Emory Upton: Brilliant Innovator and Tragic Genius

In the early morning hours of May 10, 1864, 12 regiments of Union soldiers from the Army of the Potomac crouched anxiously under the cover of some trees awaiting the order to assault an entrenched position occupied by Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia. These Confederate trenches were heavily fortified, occupying open ground near Spotsylvania Court House and, from all appearances, this would just be another costly frontal attack in a war that had already seen far too many. However, this attack would be different. Rather than going forward in long lines, advancing steadily but slowly, while exchanging volleys with the entrenched enemy, these Union soldiers would attack in a dense, concentrated column with great speed, and each regiment would have a specific assignment once the Confederate line was breached. In a war of utterly stagnated tactics, this would be an almost visionary approach and it was the brainchild of a young 24-year old colonel named Emory Upton. Upton would go on from Spotsylvania to become one of the greatest military minds this nation has ever produced and would be, in many ways, the father of the modern U.S. Army. Still, I will wager many of you have never even heard his name.

Upton was born in 1839 on his family’s farm near Batavia, New York, the tenth child of Daniel and Electra Randall Upton. He was a deeply religious young man and, at the age of 15, he attended Oberlin College, studying under evangelist Charles Finney. Sharing a small room with a childhood friend, he worked hard, studying and laboring at part-time jobs to pay his tuition and living expenses. Upton was always polite the closest anyone remembered him coming to a profane statement was an occasional “confound it” or a determined “by jiminy.”

While his years at Oberlin were happy ones, Upton had long harbored dreams of a military career and he made those dreams known to Judge Benjamin Pringle, the Congressman from the district surrounding Batavia. In March 1856, Pringle wrote young Upton to inform him that he was being appointed to the Corps of Cadets at West Point and that he would report to the Academy the following June. Upon arrival there, Upton threw himself into the life of a cadet and later wrote his sister saying, "I am passionately attached to West Point, and would not give up my appointment here for a million dollars.” He would graduate and receive his commission as a second lieutenant in May 1861, finishing eighth in a class of 45. Normally, a newly commissioned officer would be granted furlough to visit his family, but, with the firing on Fort Sumter a month earlier, Upton was immediately sent to Washington DC to help train the thousands of raw volunteers flooding into camps outside the capital.

He was assigned to the 4th U.S. Artillery but was transferred within days to the 5th U.S. Artillery and promoted to first lieutenant. He diligently helped train new recruits and went into action with them at the Battle of First Bull Run in July, where he received the first of three wounds he would suffer during the course of the war. The Union debacle at Bull Run made a deep impression on Upton and he clearly saw what happened when inexperienced volunteers soldiers were taken into battle too quickly. This experience would be just one of the things that lead him later call for a total revision in the traditional American reliance on untrained volunteer soldiers.

As the war progressed, Upton would move to command the 121st New York Infantry Regiment, leading them at Fredericksburg and Gettysburg. Here, he began to contemplate changes in the infantry tactics being used. These tactics, which were nothing but slightly modified formations from the Mexican War, were, in Upton’s eyes, both grossly ineffective and, worse, costly in terms of the lives being lost to enemy rifle fire. He also became acutely aware of the poor quality of leadership exhibited by many senior officers and their often equally poor knowledge of tactics and strategy. Worse, Upton, who was ambitious in his own way, could not garner promotion because he refused to develop purely political connections. While his talents had seen him rise to command of the 2nd Brigade of the VI Corps’ 1st Division, he was still only a colonel. Just before the start of Grant’s Overland Campaign, he wrote his sister saying,

My long-expected promotion is not forthcoming. General Meade has informed me that without political influence I will never be promoted. This consolation, however, remains, if justice has not been done, I have ever performed my duty faithfully and without regard to personal safety. The recommendation of those officers whose lives have been periled in every battle of the war have been overweighted by the baneful influence of the paltry politicians.

But it was during that very campaign that Upton came to the attention of Ulysses Grant and other senior officers. Grant had fought Lee to an unsuccessful, bloody draw in The Wilderness and tried to quickly shift his forces left to take possession of Spotsylvania Court House, drawing Lee into a fight in the open. However, the resilient Lee moved faster and, when the Army of the Potomac arrived, they found Lee blocking the way and well entrenched. Lee’s position stretched nearly 10 miles but, at its center, there was a vulnerable mule shoe-shaped salient. While this salient was well-defended by both infantry and artillery from Ewell’s Corps, it did offer an opportunity to break Lee’s line at its very center. If a breakthrough could be made, follow-on attacks might roll up Lee’s now exposed line in both directions. The VI Corps was given the assignment to achieve a breakthrough and Upton was chosen to plan and lead the attack.

