Lee's Lieutenants

by Douglas Southall Freeman

  Robert Ransom had reached North Carolina with his half-division and had observed something of General Smith’s handling of the command, and he was much disturbed by what he saw. In accordance with the usage of the old army he determined to write unofficially what he could not transmit to army headquarters without insubordination. In a personal letter to General R. H. Chilton of Lee’s staff he set forth his unhappiness and enumerated some of the faults he saw in the defense of the state. Essentially it appears that he felt Smith lacking in energy and inclined to dodge matters that involved excitement.

  This state of affairs Chilton informally described to Lee, as Ransom doubtless had intended. Lee considered the situation so serious that he at once forwarded Ransom’s letter to President Davis. If, the commanding general explained, Smith’s health was impaired, it was more than ever to be desired that Kirby Smith, who had been under consideration, should take the command in North Carolina. Should that not be possible, then, said Lee, it might be better for Elzey to take the field in North Carolina and for Gustavus Smith to assume command of the Richmond district. Action came quickly. As Kirby Smith was not immediately available, the President recalled Gustavus Smith to Richmond, sent French temporarily to North Carolina, and had Secretary Seddon telegraph to inquire whether D. H. Hill would accept the command of his own state. Hill hesitated to accept responsibility of that magnitude and answered Seddon that he would prefer to serve under Smith.27

  In Richmond Smith became restless and unhappy. In a personal interview with the President he was given no instructions. This fired new discontent. For ten days Smith fumed and kicked his heels and then, February 7, he forwarded as a formal resignation a copy of his letter of October 21 to the previous secretary of war. With this he coupled a new explanation and protest. He concluded it, “I cannot consent to remain here and be responsible at this time for operations in North Carolina. Neither am I willing to serve under the orders of those who were recently my juniors. There is no alternative left me but to resign my commission in the army.”

  The letter of resignation was returned with a stinging endorsement by Davis of what he termed “this remarkable paper.” After sparing no sarcasm or acid in dismissing point by point Smith’s grievances, the President endorsed Smith’s second and final resignation thus: “Secretary of War—If the alternative of resignation or appointment as Lieutenant-General be presented as a claim founded on former relative rank as a Major-General it will only be proper to accept the resignation, as to admit the claim would be in derogation of the legal power of the Executive and in disregard of the consideration due to services rendered in battle and campaign.”28

  As a soldier who had been a politician and was as quick to draw pen as sword, Smith would not permit the President’s endorsement to pass unchallenged. He took his time, and on February 23 completed a letter of some 2,400 words in which he reviewed again his grievances, answered the President’s points, and no doubt satisfied himself that he had demolished Mr. Davis’s argument. The gravamen of Smith’s letter was that he had been “overslaughed by wholesale,” that he had in effect commanded a corps at Manassas during the winter of 1861-62, and that, when his juniors were promoted over him, he became convinced that he was not “respected, supported and confided in by the government to an extent sufficient” to authorize his remaining in service. It was the kind of letter a man writes in order to read aloud to his friends at a club-table, where he pauses at the impressive flourishes as if to say, “I got him there, did I not?”29

  All this Smith wrote with care and forwarded to the President, but he got no answer. He went to Charleston as a volunteer aide to Beauregard, who was of a temper to welcome any Confederate hostile to Mr. Davis. Besides, Beauregard personally was fond of Smith. So were many of the officers and politicians who knew him intimately. Harvey Hill was among those who lamented the departure of Smith from the service. In a letter to him, the North Carolinian confirmed in a few words all General Lee had written the President about Hill’s unwillingness to assume exclusive responsibility. Said Hill: “At present I feel at a loss what to do. I have not yet assumed command and do not wish to do so. I came here with the understanding that I was to serve under you. Honestly and truly I prefer that position and shrink from the other.”30

