Reflections on a Return to Gettysburg

A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to make a return visit to Gettysburg, my first in two years. The primary reason for my visit was to see the new Gettysburg National Military Park (NPS) Museum and Visitor Center, which opened in September 2008. I was not only anxious to see this new state of the art facility, but also to examine how the NPS was telling the story of the Civil War, which had become a subject of controversy in the last decade. What I found was that, at Gettysburg, they got it right.

Since the NPS assumed management of Gettysburg and other Civil War sites from the War Department in the 1930s, the sole focus of their historical interpretation had been on the battles themselves. There was no discussion of how each battle fit within the broader canvas of the war and there was no information presented on how the war came to happen. Most of all, there was certainly no discussion of slavery as the cause of the conflict. To mention slavery at all was and still is seen in some quarters as, at best, inappropriate, and, at worst, politically correct revisionism.

But in 1998, this all began to change. NPS superintendents decided that, with the approach of the 150th anniversary of the war, it was high time they began including the causes of the war in the interpretation they presented to the visiting public. However, when this “radical” change became public, the NPS was inundated with thousands of letters from the Sons of Confederate Veterans, members of Civil War Roundtables, the general public, and Southern members of Congress claiming the government was slandering the South with its “PC” interpretation of the war. These letters also charged that the NPS was going to turn battlefields into "South-bashing, hate-generating propaganda centers."

While most modern historians agree that slavery was, indeed, the central cause of the war, some still object that such a discussion is inappropriate for a battlefield site. Dr. James Robertson, the noted Civil War historian from Virginia Tech University, said, “I don't think there is any doubt about it - without slavery, there would have been no Civil War." Nevertheless, he also stated that slavery did not belong in the story told at the battlefields. Using Antietam as an example, Robertson said, "Antietam Battlefield is no place for [this] kind of museum, exhibit, display, propaganda or whatever you call it.”

While I am a great admirer of Dr. Robertson’s work, I cannot agree with him on this subject. If he were to get out of the classroom and the symposium circuit, he would find that most of the American public does not really know how this national tragedy came to be, or what it cost us as a nation. At best, they were taught the “Lost Cause” version of the Civil War, which was the “politically correct” history in this country for over 100 years and which states categorically that slavery was not the cause of the conflict. At worst, their teachers simply skipped all mention of the war and its cause entirely. As a result, most Americans have no context from which to understand these battlefields and the horrific events that took place there.

In contrast to James Robertson, other historians, such as Dr. James McPherson, have applauded the NPS action and encouraged historians to engage in the resulting public debate. McPherson argues that battlefield parks can both tell the story of the war and the battles they interpret, stating, "It's not a zero-sum game. If you broaden your interpretation by adding non-military context to the issues that doesn't mean reducing or diminishing the quality of interpretation." In fact, McPherson believes we have a duty to tell the story: "We expect Germans and Japanese to confront their own history…yet somehow we don't always ask ourselves to do the same thing, that is, confront aspects of our past."

If the new Gettysburg museum is an example of this approach, the NPS is to be congratulated on their work. From the time you enter the museum and watch the opening film, “A New Birth of Freedom,” until you exit, you receive a balanced, accurate, and compelling story of the war’s causes, the course of the conflict before Gettysburg, the three days of fighting there, and the aftermath. The exhibits and displays are informative and, at times, deeply moving. An example of the latter is the transitional display between the hall on the final day of battle at Gettysburg and those that cover the battle’s aftermath. As I walked from one hall to the next, I found myself staring at a huge wall covered in photographs of soldiers, all of them casualties at Gettysburg. I found myself frozen, unable to move, as literally hundreds of faces looked back at me, each seemingly begging for me to see them, to remember them…each a son, a brother, a husband, a father. It was incredibly powerful and I simply could not turn away. When I finally did move on, I turned back so I could see how others reacted. Each person had a reaction similar to mine. They would stop, stare at the wall, and seemed rooted in place. One woman gasped and placed a hand over her mouth, while her husband could be seen to quietly say, “Dear God.”

The other aspect I must complement the NPS for is the heavy use of soldier’s letters and diaries to tell the story. From the narration at the cyclorama painting to the museum exhibits, the emphasis is on the experience of the average soldier, his fears and hopes—and this is properly so. The best way for people to understand the cost of this war is to hear in the words of people just like them, who lived these events and bore its cost so dearly.

When I left the museum, I drove to the Gettysburg National Cemetery, walked among the headstones, remembering the words Lincoln delivered there, and quietly thanked each man for what he gave to us as a nation. But the cost of that terrible sacrifice becomes especially apparent when you walk among those stones that simply have a number on them. These are the unknowns, boys and men whose names we will never know. I could not help but think that, for each of them, there was a mother or a wife, who simply stopped getting letters after the first three days of July, 1863. Eventually, these soldiers’ names would appear on an official list as “missing,” and no word of their fate or how they died would ever be received by their grieving families.

From there, I journeyed to Little Round Top. I got out of my car, walked to the crest of the hill, sat on large stone, and quietly took in the view. I am not sure I had any great epiphanies as I looked about me, but the entire experience was, as it always is, very sobering and very grounding. My problems and the stresses of work and life in the early 21st century seemed suddenly very small.

My heartfelt thanks go to all those who labored to bring the new interpretation at Gettysburg to life. They succeeded in their goal of making the history they present to the public more relevant, honest, and real. The end product is something every American should see and, more than that, truly experience. It serves as a reminder of all that was done and suffered here to make the nation whole and to give us the “new birth of freedom” of which Lincoln so eloquently spoke. And, in doing so, it also seeks to tell all of us that our work in that regard is still unfinished.

The Gettysburg Campaign: Part 3

As the evening of July 2, 1863 approached, the massive Confederate assault on the Union left had begun to wane. Despite initial successes, Longstreet’s attack came to a halt as his units lost momentum due to their own losses and the impact of resistance from Federal reserves. Longstreet’s attack was to have been coordinated with an assault by Ewell’s corps on the Federal right. Ewell’s attack was to have functioned as a demonstration or diversion, which would become a major attack if the opportunity presented itself. Ewell planned his attack to move from left to right, with Johnson’s division moving up the steep, rocky slopes of Culp’s Hill, followed quickly by Early’s division assaulting the northeastern side of Cemetery Hill.