Upton was given 12 regiments to execute the assault on the morning of May 10, 1864, a total of about 5,000 men. Upton developed a plan and approach that was both intricate but simple. The idea was to follow a massive artillery barrage on the salient, striking with speed and focusing all the attacking power on a very narrow front at the left angle of the salient. To accomplish this, he organized his force into a tight column of four lines, with three regiments to a line. The men would advance at the double quick with bayonets fixed, but they would not stop to fire any volleys. In fact, only the first line would go in with their rifles loaded and capped, ready to fire. The rest of the lines, meanwhile, would have their weapons loaded, but they would not cap them, removing any temptation to stop and fire at the enemy.

In addition, each line was given a specific assignment to accomplish once the works were carried. The first line had the toughest task. The 96th Pennsylvania and 121st New York would turn right down the line and capture an artillery battery while the 5th Maine went left and enfiladed the enemy with rifle fire. The second line, meanwhile, would enter the trenches facing forward and engage any enemy counterattack from that direction. The third line would then lie down behind the second and move forward to plug any holes resulting from Confederate counterattacks, while the fourth remained at the edge of the woods as a reserve. Once the breakthrough was made, men from the II and IX Corps would attack on either side of Upton’s force in an attempt to shatter Lee’s line completely.

At 5:00 a.m., Union artillery opened fire on the salient and kept up a severe barrage for an hour. Then, at 5:50 a.m., Upton was told to ready his men and move off as soon as the artillery fire ceased. Upon his signal, Upton’s men crept quietly forward to the edge of the pine trees and awaited the command to attack. Across the field, the soldiers of Rhodes’ Division from Ewell’s Corps had no indication that anything was amiss, except for what one described as an ominous “death-like stillness” following the Federal artillery barrage. Suddenly, Upton’s column emerged from the woods to their front and began to sprint towards the Confederate trenches with a loud shout. Rhodes’ men quickly began to open fire and some of Upton’s force fell. However, the rest surged forward like an irrepressible blue wave, rapidly closing in, then rolling up and over the Southern barricades in just a few minutes.

The first line leapt into the trenches, pealing left and right as planned, fighting with bayonets and pushing all resistance aside. While few soldiers were killed or wounded by bayonet during the Civil War, this engagement was the exception. One Georgian counted at least 56 comrades felled by Union bayonets during the vicious struggle amid the Confederate entrenchments. Upton described the fighting as follows:

…at command, the lines rose, moved noiselessly to the edge of the wood, and then, with a wild cheer and faces averted, rushed for the works. Through a terrible front and flank fire the column advanced, quickly gaining the parapet. Here occurred a deadly hand-to-hand conflict. The enemy sitting in their pits with pieces upright, loaded, and with bayonets fixed, ready to impale the first who should leap over, absolutely refused to yield the ground. The first of our men who tried to surmount the works fell pierced through the head by musket-balls. Others, seeing the fate of their comrades, held their pieces at arms length and fired downward, while others, poising their pieces vertically, hurled them down upon their enemy, pinning them to the ground. Lieutenant Johnston, of the One hundred and Twenty-first New York, received a bayonet wound through the thigh. Private O'Donnell, Ninety-sixth Pennsylvania Volunteers, was pinned to the parapet, but was rescued by his comrades. A private of the Fifth Maine, having bayoneted a rebel, was fired at by the captain, who, missing his aim, in turn shared the same fate. The brave man fell by a shot from the rebel lieutenant. The struggle lasted but a few seconds. Numbers prevailed, and, like a resistless wave, the column poured over the works, quickly putting hors de combat those who resisted, and sending to the rear those who surrendered. Pressing forward and expanding to the right and left, the second line of intrenchments, its line of battle, and the battery fell into our hands. The column of assault had accomplished its task. The enemy's lines were completely broken and an opening had been made for the division which was to have supported on our left, but it did not arrive.