  CHAPTER 21

  Facing a New Campaign

  1

  THE DEVELOPING STAFF

  With more of eagerness than of anxiety, the question asked so often during December was repeated in the New Year—When will Burnside advance; where will he strike? Scouts’ reports on January 20, a blustery, threatening day, indicated a Federal offensive was to be undertaken, and that the crossing would be in the vicinity of Banks’ and United States fords. Preliminary dispositions were made to cope with the advance. It did not come. On the evening of the twentieth a violent storm began and continued all night and for two days thereafter. Patriotic Virginia roads on the north side of the Rappahannock swam in defiant mud. Federal infantry could do no more than creep forward, artillery had to double teams, pontoon trains could not be moved at all. This “Mud March” simply stalled. A second storm began early on the twenty-seventh and did not halt its attack until the twenty-ninth. By that time, six inches of snow covered the ground. Said Lee, “… the probabilities are that the roads will be impractical for some time.” That was not the only promise of a respite. Burnside on January 25 was relieved of command. A new commander was given the Army of the Potomac in the person of “Fighting Joe” Hooker, who had led one of the Grand Divisions and had been one of the most vigorous of Burnside’s critics.1

  As mud and the preparation of a new plan would preclude another advance for weeks, Lee’s lieutenants at last could expect days and days of inactivity. The army settled down in winter quarters for the first prolonged period of quiet the whole command had spent together. Many of the units encamped back of Fredericksburg had not joined until after the winter of 1861-62. Jackson in that first wintry season had been on detached service in the Valley. Lee was in South Carolina. Now the Manassas army, Magruder’s men, Huger’s Norfolk garrison, Jackson’s Army of the Valley, Loring’s men—all these, as the Army of Northern Virginia, shared the same camps and enjoyed the same period of rest.

  A satirist only could have styled it a period of content. Although it was not a severe winter in the estimation of natives, it seemed to men from farther south intolerably frigid. Some of the soldiers built log huts, and some dug themselves holes which they covered with tent flies. Chimneys of many patterns rose. Often the soldiers were close to hunger. They would have fared miserably worse had not parents and kinsmen stripped the pantries of Southern homes to provide the boys boxes of provisions. Consolation and perhaps even a measure of reconciliation to the miseries of war came through religious meetings. The revival, begun in the Valley during the autumn, deepened during the winter. Despite their various trials, most of the men maintained their morale, and found amusement in dramas, minstrel shows, and snowball battles.2

  Jackson, as will be set forth, spent the bleak months amid comforts that might have shocked some of the admirers of the ascetic leader of the New Model Army. Lee lived simply in a tent near Hamilton’s Crossing till illness compelled him to go to Yerby’s. Stuart was not far distant. The other generals of division found such comfort or bore such hardship as the location of their posts of command offered. It was in liaison among these commanders that some of the staff officers first became familiar to all of their seniors. Most of the generals, of course, knew Jackson’s assistant adjutant general, Sandie Pendleton, and as many of them had cordial comradeship with Moxley Sorrel, the A.A.G. of Longstreet. All officers above the grade of colonel at one time or another had met General R. H. Chilton, senior staff officer to Lee. Other officers of the staff who scarcely were known outside brigades in December became familiar to many of the generals by May.

  Staff organization at the beginning of the war barely deserved the name. A crude distinction was made between the so-called staff depa
rtments such as those of the quartermaster and the commissary, and the personal staff of a commanding officer; but the modern conception of a general staff was not applied. Some generals appeared to think they were privileged to have in addition to the staff provided by army regulations as many volunteer aides as they might desire. Beauregard before Manassas had the usual heads of the staff departments, two assistant adjutants general, and no less than six volunteer aides, several of whom were powerful South Carolina politicians—a total of fifteen.3

  Confederate law did nothing to keep officeholders from acquiring martial titles. The President, at discretion, on the application of a general officer, was authorized “to appoint from civil life persons to the staff of such officer.”4 This opened wide the door to personal and political appointments and, what often was worse, to the designation of sons, nephews, cousins, or brothers-in-law to positions for which they had neither training nor aptitude. Personal staff appointments were regarded all too often as personal patronage. Where nepotism was unabashed, a staff almost without exception might bear one family name.

