The Gettysburg Campaign: Part 1

I have written about Gettysburg in several other blog entries and, as we approach the 146th anniversary of this epic battle, I thought I might do a series of essays on the three-days of fighting in Pennsylvania. As I said in an earlier essay, Gettysburg seems to stand alone among Civil War battles in the collective and popular historical memory of the American people. If the Civil War was America’s “Iliad,” Gettysburg is perceived as our Troy, a titanic struggle that determined the nation’s fate.

Like many historians, I do not see the battle as the ultimate turning point of the war, although, had things gone differently, it might well have been a shattering defeat for the Union, and one from which they might never have recovered. Still, however, Gettysburg holds a tremendous fascination, even for the most jaundiced of Civil War historians. I think that is because this battle, perhaps above all others, so strongly reflects the human element of warfare. There were good command decisions and bad ones, and these are still the topic of great debate. Further, there was the incredible tenacity of the common soldier, where, despite command decisions, the battle simply came down to fierce combat among soldiers; a battle where the plans and decisions of generals mattered little because the struggle became purely a “soldier’s fights.” Finally, there is also the element of Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. Lincoln chose this one battle to symbolize the nature of the war and its ultimate goal of a “new birth of freedom,” forever cementing Gettysburg’s place in American culture.

As the Gettysburg campaign unfolded in June 1863, the two opposing armies and their commanders were a study in contrast. Two years of war and, especially, the Confederate victory at Chancellorsville in May 1863, had resulted in two armies that seemed, on the surface at least, to be going in opposite directions. The differences were not so much those dictated by numbers of available combatants or by equipment because, by the time the two armies met in Pennsylvania, both were remarkably equivalent in those aspects of relative military strength. Instead, the differences were all closely related and were based upon morale, psychology, and, perhaps most importantly, perception. As such, they would impact the opening days of the campaign as well as its eventual outcome.

The aftermath of the Battle of Chancellorsville found the Army of Northern Virginia slightly bruised and battered but with its morale high, supremely confidant in themselves and their leaders. While the loss of General Stonewall Jackson had been painful, the results of the battle gave them an even more unshakable faith in their commander, Robert E. Lee. At Chancellorsville, Lee committed a military sin when he, first, divided his army in the face of a superior enemy, assaulting him on two fronts. He then compounded his “sin” by further dividing his force in order to have Jackson march through the tangled terrain of the Wilderness to attack the Army of the Potomac on its exposed right flank. The result was a stunning victory and, in the minds of his men, Lee was a master who could lead them to victory anywhere, anytime.

For his part, Lee seemed to believe his army and his beloved men could do anything. Eight months previously, they had performed spectacularly in his Maryland campaign, where he pushed them almost to the breaking point with forced marches, and, at Chancellorsville, they had again done whatever he asked, even when it seemed impossible. The adoration between the soldiers and their general was mutual, complete, and, perhaps, dangerously so. In many soldiers’ minds, Lee could do no wrong and their opponent was seen as weak and unworthy. At the same time, in Lee’s mind, his faith in his army’s ability to do the impossible may have reached a point where his military judgment and strategic and tactical decision-making were actually clouded by excessive confidence and unrealistic expectations.

At the same time, all was not well in the command structure of the Army of Northern Virginia. The loss of Stonewall Jackson was deep in a very real and military sense, perhaps more so than anyone truly realized at the time. Jackson was eccentric, aggressive, and, at times, even brilliant in the field. For Lee, who clearly favored bold tactics and a “hit them hard” approach, Jackson was the favored executor of those tactics and his right arm. Now, that important element was gone.

In the wake of Jackson’s loss, Lee was left with General James Longstreet, the steady but cautious commander of the First Corps, and a collection of other officers who, while seemingly competent, had never commanded a corps and were certainly not as brilliantly aggressive as Jackson. Plus, the two corps that made up the Army of Northern Virginia were larger than usual for the era. Therefore, Lee decided to reorganize the army into three corps of three divisions each and assigned them Generals Longstreet, Ewell, and A.P. Hill, respectively. Ewell and Hill had proven to be able division commanders, but now they would be asked to command a corps in a major campaign. Further, it is important to note that Confederate losses in terms of officers and, in particular, regiment commanders had been high at Chancellorsville. This, combined with Lee’s reorganization, resulted in a command structure that was filled with new faces from top to bottom. Therefore, as the Army of Northern Virginia prepared to move north, it was reorganized, had many new commanders, but was reasonably well equipped, and, most of all, it was very confident. As historian Edwin Coddington points out, it had become “convinced of its invincibility,” and had developed “the attitude that breeds overconfidence, which in turn leads to mistakes when the foe proves worthy of his mettle.”