Sadly, as Upton noted, the attack achieved its initial goal, but the supporting forces were badly managed and did not attack in a coordinated fashion. Upton’s men held their position until it was obvious no help was coming. At that point, he ordered his men to withdraw. As would occur so often in the war, it had all been for nothing. Still, Grant was impressed by what he had seen, writing later:

Upton had gained an important advantage, but a lack in others of the spirit and dash possessed by him lost it to us. Before leaving Washington I had been authorized to promote officers on the field for special acts of gallantry. By this authority I conferred the rank of brigadier-general upon Upton on the spot, and this act was confirmed by the President.

As the campaign continued, Upton despaired from what he saw as a mounting toll of lost lives resulting from poor leadership. Following the horrific slaughter at Cold Harbor on June 3, he wrote his sister two letters in which he poured out his anger:

I am disgusted with the generalship displayed. Our men have, in many instances, been foolishly and wantonly sacrificed. Assault after assault has been ordered upon the enemy's intrenchments, when they knew nothing about the strength or position of the enemy. Thousands of lives might have been spared by the exercise of a little skill; but, as it is, the courage of the poor men is expected to obviate all difficulties. I must confess that, so long as I see such incompetency, there is no grade in the army to which I aspire.

We are now at Cold Harbor, where we have been since June 1st. On that day we had a murderous engagement. I say murderous, because we were recklessly ordered to assault the enemy's intrenchments, knowing neither their strength nor position. Our loss was very heavy, and to no purpose. Our men are brave, but can not accomplish impossibilities…I am very sorry to say I have seen but little generalship during the campaign. Some of our corps commanders are not fit to be corporals. Lazy and indolent, they will not even ride along their lines; yet, without hesitancy, they will order us to attack the enemy, no matter what their position or numbers. Twenty thousand of our killed and wounded should to-day be in our ranks.

As the army moved to lay siege to Petersburg, Upton continued to rail against unprofessional officers and poor leadership. At one point, his men took a portion of the Confederate works, only to be ordered to fall back and then be asked retake them the next day. Infuriated, Upton wrote,

This morning we were marched outside of the works to support and participate in an assault upon the enemy's works. The order was countermanded in time to prevent a deliberate murder of our troops. The line we were to assault was evacuated by the enemy on the 16th, and was occupied by our troops, who fell back from them without firing a shot. It was not till the enemy had reoccupied them in stronger force than before that it was discovered that their possession was of great importance to us. Brilliant generalship that, which would abandon voluntarily a line of works, allow the enemy to take possession, and then drive them from it by a glorious charge ! This kind of stupidity has cost us already twenty thousand men. It is time that it should be stopped.

While this might be seen as an officer merely griping under the strain of combat, for Upton, far more was happening than just idle complaining. These experiences were lighting a flame inside him and one he would carry forth into the post-war years.

Before the war ended, Upton would transfer to the Western Theater, ably serving as a cavalry commander under General James Wilson, who would become Upton’s lifelong friend. With Lee and Johnston’s surrenders in April 1865, Upton was one of only a handful of officers who could claim to have fought the war in all three branches, artillery, infantry, and cavalry, and had done so with distinction in each. Wilson urged him to leave the Army and come with him into the railroad business. However, Upton declined the offer, stating that he wanted to stay in the Army where he hoped to make a career in the study of tactics, administration, and military organization. He keenly hoped to reform some of the wrongs he had witnessed during the war.

Immediately following the war, Upton wrote a comprehensive report on infantry tactics, which recommended numerous changes in Army doctrine. The report was adopted by a special board overseen by General Grant, who described its “superior merit,” noting that, for the first time, the U.S. Army had a uniquely American doctrine and not one based on a translation of a European manual.

During this period, Upton fell in love with a young woman from his native upstate New York, Emily Norwood Martin. Up to this point in his life, Upton had little time for women or courtship and Emily turned him inside out. He adored her and the two were married in early 1868. Upton took a leave of absence for a year, going to Europe with his new bride. Tragically, the marriage, while happy, was short lived. Emily died in 1870 and, in some ways, Upton never recovered from her loss.

Throwing himself into work, he moved on to a five-year assignment as Commandant of Cadets at West Point, where he also taught infantry, artillery, and cavalry tactics. At West Point, he resumed his intense study of military history and policy. With the end of the Franco-Prussian War in Europe, he proposed to travel to Paris and Berlin to see what might be learned from those two recently bloodied armies. General-in-Chief William T. Sherman agreed but offered an opportunity for an even larger study. Sherman ordered Upton to proceed on a round-the-world journey of some 18 months, first going to Asia, then India, Russia, and, finally, Europe. He was to take two other officers with him and make a comprehensive study of the different military forces he observed.

