacillation of the government resulted from “a conflict of opinion here” that had been resolved by compromise.8

  One basic manpower difficulty, however, could not be compromised, and its complications tripped him badly. The War Department was actually administering two armies: a volunteer force authorized by act of Congress of July 22, 1861, and now totaling almost 700,000 men, and a regular army with an authorized strength of 42,000 men, with no more than half that number enrolled. In raising the volunteer army the federal government had made the calls and assigned quotas to state authorities, which had recruited the men, appointed the officers up through the rank of colonel, and turned over to the government fully organized units.

  A recruiting service almost wholly under state control left something to be desired, and McClellan, by an order of December 3, 1861, had attempted to center it more directly in the War Department. After the units then in process of organization in the various states had been mustered into federal service, no more troops were to be enlisted except on requisition from the War Department, which was also to appoint superintendents of recruiting to take charge of central depots in each state, where volunteers would be concentrated, outfitted, and drilled. This, like the old system, provided only for recruiting new units, not for keeping old ones at full strength. To remedy that deficiency, two officers and four privates from each regiment already in the field were detailed to act as recruiting squads to tour the country and send volunteers to a replacement depot for old regiments.

  The government had also been accepting regiments recruited by individuals, who naturally expected to command them. This practice had led to some deplorable results, and soon after taking office Stanton stopped it.

  Just when the new machinery was beginning to function, Stanton, sharing with his bureau chiefs the erroneous and widespread belief that victory must come very soon, and intending to reform the recruiting maze, committed what has properly been called one of the colossal blunders of the war. On April 3, 1862, just before the need for more men began to soar, he closed the government recruiting offices in every state and instructed the officers and men who had been detailed to that service to report back to their regiments. An order of May 1 stated that on the request of the various field commanders, the War Department would authorize the respective governors to recruit undermanned regiments to full strength.

  Stanton properly evaluated the need for revitalizing the skeletonized regiments instead of continuing to create new ones. He explained to the Senate Military Committee, before issuing these orders, what he was about, and declared that the suspension of recruiting would be for one or two months at most.

  The suspension of the recruiting service did accomplish some good. Officers and men on soft recruiting assignments were returned to duty, and some needed economies resulted from consolidations of undermanned units. On June 6, 1862, exactly as he had estimated, Stanton re-established the recruiting service. But valuable time had been lost, and the public, unaware that Stanton had planned from the first to resume recruiting, blamed him for the confusion and for the frustrating immobilization of McClellan so close to Richmond.9

  Editorials hammered on the theme that McClellan would have bagged the rebels by this time if Stanton had not interfered with him. Stanton was accused of aspiring to the presidency and of wishing to ruin McClellan, who would be his most dangerous rival, and of currying favor with the abolitionists by devising McClellan’s downfall. The press assailed him all the more zealously because of resentment against the strict censorship he had imposed and his rough treatment of many journalists.

  Stanton, though he thought for a little while of resigning under this fire, abandoned this recourse at Lincoln’s behest. He put on a brave front, wiring Governor Andrew that “I am not disturbed by the howling of those who are at your heels and mine.” But he was actually deeply hurt by the nature and venom of the accusations made against him. Meanwhile, he continued to see to it that McClellan was fully sustained by all the resources of the War Department.10

  McClellan’s lines drew ever closer to Richmond. On May 31, the Confederates attempted a quick but massive sortie at Seven Pines; it was repulsed, and “Joe” Johnston, critically wounded during the action, was sent to the hospital. Courtly, competent Robert E. Lee took command of the rebel Army of Northern Virginia, called up reinforcements from Georgia and the Carolinas, and ordered Jackson to return from the Shenandoah V
alley.

  Utterly failing to appreciate the resourcefulness of the man who now opposed him, McClellan welcomed the change in Confederate command. Still, he never ceased to ask for more troops, and Lincoln and Stanton now had some they could spare. They sent McCall’s division of McDowell’s corps and seven new regiments to McClellan by water, and prepared to move the remainder of McDowell’s force overland toward Richmond according to the plan that had been put in abeyance when Jackson began his foray. But Shields’s troops returned from the Valley so footsore and ragged that the execution of the movement again had to be suspended.

  Halleck’s glacierlike victory at Corinth, Mississippi, inspired McClellan again to suggest that large numbers of men from the West be sent to him. As bad weather threatened to delay his advance, McClellan felt that these troops would arrive in time to take part in the attack on Richmond. Even if they did not, “the moral effect would be great, and they would furnish valuable assistance in ulterior movements.”

  Just what additional moral effect was needed beyond the capture of Richmond can scarcely be imagined. Stanton must have summoned all his self-control to answer temperately. He ignored McClellan’s request for western troops, sympathized with the difficulties imposed by the weather, insisted that he was rendering the general every aid in his power, and added that whatever some persons might be saying, “you have never had, and never can have, any one more truly your friend, or more anxious to support you, or more joyful than I shall be at the success which I have no doubt will soon be achieved by your arms.”

  Perhaps Stanton hoped to boost the general’s morale by professing still to be his friend. Or perhaps, as Stanton’s enemies later alleged, the devious Secretary thought that the tide was turning in McClellan’s favor and that it behooved him to remain on good terms with the general. Although McClellan later came to disbelieve Stanton’s veracity in all things, he now was impressed by his assertions of support. “The Secretary and President are becoming quite amiable of late,” he wrote to his wife. “I am afraid I am a little cross to them, and that I do not quite appreciate their sincerity and good feeling.” But he warned her to guard her speech concerning “Stanton, McDowell, or any of that tribe” when around certain War Department personnel, who were, the general thought, Stanton’s spies. Good faith no longer existed between the general and the Secretary, but the President was still determined to keep McClellan in command.11