Unfortunately for Lee and his army, Ewell did not attack when Longstreet did and, in fact, his attack did not start until Longstreet’s offensive was over and darkness was quickly overtaking the battlefield. Johnson’s men made their attack on Culp’s Hill and became engaged in a protracted, vicious fight in the darkness that saw them make gains on the lower portion of Culp’s Hill, but nowhere else. The Federal forces on the hill, meanwhile, had been weakened by withdrawal of units needed to shore up the Federal left and center. However, the remaining Federals under the command of Brigadier General George Greene put up tremendous resistance and, eventually, the XII Corps units that had been pulled away returned to help stall the Confederate attack. Had Johnson attacked at the correct time, those units might have been unable to return in time to help Greene fight off the attack. Once again, as would happen throughout the battle, Confederate efforts had been blunted because their inability to coordinate attacks allowed Meade’s army to shift forces when needed.

When Johnson’s men were engaged on Culp’s Hill, Early began to move the brigades of Hays and Hoke against Cemetery Hill. While the Union defensive position there might have appeared formidable, they were not so strong as one might expect. First, the XI Corps units manning the defenses on the hill had been badly mauled by Ewell’s men on July 1 and, now, they had to ensure they defended both sides of the hill from attack. Next, the position was essentially a salient that pointed north towards Gettysburg. As such, it was vulnerable to simultaneous attacks from the west and east sides and, as noted by Confederate General Porter Alexander, it was especially susceptible to enfilading artillery fire. In fact, Alexander considered the position both vulnerable enough and strategic enough to have warranted the focus of Lee’s attack on July 3 instead of Cemetery Ridge.

It must also be noted that Cemetery Hill was, indeed, of great strategic importance to the Army of the Potomac. It was the anchor point for the north end of the Union line and its loss could have led to the collapse of the entire right flank of the army. In addition, Cemetery Hill and Culp’s Hill both were vital to control of the Baltimore Pike and, thus, Meade’s lines of communication and a potential avenue of retreat.

Given the hill’s salient nature, a simultaneous attack against the northeastern and western face of the Union defenses would have seemed the best chance for success. Apparently, there was some thinking in this direction as Ewell had intended for Rodes’ division to attack the opposite side of the hill. Once again, however, a Confederate unit was not in position when it should have been and, in this instance, did not even seem to attempt an attack. In fact, Rodes’ maneuvers could hardly even be referred to as a feint. However, Rodes was not entirely to blame. He was expecting Pender’s division from Hill’s corps to support his right, but Pender’s men never materialized despite pleas from Ewell. This sort of lack of cooperation was not unique within the Army of Northern Virginia, and, at Gettysburg, it was not only a typical problem, it was also a fatal flaw.

As a result, Early’s men attacked Cemetery Hill without support on their right, confining the attack to the northeastern side of the hill. The opposing XI Corps’ infantry were made more vulnerable when their division commander, Adelbert Ames, elected to shift the 17th Connecticut to the right, creating a gap in the line near its northern end. Early’s men took advantage of the gap and drove through it and up the hill towards the Federal artillery. Several of Ames’ regiments fell back and reformed to defend the guns, while other stoutly maintained their positions at the base of the hill. As the fighting ensued in darkness, XI Corps units from west of the pike along with Carroll’s brigade from II Corps were able to bolster the Union defenders and counterattack to drive Early’s men off the hill. Here once more, the lack of coordinated Confederate pressure allowed Union forces to shift manpower when they needed it most. That ability, combined with hard fighting by the defending XI Corps infantry and artillery, was enough to turn Early back and end the threat to Cemetery Hill.

The next morning, Lee ordered a second attack on Culp’s Hill. In all likelihood, Lee intended that this attack would take place at the same time as an assault by Longstreet on the right flank. But, once again, poor coordination and the inept Confederate command system resulted in problems for the Army of Northern Virginia. Pickett’s division, which was supposed to move up and be ready to attack at dawn, was not in place, and Ewell’s men were left to attack on their own.

Historian Jeffrey Wert states his opinion that Lee had no knowledge of the “tactical situation on Ewell’s front” when he issued the order. But, Ewell overrode the objections of his own commanders and supported Lee’s orders. Ewell should have known better but Ewell had never personally examined the terrain and Union defenses on Culp’s Hill. This lack of tactical awareness seems to have plagued the Confederate command structure at Gettysburg. At critical moments, there seems to have been a distinct lack of awareness by key commanders, including Lee himself, of terrain, of defenses, and of the overall tactical situation. This kind of awareness is what any modern soldier would term as the all-important “preparation of the battlefield.” Why it was in such short supply in the Army of Northern Virginia is a compelling question.

The XII Corps defenders were planning a counterattack to regain the lower portion of the hill when Ewells men struck. Despite the fact Ewell had doubled the number of attackers, the assault would fail. The Union field fortifications, the terrain, and the actions of the Federal defenders were simply too much for Ewell’s men to overcome. Despite three separate assaults by Johnson’s men, they would never really come close to breaking the Union line atop the upper hill and they were badly mauled by the intense rifle fire of the XII Corps. While the victory at Culp’s Hill was crucial for the Union’s position, the Confederate attack was probably a misguided and ill-fated effort. Even if it had been coordinated with an attack by Longstreet, it probably would have failed. The Union defenses were simply too strong and the forces on-hand were more than sufficient to turn Ewell’s men back. In the end, it was an unnecessary and useless waste of good men.

With Pickett’s men absent, Lee now considered his alternatives. He was determined to attack again and, again, he summarily dismissed Longstreet’s idea of a move around the Federal right. At first, he wanted Longstreet to attack the Union left as planned with McLaws, Hood, and Pickett, once the latter arrived. When Longstreet was able to talk his commander out of this idea, Lee began to focus on the Federal center, on the copse of trees on Cemetery Ridge that would soon become so much a part of the collective American memory.

When stripped down to its basic elements, Lee’s plan for what became popularly known as “Pickett’s Charge” was very basic. His concept called a large-scale infantry assault against the Union center on Cemetery Ridge, which was to be preceded by a massive artillery barrage. Once the leading infantry units broke through the Federal line, they would be quickly followed by supporting troops who would then exploit the breakthrough and turn down the Federal line, rolling up the defending Union infantry in the process. It was shock assault tactics at its most basic, relying on firepower and focused use of mass.

