Stanton

by Benjamin P. Thomas

  Much worse, however, was the bad feeling developing between Hooker and Halleck. It was, Stanton confided to Hitchcock, largely Lincoln’s fault. The President often sent Hooker orders or suggestions without consulting Halleck. Whenever Hooker came to Washington, he talked only to Lincoln, ignoring both Halleck and Stanton. Hooker had never told them of his plans before or since Chancellorsville. Thus the Army’s civilian head and ranking general were often wholly ignorant of what was going on. Perhaps it was under Stanton’s prompting that Lincoln belatedly acted to clarify Halleck’s status. On June 16 he telegraphed Hooker that “in the strict military relations to General Halleck,” Hooker was “a commander of one of the armies,” and Halleck was its chief general, expected to pass Lincoln’s instructions to Hooker, who would obey them.2

  By this time, however, the fat was in the fire. Lee’s lean marchers were streaming toward the Potomac River on a second invasion of the North. And Stanton had to manipulate many of the strands of logistics that Halleck’s hands should have grasped.

  Stanton’s reactions to the first reports of Lee’s northern surge which filtered in to him on May 28 were quick and useful. There was no repetition here of the panic he exhibited, just after taking office a year earlier, at news of the Merrimac. Stanton had learned his job and now understood far better the power of men and arms. He had, above all, developed a confidence in the President and in the nation he served, and in the steadfastness of the ordinary soldiers who served him, which he had not enjoyed in his first weeks as War Secretary.

  Camping in the telegraph rooms, he concluded that Lee’s thrust would take him into Pennsylvania, and hurriedly regrouped the training, administrative, and convalescent commands there, ordering them equipped to fight. On the twenty-ninth, Stanton issued a new call for troops to serve for three years or the duration of the war. Governor Curtin objected that men would refuse to volunteer for such long service and, in order to get troops quickly, asked for permission to call out 50,000 militia for sixty days. Stanton, out of patience with the Pennsylvania officials, who caused more trouble than those of any other state, refused.

  Governor Curtin stood firm on his determination to call out short-term militia instead of recruiting men for three years, and when Stanton displayed equal stubbornness, he appealed directly to Lincoln. The President compromised, calling on Pennsylvania, Ohio, Maryland, and West Virginia to provide 100,000 men for six months. Stanton, exasperated, refused to furnish uniforms for the Pennsylvania militiamen. But both Curtin and Cameron, the latter now back from Russia, interceded with Lincoln, and Stanton had to eat crow when Lincoln wrote: “I think the Secretary of War better let them have the clothes.”

  By mid-June all the North was uncertain and jittery concerning Lee’s plans and progress. Both Lincoln and Stanton stayed close to the War Department’s telegraph rooms, and Stanton forwarded copies of all available information to Hooker. Stopping in at Stanton’s office, Welles found Lincoln anxious and Stanton fussing, while Halleck nervously puffed on a cigar. “There is trouble, confusion, uncertainty,” Welles recorded, “where there should be calm intelligence.”3

  Things seemed to go from bad to worse. The Army of the Potomac, Stanton heard, was becoming dispirited as Hooker’s incapacity manifested itself. According to General Patrick, still mourning for McClellan, Hooker “acts like a man without a plan, & is entirely at a loss what to do, or how to match the enemy, or counteract his movements.” Patrick felt that since Chancellorsville, Hooker had taken on the role of a Micawber, waiting for “something to turn up.” What turned up was news of more reverses for the Union forces and accounts of Lee’s continuing northward advance.

  Hooker began to exhibit the same failings that had caused McClellan’s downfall. Fearing that he was outnumbered, though his force was superior to Lee’s, he asked that all troops in the Washington area be put under his command. He complained that the government lacked confidence in him and was not properly supporting him.

  As Lee’s movement unfolded, Hooker wired Halleck that the Union garrison at Harpers Ferry would be mere bait for the rebels, and asked for authority to withdraw it and unite it with his command. When Halleck responded that he wanted Harpers Ferry held as long as possible, Hooker resentfully requested to be relieved from command. Halleck answered: “As you were appointed … by the President, I have no power to relieve you. Your dispatch has been duly referred for executive action.”