Upton left San Francisco in August 1877 and returned in December 1878. At first, he saw the task of documenting his findings daunting, indeed, but he chose to take an approach that might get the attention of military and political leaders and alert them to the need for reform in the Army:

I might as well try to capture a flock of wild pigeons as to capture my thoughts and arrange them in logical order for official use. I shall, therefore, have to go to Washington, where I shall have access to books, papers, and figures, and other notes necessary for my argument. I shall devote most of my attention to the subject of officers, and to showing our reckless extravagance in making war. When Germany fought France she put her army on a war-footing in eight days, and in eight days more she had four hundred thousand men on French territory. It took us from April, 1861, to March, 1862, to form an army of the same size at an expense of nearly eight hundred millions of dollars. We can not maintain a great army in peace, but we can provide a scheme for officering a large force in time of war, and such a scheme is deserving of study.

He finally submitted a massive 400-page report that was published in 1878 entitled The Armies of Asia and Europe. His report used a comparative approach, comparing the relatively weak military forces of the United States to its foreign counterparts, and it concluded with 54 pages of recommendations for military reform. However, while the report generated a great deal of discussion within professional military circles, nothing came from his recommendations.

Upton decided to take a new approach by writing a detailed history of the nation’s military policies. As he completed each chapter, he sent them for review by a group composed of Colonel Henry DuPont, General Sherman, and James A. Garfield, then a member of the House of Representatives. Upton tried to demonstrate that traditional American reliance on a small professional military augmented by untrained volunteers was increasingly out of step with modern warfare. And, while the nation had no natural enemies and was guarded by the seas, he could clearly see this would not protect the nation forever. Eventually, war with a modern foreign power would come and the military policies we had employed for over a century would lead to disaster.

This new study followed on to those he made in his first book and urged reforms in both the administrative aspects of the army as well as its permanent composition. As to the former, he proposed creation of a general staff, compulsory retirement of officers at age 62, a formal system of regular evaluation and examinations to determine competence, interchangeable assignments between line and staff, and a system of advanced professional military education. These he saw as remedies for the incompetence he witnessed during the Civil War. Meanwhile, his recommendations for the Army’s composition were even more groundbreaking. He called for a standing Regular Army proportional to the size of the population with 1,000 men for every million in populace. This force would be augmented by units called “National Volunteers” who could be expanded in time of war or national crisis. Finally, there would be the state militias, which would be solely supported by the states. With this system in place, no longer would it take years to field an army capable of defending the nation.

By early 1881, Upton’s history was progressing rapidly and he had made it to the chapter on American policy at the time of the Civil War. However, that was as far as his work would go. On March 15, 1881, he committed suicide in his quarters at The Presidio in San Francisco. When one reads the words of his friends written in the years following his death, you can see that they were groping to understand why this brilliant man had taken his own life at the age of 42. While it still unclear exactly what prompted this tragedy, it appears that Upton was suffering great pain from what was almost certainly a brain tumor. However, he also seems to have been struggling with a growing depression over his lack of progress in military reform. Just two days before his death, he wrote a letter indicating his intentions in which he said, "God only knows how it will eventually end, but I trust he will lead me to sacrifice myself, rather than to perpetuate a method which might in the future cost a single man his life."

However, his ideas did not die with him. Henry DuPont had the completed chapters of Upton’s history published as The Military Policy of the United States in 1904. The publication’s timing was almost perfect, as the War Department was moving to reform the Army at last. Upton’s book was seized upon by Secretary of War Elihu Root and almost all of his proposed reforms were finally implemented. Today, they can be seen in everything from the Army’s promotion system to the existence of the Army War College and the National Guard. Tragically, Emory Upton did not live to see his innovation and vision come to life. But he was to the Army what Alfred Thayer Mahan was to the Navy, and left us a legacy that has served our nation well.

A Legend is Born at Brawner’s Farm

In every conflict throughout history, there are military organizations that are anointed as being “legendary” for their fighting ability, their tenacity, and their toughness. From King Leonidas’ 300 Spartans to the 101st Airborne Division’s “Battered Bastards of Bastogne,” certain units stand out both in popular memory as well as within the community of military historians. And, to be certain, the American Civil War had its own share of such units. Ironically, one of these, a brigade of the Union Army, would initially achieve its status as a legend by standing toe-to-toe with another legendary unit, the Stonewall Brigade of General Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson’s famous “foot cavalry.” The fighting between these two groups would take place in the dim light of a sweltering August evening in 1862 at an obscure place known as Brawner’s Farm.

