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Chapter One
"I wish I could get at those people...."
Following the Battle of Chancellorsville, the Union Army's seven infantry corps had returned to their winter encampments along the Rappahannock River's northern bank, near Fredericksburg. Their positions covered likely crossing points and protected the logistical arteries connecting them to supply sources via the Potomac River. Morale among many Federals was low. Private Theodore Garrish -- whose Fifth Corps regiment, the 20th Maine, had seen action during the battle -- deemed Hooker's performance at Chancellorsville a "fearful shock" to the army. Meanwhile, in the 7th Indiana, a First Corps regiment that had missed the combat, a lieutenant diagnosed the Army of the Potomac as being "in a comatose state." That opinion was seconded and elaborated on by Robert K. Beecham, an infantryman in the 2nd Wisconsin (First Corps), who declared, "The Chancellorsville campaign pretty thoroughly demonstrated the fact that as a general in the field at the head of an army, Gen. Joseph Hooker was no match for Gen. R.E. Lee."
Not everyone shared this pessimistic outlook, however. "The army is neither disorganized, discouraged, or dispirited," insisted a soldier in the 14th Connecticut (Second Corps). "As far as spirits are concerned, the army was never more jubilant; it thinks with Joe Hooker that 'it can take care of itself, move when it wishes to; fight when it sees fit; retreat when it deems it best.'" This determination was reflected in a letter sent by the officer commanding the 20th Maine to his six-year-old daughter: "Therehas been a big battle," explained Joshua Chamberlain, "and we had a great many men killed and wounded. We shall try it again soon, and see if we cannot make those Rebels behave better, and stop their wicked works in trying to spoil our Country, and making us all so unhappy."
A Pennsylvanian in the 102nd regiment (Sixth Corps) minced no words: "The talk about demoralization in this army is all false. The army is no more demoralized to-day than the day it first started out, although God knows it has had, through the blundering of inefficient commanders and other causes too numerous to mention, plenty of reason to be." A soldier in the Third Corps by the name of John Haley weighed the moment with the fatalistic outlook of a veteran: he was certain, he wrote, that the army was "again buoyant and ready to be led to new fields of conquest -- or defeat."
A member of the 1st United States Sharpshooters marveled at the way the men put defeat out of their thoughts and "turned their minds and hands to the duties and occupations of the present." For Wilbur Fisk, a private in the 2nd Vermont (Sixth Corps), those duties included standing guard in a position so far to the rear that "the prospect of seeing an enemy was about equal to the prospect of taking Richmond." Oliver Norton, a Fifth Corps orderly, found time between assignments to enjoy the performance of a mockingbird that was housekeeping in a nearby apple tree. "He combines in one the song of every bird I ever heard and many I haven't," Norton enthused. "One minute he's a bobolink, the next a lark or a robin, and he's never tired of singing."
The mood was far less upbeat in the camps of the Eleventh Corps, situated along the railroad connecting the army to its supply base at Aquia Landing. The May 2 Confederate flank attack had fallen squarely on the poorly positioned Eleventh, whose commander had chosen to ignore the warning signs, leaving his men to their fate. They had fought better than might have been expected, but few outside the corps gave them much credit for that.
Nearly half of the soldiers in the Eleventh Corps hailed from Germany, a circumstance that made them handy scapegoats. Sergeant Benjamin Hirst, a member of the Second Corps, expressed a not-untypical opinion when he described to his wife how "the whole 11th Army Corps, gave way almost without firing a shot, the Panic stricken runing about in hundreds and thousands." Similar contempt was voiced by Lieutenant Frank Haskell, an otherwise perceptive Second Corps officer, who noted that the "Dutchmen...ran...before they had delivered a shot." "As for this last defeat they lay it all to the Dutch. 11th Army Corps," reported a Third Corps soldier. "They runn like sheep."
All of this contumely came as a rude surprise to the Eleventh Corps soldiers themselves, who had suffered about three-fourths of the Union losses on May 2 while delaying the enemy advance until nightfall ended the combat. One of the corps' brigade commanders was visited by a delegation of soldiers bearing copies of newspapers heaping scorn on the Eleventh. The men bluntly asked "if such be the reward they may expect for the sufferings they have endured and the bravery they have displayed." A few outside the corps' German community managed to see past the filters of prejudice. One such was Robert K. Beecham, who avowed, "The fault was not in the troops, but in the generalship that could not provide against such a surprise."
The Eleventh Corps was under the overall command of Major General Oliver Otis Howard. A deeply religious man who had lost his right arm in battle in 1862, Howard had been brought in to replace the extremely popular (but in military terms notably unsuccessful) Fritz Sigel just a few months before Chancellorsville. When Howard failed to acknowledge the indignation that was coursing through the ranks of his German regiments, and carefully dodged any personal blame for his own leadership failures, the mood of some under his command darkened. "It is only the miserable setup of our Corps because of General Howard that we had to retreat in such a shameful way," swore one soldier in the 26th Wisconsin. "In time the truth will come out," promised another in the same regiment. "It was all General Howard's..."
Gettysburg. Copyright © by Noah Trudeau. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