  On June 27, about eight-thirty in the evening, Halleck brought Stanton Hooker’s request for relief from command. Stanton sent for Lincoln at once. The President read the dispatch with a wooden face. “What shall be done?” asked Stanton. Lincoln responded immediately: “Accept his resignation.” President and Secretary of War consulted together and, without advice from anyone else, decided on General George Gordon Meade as the man to succeed Hooker.4

  A strict, conscientious general who had performed creditably as a senior corps commander, Meade was a native Pennsylvanian; Lincoln thought he would fight well on his own dunghill, and he was physically in position to come to grips with the elusive Lee. But radical Republican leaders were bound to be unhappy at this choice. Meade was reputedly a Democrat and had been friendly with McClellan. Neither Lincoln nor Stanton worried over these imputations now. Battles took priority ahead of any other considerations.

  Next day Lincoln and Stanton merely went through the motions of consulting the rest of the cabinet on the change in command. Stanton finally stated that orders were already on their way to Meade placing him in command. Chase, who had been Hooker’s sponsor, was visibly upset. Hooker, like his predecessors in command of the ill-fated Army of the Potomac, blamed Stanton and Halleck for his own misfortunes and incapacity.

  Years later, Stanton told diplomat John Bigelow that he had not been surprised at Hooker’s resignation; rather he had been shocked at its selfish nature and unexpectedness. Total disaster faced the Union and it was almost precipitated by the unsettling effects of the general’s request to be relieved.5

  Meade on July 1 reported that his army had made contact with Lee’s near the little Pennsylvania town of Gettysburg, and that a major battle seemed imminent. The next three days found Lincoln and Stanton almost constantly in the telegraph office, but the chattering instruments brought them little reliable news. Late at night on July 3, reports arrived that the suffering near the battlefield was terrible for want of food and medical supplies, and that barns, houses, and yards in the vicinity overflowed with the wounded and dying. Stanton hurried the recruitment of a group of civilian surgeons and got them off to the front, and arranged for a volunteer corps of Adams Express Company employees to be passed through the lines to help transport the sufferers to hospitals.

  Not until July 4 could the weary, tense watchers in the War Department be sure of the outcome of the battle. That afternoon Stanton announced that Meade had won and Lee was retreating southward, and he privately urged Meade to cut Lee off.6

  While Lee’s fate remained undecided, close behind news from Gettysburg came Grant’s announcement that he had taken Vicksburg. News of two great victories sent a wave of joy across the North. Stanton ordered Hardie to hang out the flags of the War Department to honor the “brilliant successes at the front.” A huge crowd, after serenading Lincoln at the White House, moved on to the War Department, where Stanton responded to the roar of cheers with a rare public speech. He praised Grant, Meade, and Halleck, and predicted that the twin triumphs would send traitors and copperheads in the North “hissing to their holes.”

  Though Stanton sustained Meade in public, he, like Lincoln, felt deeply irritated by the general’s reluctance to follow up his victory with a knockout punch. Floodwaters prevented Lee from crossing the Potomac to safety. Despite Lincoln’s entreaties, Meade made no move to disturb him, but telegraphed on July 13 that all but one of his corps commanders advised against risking an attack. Next day, Stanton drew Lincoln aside before the cabinet meeting opened to tell him that Lee’s army had crossed the river
unmolested. The faces of both men registered deep dejection. When John P. Usher, Smith’s successor at the Interior Department, asked if there was bad news, Stanton, always reluctant to divulge such information, curtly answered: “No.” But Lincoln, casting a mildly reproachful glance at Stanton, said they might as well know the truth.7

  The truth, according to Stanton, was expressed in his letter to publicist McClure: “As long as General Meade remains in command, he will receive the cordial support of the Department, but since the world began no man ever missed so great an opportunity of serving his country as was lost by his neglecting to strike his adversary.” For in the weeks after Gettysburg, Lee escaped to the South.