However, despite the fact that the plan was developed by a man regarded by many then and now as a tactical genius, it was badly flawed. The plan for the attack relied heavily on the ability of Confederate artillery to either seriously damage Federal batteries or force them to pull their guns back. This was a critical ingredient in the plan because Lee’s infantry would be forced to cross nearly a mile of open terrain where they would be within range of Federal guns almost from the moment they stepped off. Therefore, for the infantry, it was matter of exposure both in the sense of the terrain as well as in time and distance. Unfortunately, the Southern artillery was not up to the task. Its long-range ammunition was in short supply and much of it was of poor quality.

In addition, preparation of the battlefield was again lacking. Not only would the open, slightly undulating terrain expose the Southern infantry to Federal artillery fire, the point chosen for the attack could not have been worse in that it allowed virtually every battery the Army of the Potomac to be used to counter the attack. Not only would batteries on Cemetery Ridge come into play, but Federal guns on Cemetery Hill and Little Round Top would be able to reach out and hit the attacking infantry. In fact, over 120 guns would eventually be deployed against the Confederate assault. Further, there were the fences along Emmitsburg Road. These would slow the infantry down and break up their formations just as they came within effective rifle and canister range of the Union positions. These factors should have been obvious to an experienced military engineer like Lee, but they were apparently either overlooked or dismissed. As Porter Alexander would later observe, “The point selected and the method of attack would certainly have been chosen for us by the enemy had they had the choice.”

When the attack began, Confederate artillery did unleash a seemingly impressive barrage. However, while noisy and spectacular, it did not achieve the desired results. Federal artillery was not silenced. In fact, it soon began to respond and gave back more than it received. Lee’s guns received effective counter-battery fire, which further limited their effectiveness. In fact, Porter Alexander, whose job it was to advise Longstreet and Pickett when the latter should move his infantry forward, was finally moved to do so primarily because he was running out of both ammunition and guns.

Picketts’ infantry assault is notable primarily for its bravery. The men went in as ordered and Federal long-range artillery began to take an immediate toll. By the time they reached the fences, their combat power was already beginning to wane. The effect of the fences was exactly as could have been predicted. Those who made it beyond the road were subjected to heavy rifle and canister fire as they moved up the gentle slope towards the stone walls on the ridge. They would actually pierce the Federal line at several points, but a staunch defense and localized counterattacks turned them back. It was all a matter of a poorly conceived and planned attack going against a determined, well-positioned defender. No amount of bravery would change the outcome.

While one might ask what would have happened if Pickett’s assault had succeeded, it is perhaps better to ask if it ever could have succeeded. First, it should be noted that exploring “what ifs” in past battles is a tricky and difficult task. Anyone who has ever conducted a postmortem examination of a military operation can tell you that it is a difficult thing to do, even if the battle was yesterday. The problem is that there are so many variables and so many nuances that could be influenced by a single change in events. This problem compounds itself as time passes, making “what if” analyses a practice that might be fun, but one that rarely produces much of historical value.

Still, when one examines Pickett’s attack, it must be said that, as planned, it had little chance and, as executed, it had even less. Confederate artillery was simply not up to the task it was given and, without it being effective, the attack simply could not suceed. Further, there is also the question of the use of supporting troops to exploit the breakthroughs made by Pickett’s men. Indeed, there was such a role planned for Wilcox and Lang’s brigades, but Longstreet, who opposed the entire concept for the attack, never sent them forward. If he had, one might wonder if they would have made a difference.

However, the answer to that question is that they probably would not have made an effective difference. Had they followed close on the heels of Pickett and Pettigrew’s men, they would have been subjected to the same long-range artillery fire, especially from the batteries along the Union flanks, which ceased to fire at the leading assault elements once they closed on Cemetery Ridge. In addition, the use of supporting troops to exploit a breach in the enemy’s lines was a difficult thing to accomplish during the Civil War. Follow-on units had a tendency to become crowded in with those in front of them and had problems trying to maintain a cohesive formation as they approached the point of attack. In this case, one can well imagine Wilcox and Lang’s forces, having been weakened by artillery fire as they crossed the field to Emmitsburg Road, simply bogging down as they crowded in with the surviving elements of the lead assault, before they too were subjected to a galling close range fire, and melted away at the stone wall.

Meanwhile, as Union defenders turned Pickett back, there was also some significant action occurring along the flanks by Federal Cavalry. On the Union right, General David Gregg’s men outfought Stuart’s cavalry in a fight for control of roads critical to the Union position. Had Gregg failed, Stuart could have easily threatened the Union rear and altered the character of the battle. Perhaps more potentially important, however, was the fighting along the Union left. Here, Kilpatrick and Merritt conducted cavalry operations that, while costly and disjointed, offered an opportunity to counterattack Lee’s army in the aftermath of Pickett’s defeat. When reading the accounts of Farnsworth’s ill-fated attack, one cannot help but wonder what the Federal infantry on the Union left was doing during this time. Here was a golden opportunity to drive McLaws’ and Hood’s men from the field and roll up the Confederate right, if only someone had ordered it. It raises question as to how much Meade knew about these operations as they were occurring. It would appear that, while he would later report these actions, he either knew little of them as they happened or simply did not see the opportunity they presented.

As it happened, Meade did not order a counterattack of any kind, even though men like Hancock recommended it. Some historians believe that Meade’s decision to simply take what he had won was a wise one and the only realistic option. It may have been so, but only because Meade seems not to have prepared for such an eventuality. He had mentally accepted the defensive role and had no contingency plan for anything but staying where he was or retreating. Swiftly organizing an offensive counterattack by a force committed wholesale to the defensive would probably have seemed an impossible and irresponsible thing to do to George Meade. Certainly, Ulysses Grant might have done otherwise if placed in the same situation, but that is yet another tantalizing “what if.”

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.