That foe, meanwhile, was something of a contrast with the Army of Northern Virginia in the days following Chancellorsville. The men of the Army of the Potomac were confident in themselves as soldiers, and their commanding officers from the regiment to corps level knew their men could fight and fight well. They were well-fed, well-trained, and well-equipped. The men had shown themselves to be hardy, brave, and even courageous fighters. But neither the men nor most of their immediate commanders had any faith or confidence in their commanding general, Joseph Hooker.

For the Chancellorsville campaign, Hooker had devised a brilliant turning maneuver that he and his army executed flawlessly. However, when the fighting began, the usually exuberant and flamboyant Hooker became fearful, cautious, and completely unable to effectively command the army. Essentially, Hooker suffered from an inability to fight a battle “on the map.” In other words, while he had proven himself to be an able tactical commander in the field at the division and corps level, where he could see all his men and see the enemy, he could not seem to command an entire army spread across a larger area where he physically could not see them. Plus, as the battle unfolded, he became gripped with a fear of failure. Finally, when his opponent, Robert E. Lee, did not behave as planned and responded with unconventional tactics, Hooker not only froze, he panicked. Even after his army had been flanked and the XI Corps sent reeling from Jackson’s sudden attack on the right flank, Hooker’s force was still intact and capable of punishing the enemy. But, Hooker did not seem to know how to adapt his plan, regroup, and regain the initiative he had surrendered. Therefore, he elected to withdraw and add another defeat to the growing list of losses for the Army of the Potomac.

As Lee planned and organized for his campaign, Hooker did little planning and simply went into a reactive posture, which remained the case until he resigned from command weeks later. In addition, the only major change he made organizationally involved the cavalry of the Army of the Potomac. Prior to Chancellorsville, Hooker placed the cavalry into an independent corps. This would allow them to be commanded by a cavalry officer and, hopefully, to be used far more effectively. However, he was still disappointed in how that arm had performed during the campaign and, he relieved General George Stoneman of command, dispersing some of his key lieutenants, such as General William Averell, to other commands outside the Army of the Potomac. In his place, Hooker appointed General Alfred Pleasanton based solely on seniority, which was a procedural problem that had long plagued the Union armies. General John Buford, a talented, seasoned cavalry veteran, was probably a better choice than Pleasanton, but he lacked seniority by a mere eleven days. This too, however, would prove to be somewhat providential for the Union forces since Buford, who would now commanded the 1st Division of the Cavalry Corps, would perform brilliantly in the coming campaign and play a crucial tactical role in the early hours of the fighting at Gettysburg.

The commanders of Hooker’s infantry corps, meanwhile, were a mixed bag. Overall, however, they were a solid group. George Meade, commanding V Corps, was competent, reliable, and steady, as was John Sedgwick, who led VI Corps. John Reynolds and Winfield Scott Hancock, who commanded I and II Corps, respectively, were both men who shared a talent for tactics that bordered on the brilliant. They also were men who had the ability to inspire all around them when under fire, especially Hancock. Unfortunately, after these four officers, there was a steep drop in talent. General Oliver Howard of XI Corps and Henry Slocum of XII were both very ordinary as corps commanders. Plus, Howard carried the stigma of having had his corps break and run under the onslaught of Jackson’s flanking attack at Chancellorsville and, as a result, his men, many of whom were of German origin, earned the dubious nickname of being the “Flying Dutchmen.” Finally, there was General Daniel Sickles, commander of III Corps. Sickles was a New York politician, a Democrat, and a man seemingly without any military talents except his personal bravery. Other than that, he specialized in conspiracy, cronyism, and always making sure his mistakes could be blamed on the failures of another officer. His sole claim to fame was that he murdered his wife’s lover and, in the ensuing trial, became the first man in American history that was cleared because he found to be temporarily insane.