In the late summer of 1862, General George McClellan, who had managed to lose to inferior numbers repeatedly in the Seven Days' Battles near Richmond, sat with the Army of Potomac at Harrison's Landing on the James River, having been relieved from his position as General-in-Chief of the U.S. Army. While McClellan would remain in command of the Army of the Potomac, Lincoln replaced him as head of the army with General Henry Halleck. Halleck, in turn, decided to create a new Union army, the Army of Virginia, under the command of General John Pope, who promised Lincoln great victories.

By late July 1862, Pope had placed his army on the north side of the Rappahannock River facing General Lee's Army of Northern Virginia. With much bombast and bragging, Pope had moved out and engaged Jackson at Cedar Mountain on August 9. Pope lost the engagement decisively and, as a result, he now became timid and, in fact, seemed to become completely confused. Pope placed his army in defensive positions along the Rappahannock, hoping to draw Lee away from McClellan so that McClellan could extract his army from the James Peninsula and unite with Pope. But, McClellan was slow, as always and, frankly, was secretly hoping something would happen to embarrass Pope. General Lee obliged him.

Lee decided to strike north and move the war away from Richmond, possibly even into the northern states. So, he ordered Stonewall Jackson and General James Longstreet to march around Pope's right flank and then turn through Thoroughfare Gap to get between Pope's army and Washington. Jackson moved out first in the early morning darkness of August 25 and headed towards White Plains. By nightfall, his army was rapidly approaching their initial objective while General Longstreet prepared to move the next afternoon.

Pope received information that Jackson was on the move late on August 25, but seemed completely baffled about exactly what to do. He finally ordered his army to begin a search for Jackson and had his divisions marching up and down the northern Virginia countryside in a futile attempt to locate the wily Confederate general. Then, on the night of August 27, Jackson's forces struck the Union supply depot at Manassas Junction, destroying massive quantities of Federal supplies, including Pope’s new dress uniforms. Pope now realized that Jackson was in his rear and, worse, was between his army and Washington. To his credit, however, he realized that since Longstreet was still moving towards Thoroughfare Gap and, thus, was separated from Jackson, an opportunity existed to destroy Jackson’s corps before Longstreet arrived. He quickly ordered the army to concentrate east towards Manassas Junction. Unfortunately, Jackson was too quick for Pope. On August 28, Jackson proceeded to double back and place himself northeast of Manassas Junction, just north of the Warrenton Pike near the village of Groveton. Pope again lost all track of Jackson and ordered his still scattered forces to locate the Confederates. As he would soon find out, Jackson had placed his men in a strong hidden defensive position along an abandoned railroad cut amid heavy trees, anxious to have a go at John Pope.

All Jackson needed was an opening, a chance, designed to let Pope know where he was, bring his opponent to him on ground of his choosing, and, at the same time, issue a sudden, crushing blow to some unsuspecting piece of Pope’s still scattered army. On the late afternoon of August 28, that opportunity seemed to present itself. From his hidden position, Jackson watched as several Union units marched past him, heading east on the Warrenton Pike toward Centerville. Finally, he observed a division of blue-clad infantry making its way along the road, its brigades somewhat separated from one another, leaving each one vulnerable. He could tell these men had been marching all day in the stifling, humid Virginia heat, their formations becoming a bit ragged as the tired soldiers plodded along the dusty road. He let the first brigade pass, and waited for the second, which followed by about a quarter-mile. Had he known that only one of the four regiments in this brigade had seen any fighting thus far, he would have been certain that this was the time and place to strike. Further, he could see that this brigade had about 2,000 men, while he had several thousand immediately available, and another 20,000 nearby. The situation was very nearly perfect. He turned to his staff and said, “Bring out your men, gentlemen.” However, Jackson would soon learn that he had picked the wrong Union brigade with which to trifle.

The Union brigade that marched up the Warrenton Pike that evening was, indeed, more than a little green. Its four regiments included the 2nd, 6th, and 7th Wisconsin Infantry Regiments, along with the 19th Indiana, but only the 2nd Wisconsin had seen any fighting thus far. They were one of the few brigades in the eastern Union armies from what was then called the West, and they were a group of tough, hardened men, lumberman and pioneer farmers, led by one the best officers in the Union Army, Brigadier General John Gibbon.