Hancock at Gettysburg

In the collective and popular historical memory of the American people, Gettysburg seems to stand alone among Civil War battles. Hundreds of books have been written about it, millions of Americans have visited the battlefield, and even a motion picture version of its story has been made. In the minds of most Americans, it is seen as the turning point, the “high water mark of the Confederacy,” and a sort of “beginning of the end” for this great American tragedy. For historians, meanwhile, it is an object of great debate, study, and discussion. They often focus on the great strategic decisions that were made by Lee and Meade because Gettysburg is very much a battle and a campaign that hinged on decisions, and upon the art and execution of command.

However, when one studies those making the command decisions, especially those making tactical decisions on the line, there is one who seems to stand out - Winfield Scott Hancock. Hancock, who was commander of the Army of the Potomac’s II Corps, performed brilliantly at Gettysburg and his battlefield leadership, his commanding presence, and his abilities as a tactician were a critical part of the Union victory. In an earlier blog entry, I wrote about Hancock’s display of moral courage, when he was forced to sacrifice the 1st Minnesota Infantry regiment in order to buy sufficient time to plug a critical gap in the Union line. However, this was just one small demonstration of Hancock’s abilities as a commander.

I might even argue that, perhaps, Winfield Scott Hancock was not only the finest field commander in the Union army, he may have very well been one of the greatest, if not the greatest, field commander in American history. He possessed all the skills required: the ability to quickly interpret the situation and act upon it decisively, superior knowledge of tactics, physical and moral courage, and a clear understanding of the soldier in the line. As he demonstrated at Gettysburg, his mere presence on the field made both privates and generals take heart, and find a little more courage than they realized that they had.

Further, as is often the case with leaders who act with decisiveness, he also was involved in his own small share of controversy, some of which would continue to be discussed and debated long after the war had ended. But, Hancock was, first and foremost, a soldier, as well as a man who would not shrink from a difficult decision. At Gettysburg, he would need to employ those gifts over and over again.

Winfield Scott Hancock was born in Montgomery Square, Pennsylvania in February 1824. The son of a school teacher, lawyer, and life-long Democrat, Hancock was remembered as a bright, spirited youth who played hard as boys will do, but also enjoyed philosophical pursuits such as debate and literature. He seemed to stand out among his peers growing up in Norristown, Pennsylvania, where his family moved in 1828, so much so that, when he was fifteen, he was given the honor of reading the Declaration of Independence to the people of Norristown on July 4th.

Almost a year later, at the tender age of sixteen, Winfield Scott Hancock would enter the United States Military Academy at West Point as part of what would be the class of 1844. He had not planned on being a soldier and his father had been intent upon him becoming a lawyer. However, as a result of a dispute over a horse between the congressman from a neighboring district and a former supporter who had wanted his son to get an appointment to West Point, Hancock was offered a position and it proved to be too good an opportunity to refuse. So, out of an argument over a horse, the career of one of America’s great soldiers began.

Hancock’s class would initially start out with 100 cadets, but dwindled to 54 by the end of the fourth-class year and only 25 by graduation. Hancock’s record at the academy shows him to have been a good student of drawing, science, and tactics, but he graduated ranked only 18th in his class. Once commissioned a second lieutenant, he was assigned to the 6th U.S. Infantry Regiment and served initially in the Red River region of what is now Oklahoma. When the war with Mexico broke out, Hancock and the 6th Infantry would eventually be assigned to Hancock’s namesake, General Winfield Scott, taking part in the landings at Vera Cruz and the campaign that would end in the capture of Mexico City. Hancock would distinguish himself at Churubusco, where he assumed command of his company when its commander was wounded and then led it in a successful charge. In what would be an initial demonstration of his talents as a field officer, he was cited for bravery and brevetted to first lieutenant.

Following the war, Hancock would be assigned to duties in St. Louis, Florida, the Mormon Campaign in Wyoming and Utah, and, finally, in Los Angeles. In all these assignments, Hancock would prove to be solid and dependable, both as a field commander and as regimental staff officer. Never once did he seek or serve in duties in any capacity but that of a soldier in the field. His devoted wife, Almira, whom he had met and married while in St. Louis, would ask him during this period of his career why he preferred to be an infantry officer over duties in Washington or at West Point. He replied, “Because I am only a soldier. This resting fancifully upon my guns, or making guns for others to shoot with, though somebody must do it, or being a professor at West Point, as you desire, is all well enough, and there must be capable officers to perform such duty, but is does not belong to me.” In other words, Hancock preferred duty in the field, at the unit level, which he saw as the true vocation of a soldier.

As the war approached, Hancock found himself a captain, serving as quartermaster in Los Angeles. However, when the war actually came, he received orders to return east and assume duties with the Quartermaster Corps in Washington. This did not sit well with him and he applied for line duty as soon as he arrived in the capital. Fate would then intervene in the form of George B. McClellan, who recalled Hancock’s reputation as a young officer in Mexico and arranged for his promotion to Brigadier General, giving him command of a brigade serving under General Baldy Smith.

From there, Hancock would steadily rise in the Army of the Potomac. His service as a brigade commander in the Peninsula Campaign and at Fredericksburg garnered him a division command in II Corps, which he would lead at both Antietam and Chancellorsville. In all these engagements, Hancock would be noted by his superiors as an outstanding tactician but, perhaps, more so, both they and the average soldier would see him as a tough, charismatic leader, who possessed a true and unassailable presence on the battlefield. Everyone seemed to consider him the model of a soldier. Colonel Theodore Lyman, who later served with Hancock under Ulysses Grant, remembered him as “a tall, soldierly man, with light-brown hair and a military heavy jaw; and has the massive features and the heavy folds round the eye that often mark a man of ability.”

Despite their post-war political and policy differences, even General Grant would later write that, as a leader, Hancock was, indeed, something special.

He commanded a corps longer than any other one, and his name was never mentioned as having committed in battle a blunder for which he was responsible. He was a man of very conspicuous personal appearance. Tall, well formed, and, at the time of which I now write, young and fresh-looking, he presented an appearance which would have attracted the attention of an army as he passed. His genial disposition made him friends, and his command in the thickest of the fight won him the confidence of troops serving under him.

As Grant indicated, it was under fire that Hancock seemed to shine the brightest and it is also when he always seemed to be up front, where things were the hottest. When Hooker’s position at Chancellorsville was collapsing, Hancock was given the job of fighting the rear guard action as the Army of the Potomac retreated and attempted to reform. While he performed this job with consummate skill, one terrified private remembered Hancock’s impact on him as his unit prepared to fight near the burning remains of the Chancellor house.