All in all, the Army of the Potomac was actually a first class fighting machine. While their morale was low following Chancellorsville, the fighting ability of its officers and men was unquestioned. They merely needed the leadership of a good commander to bring them victory and make them the great army they were waiting to become. As Coddington points out, “To call them hirelings, foreign mercenaries, scum of the cities, and the poorer classes of the country, terms used in derision and contempt by the Southern press and some Confederate officers, reveals a fatal delusion.”

Even before the Confederate victory at Chancellorsville, Robert E. Lee had wanted to take the offensive and seize the initiative before Hooker could mount a summer campaign. However, Hooker was able to briefly throw Lee’s plans off track when he moved his army against Lee at Chancellorsville. Lee, therefore, temporarily postponed his plans to deal with Hooker and, following the defeat of the Union forces, he again resumed his plans for an offensive. For this summer campaign, Lee proposed a new invasion of the North. In many ways, his goals for the campaign were similar to those he espoused in 1862 following his defeat of Union’s Army of Virginia at Second Manassas. First, by moving north across the Potomac, he could get the Army of the Potomac out of Virginia. This would remove the immediate danger to Richmond, and allow Virginia’s farmers to harvest their crops unmolested by Federal forces, enabling them to provide those crops to Lee’s army. Second, by going north, Lee could also strip Maryland and Pennsylvania of much needed food and supplies for his army. Third, Lee could also maneuver so as to keep the Army of the Potomac off balance and, while hopefully avoiding a general engagement, fight it and defeat it piecemeal. This, Lee predicted, might gain political advantage to the Peace Democrats in the North and force a negotiated end to the war on Southern terms.

While all these reasons for the campaign were virtually identical to those he used in 1862, he added one more. Lee defended his plans to President Davis by reasoning that, if he could threaten Philadelphia, Baltimore, and, especially, Washington, the Lincoln administration would be forced to withdraw forces from the West to defend against attack, thus lessening Grant’s stranglehold on Vicksburg. In all likelihood, this argument was as insincere as it was illogical. Throughout the war, Lee repeatedly demonstrated that he either did not understood or cared little for any aspect of the war outside of Virginia. However, he was probably politically astute enough to know how much the fate of Vicksburg meant to Jefferson Davis. While in hindsight it would seem unlikely that anything Lee did would influence Grant’s operations around Vicksburg, Davis was probably ready to grasp at any straw that might save that key city from capture. While there was some initial political maneuvering and misunderstanding of Lee’s objectives, Davis finally gave his consent to Lee’s plan.

Lee’s plans for the movement of his army were both sound and relatively simple. He would quietly disengage from the Union forces at his front along the Rappahannock River, and then move his army down the Shenandoah Valley, keeping the Blue Ridge Mountains between himself and Hooker’s army. Using J.E.B. Stuart’s cavalry to screen his movements and keep the passes into the Shenandoah blocked, he would move steadily northward and cross the Potomac into Maryland before proceeding into Pennsylvania. Finally, when Hooker actually realized what was happening, Lee would be far to the north, maneuvering at will, raising havoc, and threatening the Federal capitol.

For his part, Hooker seemingly did not have a strategy except to be reactive. He had surrendered the initiative to Lee at Chancellorsville and had no plans to recapture it. When his intelligence indicated movements by the Confederate forces, he was unsure what to make of them. At first, he thought perhaps Stuart was going to attempt another large cavalry raid on the Federal rear. To counter that possibility, he ordered General Pleasanton to take his cavalry, along with some supporting infantry, and attack Stuart’s forces in the Culpeper area. This led to the battle at Brandy Station, which, while it did not break up Stuart’s forces, demonstrated that the Federal cavalry was gaining on its Southern foe in quality and fighting abilities.

As evidence mounted indicating there was more happening here than a mere cavalry raid, Hooker seemed unable to properly analyze his opponent’s actions and formulate a countermove. Even when he seemingly knew Lee’s army was stretched vulnerably along the Shenandoah Valley, he proposed that he attack Lee’s remaining forces at Fredericksburg and thus threaten the Confederate capitol at Richmond. President Lincoln turned this idea down without hesitation and there ensued a continuous series of harsh, combative communications between Hooker and Lincoln, Secretary of War Stanton, and General Halleck. Lincoln urged an attack on Lee’s exposed army as it transited the Shenandoah, but it was to no avail. Hooker was more concerned about again being made the fool in Lee’s game than in countering his opponent’s thrust into the North. Hooker was paralyzed by a fear of what Lee might do. He was so concerned that Lee might again do something unconventional, he could apparently do nothing but attempt to shadow his enemy and move roughly parallel to him.

