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    The Peninsula Campaign 1862: McClellan and Lee Struggle for Richmond
    The Peninsula Campaign 1862: McClellan and Lee Struggle for Richmond
    The Peninsula Campaign 1862: McClellan and Lee Struggle for Richmond
    Ebook230 pages3 hours

    The Peninsula Campaign 1862: McClellan and Lee Struggle for Richmond

    By Joseph P. Cullen

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    Here is the detailed story of
    • The first serious attempt to capture Richmond
    • The struggle that marked the emergence of Robert E. Lee
    • The rise and fall of the North’s great hope, General George B. McClellan

    In this first book on the subject in 50 years, historian Cullen presents incisive evaluations of the men and movements of the Confederate and Union Armies and disputes the long-held theory that interference form President Lincoln caused McClellan’s failure. Reporting the campaign from both viewpoints, and then judging from the fascinating omniscience of history, he brings fresh research to an old subject that may be new—in this depth—to many.

    From the first skirmish to the concluding, bloody battle at Malvern Hill, Cullen dissects the strategies of both sides, reports the battles and skirmished, examines the character and abilities of the men who made the decisions in this early campaign that tested two newly formed armies, started Lee on his long war and brought ignominious retirement to McClellan.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherStackpole Books
    Release dateFeb 28, 2018
    ISBN9780811766906
    The Peninsula Campaign 1862: McClellan and Lee Struggle for Richmond

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      Book preview

      The Peninsula Campaign 1862 - Joseph P. Cullen

      repay.

      Introduction

      The American Civil War was unique in many respects. Simultaneously, it was the last of the old wars and the first of the new. It was a war for which neither side had planned and for which neither side was prepared. It was, as Walt Whitman so aptly stated, a strange, sad war.

      With the firing on Fort Sumter, South Carolina in April, 1861 all efforts to find a peaceful solution to the differences between the North and the South ceased. Neither side, however, was anxious to mount an offensive. If the South could not secede from the Union peacefully, then it was determined to defend every acre of territory and maintain its independence to the last. As Confederate President Jefferson Davis proclaimed: All we ask is to be left alone. With this philosophy there was nothing to be gained by invading the North. Rather, the South wanted to exploit the advantages of defensive operations, which would require fewer men and allow it to use its interior, or shorter, lines of communication and supply to best advantage.

      The North, however, would have to assume the offensive if it was determined to prevent secession and carry out President Abraham Lincoln’s objective of preserving the Union. To accomplish this, the South would have to be invaded and conquered, which would require large armies, long lines of communications, immense quantities of supplies, and the control of the seaports and rivers of the South. This meant a military effort on a vast scale.

      The Federal overall strategy for this unprecedented effort called for a naval blockade of Southern ports to shut off foreign supplies, control of the Mississippi River in order to split the Confederacy on an east-west axis, and a swing through Georgia to split it again on a north-south axis. This was to be the overall strategy and the major Federal offensive, but circumstances dictated otherwise, although in the end control of the Mississippi was the decisive element that eventually doomed the Confederacy. The proximity of the two capitals at Richmond and Washington, a scant 100 miles apart, decreed that major fighting in the East would be continuous throughout the war, and that Virginia would be the war’s most constant and bloodiest battleground.

      Although the Federal strategy would prove to be correct, the people of the North were too impatient at the start to allow the major emphasis to be given to the war in the West. On to Richmond was the cry from the beginning. It was believed that with the fall of the Confederate capital, the Confederacy would quickly collapse. So for four years Richmond remained the primary military objective in the East. The war in the West would be waged simultaneously, although on a reduced scale in the beginning, with its objective of splitting the Confederacy geographically by control of the rivers.

      This, then, is the story of the Peninsula Campaign of 1862, the first real professional attempt to capture Richmond and end the war, which saw the emergence of the South’s great general and leader, Robert E. Lee, and the emergence and decline of the North’s great hope, General George B. McClellan.

      Richmond:

      Linchpin of Strategy for North and South

      On the morning of March 17, 1862 the old brick town of Alexandria, Virginia on the outskirts of Washington was crowded with curious spectators gazing in awe at the huge fleet which jammed the Potomac River off the shabby wharves and warehouses. Over 400 ships of all types—steam vessels, brigs, schooners, sloops, ferryboats, barges—were assembled there to transport the Army of the Potomac, over 100,000 strong, down the river, then across Chesapeake Bay to Fort Monroe at the tip of the peninsula between the York and the James rivers on the Virginia coast. Under a pale, winter sun the first regiments of blue-clad troops embarked with bands blaring, flags flying, and three days’ cooked rations in their haversacks. In the next three weeks these vessels transported, in addition to the troops, 3,600 wagons, 700 ambulances, 300 pieces of artillery, 2,500 head of cattle, and more than 25,000 horses and mules to Fort Monroe.