Suddenly in the midst of our collapse a man on a horse rode down the line. It was awful, but that man rode down the line, tall, magnificent…He rode on a horse, not a muscle quivering, and looking us in the face said, “Gentlemen” –he called his soldiers gentlemen- “we are left to keep them in check until the second line is formed.”…I became a hero by that man’s influence. No Plutarch could have done that for me.

With the defeat at Chancellorsville, Hancock became discouraged. Hooker’s incompetence and inability to lead in battle grieved him deeply. He wrote his wife that he seriously considered resigning, so deep was his disgust, and said, “I have not recovered from our last failure, which should have been a brilliant victory.” When rumors began to fly that Hooker would be replaced and that Hancock might even be in line to succeed him, he wrote Almira, revealing his revulsion at the political influence that was so much a part of the Army of the Potomac: “I have been approached again in connection with the command of the Army of the Potomac. Give yourself no uneasiness—under no conditions would I accept the command. I do not belong to that class of generals whom the Republicans care to bolster up. I should be sacrificed.”

But, fate would again intervene and, rather than receiving command of the army, Hancock would instead ascend to the command position for which he was, perhaps, truly destined. General Couch, II Corps commander and Hancock’s immediate superior, requested a leave of absence as part of a dispute with Hooker. When Hooker refused the request, Couch requested that he be relieved as commander of II Corps. Hooker asked that he reconsider, but Couch was adamant. As a result, Couch’s request was granted and, on June 9, 1863, President Lincoln appointed Winfield Scott Hancock to command the II Corps of the Army of the Potomac.

Hancock had barely taken the reins of command when Hooker began to move the army north in parallel to Lee’s route down the Shenandoah Valley. On June 15, Hancock and II Corps left their camp near Falmouth, Virginia, covering the rear of the army. By June 28, they were near Monocacy Junction, Maryland, where Hancock learned that Hooker had been relieved of command and had been replaced by General George Meade. Hancock’s reaction to this news is unrecorded however, in all likelihood, he was not disappointed. In a letter to his wife, he had criticized Hooker for his failure to maintain the all-important initiative at Chancellorsville, citing it as the reason for the Union defeat. In addition, he and Meade had developed a strong professional friendship while serving together under McClellan, Burnside, and Hooker, and Meade had also come to admire Hancock’s skills on the battlefield.

Between June 29 and July 1, Hancock’s command moved steadily northward, first to Uniontown and then, finally, to Taneytown, where they went into bivouac about 11:00 A.M on the morning of July 1. Hancock immediately reported to Meade’s headquarters, which was also in Taneytown, and, in discussions with the new commanding general, he “was informed as to his intention with reference to giving battle to the enemy, the orders for preparatory movements being then ready for issue.” More specifically, Meade “stated, in general terms, that his intention was to fight on Pipe Creek; that he had not examined the ground, but, judging from his maps, it was the strongest position he could find; that the Engineers were examining and mapping it, and that he had made an order for the movement to occupy that line. General Reynolds was in the advance in command of the left wing of the army, consisting of the First, Third, and Eleventh corps, with General Buford's cavalry.”

Hancock returned to II Corps and soon learned, as did Meade, that Buford and Reynolds had engaged elements of the Army of Northern Virginia just west of Gettysburg. However, soon thereafter, Meade also learned that General Reynolds had been mortally wounded. That meant that General Howard, commanding XI Corps, would be left to assume command on the field. Meade needed a man on the scene whom he trust and rely upon, and Howard was not that man. However, apparently, Winfield Hancock was. Meade went to Hancock’s headquarters shortly before 1:00 P.M. and ordered him to proceed to Gettysburg at once and, when there, to assume command of all Union forces. The official orders that were issued detailed what Meade wanted Hancock to do.

HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF THE POTOMAC,
July 1, 1863--1.10 p.m.

Major-General HANCOCK,
Commanding Second Corps:

GENERAL: The major-general commanding has just been informed that General Reynolds has been killed or badly wounded. He directs that you turn over the command of your corps to General Gibbon; that you proceed to the front, and, by virtue of this order, in case of the truth of General Reynolds' death, you assume command of the corps there assembled, viz, the Eleventh, First, and Third, at Emmitsburg. If you think the ground and position there a better one to fight a battle under existing circumstances, you will so advise the general, and he will order all the troops up. You know the general's views, and General Warren, who is fully aware of them, has gone out to see General Reynolds.

LATER—1.15 p.m.

Reynolds has possession of Gettysburg, and the enemy are reported as falling back from the front of Gettysburg. Hold your column ready to move.

Very respectfully, &c.

DANL. BUTTERFIELD,

Major-General, Chief of Staff.

Hancock immediately reminded Meade that both Howard and Sickles, who was commanding III Corps, were senior in rank to himself. However, Meade said he had a message from Secretary of War Stanton, which authorized him to make any changes in commanders as he saw fit. With that, Meade handed Hancock his written orders, and, by 1:30 P.M., Hancock was on the road to Gettysburg.

Initially, Hancock elected to ride in the rear of an ambulance, where he poured over maps of the area along with his chief of staff, Lieutenant Colonel C. H. Morgan. In addition, he carefully studied the instructions contained in Meade’s Pipe Creek Circular. Since Meade had tasked him to both take command of the tactical situation as he found it upon arrival, as well as to determine Gettysburg’s suitability as a battlefield, Hancock was making certain that he understood the nature of the terrain of both areas. Once he was satisfied he had a feel for the local topography, Hancock mounted his horse and, followed by his staff, set out for Gettysburg at a gallop.

As he approached Gettysburg on the Taneytown Road, he heard the booming of artillery and the crackle of distant rifle fire. Soon, he also encountered the confusion of horses, wagons, and artillery trying to make their way to the front against the flow of those who were trying to flee the battlefield. He continued on and, at approximately 3:30 P.M., he arrived on Cemetery Hill, where General Howard was trying to reform the shattered remnants of I Corps and XI Corps. Hancock rode up to the cemetery gatehouse, where he met Howard. What ensued between the two men and the command process that occurred immediately thereafter would be the subject of controversy and debate in the years that followed the war.