Even in this, Hooker failed. He grossly underestimated Lee’s rate of movement and soon discovered Lee was already across the Potomac and into northern Maryland. To his credit, however, Hooker did react properly to this threat. He hurried the Army of the Potomac northward with grueling forced marches. In addition, he positioned the army well and placed it such that it could react to any potential move by Lee’s army, and still cover both Washington and Baltimore.

While Hooker was trying to shadow Lee’s army, Lee made his initial error of the campaign by issuing a somewhat unclear order to General Stuart. Lee told Stuart that, if there was no enemy threat at his front, he was to take three of his brigades and move across the Potomac. Then, he was to place himself on Ewell’s right in order to guard the infantry’s flank, watch for enemy movements, and gather supplies. However, the orders offered Stuart some latitude and did not make clear the precise intent of Stuart’s eventual position on Ewell’s right. Unfortunately for Lee, Stuart was the kind of officer who preferred to operate somewhat independently.

In addition, Lee trusted Stuart’s judgment, which is surprising given that Stuart had failed him on his first invasion of the North in 1862. At that time, Stuart and his command were too busy enjoying the Maryland countryside to monitor McClellan’s movements properly. The result was that Lee, with his army divided, suddenly found the Federal army he assumed to be disorganized and licking its wounds inside the defenses of Washington was, in fact, pressing down on him and placing his army in grave peril. One of the criticisms of Lee has been that he had his favorites and that he failed to properly assess responsibility for what were sometimes grave errors and lapses in judgment. Such was the case with Stuart.

Rather than perceiving the true intent of Lee’s orders, Stuart instead decided to stage a grand raid and ride completely around the Army of the Potomac. This raid, which garnered headlines in the Northern press, was primarily a nuisance to the Federals. Worse, with Stuart out of touch, Lee had no intelligence on the movements of the Army of the Potomac. Late on June 28, with his army spread from Carlisle to Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, Lee found out through a spy that, not only was the Federal army not still in Virginia, it was, in fact, rapidly approaching Frederick, Maryland. Lee compounded Stuart’s error by not making use of the cavalry he still had on hand to either gather intelligence or screen his army from Federal cavalry. However, when Lee found out the true position of the Army of the Potomac, he began to regroup his forces and move to consolidate them in the face of the newly discovered threat.

Meanwhile, command of the Army of the Potomac was in turmoil. Hooker, who had been engaged in a running argument with General Halleck over the need to defend Harper’s Ferry, decided to pay a visit to that garrison on June 27 to determine the situation for himself, firsthand. While there, he and Halleck again exchanged bitter telegrams over the need to defend Harpers Ferry. Suddenly, in one of them, Hooker offered his resignation, stating he could not cover both Harpers Ferry and Washington with the forces at his disposal. Lincoln jumped at the offer and, perhaps much to Hooker’s surprise, accepted Hooker’s resignation.

Within hours, orders from Halleck were delivered to General Meade offering him command of the Army of the Potomac. Meade accepted and immediately began to direct the army’s activities. One of the key elements of Halleck’s instructions to Meade was that he could assign any officer to a post for which he deemed him the best qualified, no matter the seniority of other officers. Meade would make excellent use of this authority during the coming days and it proved to be vital. Meade immediately adjusted the position of the army based on the intelligence he was receiving. He correctly concluded that his greatest threat from Lee was from the left. Therefore, he elected to give command of the left wing of the army and the three corps that comprised it to the very able John Reynolds. Throughout the days leading to the battle, Meade kept a continuous flow of information going to his corps commanders, telling them both what was happening as well as what he expected of them.

Being the cautious and thorough officer that he was, Meade also made contingency plans should he find the need to fall back to a strong defensive position. His engineers found good terrain for such a contingency along Pipe Creek and he issued a circular informing his commanders of the plan. This circular was later misunderstood and used as evidence against Meade by those who alledged that he was overly timid and not sufficiently aggressive. In retrospect, Meade probably should not have disseminated the order so broadly, but he was apparently a strong believer in open communications with his commanders. But, as John Ropes, the distinguished military historian, put it, “In all this, it seems to me that Meade acted with great prudence, and with sufficient boldness.”