  To the tired men of Meade’s army, it seemed incredible that more was expected of them. “We are satisfied with what has been accomplished & believe, as we did at Antietam ten months ago, that it was a mercy to us that the Rebels left as they did—We could not attack them safely,” General Patrick, of Meade’s staff, recorded in his diary. “The whole country is in an uproar,” Patrick noted, “& it would take little to upset the Administration—which is known to be corrupt by all.” But second thoughts, and his own growing animosity toward Meade, convinced Patrick that “a part of the fault is General Meade’s, as he has never [before] been in command of men,… knows nothing of the wants of an Army, so far as the ranks & file are concerned, & does not seem to care much about them if he can avoid trouble.”

  But if Lee was not crushed the Union was safe. Gettysburg and Vicksburg, Watson wrote Stanton, at least silenced those persons who wanted McClellan restored to top command. Dana expressed similar mixed reactions to recent events: “Had Meade finished Lee before he had crossed the Potomac, as he might have done & he should have done,… we should now be at the end of the war.” But realizing that Meade had acted according to the advice of his corps commanders, who were senior to him in rank, Dana did not blame the general alone. And the over-all military picture was now favorable. “The Mississippi is all regained & the rebels have been compelled to fall back.… Arkansas & Louisiana will very soon resume their federal relations with clauses in their constitutions prohibiting slavery,” Dana gloated. Troops captured at Vicksburg were disillusioned with the experiment in rebellion, and Dana guessed that the Confederacy was almost out of reserve manpower for its armies.8 The pleasures of victory were adulterated in Washington, however, for while the nation’s forces were stemming the rebel host at Gettysburg, and cracking the last Confederate stronghold on the Mississippi, another Union army and its general had been causing endless trouble.

  On assuming command of the Army of the Cumberland, Rosecrans, an excitable, moody man, had shown that all too common failing of Union brass—a reluctance to advance. But on the last day of 1862 he had closed with the Confederate army under Bragg in a three-day fight at Murfreesboro. It seemed that Rosecrans was defeated. His reported reverses, General Patrick noted, added to those of Burnside in Virginia, “have had a very chilling effect upon all of us, & … seems to add to our calamities about as much as we can bear.”

  But Bragg retreated southward and Rosecrans claimed a victory. It had come less than three weeks after Fredericksburg, when another outright defeat might well have broken the Northern will to continue the war. In a gush of gratitude, Stanton wired Rosecrans: “There is nothing in my power to grant to yourself or to your heroic command that will not be cheerfully given.” Whereupon Rosecrans had begun to ask for so many things that Lincoln interceded, insisting that Stanton’s promise, though “pretty broad,” must have “a reasonable construction.”

  Meanwhile, Grant had brought Vicksburg under investment, and Lincoln, Stanton, and Halleck urged Rosecrans to keep pressure on the Confederates so that they could not send troops to raise the siege. Rosecrans came up with the surprising argument that to continue to attack would be to induce Bragg to send aid to beleaguered Vicksburg—reasoning which impressed Lincoln “very strangely.” Stanton groused that Rosecrans’s complaining telegrams were becoming a major item of expense to the War Department.

  There was a vacant major-generalship in the regular army, and the friends of Rosecrans and other generals urged the claims of their favorites upon the War Department. Either Lincoln or Stanton hit upon the idea of awarding the promotion to whichever field commander should first win an important victory, a tactless means of goading them into action, to be sure, though only Rosecrans of all the generals objected when Halleck informed them of it.9

  Then came the twin Union victories at Gettysburg and Vicksburg. Stanton wired Rosecrans: “You and your noble army now have the chance to give the finishing blow to the rebellion. Will you neglect the chance?” The general reacted like a man deeply pricked by a thorn. A journalist reported that he had become convinced that Stanton and Halleck were his enemies, and voiced his opinion of them with such vehemence that “it really embarrassed me to listen to him.”

  Most of July slipped by with Rosecrans still inactive. He was making final preparations for an attack on Chattanooga but kept his intentions to himself. Stanton wanted to dismiss him, but Halleck begged that he be allowed a little more time and sent him a warning: “I have deemed it absolutely necessary, not only for the country but also for your own reputation, that your army shall remain no longer inactive.”