Hancock’s official report merely states that he “arrived at Gettysburg and assumed the command.” But, in the years following the war, Howard would insist that he had not surrendered authority. Rather, Howard stated that Hancock did not arrive until 4:30 P.M., and, then, reported that he had merely been sent to represent Meade on the field. At that point, Howard says that he told Hancock, “This is no time for talking. You take the left of the pike and I will arrange these troops to the right.” Hancock reportedly agreed to these terms and Howard insisted he only later learned that Hancock was to have been in command.

However, Hancock would always dispute Howard’s claims and the bulk of evidence supports his version of the story. According to Hancock and members of his staff, when Hancock met Howard, he informed the XI Corps commander that he had been ordered to assume command and possessed written orders to that effect. Howard declined to see the orders and not only turned over command, but also said that he was glad Hancock had come. This version of events is also supported by the account of Captain E. P. Halstead, a member of Doubleday’s staff who witnessed the meeting. In addition, Halstead also says that Hancock told Howard that he had been assigned to “select a field on which to fight this battle in the rear of Pipe Creek.” Then, Halstead recalled, Hancock looked around and said, “But I think this is the strongest position by nature upon which to fight a battle that I ever saw, and if it meets your approbation I will select this as the battlefield.” Howard readily agreed and Hancock said, “Very well, sir, I select this as the battlefield.”

Hancock then set about vigorously positioning his forces and trying to restore some sense of order. First, he had XI Corps complete its occupation of Cemetery Hill by having them take positions behind the stone walls in their front and throw out skirmishers towards the outskirts of town. General Schurz, whose men had been mauled defending the north side of Gettysburg, commented that Hancock’s “mere presence was a reinforcement, and everybody on the field felt stronger for his being there.” Hancock’s aide, Colonel Francis Walker, later wrote that much of the activity, while intended to prepare for a continuation of the fighting, was also designed to present “the bravest show of force that can be made” so as to deter the Confederate forces from attacking until more of the army could reach the field.

He next deployed the badly worn elements of Doubleday’s I Corps to the left of the XI Corps, extending the Union line down the slopes of Cemetery Hill and across the Taneytown Road onto Cemetery Ridge. Doubleday recalled Hancock riding over to him and telling him that he was in command of the field. As he did so, he directed Doubleday to send Wadsworth’s division to the right, across the Baltimore Pike to Culp’s Hill. However, Hancock’s chief of staff remembered the exchange to be slightly more heated and typical of Hancock’s commanding presence. Lieutenant Colonel Morgan wrote that Hancock had observed Confederate forces moving up the ravine between the town and Culp’s Hill. He immediately sent a staff officer over to Doubleday for troops to block the advance. When the staff officer met Doubleday, he was given a series of excuses as to why I Corps had no one to send. Hancock apparently rode up as this discussion was ensuing and, upon hearing Doubleday’s remarks, rose up “indignantly” in his stirrups and told the I Corps commander, “Sir, I am in command on this field; send every man you have got!”

Hancock then personally directed the 5th Maine Artillery to also take up a position on Culp’s Hill along with Wadsworth’s division. The young commander of the battery described his memories of Hancock on this occasion and it serves as yet another example of Hancock’s ability to inspire a sense of urgency and confidence.

In the center of the plateau was a group of general officers and orderlies. It was a scene of utmost activity, and yet there was no confusion. Prominent in the group—on horseback, erect, unmoved amid the throng of retreating, defeated, and well-nigh worn-out soldiers—sat a man born to command, by birth and education a soldier of high degree, competent to evolve order out of the chaos of retreat, cool, calm, self-possessed, the master of himself and his place. I rode up to him and, saluting, reported with the battery with which I was serving. Turning quickly to his right and rear, and pointing to the knoll on the northwestern slope of Culp’s Hill, he said: “Do you see that hill, young man? Put your battery there and stay there.” I shall never forget the inspiration of his commanding, controlling presence or the fresh courage he imparted, his whole atmosphere strong and invigorating.

Not long thereafter, the lead division of XII Corps, under General Williams, arrived on the scene and was deployed to the right and rear of Wadsworth division. General Geary’s division came up the road next, and Hancock, who was concerned about having the line’s left turned, positioned them to the south near Little Round Top. Finally, Hancock ordered all the trains to the rear in order to clear the roads for the rest of the army as Meade ordered them forward.

In the midst of all this activity, at about 4:15 P.M., Hancock dispatched one of his aides, Major Mitchell, to General Meade to tell him that the army’s position at Gettysburg offered a good position for defense and that he could now hold it until nightfall. Then, a little over an hour later, he sent another aide, Captain Parker, to Meade with a written message for the commanding general.

5.25 P.M., JULY 1, 1863

GENERAL: When I arrived here an hour since, I found that our troops had given up the front of Gettysburg and the town. We have now taken up a position in the cemetery, and cannot well be taken. It is a position, however, easily turned. Slocum is now coming on the ground, and is taking position on the right, which will protect the right. But we have, as yet, no troops on the left, the Third Corps not having yet reported; but I suppose that it is marching up. If so, its flank march will in a degree protect our left flank. In the meantime Gibbon had better march on so as to take position on our right or left, to our rear, as may be necessary, in some commanding position. General G. will see this dispatch. The battle is quiet now. I think we will be all right until night. I have sent all the trains back. When night comes, it can be told better what had best be done. I think we can retire; if not, we can fight here, as the ground appears not unfavorable with good troops. I will communicate in a few moments with General Slocum, and transfer the command to him.

Howard says that Doubleday's command gave way.

General Warren is here.

Your obedient servant,

WINF'D S. HANCOCK,

Major-General, Commanding Corps.

Once the message was en route to Meade, Hancock found General Slocum, commander of XII Corps, and transferred overall command of the field to him. With that action complete, Hancock headed down the road to find his own corps, which had advanced during the day and was now only three miles away. In a little less than two hours, Hancock had acted decisively by electing to have the Army of the Potomac fight from its current position south of Gettysburg, restoring some confidence and military order, and deploying his forces in such a manner that they could fend off any renewed attack. In addition, his eye for the terrain and his sense of the battlefield had led him to position Union forces in what would eventually become the Army of the Potomac’s main line of battle and one that would indeed be difficult for Lee to overrun.