As Lee began to consolidate his army in the Gettysburg vicinity, the excellent work of the Federal cavalry came to the forefront. Throughout the campaign, they had done a yeoman’s job of providing intelligence on Lee’s movements, although, at times, General Pleasanton misinterpreted the data when forwarding it. As Meade moved forward, the best information came from John Buford. His reports were always clear, concise, and unambiguous. Luckily for Meade and the Army of the Potomac, Pleasanton had assigned Buford and two of his brigades to cover Reynold’s flank as he moved in the general direction of Gettysburg. This meant that two of Meade’s best were working on the army’s left, where it would soon matter most.

As the opening phase of this great campaign ended, Lee’s army was moving to consolidate against a foe they only knew was nearby, while Meade’s army cautiously positioned itself to engage Lee once the situation dictated. The former was groping in relative darkness, blinded by a lack of intelligence, trying to ensure it was ready once the Federal army’s position became apparent, while the latter was seeking out their opponent, probing and preparing methodically. Both armies were roughly equivalent in strength, and both had seen some turmoil in command and organization. They had moved north stretched out, but now they were consolidating like two great snakes coiling to strike. One army, Lee’s, had long been the defender of its home soil, but now was the invader, while Meade’s army now found themselves defending Union soil for only the second time in the war. All the elements of a historic and inevitable clash were in place, and soon that fight would come.

The Role of Moral Courage at Gettysburg-Part 1: John Buford

Analyses of what ingredients, what key qualities, make a great commander fill the study of military history. These analyses typically cite a wide variety of traits such as audacity, vision, common sense, aggressiveness, prudence, recklessness, physical courage, and discretion. However, one element that is perhaps the most important in good leadership and effective command, and the one that seems to have escaped notice for the most part, is a single, rare attribute, and one that has been a virtual constant in effective command throughout history-moral courage. Further, moral courage is unique in that both its absence and presence creates an impact at all levels of command. A battle and history itself can turn upon this one vital ingredient.

Over the course of time, the American Civil War has become a sort of historical laboratory for the study of strategy, command, and leadership, and, as such, it offers one of the best sources for examining the importance of moral courage in command. Ulysses S. Grant, the man who was arguably the war’s greatest commander and who clearly possessed this exceptional quality, discussed moral courage at length, describing it as a willingness to take responsibility and to make decisions. Taking Grant’s description one step further, renowned Civil War historian James McPherson says that moral courage “embraces a readiness to take risks and to accept the possibility of failure, for without the risk of failure there is little chance of success.” As a result, moral courage can often come into play when a commander faces a decision that is not merely difficult, but is also a decision with absolutely no middle ground. This absence of middle ground means that the choice is simple: one can either shrink from it, take the easy way out, and let it become someone else’s problem, or you can take the hard choice, the one that may require great sacrifice, the one that could result in disaster, but also the one that is probably the only chance for success.

The Civil War is filled with examples of army commanders who both possessed moral courage and those that did not. Those who possessed it, men like Grant, Sherman, and Lee, led their armies to victories, while those who did not, men such as McClellan and Bragg, were rendered entirely ineffective by its absence. However, what about those times when a commander at a lower echelon was called upon to draw on his own moral courage? These can be moments when that quality is the most critical because moral courage often manifests itself in only the direst circumstances, when a commander faces a decision that must be made either quickly or when alone, without the aid of advice or direction from others in the chain of command. The Civil War is filled with thousands of examples where corps, brigade, or even regimental commanders failed to demonstrate moral courage. These were moments when they did not follow orders, retreated without authority, or simply broke and ran with their men. However, despite this, there are not only good examples of the presence of moral courage at the lower echelons of command, some of these demonstrate how important a quality it can be, even when the man who possesses it is not leading an entire army.