  The manifest defects of organization were laid before Congress that winter of 1862-63. The influence of Lee was exerted in behalf of the adoption of the French staff organization. Lee urged also a reduction in the number of aides and more adequate provision for adjutants and inspectors. Of the staff as a whole, he told President Davis, “If you can fill these positions with proper officers not the relatives and social friends of the commanders, who, however agreeable their company, are not always the most useful, you might hope to have the finest army in the world.”5

  Although that ideal never was approximated, many men who began the war with no experience had become by the winter of 1862-63 qualified staff officers, and they still were developing. At army headquarters most of the officers were older than the youthful average of the corps and divisional staffs. Colonel Charles S. Venable—approaching thirty-six years of age and a professor of mathematics besides—in fact was considered of an age and dignity that equipped him, when necessary, to present staff grievances to the commanding general. In extreme instances he was expected to beard the general and to point out the lapses of the “Great Tycoon,” as the staff sometimes among themselves made bold to style Lee.

  Of all the personal staff at army headquarters, the man best known to visitors and on most intimate terms with the aides of other general officers was Walter Taylor. He was the youngest of Lee’s official family and served as “inside man” because of his skill and accuracy in handling the official correspondence that Lee detested. Of unassuming personality was Taylor but magnetic from youth, friendly, and understanding. Possessed of a memory as notable as his industry, his one weakness was an impulse to steal off during a battle and participate in a charge. Fortunately he was never caught by Lee while thus indulging his love of martial excitement.6

  Jackson’s staff was regarded by the army as most unequal in merit. When Major the Reverend Dr. R. L. Dabney had been chief of staff he commanded respect for his intelligence and, in camp, for his activity; but on the march and in battle he had been wholly lacking in experience. Opinion was expressed, sotto voce, that Jackson overestimated the value of Presbyterian clergy in the army. James Power Smith, a Jackson aide after Sharpsburg, was an exception to the army’s low estimate of the soldierly value of Old Jack’s Presbyterian coterie. This sober-faced youngster, often teased by Lee and even by Jackson, was of fighting fiber and as tireless as brave.

  In sharp contrast to the clerical element of the staff, Major John A. Harmon was the incomparable quartermaster whose profanity exercised a mysterious influence on the pulling power of mules. The major never professed to understand Jackson and perhaps never withdrew mentally his threat to quit so crazy and secretive a chief. Jackson, for his part, probably could not excuse the major’s oaths, inability to keep a secret, and general skepticism regarding the commander of the Second Corps. But Jackson knew that the major could get a wagon ahead when nobody else could, and for that virtue he was willing to overlook talkativeness and reports of shocking language.

  During his eight months of service on Jackson’s staff, Kyd Douglas gave to it virtually all the style and swagger it ever had, because he was one of the handsomest young men in the army, rode superbly, and had a dramatic appearance. When he resigned in November to accept a captaincy in the hard-bitten 2nd Virginia, he did not sever his social relations with the staff, but, of course, could not be its representative on parades, reviews, or formal missions.

  Less colorful than Douglas but popular, vigorous, and exceptionally competent was Jackson’s topographical engineer, Captain J. K, Boswell. His other topographical engineer, the indispensable Jed Hotchkiss, was not commissioned because of limitations on the lawful number of topographical engineers. Although in every sense a member of the staff, Hotchkiss was at this time a civilian employee. Rated very high in ability, and almost unique in charm, was the medical director of the Second Corps, Dr. Hunter McGuire, then in his twenty-seventh year. McGuire was an ardent Confederate who, after the John Brown raid, had led a hegira of Southern medical students from Philadelphia. Young McGuire was as good a story-teller as he was a surgeon and by the fireside was as charming as he was encouraging at the bedside.