On the morning of July 2, Hancock and his corps marched the final three miles from Taneytown to Gettysburg, arriving about 7:00 A.M. Meade, who had arrived early in the morning, had elected to continue the deployment of the army along the same line Hancock had begun the evening before. The XII Corps was digging in along Culp’s Hill on the far right, with the XI Corps to their left on Cemetery Hill. Hancock was ordered to place II Corps on the XI Corps’ left and extend the Union line down Cemetery Ridge to the south. Sickles’ III Corps was to align to Hancock’s left and extend the line further south until it touched the base of Little Round Top. Meanwhile, V Corps was to be held in reserve, as was the rapidly approaching VI Corps.

In placing his men, Hancock put Hays’ 3rd Division on the right, Gibbon’s 2nd Division in the center, and Caldwell’s 1st Division on the left, supported by batteries from the 1st U.S., 1st Rhode Island, 4th U.S., and 1st New York Artillery. Further, Hancock ordered that each division be deployed with one of its brigades held in the rear as a reserve.

The morning and afternoon were quiet except for occasional skirmishing and brief artillery exchanges along the line. However, as late afternoon approached, that would change. Lee had ordered an assault upon what he thought was an open Union left flank. His original plan called for elements of Longstreet’s corps to first attack and seize the Peach Orchard, then pivot left and roll up the Union flank, supported by an assault by Anderson’s division of Hill’s corps. However, by the time Longstreet’s men reached their line of departure for the attack, they found that the Peach Orchard was occupied and the Union left extended far beyond what they had been told.

Part of this resulted from faulty intelligence information but the rest occurred because General Sickles had taken it upon himself to reposition III Corps. Sickles had decided that he did not care for the ground his corps occupied and he moved his men forward to the Emmitsburg Road, deploying them so that they occupied the Peach Orchard, then curved left to the Devil’s Den area. Further, through a series of miscommunications and staff errors, Meade was unaware of this redeployment of III Corps. Worse, Sickles’ movement placed his men far forward of the rest of the army, with his flanks floating and unsupported, and stretched his lines far too thin. Hancock had observed the movement of Sickles’ men and could readily see they were headed for potential disaster. Upon seeing Humphries’ division of III Corps move forward and disconnect itself from the support of II Corps, Hancock turned to his staff and said, “Gentlemen, that is a splendid advance. But, those troops will be coming back again very soon.” His comments would prove prophetic.

At about 4 P.M., Longstreet launched his attack. The plan of attack, however, had been changed when Sickles’ men were found to be deployed in their new positions. Now, the assault would be conducted en echelon from right to left, with Hood’s division starting on the far right against the left of the Union line, followed by McLaws against the Peach Orchard, and then Anderson’s men would move against the left center of the Federal line. The attack was a vicious one and, while Sickles’ men defended their ground fiercely, they soon were falling back. V Corps units were called forward to stop the Confederate advance on the far left as Birney’s division fell back from Devil’s Den.

Meade sent word to Hancock to send a division to Birney’s assistance and to have it report to General Sykes, commanding V Corps. Hancock quickly dispatched Caldwell’s division from his left to Sykes and had Gibbon bring up his reserve brigade in order to extend the II Corps line. Then, as the Union line in the Peach Orchard began to give way, Hancock was told that Sickles had been badly wounded and that Meade was ordering Hancock to assume command of the entire left wing of the army.

Hancock immediately headed south down the line bringing with him Willard’s brigade to support Birney. But Hancock had not gone very far when he met Birney, who reported that his entire line had collapsed and his original position had been lost, leaving only Humphries’ division in place. However, Hancock soon learned that Humphries was also falling back. Hancock quickly ordered Willard to counterattack but Willard was killed moments later as he stood by Hancock’s side. Willard’s men still went in and managed to slow the Confederate advance. Hancock then ordered Humphries to reform his men on the left of II Corps on Cemetery Ridge.

Now, Hancock headed back to his right and found gaps in his line with no one to fill them. At one point, he saw a body of troops moving from his left and thought they were a part of III Corps falling back. He and his aide, Captain Miller, rode towards this group, but soon discovered it was actually an advancing column of the enemy. In fact, they were Wilcox’ brigade of Anderson’s division and they were pressing down on one of the gaps in Hancock’s line. They opened fire on Hancock and Miller, and Miller was hit twice. Hancock ordered Miller to ride to the rear, while he spurred his horse down into a swale, which temporarily sheltered him from further fire. It was at this point that Hancock quickly ordered the gallant 1st Minnesota forward, allowing him to bring reserves forward and fill the gap in the army’s line.

Hancock continued to move up and down his line, patching it wherever he thought there was a threat. As darkness approached, the Union reserves and Hancock’s tactical decision-making began to make a difference. The Confederate assault on the left and center lost its momentum and was forced back. However, firing was soon heard to the right as Ewell’s corps launched assaults against Cemetery Hill and Culp’s Hill.

First, knowing full well that XI Corps was in weakened condition, and in what was later termed by General Henry Hunt as a “happy inspiration,” Hancock decided on his own to send support to Howard’s men. He was standing with General Gibbon and said, “We ought to send some help over there. Send a brigade. Send Carroll.” Carroll’s men were soon on their way and their arrival on Cemetery Hill helped XI Corps turn Ewell’s men back. But Hancock also knew that XII Corps had sent him forces to support the left-center of the line and feared that Ewell’s attack on Culp’s Hill might require some additional support for Slocum’s corps. Again, without consultation, he told Gibbon to send two regiments to support Slocum’s men.

Hancock’s actions during the late afternoon and evening of July 2 again displayed his tactical and leadership abilities. It also, once more, demonstrated Meade’s well-found confidence on him. Doubleday would later describe Hancock as “indefatigable in his vigilance and personal supervision” on that afternoon, crediting his leadership with saving Cemetery Ridge.

On the morning of July 3, Hancock reported that the II Corps had been so weakened by its losses on July 2, that he was forced to place every man on the line. Further, Carroll’s brigade, which had been sent by Hancock to support Howard the night before, remained on Cemetery Hill with XI Corps. As a result, Hancock’s line in the center was somewhat thin, with no ready organic reserve of infantry available. The morning passed quietly, except for the firing that could be heard off to the right, where XII Corps was busy repulsing an attack by men from Ewell’s corps, and some skirmishing in front of Cemetery Ridge.