Gibbon was a professional soldier, a West Point graduate, and, oddly, a Philadelphia-born North Carolinian. His three brothers chose to fight for the Confederacy, but Gibbon found he could not turn his back on the oath he had taken at West Point. Gibbon was a ramrod-straight man, 35 years old, and a former artillery officer who had fought in Mexico and against the Seminoles in Florida. His men, meanwhile, had spent most of the war thus far training in camps along the Potomac and guarding railroads. Gibbon became their brigade commander in June 1862, and by this point, he and his men had come to respect, but not love, each other. Gibbon demanded the same level of discipline and professionalism from these volunteer westerners as he demanded of his Regular artillerymen. One soldier would later remark, “Until we learned to know him, which we did not till he led us in battle, we seemed very far apart.” Gibbon later explained how difficult it was to train men who not only had recently been civilians, but were independent frontier men, filled with a rambunctious, undisciplined spirit: “The habit of obedience and subjection to the will of another, so difficult to instill into the minds of free and independent men, became marked characteristics of the command. A great deal of the prejudice against me as a Regular officer was removed when the men came to compare their own soldierly appearance and way of doing duty with other commands….”

Gibbon’s command had been placed in Pope’s new army, as the 4th Brigade, 1st Division, of Major General Irvin McDowell’s III Corps. They had also already achieved a nickname as the “Black Hat” Brigade because, rather than the standard Union kepi, they wore black Hardee hats, also known as the Model 1858 Dress Hat, which was the regulation dress hat for enlisted men in the Union Army. These tall, almost “top hats,” were adorned with a plume, giving the brigade a very distinctive appearance.

As Jackson watched the Black Hats trudge down the pike, the clock was fast approaching 6:00 p.m. and the sun was already beginning to disappear behind the mountains to the west. He probably could see John Gibbon riding ahead of his men, reading a map and often gazing at the trees and hilly terrain to the north of the pike. Meanwhile, Gibbon’s westerners were almost certainly thinking about reaching Centerville, where they would join the rest of the army and bed down after a long day of marching. Therefore, the carnage that was about to ensue was nowhere in their thoughts.

Suddenly, as Gibbon peered to the north, towards the dense forest around the old abandoned railroad grade, he noticed horsemen near the Brawner farmhouse and wondered if they might be enemy cavalry. He casually rode his horse off the pike in an attempt to gain a better view of the gray horsemen. Within seconds, he realized that these men were not cavalry, but were Confederate artillery, which were even now quickly unlimbering their guns for action. Before he could turn and warn his command, at least two Southern batteries opened fire on his brigade and those trailing behind it, all of which were still marching in column along the pike.

As shells screamed overhead and exploded around them, some of the Union column quickly scattered, as ambulances and wagons careened panic-stricken off the road into the fields and forests south of the pike. The New York regiments in General Patrick’s brigade, which was about 1,000 yards behind Gibbon, immediately broke up and headed for the trees—they would never participate in the fight to come despite Gibbon’s pleas for help and it would be hours before they would finally re-form.

Gibbon, meanwhile, kept his head like the professional that he was. He shouted for his old battery, Battery B of the 4th U.S. Artillery, to deploy on a small knoll east of the Brawner farmhouse. Soon, the ground trembled violently as Union and Confederate gunners exchanged fire. Within minutes, the Federal Regulars were getting the better of their Confederate counterparts and the Southerners elected to pull their guns back to safety. However, just as these guns fell back, Jackson sent in another battery, this time on Gibbon’s left, and it was quickly blasting case and solid shot at the Union battery.

Gibbon quickly ordered the entire brigade off the road and north into the cover of the forest on the Brawner farm. At this moment, Gibbon could only assume that this was merely harassing fire from a few light horse batteries. He had no idea that Jackson’s entire force of 24,000 men lie just beyond the trees within a mile of his position. So, he decided to deal with the artillery and ordered the 2nd Wisconsin into line of battle. The regiment marched off up the hill, throwing skirmishers out in front as they approached the Brawner farmhouse. But as they closed the distance between themselves and the offending battery, they soon saw the sight of an entire Confederate infantry brigade emerging from the woods, colors flying and full of fight.