      At last a major Federal move against Richmond, capital of Virginia and the Confederate States of America, was under way. It had been a long time coming and much was expected from it. After all, this was the largest amphibious operation the modern world had ever seen. General Rufus Ingalls, quartermaster general, could truthfully report: Operations so extensive and important as the rapid and successful embarkation of such an army, with all its vast equipment, its transfer to the peninsula, and its supply while there, had scarcely any parallel in history, and certainly none in our country.

      Major General George B. McClellan, commander of this best-trained, -equipped, and -supplied army in American history, embarked with his staff on April 1. As the steamer pushed its way out into the muddy river, he heaved a sigh of relief. Officially speaking, he wrote his wife, I feel very glad to get away from that sink of iniquity. . . .

      A strange remark, perhaps, but then McClellan was a strange man in many respects. When he reported to President Abraham Lincoln in Washington in July, 1861, he had been welcomed as a conquering hero, the man who would save the demoralized army. And demoralized it was. After the firing on Fort Sumter, South Carolina by the Confederates in April, which opened the war, Lincoln had called for 75,000 volunteers. As these raw recruits had poured into Washington in the spring and early summer, the pressure had mounted for a quick invasion of the South. On to Richmond was the cry. Under this pressure, Lincoln had ordered General Irvin McDowell to take the field. When McDowell protested that he needed more time to train his troops, Lincoln told him, You are green, it is true, but they are green also.

      There were two main avenues of approach to Richmond: the direct overland approach through Fredericksburg and the approach by water to the tip of the peninsula and then up the peninsula to the capital city. In the summer of 1861 it was decided to use the overland approach. Straight across this road to Richmond lay Manassas, a small railroad settlement a few miles east of the Bull Run mountains. Here Confederate General P. G. T. Beauregard blocked the road with about 22,000 men, while General Joseph E. Johnston commanded a smaller force of about 11,000 at Winchester in the Shenandoah Valley. And here, on July 21, McDowell had led his 35,000 Federal troops on their way to Richmond.

      In this first major engagement of the Civil War the Federal army had suffered disaster in a nightmare battle of mistakes fought by poorly trained officers and men. It was routed from the field and retreated in disorder and panic. No longer an army, the frightened soldiers had streamed into Washington by the thousands, a confused mob with no semblance of order or discipline. For miles the roads leading into the city were strewn with the paraphernalia of war—caps, coats, blankets, muskets, canteens, haversacks. Muddy, hungry and foot-sore, they staggered through the streets begging food and buying liquor, dropping in exhaustion on porches, lawns, and sidewalks. Many of the officers, completely demoralized, filled the hotel barrooms and cheap saloons. The capture of Washington seems now to be inevitable, wrote Edwin M. Stanton, soon to be appointed Secretary of War. The route, overthrow, and utter demoralization of the whole army is complete.

      Thus it was evident that a strong hand was needed to save the capital and bring order out of chaos, and when the president appointed McClellan to supersede McDowell, Washington and the people of the North were relieved.

      Shortly before the disaster at Manassas McClellan had defeated a small contingent of Rebels in western Virginia; so his name had the aura of action and victory about it. From his dispatches and newspaper reports, the people had come to believe that a great victory had been achieved. McClellan convinced his soldiers they had annihilated two armies, and in the process convinced the government and the people because the government and the people wanted to be convinced. The government desperately needed a military leader and the people wanted a hero, a Man on Horseback—and the mantle fell on George B. McClellan.

      And for a time it seemed to fit. Everything he had ever tried had been successful. Entering West Point at the age of fifteen by special permission, he graduated second in a class of fifty-nine in 1846. Brevetted twice for gallantry in the Mexican War, in 1855 he won an appointment as an Army observer in the Crimean War, an experience which greatly influenced his later military career. He resigned from the Army in 1857 with the rank of captain to become chief engineer of the Illinois Central Railroad. Shortly thereafter he was promoted to vice-president. At the outbreak of the war he was president of the eastern division of the Ohio and Mississippi Railroad. In 1860 he married Ellen Marcy, daughter of an Army colonel, beating his West Point roommate, Ambrose P. Hill, in the race for her affections. Success seemed to come to him easily and quickly.

      He even looked the part. A heavy-set, short, broad-chested man with a thick reddish moustache, he bestrode his horse like a conquering hero, issued commands with an authoritative air, published bombastic proclamations in the style of Napoleon, and put his right hand inside his coat whenever he was photographed and gazed at the camera with a stern, military look. One Massachusetts recruit believed he looked like a man that was not afraid of the cry On to Richmond. . . .

      Comparisons with Napoleon were inevitable. Correspondents called him Little Mac, the Young Napoleon, Boy Wonder (he was not yet thirty-five years of age). Washington observers noted that he had an indefinable air of success about him, that he looked like one who always had succeeded and always will succeed. He seemed assured, self-possessed, radiating confidence with an aura of romantic greatness. In all of Washington only a foreigner, the astute William Howard Russell of the London Times, seemed to have any doubts about McClellan. I like the man, he wrote, but I do not think he is equal to his occasion or his place.