At 1:00 P.M., Hancock was having lunch with General Gibbon in the rear of Gibbon’s division. He was in the middle of dictating an order about fresh beef for his men, when Lee’s artillery opened up a massive barrage, one like nothing ever seen in warfare up to that moment. Lee’s army had assembled some 164 guns for the barrage, which was designed to either seriously damage the Union batteries on Cemetery Ridge or drive them off entirely prior to a final desperate infantry assault by Pickett’s division As Francis Walker would recall, the artillery fire was so intense that “the whole space behind Cemetery Ridge was in a moment rendered uninhabitable.”

As soon as the artillery assault began, Hancock mounted his horse and, accompanied by his color bearer, he slowly rode behind the line, letting every soldier see “that his general was with him in the storm.” As he rode by the cowering infantrymen, he would encourage the men, and make sure all was in preparation for the attack he knew would come as soon as the artillery fire subsided. Hancock knew his soldiers and knew that, under such terrible fire, they needed to see and hear their corps commander. But, he also knew that infantry would not psychologically withstand such a barrage for long and that they needed to see their own artillery answering the Confederate guns. But, the Federal guns were still silent.

Hancock rode to his batteries and found they were not returning fire because General Henry Hunt, chief of the Army of the Potomac’s artillery, had ordered that the guns to hold their fire for fifteen minutes and then to only fire back “deliberately and slowly.” Defying Hunt’s directions, Hancock ordered the batteries to open fire immediately. As the Federal guns on Cemetery Ridge opened up, batteries on Little Round Top and Cemetery Hill soon joined them. Hunt later criticized Hancock’s pre-emptive command as not only unnecessary but also damaging to the Federal defense. Hunt would maintain that Hancock’s order caused II Corps artillery to exhaust their long-range ammunition too soon and that; as a result, Pickett’s men were able to penetrate the II Corps line. He complained that regulations on this matter were too obscure and that Hancock should not have been allowed such authority. He bluntly stated that, “On this occasion it cost us much blood, many lives, and for a moment endangered the integrity of our line if not the success of the battle.”

Walker would respond to this challenge and write that; first, Hancock was in command of the line of battle. He had been given that authority by General Meade and was not required to observe the “discretion of one of General Meade’s staff officers.” Further, he would argue that Hancock knew what was best from both the tactical and morale points of view. Walker stated quite correctly that, for over two years, Hancock had “lived with the infantry, marching with them, camping among them, commanding them in numerous actions, keeping close watch on their temper and spirit, observing their behavior under varying conditions and trials.” Therefore, Walker argued, Hancock, and not Hunt, was the most qualified to determine the best overall course of action.

When Pickett and Pettigrew’s infantry began their assault, Hancock again was seemingly everywhere, conferring with his commanders and personally directing and encouraging the troops. Colonel Francis Randall, commander of the 13th Vermont Infantry, remembered that as the Confederate infantry bore down on his position, “Our general officers were quite solicitous for this position, General Hancock repeatedly coming to me and giving me the benefit of his advice and encouragement.”

As the enemy closed on Gibbon’s front, Hancock ordered General Stannard to send two regiments of his Vermont Brigade of I Corps forward to hit the attacking Confederate infantry on their right flank with an enfilading fire. This order was carried out with devastating effectiveness on Pickett’s men. But, as he rode next to Stannard and was providing directions to Colonel Randall, he was hit near the groin by rifle fire. Randall helped him from his horse and, along with Hancock’s color-bearer, tried to stem the flow of blood. The wound was very severe and had Hancock’s color-bearer not known how to apply a tourniquet, Hancock would most likely have bled to death. Even then, despite the severity of his wound, Hancock refused to leave the field. Raising himself on his elbow, he continued to give orders and, as one regiment passed going forward, he shouted to their commander, “Go in Colonel, and give it to them on the flank!” Finally, as the Confederate attack was repulsed, he allowed the corps surgeon to attend to him and carry him to the rear.

Hancock’s wound was deep, incredibly painful, and would require multiple surgeries before the bullet could be removed. It would be months before Hancock could return to full duty and he was, at times, in near constant pain. He finally returned to command of II Corps just in time for the beginning of Grant’s great summer campaign of 1864. But, when the army moved south, he had to formally request permission to ride in a spring wagon because riding on horseback was still too painful for him to endure.

Some would say that, while he would remain perhaps the best corps commander in the Union army, he was never completely himself again. Therefore, in many ways, Gettysburg was the zenith of Hancock’s military career. His ability to project confidence, courage, and leadership paid undeniable dividends. This was especially true in those waning hours of the first day of battle, when he rode onto Cemetery Hill and provided some badly needed command presence. Despite being placed in a situation that had to be uncomfortable professionally, Hancock seems to have projected himself to be a man who was, and should be, in command. In addition, his keen tactical sense was also in great evidence, as he skillfully placed the forces on the scene into a position that could not easily be taken and provided a basis for Meade to deploy his eventual line of battle.

Then on the second day of fighting, Meade would again readily confer greater command authority on Hancock when Sickles went down and the left was in danger of collapse. Again, Hancock was everywhere, patching a line of battle together with battered remnants of III Corps as well as with the reinforcements Meade sent forward. In addition, his quick and forceful use of the 1st Minnesota bought what might have the most vital fifteen minutes that day’s battle. It was also an example of the kind of moral courage that separates great commanders from the rest.

Finally, on that momentous third day at Gettysburg, he would ride the line, exposing himself to enemy fire, in order to insure his men could see their general and know he was sharing the danger with them. Today, some might see such theatrics as overly sentimental and even foolhardy, but they were a critical piece of the command and leadership formula in 1863 and Hancock knew that fact perhaps better than anyone. While his order for the artillery to open fire and counter the Confederate batteries could be disputed on a technical and doctrinal basis, his belief that it was needed if the infantry were to withstand the enemy barrage is difficult to argue against. Finally, when the massive Confederate infantry assault began, he once more was on the line, providing encouragement and tactical leadership, even after he had been badly wounded.

Hancock led by example as truly as anyone ever has, he knew his craft, and he had an unfailing sense of the battlefield. All of those traits were key factors in the Union victory at Gettysburg.