  The bulwark of Jackson’s staff, its core, its driving force, was the lantern-jawed Sandie Pendleton who, though not yet twenty-three, was one of the most promising staff officers in the Army of Northern Virginia. He was the son of the chief of artillery, Brigadier General W. N. Pendleton. All his life, it was said, Sandie Pendleton had waked up in a good humor. He had been the medallist of his class at Washington College and had been graduated Master of Arts at the University of Virginia in 1861. About him there was a charming courtesy of manner, a cordiality, a magnetism that made every acquaintance regard him as a friend.

  His mental endowment was in keeping. Judgment was as discerning as memory was retentive. Jackson was wont to say, when asked about an unfamiliar officer or a regiment concerning which he was in doubt, “Ask Captain Pendleton; if he doesn’t know, nobody does.” The skill, the mature wisdom, the promptness and the system with which this boy ran Jackson’s headquarters were, perhaps, the best refutation of the oft-repeated assertion that Jackson lacked judgment in the choice of officers. Pendleton had never missed a battle except that of Second Manassas, which was fought while he was ill. It was the injury to him at Fredricksburg—“I was struck by a musket-ball,” he explained, “which went through both my over-and undercoats, and was stopped by striking the knife in my pants pocket”—that threw the staff work of the Second Corps entirely out of gear that afternoon.7 As for risk, exposure, and danger, he met them without thought. Jackson was as quick to seek the recognition of rank for his proven lieutenants as he was slow to praise them, and Sandie was promoted major before the Battle of Fredericksburg.

  Peter Longstreet’s staff was as different from Old Jack’s as were the two corps commanders themselves. No ministers were there on Longstreet’s staff. Perhaps the essential quality distinguishing Longstreet’s headquarters from Jackson’s was a lack of austerity. Longstreet was efficient and administered army business promptly and with no noisy grinding of gears; but when his staff officers had finished their work and gathered in Major John Fairfax’s tent for a nip, Old Pete said nothing. Nor did he frown and lecture them the next morning.

  Foremost among Longstreet’s staff officers was G. Moxley Sorrel, a tall, trim Georgian whose Gallic grace, dark eyes, and dash displayed the blood of a grandfather who had been a colonel of engineers in the French army. Moxley Sorrel was a clerk in the banking division of the Central Georgia Railroad at the outbreak of hostilities, and came to Virginia and found a place as a volunteer aide to Longstreet. So much aptitude did he display that Old Pete quickly procured his commission and thereafter relied increasingly on him. Socially, Sorrel was charming; as a rider he was the envy of many a cavalryman; at work in Longstreet’s headquarters tent he need not have feared comparisons with a
ny staff officer of the army.

  Major Osman Latrobe, physically and mentally a powerful representative of the Maryland family of that name, was Longstreet’s A.A.G. and inspector. Similar rank and title were those of John W. Fairfax, a Virginian of ancient line and positive habits. He was “fond of his bottle, his Bible and his bath; always in front when danger pressed, but a fine-looking fellow very much given to show.” More than once, to his high satisfaction, on entering a strange town he was mistaken for General Longstreet, whom he regarded with affectionate loyalty as the foremost Southern soldier. Wherever the corps went, Fairfax carried a bath tub that bore an odd resemblance to a tin hat, and unless battle broke with the dawn, he had his bath and his toddy before he ate. On Sunday he gave himself the refreshment of Holy Writ without neglecting his dram.

  Major Raphael Moses was the wit and story-teller of the staff. A lawyer of high distinction in Georgia, he sought combatant duty in 1861, but General Toombs prevailed upon him to undertake the thankless but essential work of commissary. So admirably did Moses victual Toombs’s brigade that he soon had charge of the commissary of D. R.Jones’s division and, in due time, of Longstreet’s corps. Moses was probably the best commissary of like rank in the Confederate service. His stories were endless; his narrative flawless. The darkest, dullest night at headquarters he could enliven.