The best illustrations of just how critical moral courage can be in lower echelon tactical decisions come from Gettysburg, an engagement noted for its numerous crucial strategic and tactical decisions. However, three of the tactical decisions stand out among all the rest. The first was made by Brigadier General John Buford, commander of the First Division of the Army of the Potomac’s Cavalry Corps. As the Gettysburg campaign unfolded, Buford’s division was assigned to cover the army’s left flank, both screening its movements and searching for signs of Lee’s army. On June 29, 1863, General Pleasanton, commander of the Cavalry Corps, ordered two brigades of Buford’s division, along with a battery of artillery, to proceed to Gettysburg and directed they arrive by the evening of June 30. Pleasanton could not have given what would turn out to be a most important assignment to a better officer. John Buford was a Kentucky-born West Point graduate, Class of 1848, who, with the exception of a brief staff assignment in Washington early in the war, had served in the cavalry throughout his career. As a junior officer serving in the western frontier, Buford had been a solid, if not occasionally brilliant, young cavalryman. In the war years between 1861 and 1863, Buford had proven to be a steady, capable field commander. Colonel Theodore Lyman would later describe the tough and somewhat colorful Buford as follows:

He is one of the best officers of that arm and is a singular-looking party. Figurez-vous a compactly built man of middle height, with a tawny moustache and a little, triangular gray eye, whose expression is determined, not to say sinister. His ancient corduroys are tucked into a pair of ordinary cowhide boots, and his blue blouse is ornamented with holes; from one pocket thereof peeps a huge pipe, while the other is fat with a tobacco pouch. Notwithstanding this get-up he is a very soldierly looking man. He is of a good-natured disposition, but not to be trifled with. Caught a notorious spy last winter and hung him to the next tree, with this inscription: “This man to hang three days: he who cuts him down before shall hang the remaining time.”

Wounded twice in the first years of the war, by the summer of 1863, Buford’s reputation as a cavalryman and leader was well known among his fellow officers. One of them, Colonel Charles Wainwright, noted that Buford was “never looking after his own comfort, untiring on the march and in the supervision of his command, quiet and unassuming in his manners.” In fact, his comrades warmly referred to him as “Old Steadfast.” When the shooting began at Gettysburg, they would find out that name was truly appropriate.

Upon receiving Pleasanton’s orders, Buford moved quickly, pushing his force of some 3,000 men hard, arriving in Gettysburg at 11:00 A.M. on June 30, well ahead of schedule. Buford immediately sent patrols north and west of the town, searching for signs of the enemy. One patrol actually ran into and exchanged fire with Confederate troops, a lead element of a brigade from Heth’s division of A.P Hill’s corps on the road coming west from Cashtown. Heth’s men were on their way to Gettysburg looking for supplies, but, in light of the resistance they received from Buford’s patrol, they elected to withdraw. From this activity and other reports, Buford was able to put together a picture of his tactical situation, which he reported to General Reynolds, commanding I Corps and the left wing of the Army of the Potomac.

I am satisfied that A. P. Hill's corps is massed just back of Cashtown, about 9 miles from this place. Pender's division of this (Hill's) corps came up, to-day--of which I advised you, saying, "The enemy in my front is increased." The enemy's pickets (infantry and artillery) are within 4 miles of this place, on the Cashtown road...Near Heidlersburg today, one of my parties captured a courier of Lee's...He says Ewell's corps is crossing the mountains from Carlisle, Rodes' division being at Petersburg in advance. Longstreet, from all I can learn, is still behind Hill.

Buford clearly could see that Lee’s army was now concentrating in the direction of Gettysburg, and he later wrote that he “had gained positive information of the enemy's position and movements, and my arrangements were made for entertaining him until General Reynolds could reach the scene.” Buford had decided to make a stand and apparently elected to do so based on his professional judgment of the value of the terrain near Gettysburg. While historians have differed in their views as to whether Buford or John Reynolds picked the battlefield at Gettysburg, it is logical to assume that Buford, as first man on the scene, made his determination to fight based on the terrain he observed. From his actions, it appears logical that Buford carefully examined the ground and the road networks, and he could see that the high terrain southeast of the town offered a good, defensible position for the Army of the Potomac. Therefore, he coolly determined that his role would be to defend that ground and ensure it would be available to the army, once it arrived on the scene. Given that he could be outnumbered by as much as 15 to 1, it was a risky and somewhat remarkable decision.