The brigade moving toward them was the already legendary Stonewall Brigade. Called Jackson’s “foot cavalry” because of the incredible distances they could travel in only days, these were arguably the best soldiers in Lee’s army. Veterans of every major battle fought in the East to date, the war had cut their numbers from 2,000 to only 800. But this 800 were tough, seasoned, hard fighters and, with the 2nd Wisconsin only numbering 430 men, Jackson’s men had them at almost a two to one advantage. Still, the sight of the Stonewall Brigade did not seem to deter the Wisconsin men, who continued to move up the hill towards them. As Charles King, who was a young lieutenant acting as an adjutant in Gibbon’s brigade, later wrote more than a little romantically, "Straight for the guns drives the daring blue line, backed by eight solid companies, closed on the colors and marching abreast. Fancy the canary defying the cat! Fancy the terrier bearding the tiger! Fancy the lamb assailing the butcher, and you have the sensation that thrills the waiting divisions as a grizzled Georgia colonel slaps down his field-glass and turns to his men with delight in his eye and five words on his tongue: ‘The Black Hats—by God!’”

As the two groups closed to rifle range, one young Union soldier noted that his comrades “held their pieces with a tighter grasp” and began to murmur quietly, expressing their impatience with prosaic but determined language such as “Come on, God damn you.” At less than 100 yards, the 2nd Wisconsin unleashed what a Confederate officer remembered as “a most terrific and deadly fire.” The Virginians staggered and came to a halt in the face of the Federal volley.

For the next 20 minutes, the two sides blasted away at one another, neither giving an inch, neither breaking for the rear. Soon, however, the Confederate numbers began to tell, as the Virginian’s line stretched and now threatened to overlap the 2nd Wisconsin’s left flank. Seeing this, Gibbon immediately ordered the 423 men of the 19th Indiana into position on the 2nd’s left. No sooner had the inexperienced Hoosier’s arrived than they were greeted by a thunderous volley issued from Jackson’s men. But, these green troops quickly steadied themselves and began to fire back as rapidly as the more experienced Wisconsin men next to them.

Things were not going according to Jackson’s plan and, as the light was fading, he urgently looked for more men to join the fight and push the impudent Yankees off the hillside. He soon encountered four regiments of Georgians under Alexander Lawton, numbering between 800 and 1,000 men, and personally led them to the fighting. Lawton’s regiments went into position on the Virginian’s left and now began to overlap the 2nd Wisconsin’s right flank. Gibbon responded by sending the 7th Wisconsin to in on the 2nd’s right, but these 440 men still were not enough to match the growing Confederate advantage in numbers. As the two sides continued to blaze away at one another, Union wounded began to steadily stream down the hillside toward field hospitals south of the pike. As it became darker, the rifle fire merged into what Gibbon described as a “long and continuous roll.” King wrote that, as the dim twilight deepened, “night and hell seem to come down together.”

As the brutal fighting continued, Jackson became uncharacteristically more desperate. These Yankees were fighting with what he described later as “obstinate determination” and Jackson was not a man given to hyperbole. Therefore, he tried to get more men into the line and break the Federals once and for all. He dispatched Isaac Trimble’s 1,200-man brigade to form up on the Stonewall Brigade’s left, hoping to envelope Gibbon’s line and turn the Federal flank at last. However, as Trimble’s men approached their place in the line, they discovered that, once again, John Gibbon was ahead of Jackson. Gibbon had sent his last regiment, the 6th Wisconsin, forward into a dry streambed, lengthening his line to the right. At a range of only 75 yards, the 6th hammered Trimble with a volley that brought the Southern line to a complete and utterly stunned halt. One man from the 6th recalled, “Every gun cracked at once, and the line in front, which had faced us at the command ‘ready’ melted away, and instead of the heavy line of battle that was there before our volley, they presented the appearance of a skirmish line.”

As the bloody work continued, Gibbon realized there was a 250-yard gap between the 7th and 6th Wisconsin. He urgently requested help from both Hatch and Patrick’s brigades, but none came. Luckily, however, General Abner Doubleday decided on his own initiative to send the 76th New York and 56th Pennsylvania from his brigade to Gibbon’s assistance. These fresh troops moved quickly to close the gap between the 7th and 6th Wisconsin, reinforcing Gibbon’s steadily dwindling line. In addition, their arrival brought Federal strength to just over 2,700 men, almost matching the 3,000 Jackson had been able to bring forward. However, while Jackson had easily another 20,000 men nearby, for some reason, he was unable to leverage this force, despite repeated attempts to do so. Therefore, the battle had now become a classic “soldier’s fight,” one in which the actions of individual units and the average soldier are more important in determining the outcome than whatever the original plan might have been.