      A close scrutiny of the records of McClellan’s subordinate officers might have given others some doubts, too. While the general’s proclamation declared that he had annihilated two armies, the reports showed he had killed less than 300 and captured only about 1,000 of the enemy. The reports also indicated that while subordinate generals W. S. Rosecrans and Jacob D. Cox had successfully carried out their flanking missions, McClellan had bungled his frontal assault, with the result that the remainder of the Confederate force had escaped unharmed. In his official report McClellan underestimated the forces opposed to his subordinate officers and overestimated those opposed to him, so as to leave no doubt that the credit was his. Cox, in his memoirs, on the other hand, stated that in this early campaign McClellan showed characteristics that were later to prove disastrous. There was the same overestimate of the enemy, the same tendency to interpret unfavorably the sights and sounds in front, the same hesitancy to throw in his whole force when he knew that his subordinate was engaged.

      But after the fiasco of Manassas no one was concerned with the past—it was the future that mattered, and for that hope was needed. McClellan gave the North that hope. I find myself in a new and strange position here, he wrote. President, Cabinet, Gen. Scott, and all deferring to me. By some strange operation of magic I seem to have become the power of the land. It is revealing to note that in his mind he had become the power, not a power.

      In reality, of course, Manassas had not been the disaster it was generally considered to be. It was, in fact, a blessing in disguise for the North, for it shook the government out of its complacency. We have undertaken to make war without in the least knowing how, a Washington observer noted. We have made a false start and we have discovered it. It only remains to start afresh. Now the politicians realized that all the powerful resources of the North would have to be organized and directed in preparation for a long, hard struggle. And the war was not going to be won by the theatrical heroics of untrained three-months volunteers and comic opera officers. A larger army would have to be raised, trained, and equipped, with the enlistments for three years or the duration, not three months. Washington would have to be adequately protected against the slightest chance of capture, for if the capital fell there would be no United States as such.

      The army and the defense of Washington would be McClellan’s job—a job for which he was brilliantly suited.

      Shortly after his arrival, McClellan stated: I have Washington perfectly quiet now . . . I have restored order very completely already. And indeed he had. The hotels, barrooms, and streets had been emptied of drunken officers and soldiers absent without leave; a rigid system of passes had been promulgated; and regular patrols of the city had been instituted. The bright greens and colorful reds of various militia regiments disappeared, to be replaced by the standard Union blue. The lackadaisical encampments of the volunteers began to assume the orderly look of regular army camps, and drills, reviews, and guard mountings were formal, everyday affairs, with all orders given by bugle calls. One Connecticut volunteer wrote about the new look. Troops, tents, the frequent thunder of guns practicing, lines of heavy baggage wagons, at reveille and tattoo the air filled with the near and distant roll of drums and the notes of innumerable bugles—all the indications of an immense army, and yet no crowding, no rabble.

      Day by day, as the new regiments streamed into Washington, the capital took on the appearance of a huge armed camp, white tents spreading for miles over the surrounding hills, valleys, and riverbanks, the streets echoing to the roll of drums and the call of bugles. Earthen forts were quickly thrown up and soon completely encircled the city in a vast and complicated system of entrenchments. Herds of cattle plodded through the muddy streets to the army commissaries; thousands of horses and mules filled the corrals. From 50,000 in July, the army grew to 168,000 in November, the largest volunteer citizen army in history, and McClellan proudly named it the Army of the Potomac. He reorganized the staff and made his father-in-law, Colonel Randolph B. Marcy, his chief of staff. This was a new position in American military circles. McClellan had learned the value of it in his Crimean experience, and in this respect he was far ahead of any other general in America, North or South. They give me my way in everything, he exclaimed, full swing and unbounded confidence. All tell me that I am held responsible for the fate of the nation, and that all its resources shall be placed at my disposal.

      While he marshaled and drilled the raw recruits into an efficient fighting machine, orders totaling millions of dollars went out to the factories, mills, forges and foundries, for the huge mass of supplies and equipment that filled the warehouses and lined the camps. And through it all McClellan himself, radiating confidence, dashing through the streets on his great black charger, Daniel Webster, followed by his large and colorful personal staff, with reporters trailing along behind. With this powerful weapon he was forging, and with him to guide and use it, the war would soon be over, or so it seemed. The people and the government were full of confidence.

      And yet there were those who wondered why McClellan did not live out in the field across the Potomac with his men, instead of in a house on the northwest corner of Jackson Square. They realized, of course, that this gave him the opportunity to be continually galloping through the streets with his colorful retinue on his way to or from the field, and as he was already being talked about as the next president, it certainly didn’t hurt his chances to be seen in all his glory. Russell thought differently, however. He believed McClellan should have been out with his army living among his generals to get to know their strengths and weaknesses, but faction and intrigue are the cancer which peculiarly eat into the body politic of republics, he wrote, and McClellan fears, no doubt, that his absence from the capital, even though he went but across the river, would animate his enemies to undermine and supplant him.

      Although there is no evidence that anyone was trying to supplant McClellan at this early date, there is abundant evidence to prove McClellan was doing his best to undermine and supplant his immediate superior, old General Winfield Scott, hero of the Mexican War, and now a brevet lieutenant general commanding the

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