  When August came with Rosecrans still finding excuses for failing to do battle, Halleck sent him a peremptory order to advance and to report daily on the position of his army until it had crossed the Tennessee River. The general answered that he was now ready to order the army forward, but if he was to have no discretion as to where he should cross the river, he preferred to be relieved. Halleck told him to cross wherever he pleased, but to stop arguing and start moving. Rosecrans answered with a tirade against Stanton. Halleck responded that Stanton felt no personal animosity toward Rosecrans, although “many of your dispatches have been exceedingly annoying” and “conveyed the impression that you were not disposed to carry out the wishes of the Department, at least in the manner and at the time desired.”

  Rosecrans now directed his complaints to Lincoln. The President told him to forget bygones and try to move into eastern Tennessee before the fall rains came. Rosecrans could still get there, Lincoln wrote, but the question now was: Could he stay there? He assured the general that he still had confidence in him and was not watching him “with an evil eye.”10 Lincoln’s cheering statement cloaked the deep concern Rosecrans was causing him and Stanton. But the civilians, though supplying Rosecrans with all they could, and patiently seeking to encourage him to greater activity, had a crisis closer to Washington to deal with. In the third year of the war, disaffection on the home front reached new heights, and threatened to upset everything.

  A number of state elections had taken place in the spring of 1863, and the Republicans put forth a mighty effort to retrieve their losses of the previous autumn. Stanton furloughed several generals to stump Connecticut, and building on the lessons of the autumn elections of 1862, arranged to send home on leave as many Connecticut, Pennsylvania, and Ohio soldiers and clerks as could safely be spared. On the eve of the elections, he approved a scheme whereby the Ordnance Bureau suggested to Connecticut’s munitions manufacturers that they put pressure on their workers to vote for William A. Buckingham, the Republican governor, who was seeking re-election. He won a sweeping victory.

  In New Hampshire, Colonel Walter Harriman, a war Democrat, at Stanton’s prompting resigned temporarily from the Army to run as an independent candidate for governor, and took enough votes away from the regular Democratic candidate to give victory to the Republican. The Secretary deserved the praise he received years later from N. G. Onleen, the Republican state chairman of 1863: “But for your aid the rebel yell of victory would have been heard among the white hills of New Hampshire.”11

  But westward, in Ohio, there was a less happy political picture, which illustrated the imperfections of the government’s internal security arrangements. A lame-duck Democratic congressman, Cleme
nt L. Vallandigham, lifted his voice in repeated protests against the government’s interferences in elections, the draft, arbitrary arrests of civilians, and the continuance of the war. Stanton had known Vallandigham during his Ohio years—had lent him money, in fact—though he had no use for him now. Lincoln decided that it was better to let Vallandigham blow off steam than to jail him, and neither Lincoln nor Stanton approved when word came that Burnside, now commanding the Department of Ohio, had clapped the agitator in jail and proposed to try him for treason before a military commission.

  With Vallandigham in custody, the prestige of the government must suffer if he escaped conviction. Stanton feared that some United States or state judge might choose to disregard the blanket suspension of the privilege of the habeas corpus writ and order the prisoner’s release from military jurisdiction. He prepared an order suspending the writ privilege specifically in this case. Lincoln felt that Stanton’s fears were unfounded and directed him to withhold the order.

  The military commission found Vallandigham guilty and sentenced him to imprisonment for the war’s duration, but on May 9 Lincoln had the agitator put beyond the Union lines. By thus releasing Vallandigham from prison and sending him to join “his friends” in the Confederacy, Lincoln and Stanton made him appear ridiculous to loyal Northerners.12

  As Stanton had foreseen, however, Northern Democrats began to laud Vallandigham as a martyr. Ohio Democrats went over to the peace faction, and the state convention nominated the exiled politician for governor by a unanimous vote. Other friends of his tried to bring suit in his behalf before the United States Supreme Court, perhaps, as Bates supposed, to place “a peg on which to hang a denunciatory speech against the Administration generally and the War Office in particular.”

  Although fearing that the judges who had sustained the Dred Scott decision might decide against the government, Stanton was ready to meet the rebels in court as well as anywhere else, but Bates convinced him to drop the matter; at least not to make the government the initiator of a suit. Many of the government’s policies were being questioned in state courts, and as Watson wrote Holt, “this Department stands no chance in a game of shuttlecock before disloyal judges.”13