Jackson’s frustrations reached a peak around 7:00 p.m. and he decided to take the offensive, ordering all 3,000 men forward in an effort to crush all resistance. But, in an indication of the lack of command cohesion that seemed to plague all Jackson’s efforts at Brawner’s Farm, only a couple of Trimble’s regiments stepped forward to attack. They moved down the hillside at the double quick, with many men stumbling in chuckholes and falling over fence rails in the now increasing darkness. The two attacking regiments, the 21st Georgia and 21st North Carolina, received a devastating volley from the 56th Pennsylvania, while the 6th Wisconsin delivered an enfilading fire into the Confederate left flank. Within seconds, the attacking line seemed to melt into the ground, withered by the storm of lead loosed upon them. One 6th Wisconsin officer would remember that “human nature could not stand such a terrible wasting fire … it literally mowed out great gaps in the line.”

What one historian aptly described as a “whirlpool of death” consumed the 21st North Carolina and Georgia. As one Georgian would write years later, “The blazes from their guns seemed to pass through our ranks.” The 21st Georgia would lose 184 of 242 men that evening, a staggering 76 percent casualty rate. In fact, one company of the regiment went into the attack with 45 men, but only five returned unscathed.

As Trimble’s assault ground to a complete halt, Jackson rode to General Lawton, whose brigade of Georgians were now near the center of the line, and ordered him forward. But, within minutes, Lawton’s men met a fate similar to Trimble’s, as the 7th Wisconsin and 76th New York wheeled from their positions to deliver a crushing volley into the Southern flank. One of Lawton’s regiments would sustain 74 percent casualties and the survivors from all the attacking regiments quickly fell back to their original positions.

It was now approaching 8:00 p.m. and darkness totally enveloped the fields around the Brawner farmhouse. Neither side pulled back and the firing continued, with some portions of the lines separated by less than 30 yards. No one on either side could see the other and all they could do was fire a the telltale muzzle flashes that indicated where an opponent might be crouched. Years later a Union veteran of Brawner’s Farm recalled, “The two crowds, they could hardly be called lines, were within, it seemed to me, fifty yards of each other, and were pouring musketry into each other as rapidly as men could load and shoot.” Still, neither side would yield the ground they had held so preciously over the course of the last two bloody hours. Soon, however, the rifle fire gradually slackened and faded, only to be replaced by the pathetic cries of the wounded. Each side now ventured forward with lamps held high, collecting the dead and wounded. The Battle of Brawner’s Farm was over.

The losses on both sides were frightful. Gibbon’s brigade lost almost 800 killed or wounded. The 2nd Wisconsin lost 276 men out of the 430 who went into the line and 21 of their wounded were hit at least twice. On the other side, in addition to Lawton and Trimble’s horrific losses, the Stonewall brigade had lost 340 men out of 800, a 40 percent casualty rate. In fact, so fierce was the fighting in those two hours along the Warrenton Pike, that one in every three men engaged was hit at least once. As Gibbon surveyed the damage to his command, Colonel William Robinson, commander of the 7th Wisconsin rode up to him. Obviously feeling that Gibbon had been a harsh taskmaster in training the brigade and that the West Pointer had not previously come to respect his men, the fiery, dark-eyed Robinson looked Gibbon in the eye and said, “What do you think of the Seventh now?” As Gibbon reached out to him and before he could tell Robinson how well his men had fought, Robinson’s eyes rolled back, and he fell from his horse. Gibbon called for a surgeon, dismounted, and knelt next to Robinson, only to find that he had been shot through both thighs, his boots filled with his own blood. Despite what must have agonizing pain and a severe loss of blood, Robinson had led his men throughout the battle and now was overcome only after he had reported to Gibbon and demanded his men’s bravery and skill be acknowledged.

For John Gibbon, his men’s bravery would be wasted, as John Pope’s complete mismanagement led to a signal defeat at the hands of Robert Lee in the Battle of Second Manassas. Still, however, notice had been served upon Stonewall Jackson, the Army of Northern Virginia, and history itself that these men from Wisconsin and Indiana were the best brigade in the Union Army. The Black Hat Brigade’s magnificent performance at Brawner’s Farm would be repeated many times, earning them another name, one they will own for all time: The Iron Brigade.