Now, however, the problem for Buford would be exactly how to do deny the enemy the high ground south of Gettysburg given the numerical superiority and power of the enemy infantry, which he knew was quickly approaching. It had taken moral courage to make the decision to stand and fight, but now it would take even more to execute that decision, along with Buford’s considerable military skills. As he put his defensive plans together on the evening of June 30, Buford remarked to Colonel Devin that “the battle would be fought at that point” and that “he was afraid it would be commenced in the morning before the infantry would get up.” Therefore, Buford decided to make use of the terrain west of Gettysburg and attempt to execute one of the most difficult of all military tactics—a defense in depth against a vastly superior force. His goal would be to delay Lee’s army until Union infantry could arrive on the scene, initially support his delaying tactics, and, then, occupy the key ground southeast of Gettysburg. Once again, Buford analyzed the terrain and could see that the landscape west of the town offered him some advantages.

The terrain west of Gettysburg undulates in a series of wooded ridges, punctuated by rocky creeks, all of which run north to south, perpendicular to the road from Chambersburg and Cashtown. Buford decided to deploy one brigade on the ridges west of Gettysburg, where he anticipated the greatest threat, and place the other north of the town to watch for the approach of Ewell’s corps from Carlisle. His main line of defense would be McPherson’s Ridge, some two miles outside Gettysburg, but he would deploy videttes, intended to act as a sort of early warning system, in an arc seven miles long extending four to six miles from the center of Gettysburg. These videttes would watch for the enemy, make contact, fire warning shots, then delay as long as possible, and fall back to the next defensive position-the idea was to buy time.

At 6:00 A.M. on the morning of July 1, Buford’s plan went into action when a vidette manned by men from the 8^th Illinois Cavalry Regiment spotted Confederates troops approaching on the Chambersburg Pike. They fired a shot off in the general direction of the enemy and the Battle of Gettysburg began. The response from Confederate general Henry Heth was to deploy skirmishers and form his division into a line of battle, which delayed the Southern advance by nearly two hours. Heth was, at this point, still entirely uncertain of exactly what size force he was facing, and he was taking no chances. This was exactly the reaction Buford hoped for and, thus far, his plan was succeeding.

Heth finally pushed forward and the fighting began in earnest. Throughout what would become a desperate engagement, Buford presented a cool, determined front. Daniel Skelly, a local boy who saw Buford that morning, later wrote of Buford’s “calm demeanor and soldierly appearance.” At another point in the thick of the fighting, young Lieutenant Calef, who commanded Buford’s lone artillery battery, suddenly found Buford at his side calmly telling him, “Our boys are in a pretty hot pocket, but, my boy, we must hold this position until the infantry comes up. Then you withdraw your guns in each section by piece, fill up your limber chests from the caissons, and await my orders.”

As soon as the enemy approached McPherson’s Ridge, Buford fired off a dispatch to General George Meade, the newly appointed commander of the Army of the Potomac, telling him:

The enemy's force (A. P. Hill's) are advancing on me at this point, and driving my pickets and skirmishers very rapidly. There is also a large force at Heidlersburg that is driving my pickets at that point from that direction. General Reynolds is advancing, and is within 3 miles of this point with his leading division. I am positive that the whole of A. P. Hill’s force is advancing.

Buford’s men continued to hold for what was now approaching four hours. Soon, however, their ammunition began to run short and the weight of Heth’s assault started to bend their flanks. Then, just as the situation became grave, General Reynolds arrived followed closely by the infantry of the I Corps’ Iron Brigade. Buford was now able to pull his men out of the line and fall back to defensive positions on I Corps’ flank.

While John Buford’s men had fought with great bravery, and his tactical skill in planning and executing a seemingly impossible defense in depth are noteworthy, Buford’s decision to stand and fight west of Gettysburg was crucial to the eventual outcome. His steadfastness allowed Union forces access to and eventual control of the high ground southeast of Gettysburg, without which the entire complexion of the battle would have changed.

However, perhaps more importantly, Buford’s decision demonstrates the inner strength, the moral courage, great commanders must possess at crucial moments. Buford could have taken the safest path, electing instead to simply observe the Confederate movements, report information to Reynolds and Meade, and then fall back out of harm’s way in the face of a vastly superior force. Instead, he looked at his options, and chose to pursue the riskiest and most difficult course of action, as well as the one his professional judgment told him was required.